#that first one goes right into afterlife to the rest of pictures

[nervouswizardcycle]

Happy birthday Queen

[ginnsbaker]

In Flames I Sleep Soundly (2/2)

Chapter Summary: The aftermath.

Word Count: 9k+

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Non-graphic depictions of violence

Author’s Note: Thank you for your patience, I hope... I don't know what I hope. I'm just grateful that you guys took the time to read this piece and leave comments in my inbox. I do have more to say later, but for now I just needed to post this. 

Let me know if you have some questions or clarifications. (yes, I wrote this sentence after sending a work email)

AO3 / Part One / Masterlist

--

Part Two

You’ve always thought that life is like a train ride. 

And as a passenger, you know only two things: the direction of the course and its scheduled stops. And so, it’s like this: get born into the world, take your first steps, go to elementary school, go to high school, go to college, get a job, get married, have children, have grandchildren, and then die in your sleep. If there’s an afterlife, perhaps get resurrected into a young version of you, and move into another train. And then begin another journey. 

But what the passenger doesn’t know is that a train can only move forward when it’s on its rails. And this is where the helplessness of every individual in that train becomes apparent. Your life–or at least how you want it to go–is not entirely in your hands.

For you, a single phone call managed to completely derail your train from its tracks. And then, as if still unsatisfied, it plucked you violently from it and left you on your own in the middle of nowhere.

You didn’t know where to go, only where you’ve been. Like a diamond blade that cuts through steel, it segmented your life into just two parts: Before and After.  

Before was going home to your wife after a tedious day, resting your head on her lap while she threads her fingers through your hair.

After is knowing those same delicate fingers raked through someone else’s tufts of blonde in throes of passion. 

Before was her telling you she loves you and feeling it to your bones.

After is her telling you she loves you and only hearing a lie.

Split in the middle, you presume you can simply choose to live in one or the other. 

***

“Love’s a fucking bitch.”

Inside your car, you’ve been quiet the whole time, just staring at the photos in Natasha’s phone. You stare at Wanda walking out of the theater, hand-in-hand with a tall, lanky man you don’t recognize. 

“His name is Victor Shade. Goes by ‘Vision’. The only son of a high-profile neurosurgeon on the East Coast.” Natasha tells you, eyeing you closely.  

You brush your thumb against the image of the laughing woman in the picture. She wore your wife’s face and smile, but all you see is a stranger. 

“What are you going to do?” Natasha asks.

Briefly, you consider this could all just be a prank. Maybe Wanda is watching you fall apart right now, giggling in hiding because she got you this time. At least it’s the sort of cruelty you’d fight over for a day or maybe a week, and then laugh about in ten years.  

“Y/N?” Natasha tries again.

You finally look up at her and immediately hate the look of pity on your best friend’s face.  

“I don’t even know where I’m sleeping tonight.” you say, handing back her phone. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You should talk to Wanda.”

The laugh that bubbles up your throat is nothing short of deranged. For almost a minute, you laugh into your steering wheel until tears begin to prick at the corner of your eyes. Natasha watches you with a worried expression, her hand hovering over your back hesitantly. She thinks about the beautiful person she met in kindergarten, the girl who gave her own blue crayon so Natasha could color the sky properly while she was left to color hers with a red one. It hurts her to witness the light snuff out of the person who was her own light in her darkest moments. And when your laughter subsides into muffled sobs, she cries with you. 

When you’re done, you systematically wipe the tears and snot off your face with the sleeve of your shirt. Natasha patiently waits for your next move.

“Did you get his address?” you ask with a surprisingly steady voice. 

“Yes, apparently it’s in one of the luxurious apartments near the university.” Natasha says as she texts you the exact address. 

“Good,” you say, then turn your attention to the empty roads ahead of you. 

You lied when you had implied to Natasha that you didn’t know what you’re going to do. 

***

A Victorian style of housing is unheard of in this part of New Jersey, but here you are, standing outside of one. His rental is on the second floor at the end of the street where a sports car is parked carelessly in its spacious garage–an august flex coming from a college kid. Wanda crosses your mind once again as you take in this grandiose lifestyle before you. Was it money that attracted her to him? You never pegged her for a gold-digger, but then again you also didn’t peg her for a cheating whore. You screw your eyes tightly shut at the unpleasant adjectives you now associate with your wife as you lose some of yourself in the process. There’s something frightening and unfamiliar threatening to consume your entire being, and you have no clue what to do with it. 

With a deep breath, you walk to his doorstep and ring the doorbell. A few moments later, you jerk in surprise as the door swings wide open towards you, the lock stile of the wooden panel narrowly missing your forehead.

“Sorry, I keep meaning to get that fixed and it’s easier to push,” A man in his early twenties with yellow blonde hair comes into sight. 

“Can I help you?” he asks. 

You have to tilt your head back slightly in order to meet his cerulean eyes. 

“You’re Vision?” you ask.

“Actually, it’s Victor Shade. But yes, everyone calls me Vision.”

“How old are you?” 

Vision shuffles his feet, uncertain if he should answer your question. It’s rhetorical of course, a question you didn’t mean to actually come out of your mouth. You could guess–but truthfully, you’d rather not now. 

“Who are you?”

“Y/N Maximoff.”

He raises his eyebrows quizzically, your name not ringing a bell.

“Wanda’s wife.” you supplement domineeringly, as if declaring it would stake your claim on her once and for all. He drops his gaze at the mention of your wife’s name, like a child that has been caught doing something he shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter that he’s at least half a foot taller than you are. He isn’t quite a man. Not to you.

“May I–May I come in?” you ask as politely as you could. 

After a second of doubt he smirks, and then says, “Sure.” You can sense the shift in his stance. He knows you’re onto him, and this is a showdown. Like any Alpha male scrambling to be on top of the food chain, he finds you to be an exciting piece of challenge. It makes you wonder if he was looking forward to this moment as much as you were dreading it.

You didn’t notice before that he’s barely covering his naked torso with a peacoat, and you try not to think about what brought on his current state. If by chance, you had just narrowly missed one of your wife’s regular visits.

Once you’re inside his apartment, you immediately scan your surroundings. There are papers and books scattered all over the floor. You can make out a thin trail of smoke coming from an unfinished cigarette in his living room, where the couch is covered by a tarpaulin smeared with ink and acrylic paint. 

On an easel beside it is a painting covered by a dirty towel you assume he’s been working on before being disrupted by your presence. “Can I look?” you point at it. 

“No. Sorry,” he says, before taking the painting from the easel and bringing it to his room. “It’s not done yet. An artist’s rule.”

You nod, and then noticing the only thing that he has organized, you say, “Nice vinyl collection.”

“Thanks.”

You stare at each other for long seconds. It feels ridiculous to expect an apology from him, but it’s something you think you deserved at the minimum. 

“So, tell me. How did you meet my wife?” you ask when it becomes apparent that he doesn’t have any intention to be an active participant in this meeting.

“Art History 101. I’m one of her–”

“Students.” You complete his sentence with a grimace. Somehow that just makes things more fucked up than they already are. Jesus fucking Christ, Wanda, you curse in thought. Yet in a twisted way, it also kind of makes sense now. What they have is the stuff of sexual fantasies–a goddamned kink show is what it is. You’d never guess she’s capable of this. 

“Yeah, and she was really knowledgeable in the subject. Not to mention, a natural teacher. Everybody in the class was awestruck by her.” Vision continues to talk about Wanda as though he’s talking about her to a person who didn’t know her down to the ground. You don’t need to be told how spectacular your wife is. You knew better than anyone. How dare he?

“How’s it going?” You cut him off before he could accidentally trigger something fatal inside of you.

He looks at you, bewildered at the random question. He waits for the punchline that never comes, and then chuckles, “It’s been swell.” 

“This is where you meet?” you ask.

“Yes.”

“And she likes it?” You mean this place that looks like it’s been ransacked ten times over.

“Well, I guess. She never complained.” he says, and then cowers at the dirty look you throw his way at his callous comment.

“Do you stay in all the time or do you go out too?” you ask.

“It depends. We actually like to drive to new places in and out of town. Especially in the first week since she’s never ridden a convertible.”

“She likes that? She likes…aimless drives with no particular destinations?” 

“Oh, yeah. More exciting than being stuck in a routine, I guess.” 

It’s an obvious jab at a lifestyle he thinks you saddled Wanda with. 

Heat rises to your cheeks and you walk closer to him. “Did you know that we’ve been married for five years? And before then together for six?”

That you have a dog. Plans to have kids in the future. Plans to retire in a beachfront property. The rest of your lives together. Does all that mean nothing? 

“I know,” Vision replies, his tone devoid of any sign that he might be sorry for fucking a married woman. “She also told me you asked to move here because of your banking aspirations.”

“My aspirations? You…talk about me?” You manage to blurt out incredulously. Vision shrugs at that, and actually regards you with mild concern when you start blinking rapidly behind your glasses. You can hear your heart hammering in your chest as all the blood in your body suddenly rushes to your head. 

He doesn’t answer “Would you like a drink?” 

“Yeah, why not.” you say and lean against the closest wall to you for support.

“I have water, orange juice…”

“Got anything stronger?” 

“I think I have some vodka left.” Vision mutters and then disappears into the kitchen. You take his absence as an opportunity to sneak into his bedroom. It’s smaller than you’ve imagined. A huge mirror is hanging across the foot of the bed and you instantly know what it’s for. 

Is this where it all happens? Where they happen? Did they watch themselves fuck? Did Wanda watch herself fuck someone who isn’t you and felt guilty about it? 

Did she think about you at all?

You sit on the mattress and stroke its silky sheets with shaking fingers. The bed is unmade, and you know there’s evidence on them if you try to look for it.

A framed painting peeking out from his dresser takes your attention. You walk over to it and pull it out of its hiding. 

Your eyes go round in recognition. It’s the painting Wanda asked you to retrieve in Soho. You turn the painting over and discover a small piece of paper plastered on it.

‘To Vision, the only secret people keep is immortality.’  - W

You crumple the note tightly in your fist. Suddenly, all of it becomes more real than you can envisage: on a Tuesday morning, you’re perched on the exact spot your wife’s been betraying you over and over. You can almost smell Wanda from where you’re sitting–can feel her damp, soft skin, can hear her little sighs as she catches her breath.

You’re not prepared for the overwhelming rage that consumes you next, as you abruptly get up and walk the small distance to the kitchen.

-

You come to thirty seconds later, to broken pieces of porcelain and an unconscious man lying on a puddle of blood on the floor.

Your first instinct is to call Natasha. She picks up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Nat,” you say in a rush. “I need your help. I-I didn’t mean to–”

“Hey, hey. Slow down. What happened?” 

“I’m at Vision’s. I did a horrible thing a-and I’m so sorry, Nat, I–”

“Focus, Y/N,” Natasha’s voice is eerily collected. “Is he still alive?”

You scramble to place your index and middle finger on his neck, and let out a sigh of relief once you find what you’re looking for.

“I got a pulse. Should I call 911?”

“Don’t, I’ll handle this. Just grab a towel and wrap it around something cold like frozen vegetables or ice, then apply it gently to the area of the injury.” Natasha says. 

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment to absorb the instruction. Getting a grasp of the situation has started to feel like an impossible task. 

“Did you hear what I say?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Natasha says. “You’ll be fine, okay? I’m on my way.”

And then she’s gone. And you’re left to deal with the vestiges of your crime. You have no idea how much longer Vision will have a pulse. You try to do what Natasha told you to, but you find yourself unable to move a limb, stuck in the loop of wanting him dead and wanting to do what is right. 

That is, until you hear the familiar tone of a message notification. It came from the rear pocket of Vision’s bloodstained cargo pants. You fall to the floor and dig out his phone. To unlock it, you take his cold hand and press his thumb against its screen. 

There’s a new voice message from a certain ‘W’ in his contacts.

Wanda.

You hit play.

“I hate to do this here,” Wanda��s voice is tremulous and you can easily tell that she’s been crying. “But this is the only way I can trust myself to go through with this decision. This needs to end. I can’t live like this. I’m tired of lying and hurting Y/N. She’s my family. Whether you believe it or not, she’s everything to me. I’m sorry. And I hope,” Wanda’s voice breaks on a choked sob. “I don’t know what I hope. I’m sorry.”

You listen to it again before making the decision to delete the message. You slip the device back into Vision’s pants.

Afterwards, you try to save his life.

***

Five Days After 

You wake up with a start. The clock on the nightstand reads 4:34 A.M. 

The dreams are more vivid now, and they have progressed to you jabbing a kitchen knife into Wanda’s chest as Vision takes her from behind. 

In reality, Wanda is lying half-naked beside you, snoring softly. She looks like the Wanda from Before, but your mind knows better. You want to trace her outline with your eyes and your lips, as you’ve done countless times whenever you’d wake up first. You want to kiss her temple and whisper how you love her even if she can’t hear you. You want, and want, and want. But you know what she’s done and with what little dignity you have left, you don’t fall into the trap of your remaining feelings for her. 

In reality, her ex-lover is in some hospital in New York with his family waiting for him to wake up.

The first two days were the hardest after finding out about your wife’s infidelity. Wanda could read you like an open book, but for some miracle she didn’t see past the calm demeanor you put forth. You still comment nice things about her cooking, hug her goodbye, kiss her good night. 

And then the nightmare starts all over again the minute Wanda leaves the house. Because when she’s near you, you don’t have to wonder where she is or who she’s with. You don’t wonder if she notices the empty seat in her classroom that used to belong to Vision. You don’t wonder if there are another pair of eyes like his, looking at her intrepidly with desire. The longer you carry on with your life as if nothing’s happened, the more you realize how much of your existence the past several months were built on lies. 

Maybe the wife next to you is no longer yours, but how do you reconcile that with the truth that you’re still hers? 

“Y/N?” you hear Wanda speak as you get up from bed. “Where are you going?”

Wand hugs the comforter to her more securely. You want to scoff at her question.

“Going out for a run.” you say after a beat. 

“Want me to come with?”

“No, thanks. Just go back to sleep.”

“Oh,” Wanda glances briefly at the time and then says, “It’s still too dark outside.”

You shrug. “So?”

“Could be dangerous, don’t you think?” 

“It’s Westview,” you repeat the same thing she said to you the first night she came home late without calling. The night in which she probably fucked him for the first time. “What’s the worst that could happen to me?”

“Be careful.” she acquiesces softly. “Do you want anything for breakfast?”

“No.” you say, grabbing your running gear from the dresser. 

Sparky tries to follow after you but you lock him in the bedroom with Wanda, and head out to change in the guest bedroom. 

-

There’s a slight itch at the back of your throat and you’ve stopped sweating just a while ago. Nevertheless, your tired legs refuse to stop their strides as you reach your tenth mile, and end up in a deserted farmhouse where Natasha is waiting for you.

“He still hasn’t woken up,” Natasha announces, handing you a bottle of ice water. “And while I got rid of the paintings, we’re not out of the woods yet.”

You take a swig from it like someone who’s been left in the desert for days, before leaving just enough of the water to pour over your head.

“What do you mean?” you ask after you recover from your run. 

“His family is suspicious. They refuse to believe it’s an accident. You should expect cops to visit your house soon. Don’t panic. I scrubbed that kid’s apartment, they won’t find any traces of you.”

“How many years are we looking at?”

“It’s too early to worry about that. We don’t even know if he’ll ever wake up.”

“If he doesn’t, then I’m a murder, Nat.” you say candidly, like you’ve already accepted the monster that you now see yourself to be. “If he does wake up, then it’s attempted murder. Again, how many years are we looking at?”

“Even if he dies, you’re not going to prison. I promise you.”

“I don’t need you to promise me anything. Just answer the question, Nat.”

“Up to twenty years in the state of New Jersey.”

It figures. Despite it being more than half the amount of years you’ve been alive, you deem it a short punishment for the years you’d be taking from the boy. In twenty years or less, you’d be stepping out of prison to live out the rest of your life, and Vision would still be six feet under and being mourned by his parents. 

You look down at your dirty shoes, and say, “I see.”

Natasha puts her hands on your shoulders and ducks her head, trying to meet your eyes. 

“You’re not going to prison. I won’t allow it.” 

You step back and out of her hold. 

“Now, about that other thing. I already contacted this lawyer who owes me big time. You’ll just have to pay 30% of her regular rate for the entire divorce process.”

You look at your best friend, considering it. You could give Natasha the go signal now to hire this lawyer, but in the end all you say is, “Thanks, Nat. For everything.” as you turn your back on her.

Natasha’s brows snap together. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” The word leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, knowing that for so many years ‘home’ was a person you felt the safest, a person who you could be with as you are. Wanda didn’t just cheat on you, she left you homeless. Home, in every sense, no longer exists.

“On foot?” 

“Yup.”

“You’re being ridiculous. Just get in the car, I’ll drive you.” 

But you’re already bouncing on your feet and moving in the other direction.

***

The next day, you sleep on your alarm again. It’s the second consecutive week you’re calling in sick late in the morning, and your immediate supervisor at work is understandably worried. He offers you take the rest of the week off, partly fearful for anyone at your branch catching whatever illness he assumes you have. Ironically, broken marriages are arguably endemic in this country. So perhaps, you really should stay away from people for a while. 

The blinds were shut, so that as little light as possible dances through the gaps between them. You are encouraged to stay in bed by the lack of sunlight, but as your mind starts to wake up, something about the gloominess of the room urges you out of bed. It’s a Monday, so that means Wanda should be gone already. If you’re missing work, then you could make use of the time to think about your next course of action.

You’re halfway down the stairs when the sound of Wanda’s voice reaches your ears, making you stop in your tracks. 

“This will be our little secret, okay? Y/N can’t find out.”

You nearly miss a ladder in your step at the implication of her words, only to see she’s speaking to your dog. 

Wanda is sitting in the living room with Sparky who is thoroughly enjoying the morsel of cheese she’s feeding him with. If this was any other day before, you’d already be walking towards her to give her a morning kiss, and she’d complain that you didn’t brush your teeth long enough. You’d impishly lock her in your arms while you blow puffs of breath on her face, and she’d squirm and fight you off until the both of you are nothing but a blur of two idiots happy and in love. 

“Wanda,” you blink at her in confusion. “Aren’t you late for your morning class?”

You watch Wanda’s eyes light up before she could spot you at the foot of the staircase. 

“Hey, sleepyhead. Actually, I quit my job.” Wanda declares, wide-eyed, her green pools swimming in starry fervor that you almost squint.

“Since when?” 

“Since today.” Wanda shrugs, and you can see that she was hoping for a different reaction and not the mild indifference that she’s currently getting from you. 

“Why? Did something happen?” You ask as you pick up Sparky and bring him to the kitchen for a proper meal. You hate to see Wanda give up something she seemed so passionate about. But then you recall her recent affair with a student, and there’s really no telling where that passion was truly directed at. 

“Honestly, I’ve been meaning to for some time.” she muses while playing with her wedding ring. You leave a generous amount of boiled chicken in his food tray, before moving to sit on the opposite end of the couch, conscious to put much distance between you and Wanda.

“For a while it looked like I finally found a worthwhile career that isn’t so ambitious,” Wanda says. You glower at her allusion that her prior dreams were too extravagant to come true. “But in the process, I also lost myself to it. I sort of left you behind, while you always brought me to every milestone of your achievement. And for that, I wanted to apologize.”

It’s the closest thing to a willing confession you’ll ever get from Wanda. Her quitting her position at the university is her way of burying this and moving on. Maybe it would’ve been better if you simply waited for your marriage to fix itself instead of snooping around for her secrets. You wish you weren’t so addicted to the truth. If grace exists in this world, then it comes in the form of ignorance to all of the things that bring so much suffering. 

You’re thinking of something to say, but you’re afraid that the dam inside you will burst if you open your mouth. 

“I’m sorry it took a while for me to really comprehend how I feel about you.”

“We’ve been married for years, Wanda,” you remind her in disbelief. “That’s something you should’ve comprehended fully before you decided to say yes to a life with me.” 

“That’s not what I’m trying to say,” she hurries to explain. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. Please, Y/N, don’t get mad. Of course I know how I feel about you. I simply didn’t care to explore the magnitude of it, because I was complacent. And selfish.

“And when it comes down to it, you’re all that matters.” Wanda says and scoots closer to you. Then she takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. Your eyes close in their own accord, sighing at the contact. This might be the only thing that stops you from falling further apart. Even through the worst thing she's ever done to you, you crave to be this close to her. 

Wanda tries to read into your thoughts, and then says, “I know, I know. Acta non verba.”

“What?” you ask distractedly. 

“It’s what you always used to say back in college: deeds, not words. I’m going to show you. I’m going to make you feel how you make me feel.” she smiles at you tearily.

This isn’t how things are supposed to go. You’re to wait it out until the matter with Vision is resolved, and then serve her the divorce papers. She’s not supposed to declare her love for you and for those words to still have a substantial effect on you. 

“Wanda, I–” 

“Here,” Wanda retrieves a box from underneath the pillows and pushes them into your hands. “An advanced anniversary gift.” 

You try to stop your hands from shaking as you stare at the box in your lap. 

"Wanda, there's something we need to talk about."  

"Later, baby. Please, just open it." Wanda says and you try not to cringe at the pet name. 

You're about to pull the lid off when the doorbell rings and Sparky comes rushing to the door, yapping away. 

"I'll get it." You mumble and yank your hand from Wanda's grasp. The haze in your head instantly clears up the moment you’re no longer touching her. 

You open the door to two gentlemen in a dark suit. You remember Natasha’s warning yesterday, not really expecting them to show up this soon. 

"Wanda Maximoff?"

"No, I'm her wife, Y/N. Can I help you?"

The taller one with blonde hair makes the introduction with, "I'm Detective Rogers and this is Detective Barnes.”

You wipe your hands on your pajamas before shaking their hand and inviting them to come in.

“We're here to ask your wife a few questions about Victor Shade." Rogers says. 

You hesitantly glance back to Wanda who suddenly looks so stricken.

"They're here for you." you tell her. 

"Mrs. Maximoff, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Rogers walks over to her and introduces himself and Barnes to her. 

He gets on straightaway with the questions. “Where were you last Tuesday afternoon?"

"I was at work, attending a departmental meeting. Did something happen? Is something wrong?"

The two men look at each other. Then the shorter one, Barnes, says, "Your former student, Mr. Shade was involved in a serious accident."

Wanda gawks at their news. "I–I was told he dropped out of school for reasons that were not disclosed to me and the class. I had no idea. My god, that's... That's terrible." 

“Yes, we’re aware. His family wanted the whole thing in the wraps in case it turned out to be more than just an accident.” Rogers explains with 

“Why would they–” Wanda tries to ask but Barnes interrupts her abruptly.

"Were you close?" he asks. 

He watches your wife as you do–closely, and observing every crease in her features that would give her away. But after months of lying, it's evident how she’s become so good at it. 

“Uh, no,” Wanda shakes her head and smiles through her absolute lie. A strange feeling creeps at you at having to see your wife display such confidence in front of authorities. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can share apart from how he performed in my class.”

Rogers and Barnes exchange even-handed looks again. Barnes glances at you briefly, before nodding at his partner to continue.

“Here’s the thing, Ma’m,” Rogers takes out a small notebook from his pocket and flips through it. “We found your name and contact in Mr. Shade’s call history. There are dozens of back and forth calls between you and him. This is actually the reason why we wanted to get in touch with you, because you’re the only one aside from a classmate of his that he’s spoken to for the entire semester. We want to know if he ever confided in you or if you knew someone he might have had a disagreement or altercation with.” 

You can feel Barnes studying you again, but you refuse to meet his gaze, trying to keep your face as neutral as possible with just a tinge of curiosity. 

Wanda remains unfazed and says, “We do communicate over the phone. But again, it’s strictly about his studies.”

“What about his studies?”

“He was having a hard time with his final project. It can be any form of art–a sculpture, a painting or maybe even a video, and they need to emulate their deepest and darkest desires to it. H-He needed my input every now and then.” 

“Sounds quite a challenge,” Rogers mutters as he writes on his pad. “And have you seen his painting?”

“No. I highly discourage them from showing me their works in progress. Why?”

It’s Barnes who answers her this time. “There was no painting found in his apartment.”

“Oh, he must have kept it someplace else then.” Wanda says, more to herself. 

They don’t comment on that. 

“When did you see him last?” Rogers again.

“Monday of last week. He came in late to class. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

“May we ask why ‘it doesn’t matter’, Ma’m?”

“I no longer work at Westview Institute.”

“Really,” Rogers lifts an eyebrow, taken aback. “Since when?”

“This morning,” Wanda answers. “Personal reasons. You can talk to the dean for the details if you want.”

Rogers simply nods and scribbles on his pad some more.

“Have you ever been in his neighborhood? Ever been to his apartme–” He badgers on but you interrupt him. 

“I think that’s enough,” you say with authority. “I don’t see what other questions could be relevant to your investigation, but my wife’s told you everything she knows.” 

Barnes tries to protest but Rogers signals to him. 

“Very well. Thank you both for your time.” Rogers says as you usher him and Barnes to the door. 

“Wait!” Wanda yells, chest heaving. They both look over their shoulders, waiting. “Is he… is he okay?”

You catch the knowing smirk on Barnes, but it goes away as soon as Rogers warns him with a look. 

You weren’t expecting she’d ask about him despite their obvious suspicions on what kind of relationship they had. It hurts you in a way that you can’t even begin to describe.

“Last we’ve heard he’s stable. But I’m afraid he’s still in a coma. For all we know he might never wake up. But let’s hope for the best, shall we?” Rogers says, and then with a polite nod, leaves with Barnes in tow.

“I, uh, I forgot that I need to formally file a resignation letter.” Wanda says after you close the door behind them. She frantically grabs her purse, all the while avoiding your gaze. She’s not appropriately dressed to go outside, but you don’t point it out to her as you continue to act the part of the oblivious spouse.

***

Wanda returns home three hours later. A nostalgic smile finds its way to the corners of her mouth, when she spots the note you left for her on the fridge.

Went to the park with Sparky, it says. 

The post-it notes were a long-standing tradition. Sometimes you’d put one on her rearview mirror, something along the lines of “have a great day ahead, I love you” written, and Wanda would stick one on your lunchbox that said “don’t skip on the vegetables”. 

And while she blames herself for your recent aloofness, she was hoping to remediate it on your anniversary. She already booked plane tickets to Hawaii and made reservations at a 5-star hotel. Your boss and probably the entire staff of your branch already knows about it, when she filed a week of vacation leave on your behalf. And then she put all the documentation and details of the trip in the box she gave you this morning. 

She planned for everything, except the part where two cops showed up at her house to talk about Vision. Admittedly, he was another thing that was never a part of her plans. Wanda used to deride people who make mistakes, and when asked to explain, could only say ‘it just happened’. She’s heard it too many times in the past, mostly from her ex-boyfriends. 

It just happened. There’s no better way to put it should you ever find out what she did. She wasn’t lonely or unsatisfied or neglected. The only struggle she could think of about her marriage is thinking about what to have for dinner, because you neither complain nor you ever know what you’re in the mood for. 

In actual sense, her life was perfect. Because of you. Because you work for her happiness. The guilt eats at her everyday. But she knows what she’ll lose if she comes clean. And she can’t afford that. She’d rather confront her demons than risk losing you. She tells herself she can’t put you through this kind of pain.

Wanda pulls herself out of her thoughts. She needs to focus on you. She truly hopes Vision would make it, so he can go on to live his life and she’ll live hers with you. 

Wanda pads through the bathroom to run herself a bath. While waiting for the tub to fill, she pensively walks around the bedroom, noting how the room still smells of you. That’s when she  finds her gift on your work desk, next to your laptop. It’s still wrapped in a bow. Wanda frowns, wondering why you didn’t bother to open it. 

All of a sudden, your laptop makes a sound. Acting on impulse, Wanda unlocks your computer with your password–her birthday–and then opens your email account. 

There’s a new email from Natasha. The subject reads ‘in case you need them’.

An odd, overwhelming feeling consumes her, and without thinking, clicks on the email. 

Wanda waits for the message to load with its attachments and then–

She freezes and her stomach drops. 

***

About four pairs of couples attend your small dinner party that you have planned several weeks ago. Your boss, Scott Lang came with his wife and daughter all the way from New York just so he can, in his own words, ‘taste your wife’s famous Paprikash’. Wanda reminded you that you were hosting, and you had spent the rest of the day shopping for ingredients and red wine. She asked if you should cancel, but you figured an evening with seemingly elementary lives would do some good for the both of you. 

And you’re right. It’s not a nuisance as you thought it’d be when you were roped into it. In view of the recent episodes that no doubt defined the lowest point of your life, it feels nice to experience a little normalcy in your home. Your introverted nature makes you a disastrous host to these events, but Wanda is the opposite–she’s a natural at hospitality. She’d go around and entertain people, exchange gossip, and make them take shots. She’d dance in the middle of the room, with that devil-may-care attitude of hers, attracting people to her like moths to flame. But at the end of the night, she’d go home to you and sleep in your arms, because she’s yours. As you and Wanda grew older, you became a more exclusive sort of couple. But on rare occasions like this one, Wanda would put on the old party hat while you’d watch her be the best part of it.

The only problem right now is that Wanda went away. Physically, she’s in the receiving room with everyone, nodding and smiling at whatever warrants a nod and a smile, but you can tell that her mind is off somewhere faraway. 

“So, Y/N, what’s the first thing you wanna do in Maui aside from stuffing yourself with Poke bowls?” Scott asks. 

“I’m sorry?” You tilt your head at him.

“You know, the…” he starts doing what looks like a hula dance, but you shake her head, still not getting any of it. 

“Wait, what? Wanda hasn’t–” Scott looks at Wanda, in panic. “Oh, god, I didn’t mean to spoil it.”

Wanda’s been keeping to herself the entire night. And she’s been drinking a lot, the contents of her glass never quite reaching the bottom before it gets another refill.

“It’s fine, Scott.” Wanda says.

You look at Wanda expectantly, but she just studies her drink. Increasingly annoyed, Wanda downs the rest of her wine and then says, “I was planning to take us to Hawaii on our anniversary.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s pretty awesome.” you say.

Wanda huffs out a mirthless laugh, before standing up and telling everyone she’s going to take a nap.

“Good idea, dear. You’re looking puffy around the eyes.” Emma, another co-worker of yours that Wanda never really warmed up to, quips at her.

Wanda clenches her jaw tightly, but chooses not to engage.

You excuse yourself from the group and follow her out of the room. Wanda feels your presence behind her and spins to look at you for the first time tonight.

“I’m okay. Just go back to your friends.”

“They’re not my friends and you don’t look well.” you say.

“I just need a few minutes to myself,” Wanda offers you a smile, but it’s wobbly. “Please.”

You can’t deny her anything and you can’t stop caring about her. She heads to the stairs before you can utter another word. 

***

After Wanda sees the last of the pairs to the door, she finds you in the bedroom with all the lights off. She can only make out your silhouette–shoulders hunched and perfectly still, while you look out the window to watch the couple trade playful kisses before getting in their car and driving off into the distance. 

From your peripheral view, you watch Wanda approach you slowly, cautiously, like a hunter stalking its prey. It’s easy to guess that she already knows. She has her arms wrapped around herself as a defensive stance, probably afraid of what you might do to her. You nearly let out a laugh at the absurdity of it, because you don’t think you could ever hurt her the way she’s hurt you.

“What happened, Y/N?” she asks as she stops a few feet from where you’re standing. 

“What did you do? Did you cause his ‘accident’?” she carries on with the questions despite your refusal to even acknowledge her existence. 

“Y/N?” Her voice is frantic and presumptuously privileged. 

You don’t owe her anything. Especially answers. Anger burns in your chest like a candle–fragile but with the potential to burn an entire field. You imagined the many ways she’d beg you when you discover each other’s skeletons in the closet. You imagined she’d be on her knees, clinging at your ankles, insisting she loves you and that it will never, ever happen again. You imagined you’d kiss her for one last time, right before you’d tell her that you’re done. 

You hate yourself for allowing her to beat you to a confrontation. For coasting through this mess until Wanda takes the mantle of the interrogator herself. She gets to nag you with questions as if after weighing each other’s transgression, yours turned out to be worse than her cheating. 

“Did you hurt him? You did, didn’t you? Jesus, Y/N. Talk to me,” Wanda pleads, and then out of desperation she screams, “Tell me what you did!”

“No. You tell me what you did.” you whisper menacingly, finally letting go of the restraints you placed yourself in for her sake.

You abruptly turn on your heel in her direction, and then stalk towards her in quick, menacing strides. Wanda cowers, but doesn’t yield. She stands her ground like the courageous heroine of her own movie. 

“How you fucked him over and over and over! How you lied to me…” Your chin begins to tremble and your vision begins to blur. “...over and over and over.” 

“Y/N, please–” 

“Don’t. You don’t get to talk to me now.” 

Wanda bites the inside of her cheek, the weight of her sin materializing in the form of your bared teeth and the vein pulsing in your neck and temple. 

“You didn’t think I’d know? I wouldn’t feel it? I knew from the very first night. Because I know you, Wanda. Every thought. Every look. Every fiber of your being. I know you and I fucking hate you!” You hear yourself yell, as real as the wetness you feel running down your cheeks. 

“I didn’t want to hurt him, I wanted to hurt you!” 

“Oh my god,” Wanda sobs out in anguish, cupping a hand around her mouth. “Y/N…”

There was a time, from long before you were married to her, when loving her broke your heart more than it made it whole. You didn’t think it’d happen again, but even if it did, you thought you’d find a way. You’d always find a way for Wanda.

You were happy together, weren’t you? Before this happened, she never gave any indication that she wasn’t. She made plans with you. Five-year, ten-year plans that meant she wanted to continue being with you. In return, you gave it everything you have and more. You turned the dreams into blueprints, and from blueprints into milestones. 

The arbitrary nature of her infidelity is what shocked you the most. It meant you couldn’t have done anything to prevent this. It wasn’t up to you. Love is a gamble and you’ve lost.

You’re both on the floor now. You, leaning against the side of the bed, and Wanda, hugging her knees to her chest as sobs continue to rack her body. 

When both of you can breathe again, it’s Wanda who breaks the silence. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

As much as you need to hear it, an apology now is just a drop in the ocean. Wanda can’t unfuck Vision. You can’t un-crack his skull. 

A thought suddenly occurs in your muddled brain.

“Was there anyone else aside from him?” you ask.

“No.”

“He must be really special then.”

She shakes her head furiously, denying it.

Against your better judgment, you ask the one thing that’s been plaguing you since you learned of her lover’s name. “Do you love him?”

“No,” Wanda mumbles without a second thought. “I thought I did, but no.” 

She didn’t love him. But it still kills you to know that it definitely crossed her mind that she might’ve felt something for someone else.

“Did you…” You stare intently at the ceiling, willing gravity to pull back the tears threatening to fall from your eyes. “...ever love me?”

“I love you,” Wanda says, her voice low and trembling, though she dares to look you in the eye. “I know how fucked up that sounds to you right now. But I do, I love you, Y/N.”

“You know,” You wince at the way your voice falters. You’re so tired and dehydrated, and your head is starting to hurt. Your lips quirk up in a bitter half-smile. “You have such a lovely way of showing it.” 

Wanda lets her legs slide straight in front of her as she openly weeps into her hands. Under different circumstances you’d be out the door right this second, getting all her favorite snacks and a bouquet of flowers. You have loved her for so long. 

“You should’ve just killed me. I don’t see any difference. At least there’s no pain in being dead.” you say after some time.

“Baby, don’t say that.” Wanda hiccups, struggling to control the spasms in her chest. 

“You don’t get to call me that anymore. Even hearing you say my name makes me sick.”

Wanda looks away, like she’s been slapped.

“You can stay,” you say, and Wanda looks up at you with hope. “In this house. For as long as you want. But I’m leaving.”

“No. Don’t leave.”

But you’re already pulling your wedding ring off your finger even as she rushes to kiss you roughly. Wanda pours everything in this one kiss. She has played all the cards she’s dealt with, and this is her final, desperate move. 

As for you, you take it for what it is: a goodbye. It’s messy and salty, and everything anyone could ever hope for in a last kiss. When it’s over, Wanda ducks her head under your chin. She finds purchase in the area just above your heart, trying to commit to memory the rhythm of your heartbeat. 

You don’t have it in you to push her away, but you take the hand of hers that’s still cupping your face, and put the cold metal that once symbolized your commitment to her, in her fevered palm. And then very gently, you force her fingers to close around it. Albeit the numbness in your legs, you manage to push yourself up into a standing position and out of Wanda’s grasp. 

“This isn’t over. It can’t be over.” you hear Wanda speak, but you’re not sure if it’s to you or to herself. 

Out in the hallway, you examine the finger where your wedding ring had been. It’s going to take some time before its mark on your skin completely fades away.

***

A Week Later

“He’s awake.” 

Natasha sits across from you in the diner. She’s back in town to pick you up and drive you back to her condo in Manhattan, where you will be staying for a while until you find your own place. 

You swallow and take a breath, poking at your scrambled eggs. 

She’s wary of you–this zombie-esque version of you. And it’s not only apparent in your behavior, the gauntness of your cheek is more noticeable, and your clavicle more protruded. You look like you’ve aged ten years overnight in as little as two weeks. 

“He doesn’t remember anything.” she adds and this gets your attention.

“How convenient.” you say.

“Look, Y/N. You don’t need to act tough around me. Because I can see right through every mask you have on. You want me to prove it? Let me prove it.”

“Nat, just–”

“You’re more relieved to know that he’s woken up, than him not remembering anything. You’re compassionate to a fault. There can’t be a purer soul than yours.”

Your best friend’s impassioned speech puts a small but genuine smile on your face. Natasha does a little victory dance with imaginary pompoms, and the laughter comes easily to you. 

“I know I have no right to say this, nor do I really understand what you’re feeling right now. But, Y/N, someone will come along and take every broken piece of you back together. They will love you so hard, you’re gonna have to actually beg them to ease off.”

You humor her. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

In all honesty, it’s hard to think about the far-off future without the stinging reminder that Wanda is not in it. But as you sit idly in diner for a very late brunch–and might as well call it lunch–you realize that you’re not left entirely empty-handed. You have Natasha. You have the rest of your friends back in New York, although you haven’t talked to them much lately. You have your career that is getting a fresh start at a new company. Wanda has gotten custody of Sparky. As much as you love him, you have a feeling that she needs him more than you do. 

The point is, you’ve already seen the bottom of the sea, and it’s time to break the surface.

“As much as I hate your wife…soon-to-be ex-wife… or whatever,” Natasha shoots daggers at someone behind you. “She’s here to talk to you.” 

“Did she put you up to this?” you ask, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“She called me to collect a favor, and this is the best bargain we managed. She’s not going to contact me anymore after this.” Natasha says, and then she gets up from her seat and takes her plate of bacon and eggs to enjoy at another table. 

You hear tentative footsteps approach the booth and brace yourself to face Wanda. 

Much to your chagrin, she looks as immaculate as ever in her parka over a simple white v-neck and high-waisted jeans, her glossy red hair cascading in perfect waves past her chest. 

“Hey,” she says and slides into the booth with you.

You take a huge bite of your Reuben sandwich. “Hi, Wanda.” 

“Sorry for cornering you like this. You rarely return my calls and it’s been almost impossible to match our schedules.”

You concentrate on chewing your food, trying to appear perfectly disinterested in what she’s saying. 

“Natasha told me you’re already talking to divorce lawyers,” Wanda pauses to catch your eye, and you see no traces of sharpness in them. Her green eyes are bright with determination. “If you’re decided that it’s what you really want, then I’ll give it to you. I’ll cooperate.”

You look at her from beneath your dark lashes. “Okay.” 

Wanda swallows nervously and interlocks her fingers on top of the table. You can’t explain it, but your eyes automatically search for the wedding band in her left hand.

It’s still there. 

“I, uh, got something for you.” she says. 

“No, thanks.” you say.

“But it’s yours.” she argues softly, digging for something in her jacket. You watch her pull out a ring box and place it in front of you.

“What’s this?”

“Your wedding ring.” She says matter-of-factly. 

“I don’t want–” 

“I don’t care. I’m giving it back to you, and I’m keeping mine. You can do whatever you like with it. But I can’t keep it for you.”

You consider it momentarily, what she’s asking of you. In hindsight, it makes sense that she wouldn’t want to hold onto the residual love you have for her that the ring represents. 

“Fine.” You reach for the small box and Wanda heaves a sigh. 

“So, you have your ring back, and I’ll sign the divorce papers when they’re ready.” Wanda recites mechanically, her voice thinning towards the end of her sentence, as if she’s not at all prepared for what she needs to say to you next. 

“Then, I’ll come for you.”

You almost spit out your coffee. Some of it actually dribbles past your lips and you quickly grab a napkin to wipe your mouth. She tenderly smiles at your little accident, finding your clumsiness endearing. 

You gape at her, unable to think of a response.

“I didn’t want to believe you when you told me that night that you hated me. But I guess that’s better than indifference.” Wanda’s smile turns into a sad amusement at herself. 

“I don’t hate you, Wanda,” It’s the truth. Even though anger is the only emotion you can process most days, you’ve only ever hated the way she makes you feel. 

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” she laments. “Thank you.”

You can tell she has more to say and you wait. 

“I’m not going to give up on you, Y/N. On us. What we have, and I’ve thought a lot about it, is something I’ll never find in another.” Wanda says, giving you a long, level look. 

“I’m not telling you this to get a reaction out of you. I know you’re not exactly thrilled at the idea of me pursuing you, but,” she falters, the first sign of her vulnerability. “This time, I want you to know everything. I don’t want you to be blindsided by my intentions, so I’m giving you a heads-up.” 

“Wands,” The nickname rolls off your tongue before you can stop it. “You can’t torture yourself like this.” 

“I’m not,” she assures you. “I just refuse to give up on my dream.” 

You’re my dream, Wanda had written in her vows. You remember it, clear as day.

Wanda gets up to leave. “I’ll see you soon.” 

As soon as Wanda exits to her car, Natasha returns to the booth with a strawberry milkshake in hand. 

“Is it over?” she asks offhandedly, referring to your conversation with Wanda.

You hesitate, then look at her with an unreadable expression on your face. You give her the only answer that feels right to you:

“For now.”

[belit0]

Madara and Indra tag-teaming the reader? Indra gets called back from the afterlife and takes offense that Madara is almost as good as he is. I love your writing! I binge read it all this afternoon! I'm so happy you write Indra, he's perfect!

Thank you very much for your words! Indra is absolutely my favorite, there is no one who can get to me like him!

I love that you like my work, and feel free to send as many requests as you want! Welcome to this beautiful corner of Uchiha perdition!

This was actually hard to picture, but bc I can't imagine both of them together lol.

I don't think both their egos would fit in the same room🤣.

Anyhow, sorry for taking so long to reply, but here we go!

Why would anyone call him from death, from eternal rest, to bring him to a present where his name is only a legend? Indra does not know, but such is the scene he encounters when opening his eyes for the first time in millions of years.

In his original body, but in his 24-year-old guise, the Otsutsuki awakens in the midst of a ritual. There is blood on his feet, a strange pattern drawn in peculiar intersections that don't seem to make sense, and four men he doesn't recognize looking at him expectantly.

His world spins as he tries to acknowledge the space, and understand he has been summoned to the world of the living again. "Very good... you did it, Tobirama. Now put him back where he came from." A man with long, black, prominent hair speaks with his arms crossed, looking at him with eyes he identifies as his own.

"Of course not. I just brought the most important piece of history we could get, adding I don't know how to release him either." Another jabbers angrily, with strange white hair and red marks on his skin.

"You brought my fucking grandfather and you have no fucking idea how to let him die again?!" A third man shouts in despair, very similar to the first guy, but smaller.

"He's not our grandfather, Izuna. He's our ancestor."

"We should bring our grandfather too, Tobi! It can be a great family reunion and-"

"Why would anyone rouse me from everlasting slumber without apparent reason... I'll get an immediate explanation right away, or else things will get bad." The Otsutsuki decides to interrupt the interaction impatiently, holding his head between both hands and trying to focus his gaze without his eyes hurting. He has no balance to get up from the ground, sitting up and trying to regain control of his body.

...

4 months have passed since Indra was forcibly brought back to life, and all he wants is to die again. People became progressively more stupid, having as idyllic proof this supposed descendant of his who goes by the name of Izuna. The young man keeps pestering him with uncomfortable questions about a life that no longer is, and the Otsutsuki does not know how to get rid of him.

The man who dared to bring him back, Tobirama, still can't find a way to reverse his jutsu, and works tirelessly every day to give him eternal rest again. Meanwhile, Indra decided to confine himself inside the current leader's house, and learn a bit of the current world through him.

Madara Uchiha, his supposed reincarnation, recounts an era of peace where his clan and his brother's became friends. The sole purpose of creating the Uchiha was an endless war against Ashura's family, and apparently, they had figured it out.

Outraged and dismayed, Indra constantly compares his power to that of the current leader and understands they opted for peace because power levels decreased over time. The only thing he and Madara have in common is the darkness of their thoughts, the shape of their hair, and their taste in women.

The Uchiha has a wife alarmingly similar to his own, both in attitude and appearance, and he ponders whether reincarnations are possible. (Y/N), he learns her name is, is both charming and submissive, perfect to his preference.

When the leader disappears for the day to attend to his work, Indra has convenient access to the woman and enjoys her quiet company. There is nothing like an obedient, non-fighting wife, and after seeing today's world, the Otsutsuki understands there isn't much of that anymore.

(Y/N) treats him like a king, attends to his every need, and genuinely respects him. Nothing gets his dick harder than a woman who knows her place.

Madara seems to notice his attraction to her, and after consulting with his wife, they decide to give him a gift of satisfaction before dying again. A night of passion, discreetly catalyzed and planned to perfection.

...

Indra walks through the corridors of the Uchiha house, trying to find a quiet place to meditate. His mind is a mess, he is tired, and all he wants is perpetual repose again. Overwhelmed by his situation, he wanders aimlessly, seeking release somehow.

He decides to try the first room he finds, and as he slides open the door, he comes across an image both provocative and scandalous. (Y/N) shamelessly touching herself while sucking Madara's cock. The Uchiha smirks, grabbing her roughly by the hair and pressing her against his pelvis, forcing her to swallow him completely as she masturbates.

Kneeling with her ass in the air, he has a perfect view of her wet pussy, and how her fingers slide in and out with need. "She looks like she needs help, doesn't she, Indra-Sama?" Madara asks sardonically, leading her to follow an overwhelming pace with her mouth.

"What is this... what are you implying-"

"A little parting gift. Tobirama figured out the formula, and you'll be going home tonight. One last indulgence is impossible to deny, isn't it?"

The Otsutsuki genuinely considers it, relieved for the torture to end and feeling a bulge growing between his pants. There's no denying the sight is beautiful, and that (Y/N) looks both inviting and predisposed to be fucked by whomever she's commanded.

He's never had a threesome, but as long as the Uchiha leader won't touch him, he'll have no problem abusing that beautiful cunt and claiming it as his own.

In a burst of arousal, he walks over to the bed, and with no words to say, makes quick work of his clothes. If the woman is anything like his wife used to be, she will accept being violently and angrily fucked, used as Indra sees fit and without complaining about it.

Positioning himself behind her, he penetrates her with a dry thrust, burying himself deep inside her and listening to her moan being muffled by the other man's cock. "Shit, (Y/N), no teeth, or there will be consequences."

A dark satisfaction runs through his mind at the thought of getting to punish her, to destroy her as he wishes, and his thrusts become brutal to the point of trying to make her lose control of her mouth. The woman cannot continue to move her head, and Madara grabs her by the hair to direct her to the pace he thinks necessary.

Both of them use her holes as they wish, taking her with abandon and making her scream all the way through. Indra will soon return home, and plans to take a good fucking before then.

[deepwatercomic]

Updates from the Desk of actual Sorrows

first off, I'd like to thank everyone who responded to my polls. It really did help and I did get some great suggestions from other users. It really feels strange to feel like I have to apologize for being MIA on a blog and website I don't think anyone (besides my husband) reads. Honestly life gets in the way sometimes. And we can't all be on the all the time. We're human, we need rest.

My paternal Grandmother died. She was a wonderful, faithful woman who loved her family fiercely and was a faithful Catholic who died peacefully in her sleep on the feast of Mary's Solemnity- which I think she would have found incredibly fitting. It was a long haul with heart failure and just, well, old age. But I will always remember the blue house dresses she wore, the way her massive cross, scapular and medals would click together when I would hug her, the way the Jasmine and lemon trees in her backyard would smell. She would try to tell jokes, but would start giggling before she could even get through the first sentence, and no one could understand what she was trying to say- but her laughter was so infectious that we couldn't help but laugh along. I do hope that with the march of time I don't forget her French-Canadian accent when she would end every phone call or general conversation with "I'll pray for you." And she meant it. I like think Grandma had a direct phone line to the holy trinity, and was frequently discussing matters with Mother Mary. But she did miss my Grandpa very, very, much. And its my sincere hope is that he was there to hold her hand and lead her into the afterlife.

I sincerely want to thank my Aunts, Uncle and cousins for taking such good care of her so she could spend her last days at home with loved ones. You couldn't ask for better or more adoring care.

To make matters more complicated my dear cat, Loki, has a malignant tumor on his face. It was written off as a sinus issue during his yearly wellness exam, and developed into a horrible abscesses (yes multiple) only a few months later. Thanks to a different vet and a lot of pain meds we have a few more weeks with him. He perked right up as soon as we put him on a schedule of gabapentin! Its like having him back to his (mostly) old self for a little while- Its just a matter of when, not if. Which SUCKS, it absolutely fucking SUCKS to have to make the decision of euthanasia. He was supposed to die in his sleep at twenty after gorging himself on all the tuna and goat cheese his tiny heart desired. But, my little trickster familiar will be at home with us when he goes and that is really, the best outcome in a situation like this.

So its right now after major surgery, with family death, pet sickness that I'm still going to school to complete my Bachelors. (I swear, if I don't do things on hard mode- apparently they're just not worth doing AT ALL.) I mean, obviously Deep Water has been pushed to the back burner- and its frankly, this uncomfortable place for it to be (for me at least). Its a story I had hoped would be done about a year ago. I have other projects that I want to move on to. I would just hate to push through it right now and then look back and hate the end result, realize I could do better. Because it is my story, and it is worth telling. This isn't a group project that has deadline or grade. So I'm going to take a few weeks off here, make sure I'm caught up on my school work and try to aim at posting near the end of May.

I hope to see you then. Until then, have a picture of my Familiar happily sleeping while we were watching Golden Girls in better times. And tell a joke that you can't finish because you're laughing to hard in honor of my grandmother.

[raccoonspooky]

They’ll Pay you a Thousand for a Kiss & .50 For Your Soul

Bo Sinclair x Reader (About 17k words, Oneshot. Rated!! E!!! This dude is his own warning but PLS read the tags on ao3!)

This is a nasty fuckfest featuring knifeplay, daddy kink, choking, spanking, nothing is safe or sane! & the list goes on and on! Heavy emphasis on the polaroid women and themes of idolization and depersonalization.

Summary/first few paragraphs under the cut!

Ao3 Summary:

Against red lips, he probably didn’t notice the blood. If you told him what he did, it wasn’t as if he was going to apologize. You licked your blood away without any sense of defeat. It felt more like acceptance. You felt as if you’d gone through the stages of grief, mourning your own death and now you were in your afterlife, reborn and unsure who you were supposed to be.

You figured that Marilyn never quite stopped being an actress. The world ate her up and she was probably just as rotted as you were inside by the time she died. Barbie was just about every single type of girl and she seemed happy.

Was Bo your Hefner or your Kennedy? You were pretty sure he was not your Ken.

First Few Paragraphs:

For the first time, you noticed that the camcorder in your basement prison was duct-taped to the wooden dowels your captor used as a tripod. It wasn’t perfectly even, one leg of the tripod was longer than the others. You wondered if he’d purposefully done that so that the camera looked down at you. You looked behind yourself, at the polaroids on the wall and you looked at the bloodied face of some stranger. Had she seen Bo’s piss-poor filming set up too? It was funny right? What kind of hick bullshit was a tripod made of wood and duct tape? Anyone who saw this must’ve thought it was in some way funny… right? Surely you weren't the only girl with a sense of humor here. Hell, you had about thirty new friends whose pictures were tacked up on the wall. Someone had to think his shitty tripod was funny.

Sighing, you looked at the polaroid closest to your head. You couldn’t tell if she was dead or alive in the photo. Had she met her end right here where you were sitting? Where you’d been sleeping for weeks on end? Was she mad at you for being here?

You tried to analyze the brick behind her head so you could figure out where exactly her polaroid had been taken, but looking at the photo made your head swim. The more you looked at her face, the more her features began to morph into yours. Soon, you were looking at your own eyes and familiar panic began to peck at your corpse like a hungry vulture. The fear came with a bruising impact while the bird’s beak tore flesh from your bones.

You weren’t even sure what hurt anymore. With shaky hands, you touched your face and you were surprised to feel your clammy flesh, you almost expected to feel the dry remains of yellowed skin that stretched thinly over your skull. You were already dead, weren’t you? You were there on the wall. Every picture up there was another photo of you. You’d died over and over and over again and some cruel bastard kept forcing you back up, he couldn’t just let you rest. He kept feeding you, washing you, stealing kisses from your lips when all you wanted to do was cry. You weren’t sure when it happened, but the only time you felt truly alive was when he was buried inside of you. He was so warm, so much bigger than you. His hands on your body were welcomed because he awakened your decaying corpse, slowing the rot he inflicted. Each brush of forced affection helped you reunite with your still-beating heart.

You were alive because of him. He told you that enough. He let you live because you were a good girl. You were so grateful. You owed him your life, he was good to you. He hadn’t hurt you like the other ungrateful sluts on the wall. You were better than them.

Why couldn’t you be grateful in the way that he needed?

You hated being left alone. It was constantly dim in the basement. Nighttime was never truly dark, he left the lights on for you as a favor, as a gift but you wished he’d leave you in the dark.

Keep reading!

[versadies]

Hey!!! How are you?

Congratulations on your 1k followers

Can I request aries + Kazuha + hc scenario + fluffy...?

Today is the last day of the event, I just saw it today, at least it wasn't after the event ended ;w;

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I'm thinking about having a nickname to join the anon squad... Maybe 🇧🇷 anon? Your content came to a Brazilian person! Congratulations on your content reaching someone on the other side of the world :)

in the next life (hc scenario, reincarnation au)

penpal: hi hi, i’m doing great ty 🇧🇷 anon!! i’m so happy to know that my content has reached to the other side of the world 🥺🥺 i hope you like this <<3

prompt: aries the ram, red-string soulmate au

pairing/s: kaedehara kazuha x gn!reader

sypnosis: sometimes, happy endings can only happen in another lifetime. (or, hc on how you and kazuha met during the modern era of teyvat)

includes: slight spoilers to inazuma quests (2.0), fluff/slight angsty, reincarnation au, mentions of death, modern au, rushed ending

soulmates has always been one of the things that made teyvat special.

people had all collectively agreed that meeting their soulmate is one of the most treasuring moment, no matter how strange or hilarious the first encounter is like, no one should ever forget the once-in-a-lifetime moment.

with that said, most stories are usually soulmates– specifically how one meets their fated other. historical moments are no exception to this, such as an archon's first ever encounter with their soulmate during an annual rite, a forbidden love between an immortal being and a human, a sweet story of a soldier and a healer during a certain war, and the list goes on.

but where are stories that contains soulmates who had never met one another? or had a tragic fate that gave them no opportunity to get along with their soulmate anymore?

none.

some would say they'll meet in the afterlife, where they can live on in peace as the world goes on. while some would beg to differ and think that the two soulmates are just bound to not meet.

only little would suggest reincarnation.

and you and your beloved soulmate are one of those little people.

but you honestly didn't think that you and kazuha would be the soulmates with a tragic fate.

the both of you had met thanks to the resistance. when beidou decided to introduce kazuha to kokomi, he met you along the way– the right-hand-person of kokomi and his soulmate.

the both of you had instantly clicked when you met, the wide smile the both of you had appeared when you notice each other's red string being connected.

since then, you were inseparable.

on days when your assigned unit didn't need your assistance at the moment, you usually use those times to hung out with the samurai, often talking about each other's adventures and experiences with the best you can.

it was those days when you incredibly cherished the moments, making sure to remember every second of those moments you had with him before going on battles against kujou sara and her soldiers.

unfortunately for the both of you, the memories that you oh-so cherished would be the last one you'll ever make.

"see you in the next life... kaedehara kazuha," you whispered, staring at the samurai as the both of you lie down on the cold ground with soldiers fighting around the both of you, blood gushing out from your mouth. "whether it'd be in the next life or another, may celestia let us have another chance."

you watched as kazuha smiled lightly, his hand shakily trying to reach out to yours until he intertwines it together. "till we meet again, y/n."

as the war between the resistance and the raiden shogun continued, you and kazuha let out your one last breath before passing away.

much to you and kazuha's hopes, the war against the vision hunt decree won victoriously, with the raiden shogun lifting up the decree and brought inazuma back to its usual peaceful life before the decree.

of course, the resistance alongside the traveler paid respects to you and kazuha's passing, telling you that you and kazuha can rest now that they won.

as centuries flew by, teyvat had a major change among the nations. in this particular century, archons and visions had long been forgotten, with technology around the world being more advanced than before. as for soulmates? they still exist fortunately.

then there's you, a person who found joy in traveling around the world and tell the world about it. at least, that's what people think.

to you, you simply wanted to travel around teyvat to find a person named kaedehara kazuha.

recently, you started getting dreams of a man who goes by kaedehara kazuha. some were usually romantic that it gave you butterflies, some were conversations that you sometimes would forget, and of course, the dreams that often haunt you.

most dreams of yours were always lying down beside the man– who was bleeding to death. was this a sign of him dying? what is the purpose of these dreams?

you didn't know why this was happening to you. are you slowly going insane? or were you just overreacting?

whatever it was, you knew that deep down that it has something to do with your soulmate.

you went high and low around each nation you visited, often asking certain people if they've know a man named kaedehara kazuha, only to receive no useful information that could help you.

of course, your only source that could help you find him is the red string that connects you and your soulmate, following the direction it led you with hopes of it twitching as a sign that you're near.

unfortunately, none of the nations you've visited had no signs of who you're looking for.

your last stop is inazuma, a nation that's infamous for having beautiful firework shows and tourist spots. there's not a single place that isn't worth taking pictures of.

the moment you arrived to the nation using a boat,l you came across to a woman whose name is beidou.

"i don't know a man whose name has a kaedehara, but i have a son who coincidentally has the same name as kazuha!" she exclaims with a grin. "i don't think he's the one you're looking for though, i've never seen him hung out with someone like you or anyone else who isn't gorou."

you smile lightly at the woman, trying to not look disappointed. "i see.. thank you again, miss beidou."

she quickly waved you off. "good luck in finding the man you're looking for!"

the moment you immediately checked in ritou, you started exploring around the nation with no plans of stopping, hoping to see at least one person who looks like the man in your dreams or has their red string connected to your finger.

unfortunately, every area you've visited in the land, you still haven't found the end of the string, your hopes slowly dying down as time flew by.

you decided to explore more the next day, deciding to go back to inazuma city and have dinner in one of their infamous restaurants.

as you sat down on one of the stools while waiting for kanbei to cook your meals, you let out a disappointed sigh. if you couldn't find your soulmate anywhere, where could he be?

what if kaedehara kazuha doesn't exist at all? what if he died before you could even meet him and find out what's going on with your dreams?

you let out another sigh, rubbing the back of your neck in frustration. you hoped all of this wasn't a waste of your time. you honestly don't know what to do if you won't be able to find him at all, let alone what happens after you meet him.

unnoticed by you, your red string started twitching nonstop. a man suddenly enters the place, sitting down one seat away from where you are.

"rough day, kazuha?" kanbei asked, not bothering to look away from the pot as he continues to focus on cooking your meal.

"not exactly. i found a perfect spot to write haiku." the man, kazuha, replied.

as kazuha and kanbei continued conversing, you couldn't help but find yourself slowly drifting to sleep, now feeling the exhaustion from your exploration around the nation.

before you could completely pass out on the counter, you immediately woke up from the delicious smell of your meal, looking up to see the chef being finished with your meal already. perhaps the reviews weren't lying when they said this restaurant is fast with services.

you quietly thanked the chef when he placed the meal down in front of you, feeling your mouth watering at the sight of the delicious meal before digging up, still not noticing the red string twitching nonstop due to your focus on filling your hunger.

"thank you again, kanbei." kazuha speaks up as he grabs the packaged food from the chef's hands and hands over the payment.

"always happy to serve, kazuha. see ya tomorrow." kanbei said, watching as the man walks away from the restaurant.

out of curiosity, you glance at who you assume is beidou's son, only for your eyes to widen at the sight of the same man that you've been seeing in your dreams–

along with his red string connecting to yours.

without thinking, you immediately jumped down from your stool, staring at kazuha, who already walked out from the diner without a glance of your direction. "i'll be back and continue eating my meal. apologies for my rudeness!" you exclaim before running towards kazuha's direction without letting a single word come out from kanbei, who was confused at your words.

"kazuha!" you yelled, hoping kazuha would hear your voice despite the sounds of cars and people being loud around the both of you.

you tried to call for the man again, only for you to get frustrated when he still hadn't heard a word from you. was he wearing earphones?!

you immediately look down at your string and back at kazuha, hesitating for a moment before shaking the string aggresively. please, please, please look back! please look like you're him–

you sigh in relief when he finally noticed his string shaking, causing him to stop his trakcs and look behind him to see you running towards him like your life depends on it.

his eyes widens at the sight of you running towards him, your face was all too familiar for him to remember. it can't be, you only existed in his dreams!

the both of you suddenly remember certain memories the both of you didn't even knew you had. memories of which the both of you used to be in. memories of the both of you walking around the infamous serpent head as soldiers trained with all their might for the upcoming war, memories of the both of you watching the stars and wish for the resistance to win victoriously, memories of your past life that you and kazuha had forgotten.

that was enough for kazuha to run towards you as well, his arms suddenly spreading wide open for you to clashed into, dropping his food without a care.

the moment you and kazuha finally had gotten closer, you tackled the man into a hug as tears prickled in your eyes, ignoring the questionable stares the both of you received from people passing by.

"i found you." you whispered, closing your eyes shut as you let out a sound of relief. "after so.. so many months, i finally found you."

kazuha hugs you back, pulling you closer to his body as he sighs in relief. now that there's no more wars or something to run away from, the both of you can start anew and live the life the both of you had wanted back then.

"i missed you."

[michals]

Alright so this came outta nowhere but why not. Just a little something in that special niche genre I love: cheerful angst.

Five's technically younger than his siblings so it makes sense that he's going to die last, he doesn't like it but he accepts it. G, 1334 words, major character deaths:

-

It’s stupid, really goddamn stupid, Five thinks, that Luther’s 58 when he dies. He gets the joke, thanks universe, but he doesn’t think it’s funny that his twin is the age Five came back to him as when he dies. Five’s mind is 85 but his body’s only 40 and even though he knows he shouldn’t he still hates that he’s not the first one to go.

It’s the serum’s fault of course. Despite his powers, despite the strength and endurance, people can’t walk around as two different creatures, not forever. Stupider still Luther knows it’s happening.

“Ben’s probably been bored without us,” Luther says, sitting with one arm around Five’s shoulders, Five’s head tucked into his neck. Five feels so small, this time it doesn’t make him angry it just makes him sad.

“He’s waited this long,” Five says.

“It’s okay, we’ll keep each other company until the rest of you get there,” Luther’s voice is quiet, he sounds tired. “It’s okay.”

Klaus tells him after the funeral that Luther stuck around after to tell him to watch over Five and hopes he doesn’t see any of them any time soon.

“Me, look after you? Delusional right at the end wasn’t he?”

Five doesn’t want to smile at that but he does.

-

Diego’s 65 and he dies cause he’s an idiot. That’s what Allison tells him though her voice is choked, trying to speak through tears.

“Still kicked that guy’s ass,” Diego says with a weak grin. He never gave up that whole vigilante thing and no matter how many times they yelled and scolded and at one point actively locked him up, nothing ever stopped him.

“Could’ve picked something cooler than a gunshot wound,” Five says, holding his shoulder in his hospital bed.

“Yeah,” Diego sighs, “that part kind of sucks.” When he coughs Vanya squeezes his hand in hers.

“Fitting,” Klaus says with a smirk though his eyes are watery, “you’d go after Lu, like always.”

Diego chuckles, says, “I’ll tell him you guys say hi.”

At the funeral Five tells himself he only needs to do this three more times, as if that’s a good thing. He’s decided he’s not leaving any of them first. If he has to be the last anyway he’s holding on tooth and nail until he really is the last. He’s 93 in his head, he feels ancient.

“Convenient he was already wearing black,” Klaus says with a cigarette between his lips. This time Allison laughs until she cries.

-

“We’re just going right in order aren’t we?” Klaus mutters as he sniffs a rose. It’s one of thousands that’ve been sent to the mansion, now stacked ceiling to floor with gifts from Allison’s fans.

Heart attack, 82. So mundane and simple for someone like her. Five always figured she’d go out with fireworks but on the other hand it was peaceful and easy and honestly, not a bad way to go. He hopes his own happens like that.

“Vanya you have to take something home,” Claire urges her aunt, “I can’t take all this back to LA.”

Vanya plucks a single lily from a bouquet. “Hmm, I’ll take this,” she says teasingly. Claire rolls her eyes, hugs her for the 100th time.

“We’ll put this half,” Klaus says gesturing to one side of the room, “on Luther’s, and this half on Diego’s.” He twirls the rose, “and this I’ll put in Ben’s little copper hand.”

Five huffs and shakes his head at him though he can’t hide his smirk.

Before Claire goes back to LA a few days later she hugs Five for a long time. She’s not a young woman but Five will always see her as that little 5 year old Allison finally got to bring back to their family home to meet her aunt and all her uncles.

“Bet she and Diego are already arguing,” Klaus says later as they sit by the fireplace.

“Bet Ben’s already sick of all of them,” Five says.

-

Klaus is wrong, he’s not next. Vanya loses her voice to throat cancer a couple months before she goes but it doesn’t actually seem to bother her. It makes Five angry and sad, but she just grins and has whole conversations with him and Klaus by manipulating records and radios and TV’s.

Five’ll ask how she’s feeling and she’ll pull down the soundwaves of the TV playing upstairs, the weather report announcing: “Sunny without a cloud in the sky.”

She’d spent years looking for pictures of Sissy and Harlan, gotten a locket and put them in it. She'd been buried with it but Five puts some of the extra photos by her headstone just to show everyone they were hers too. Klaus lays the violin down with them.

“I broke it,” Klaus says, “Just a little. So it could follow her up there.”

Five is ready to be angry about that, it’s so ridiculous and stupid but then again…well, it is stupid, and sweet and he imagines Vanya entertaining the others with her music, all together again. He surprises himself when he laughs.

“You really did fry your brain didn’t you?”

“Like an egg,” Klaus says.

-

Five was only ever being rational when he figured Klaus would die first. He’d spent most of his life with any variety of poisons in his system, spent decades abusing his body. Five considered it reasonable to brace himself to lose Klaus first.

Except no, Klaus is the last, just he and Five left. Klaus is 93, then 94, and so on and still they both linger. Five’s body is 20 years younger than Klaus’s but his consciousness is 25 years older. His bones shouldn’t feel as old as his mind but they do.

But he’s not lonely. The mansion’s too big for them but neither are willing to give it up, they belong there they figure. When Klaus has to start using a wheelchair he makes Five push him around the house, pretending to give him tours and rattling off absolutely nonsense stories of the past. He still drinks wine and smokes and wears feather boas and Five wakes up every day then has to wait til Klaus rolls out of bed at noon.

As the years pass the others get further away and yet closer at the same time. Klaus tells him what he knows about the afterlife: that it’s there, that it’s bright, that there is color you just have to want it.

-

“No roses,” Klaus says, leaning back in his wheelchair, face to the sun. “Too cliché. Tulips maybe. Marigolds. All together, my grave should look like a parade float.”

“Dandelions,” Five says, leaning his chin on his cane.

“I like dandelions,” Klaus hums. Then: “Not that you’ll be around to put them there.”

Five’s face scrunches, “Of course I will.”

Klaus opens his eyes, turns to him. “No no, I die after you that’s how it goes.” He says it so nonchalant.

“What’re you talking about?” Five is genuinely thrown, “Of course I’ll die first.”

Klaus shakes his head, like Five is being obtuse. “That’s not the deal.”

“What deal?”

Klaus’s turn to be confused, looks him over with a furrowed brow. “Five, have you been waiting around for me?”

Five reels back as far as his body will let him. “Of course I have!”

Klaus shakes his head, smiles like he can’t believe it. “No Fivey, I worked it out with the big one upstairs,” he points heavenward with a boney finger, “I get to stick around for all of you as long as I don’t bother her before then.”

Five sits back against the bench, processing.

“Besides,” Klaus says with a shrug, “Luther told me to look after you.”

Oh, well, that’s that then. Five smiles.

-

Five is 85, Five is 130, and he dies peacefully in his sleep just like he wanted. Klaus sticks around to put him next to his twin, then he sits in the courtyard with Dave's dogtags in his hand, looks skyward, and says, “You all better have rolled out the red carpet for me.”

[helaintoloki]

Odds and Ends

pairing: Ben Hargreeves x reader, Five Hargreeves x reader

warnings: angst, some fluff, mentions of blood, death, unrequited love

notes: listen, the pairings sound odd but they make sense when you read it i promise

prompt: “There’s a time for us, it’s just not now.”

They say when you die your life flashes before your eyes; you witness the moment of your birth from an outsider’s perspective, you revisit your first steps and your first love, you remember the quiet nights of rainfall on the windows and the smell of freshly cut grass on early school morning’s. You can recall how it felt to get your heart broken for the first time and the warmth you felt wrapped in your mother’s embrace. It is quick and long all at once, like watching a movie, except everyone fails to mention what happens once the credits begin to roll. Where do you go? What do you see? What do you do?

You’d been the first to get struck by the Handler’s gunfire, a bullet flying straight through your chest and embedding itself in your heart. You died almost instantly, and despite the pure horror that struck Five at the sight of your gruesome death he could do nothing to save you as he too crumpled to the ground. It was a split second of pain, and then you were gone.

Just as you had been promised, flashes of the life you had lived pass you by with the same quick clicks of a slideshow presentation on a projector. You could see yourself nestled in your mother’s arms, the swaddle of blankets encompassing your figure shielding you from the outside world. You watched your younger self shyly display your powers to a stoic Reginald Hargreeves, seven heads curiously peeking through the crack of the door to get a look at the team’s newest edition while your mother watched on anxiously. You saw the way in which you napped upon Five’s shoulder, the rainfall pattering gently against the window as he read the pages of his favorite novel, and you relived the sadness that came over you at his disappearance. You witnessed the quiet nights of stargazing alongside Ben, experienced your first kiss again and your first time falling in love only for it to end in bloodshed and a snowy funeral with tearful apologies and guilt ridden thoughts. Everything you’d ever lived through plays out in front of you right until the final gunshot, and then everything around you goes dark. There is nothing.

You’re not sure how long you sit in the empty space where life ends and the afterlife begins, but soon enough you find yourself wandering through the doorway that suddenly presents itself to you. There are no clues as to where it might lead, but light bleeds through the cracks and beckons you to step forward before you can change your mind. You’re overwhelmed by the warmth that surrounds you the moment you step foot inside, and it takes you a moment to adjust before you can fully comprehend where you are.

The room you stand in is quiet, sunlight filtering through blinds and coating the cream colored walls in golden hues. Colorful houseplants line the shelves and photo frames fill in the empty spaces— moments from different points of time occupy the frames, stolen glances and hidden kisses and dreamy smiles. You gravitate towards the photo next to the succulent plant and gingerly pull it from the shelf: it’s a photo of you and Ben as children, and with a watery smile you bring the picture close to your chest and clutch it tightly against your heart.

“I thought you’d like it,” a voice says gently, your whole body stiffening in surprise at the sound. A single tear slides down your cheek before you can will yourself to turn around, and you nearly drop the frame at the sight before you. He’s different than you remember him, but he still has the same kind eyes and gentle smile that you missed ever so dearly. His eyes seem to sparkle at the sight of you, welling with tears as he opens his arms to you. “Hi, y/n.”

“Ben,” you whisper in a trembling voice, a choked sob escaping you as you fling yourself into his arms and hug him impossibly tight. You can feel the warmth that radiates from him almost as if he were alive, can sense the way his arms wrap themselves around your waist and squeeze you unbearably close to his chest, and you can savor the sensation of his plush lips pressing against your forehead in a tender kiss.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers, afraid that if he raises his voice any higher he’ll disrupt the peaceful quiet you find yourselves in. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

“I didn’t either,” you admit with a weak smile. Chills crawl down your spine as you’re reminded of your own death, but you push the thoughts away in order to make room for Ben. After all these years, you’ve finally been reunited with the love of your life, and if you’re being honest you aren’t quite sure how to act. It almost doesn’t feel real, and a small part of you is afraid of waking up and finding that it was nothing but a dream. Ben pulls your attention towards him with the careful guidance of his finger underneath your chin, his reassuring features calming your nerves.

“You’re not dreaming,” he promises you. “This is real, you’re home.”

“I’m home,” you reiterate with a tearful smile before carefully cupping his face in your hands. “I’m home.”

(Five’s body tremors in time with his breathless panting as he struggles to fight against the heaviness of his eyelids. His body is warm and cold all at once with the blood that slowly pools around his figure, and he uses some of the last remaining strength he has to turn his head and look upon your body. You lie lifeless and still, hair splayed around your head like a halo and crimson red seeping through your clothing, and a shuddering breath leaves him at the sight. His first love, his only love, the one that could have been had he not gone against his father’s wishes all those years ago, is dead, and it seemed he could do nothing to stop it. Soon he would join her along with the rest of his siblings in the quiet afterlife, and so would come the final end of the Umbrella Academy.)

“I’m so sorry about what happened to you, Ben. You were so young, you didn’t deserve it, and if I had just-”

“Hey,” he interrupts gently, “it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

“But being alone for this long...”

“I’ll admit, it wasn’t exactly a walk in the park,” Ben says with a faint chuckle, “but I’m okay now, we’re okay, and I don’t have to be alone anymore.”

“I missed you,” you profess vehemently. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says with a careful smile, one that slowly begins to dwindle with time.

“Ben?” You prod gently. “What is it?”

(All Five had ever wanted was to keep you safe, whether it be from a scraped knee after a bout of rough housing with Diego or the end of the world, it was his job. You’d fallen in love with his brother in the wake of his absence, something Five could never blame you for no matter how much it hurt, and it was through Vanya’s book that he got a glimpse of the life you had lived without him. Your secret romance with the Horror, your descent into loneliness and isolation after his passing, your work as a nurse under the guise of a fake name so that you could use your gift without anyone ever associating you with the life you had lived as a child. You didn’t want it, and he’s sure you didn’t want this— to die such a horrible death at such a young age when you still had your whole life ahead of you. Five had lived long enough to see what the world had to offer, if he were to die now he’d have all the boxes checked on his list, but you and his siblings still had so much to live for and so many things left to do.

“I just want you to be careful,” your voice echoed in his mind, young and naive and apprehensive about Five’s plan to travel without Reginald’s permission. “Be smart about this, smarter than you usually are, and make sure you come back home.”

“You’re the genius who said we should jump. Right?” Luther. “You’re the one who got us stuck here.”

“Start small.” The voice of his father. “Seconds, not decades.”

Wait a minute, that’s it! By god, that’s it!)

“You can’t stay.”

“W-What? I don’t understand, what do you mean I can’t say?” You sputter, taken back by Ben’s blunt declaration. You were dead, where else could you go, what else could you do besides spend the rest of eternity with the love of your life?

“You can’t stay,” Ben repeats solemnly. “You can’t die yet, it’s not your time.”

“But I am dead! A bullet literally went through my heart, I don’t think you can exactly come back from that,” you protest anxiously.

“I can’t explain it, but trust me when I say that it isn’t time for you yet,” Ben pleads, gently taking your trembling hands in his own and giving them a soft squeeze. “You still have so much to do in life, so many great things. You’re going to get married, you’re going to settle down in a nice little house with cute little kids running around the place, and you’re going to be happy. So happy. But you can’t do that here, so you have to go.”

“Ben, please,” you beg through a sob. “Please, I want to stay here with you. Don’t make me go back, don’t make me leave you, I can’t.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Ben shushes gently as he cups your face in his hands and brushes away your falling tears. “Hey, it’s okay. Y/n, I promise you we’ll see each other again, okay? I promise.”

“But I just got you back,” you croak, and Ben can only offer you a trembling smile in return.

“There’s a time for us,” he reassures you, “it’s just not now.”

Ceaseless tears fall down your cheeks as you collapse into his arms, your hands clutching tightly at the fabric of his sweater the same way in which a small child would clutch at their favorite blanket. Ben is warm and safe, he is home, and your heart aches at the thought of having to say goodbye a second time— you could hardly handle the first. You had been inconsolable, your sobs had been gut wrenching for the rest of team, and if not for Allison urging you to eat and take care of yourself you might not have ever recovered from your grief. The universe was unfair and unkind, taking the person you loved away from you not once but twice, and despite how strong you wanted to be for Ben you couldn’t help but feel defeated.

“Will you kiss me while there’s still time left?” You snivel, holding on tightly to Ben’s wrist as he reaches up to cup your face and caress your cheek with his thumb. He smiles, sweet and tender, and pulls you close.

“I’ve waited seventeen years to kiss you again,” Ben professes, and without a second to waste he pulls you in close and presses his lips against your own in a long awaited kiss.

(Time is reversing. Five can feel the blood slowly seeping back into his body, bullet wounds seem to heal themselves and the corpses of his loved ones are beginning to reanimate as everything becomes undone. The pain is nearly gone, and it’s with a newfound determination that Five wills himself back onto his feet and travels back seconds in time to prevent their deaths, to prevent your death.)

You can feel yourself slipping away from him, you’re losing your grip, and despite how desperately you try to cling to him your touch is beginning to fade. Ben can faintly feel your lips against his own and knows that it’s time, but he holds onto you for just a little longer until he can’t feel you in his arms anymore. He pulls away with a bittersweet smile and releases you from his hold, eyes gazing at you for the last time.

“You get a second chance,” he says. “Make the most of it, and don’t worry about me. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

(With a startled gasp Five finds himself back in time just moments before your deaths. Your eyes meet his his frenzied ones and you frown, gently reaching out to him.

“Five? Is everything okay?”

He doesn’t get the chance to answer before he’s disarming the Handler of her firearm, and it’s with that single act of defiance that your death is finally reversed.)

You don’t remember your death and you don’t remember your reunion with Ben. You’re none the wiser, and Five wants to keep it that way. With the Handler dead and the threat of the Swedes gone your life is no longer in danger, and he finally feels like he can breath again.

“You okay?” Your voice sounds gently, pulling the boy back to reality. He gazes upon your figure, wisps of stray hair straying from your braid and a questioning though kind smile on your face, and a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding leaves his lips at the sight of you. You don’t return his affections and you’ll never be together, but he can live with that so long as you’re safe and sound.

“Never been better,” he replies with a closed lip smile. You catch the boy off guard by pulling him into your side and giving his shoulder a tight squeeze, an act of affection only you can get away with, and after a moment has passed you release him with a small giggle.

“Come on,” you gesture as you begin to follow Vanya and the others, “we still have work to do.”

He walks beside you in a comfortable silence, and though he doesn’t know it there’s a faint voice that echoes distantly in your mind, one you can’t place but find soothing nonetheless.

“There’s a time for us.”

And there will be, but for now you’ll just have to wait and see.

[xxlittle0birdxx]

TFATWS: Perfect Shadows on a Sunshine Day

Sam didn't know if he believed in God anymore, much less an afterlife. He hadn't seen anything to the contrary when he was Blipped.

The first fingers of doubt crept into his mind when his mother died. Every time someone told him after her funeral that she was in the arms of the Lord, or she was needed in Heaven, he wanted to snap that Darlene Wilson was needed here. That she died because no one took her seriously and dismissed the heart attack that killed her. Some frat boy with a stethoscope insisted it was all in her head. When she collapsed, she was dead almost before she hit the floor. He'd been nineteen years old. Old enough to be a man, but young enough to sob like a lost child when he came home from LSU for the summer break at the faint whiff of his mother's perfume that lingered on the ratty afghan thrown over the back of the couch.

His father, at least, lived long enough to see him graduate from college. He'd been so proud. But the pain from pancreatic cancer had already begun to etch lines in Paul Wilson's face. The jaundice that yellowed his eyes. Losing weight from an already slender frame. The call from Sarah, saying the end was near. Sitting next to the hospital bed set up in the living room of the house, facing the the windows that looked out on the water. He promised his father he'd look after things somehow. While clutching at the cold, frail fingers that had taught him to mend nets and clean fish. He could still remember the moment his father's last breath passed his lips. Just at dawn when he would have taken the boat out. More platitudes at the funeral, which went in one ear and out the other, only this time they mouthed about his father's pain being gone. Being at rest in the arms of the Lord. But Sam had no patience for a greedy God who took the best people home and left the rest to mourn and live as best they could.

His hands convulsed, crinkling the paper around the spray of yellow gladiolus and white lilies Bucky picked out at the florist as the church appeared through a break in the trees. He hadn’t visited his parents’ grave since... before Sokovia. Becoming a fugitive hadn’t lent itself to visits home, and then the Snap. He kept meaning to after the Blip, but he’d always found some excuse to not make the relatively short drive to the church. He always told himself he didn’t need a grave to remember his parents, anyway. Gravel crunched under the tires as the truck turned from the paved road to the church parking lot. Bucky parked under a tree and turned to study Sam's impassive face. 'Want me to come with you?'

Sam swallowed hard, but didn't answer. His throat was too tight to allow words to travel through it. He climbed out of the truck and pushed the gate open, picking his way through the cemetery until he came to his parents' grave in the far corner. He knelt on the scraggly grass, under the shade of a live oak and undid the brown paper wrapped around the yellow and white blooms, then arranged them in the vase built into the headstone. He sat back, and rested his wrists on his bent knees, watching a droplet of water skid down the waxy petal of a lily. He didn't turn at the sound of footsteps behind him. It could only be Bucky. If Sam had wished it, Bucky would have prevented God Herself from entering the cemetery. Bucky folded himself to the ground down behind Sam and scooted forward until he cradled Sam in the vee of his thighs, sliding his arms around him. Sam let himself slump against Bucky and inhaled deeply. The ever-present, heady, musky mix of damp earth and decaying leaves that he could almost taste steadied him, throwing him back to his childhood. The afternoons repairing nets on the porch with his father while his mother worked her magic among the rows of their vegetable garden. It gave him the sensation of being with his parents that he experienced nowhere else. Not even on the boat. 'This is Bucky,' he murmured. Bucky nodded once at the headstone, lifting his hand in that three-fingered wave he did. 'He is a pain in my ass.' He felt Bucky's smile against the back of his neck. 'And my partner. Boyfriend.' He leaned against the warmth of Bucky's chest. 'I should have come out to you when you were alive to hear it. I've been thinking that if I'm gonna be Captain America, then I had to be honest with you. Even now.

'I am the man you raised me to be. You taught me to help out when I could. To do what was right. To make this world a better place. Regardless of the consequences, because it was the right thing to do. And I've been doing that for as long as I can remember. Who I love doesn’t change that. And if I’d told you when you were alive to hear it, it would only mean that you knew something else about me. And I would still be the person you raised to be a good man. And there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish I’d been completely honest with you.’ He gently disentangled himself from Bucky and rose to his feet. He stood, head bowed, hand resting on top of the headstone for a long moment, then walked back to the gate.

Bucky remained seated on the grass, waiting until Sam was well out of earshot, then pulled off his sunglasses. 'I know I'm probably not what you pictured for Sam. I'm not what most people would envision for their kid. Used to be, but that was a long time ago. Another lifetime.' He fiddled with the sunglasses for a moment, gathering the next words he wanted to say. 'But I love him. And for reasons I can't explain, he loves me.' He got to his feet, and pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. ‘You would be proud of him,’ he said quietly. ‘I know I am.’ .

Read on AO3

[bailey-reaper]

The Lord of the Manor (4)

Summary: Barok refuses to let anything get in his way this time: today he will go to visit his brother and pay his respects...

Content Warnings: suicide references (specifically suicidal thoughts), angst + me taking artistic liberties re: the van Zieks family

Other parts:  (1)  |  (2)  |  (3)  |

At some point he'd fallen asleep in Klint's room, though he couldn't remember the precise moment. He was propped up against the footboard with his legs tucked up close to his stomach. The first thing he noticed when he moved was a stiffness in his shoulders and neck. Hardly the most sensible way of sleeping...

Suddenly a loud rumble of thunder echoed overhead, causing the windows of the ancestral home to rattle. Clearly a storm had rolled in overnight.

After stretching until his bones cracked pleasingly, Barok drew back the curtains that covered the large bow windows of the master bedroom and looked out at the landscape. Rain pelted the earth in torrential sheets and lightning lanced across the sky as if momentarily tearing it. This was a most severe storm.

If he were the superstitious or god-fearing sort, then he might have considered that some form of divine force was trying to keep him away from his brother’s grave. Thankfully he was not so limited in his thoughts. Instead, Barok was incredibly stubborn and he had resolved to visit Klint’s grave that day – so that was what he would do.

Of course, taking Black Gale out in such hideous conditions was out of the question. He’d have to go for a ride on a more pleasant summer’s day, perhaps to the orchard or along the coast...

For now, he went to his room to dress in simple clothes and sturdy knee-high leather boots. The path to Klint’s grave would be muddy, so practical footwear was essential. He knew full well his clothes would become drenched quickly, so he donned a shirt and jacket of reasonable hardy material and breeches of similar quality. Once he was dressed, he made his way downstairs to the Grand Vestibule.

“M-My lord!” Harvey hurried over looking deeply concerned, “Surely you do not intend to go out in middle of this storm?”

“I’m going to visit Klint,” Barok replied as he took his cloak from the row of hangers by the door.

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but, surely it could wait until tomorrow? I’ve heard tell that this storm is merely passing on its way to Spain...”

“I appreciate your concern, Harvey, but you need not worry about me. I have to do this... I postponed my visit yesterday on account of factors outside of my control, I’ll be damned if I do that a second time...” an odious noble was one thing, a torrential storm was another. He had no qualms about leaving himself at the mercy of the elements.

“... If you’re sure, my lord...” the old butler had handled enough van Zieks’ lords during his tenure as a servant of the house to know that they were all of a similar stubbornness and driven by their sense of principles. If the young Lord had decided he must visit Klint’s grave then that is what he would do by hell or high water, “... Just do be careful out there and take shelter if the storm worsens....”

“Yes, I will promise you that much,” Barok said as he donned his cloak and opened the door. A sharp gust of wind violently tousled his hair as it howled through the air like a frenzied ghost. He lowered his head and stepped out into the squall, pulling the door shut despite the insistent push of the wind against him. Rain pelted down, taking but a few moments to soak his hair until it was clinging to his face. He ignored the hostile elements and pressed on in the direction of Klint’s grave.

By horse the journey was some 10 minutes away, on foot it was closer to 20 and his progress was slowed by the wind in his face and the unsteady earth beneath his feet. Despite that, he was able to navigate the familiar banks and pathways of the forest that had been a favoured haunt of his since he was a boy. Even with the gloom of the storm clouds over head, he knew the way like the back of his hand.

“Blast! Of all the times for a storm to hit!” he could hear Klint’s voice as his mind reflected on a time they’d been hunting and a similarly fierce squall had rolled in, “Come little wolf, we’ll need to find shelter!”

He nodded and followed behind as Klint led the way to a large bank that over hung like a roof, they crouched down and looked out from their semi-sheltered vantage point at the chaos, “It doesn’t look as though it’ll pass any time soon,” Barok observed.

“Mmmm, I think you’re right, so we might as well amuse ourselves in the meantime.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, I heard that someone came home late last night in quite an intoxicated state,” Klint was grinning impishly, “Care to tell me about your debauched night of revelry?”

“. . . .” Barok coughed, “I discovered that I’m not much for mixing drinks...”

“Ah... and what did my little brother mix?”

“.... Well, I might have tried to see what all the fuss with beer is about, before switching back to wine,” Barok massaged his temples as he recalled just how rotten he’d felt first thing that morning, “...I’m firmly of the view that beers, ales and stouts are not for me.”

“That was a fatal error of judgement on your part, have you never heard ‘grape or grain, but never the twain‘?”

“Apparently I missed that particular sermon on the subject of drinking...” Barok replied dryly, which only seemed to amuse Klint further as he laughed harder, “I doubt I’ll forget it in a hurry, however...”

“Sometimes the best lessons are the practical ones, Barok.”

“... Yes, perhaps they are...”

A bright flash of lightning and sharp crack of thunder roused him from his daydreams and reminded him that his focus ought to be on the journey ahead rather than a trip down memory lane. It wasn’t far to the family burial grounds; a small mercy at least. He covered the rest of the distance briskly, passing through the cast iron gates and along the path of cobblestones and dirt to the mausoleum where his brother slept. He opened the door and stepped inside, dripping water all over the stone floor as he went; his first act was to light the candles that were dotted around the room, which he did by taking the box of matches that were stored in an alcove by the door and striking one.

Soft candlelight twinkled around him, casting shadows across the walls that danced and swayed deliriously; their movements slowed once he closed the door to the tomb over enough to block out the wind.

Finally he was here, with Klint once more.

“... I’m sorry for my tardiness brother,” he said softly as he knelt down before the stone where his brother’s name was engraved, “... I found myself in the talons of Lady Darlington yesterday, and you nowhere in sight to distract her...” he snorted to himself at the thought, “I dare say you’d have found my performance quite amusing.”

His gaze lifted to the ceiling of the crypt, “... No doubt you’d scold me for coming here in such a bedraggled state, well, not so much that as willingly walking out into a storm. You’ll have to forgive me for that...”

For a while, he knelt in silence; his voice stilled in his throat as he wondered what had compelled him to come out in such hostile conditions. Eventually he found his voice, “I... no doubt I sound quite mad to you, but, I wonder if you’re still here with me... You know, there are rumours abound in the Capital that your ghost follows me wherever I go and exacts revenge upon those who escape my prosecuting them through some dint in the law.“

“It’s nonsense, isn’t it?” he looked down at the gravestone once more, as if holding out for some sort of sign, “... It has to be, surely, because I’d like to think if you truly were still here then you might show me by some means other than violence... And yet, I’m desperate enough that I’ll take it. I just can’t bear the thought that you’re gone.”

Klint had always been a symbol of what was right and just in his mind, so it did not sit well with him to picture his brother as a vengeful apparition whose sole purpose was to dispatch of the criminals who managed to worm their way out of the noose. Yet, when he first heard those wild tales whispered on the lips of the common folk and the nobility alike, how he wanted to believe it. No matter how much it cut against the grain of what his brother had embodied for him; it was better than accepting that he was dead.

Anything was better than that, surely.

“... Of course, the world goes on and the sun and the moon wheel through the sky as they always have, and those who once held you in such high regard slowly begin to forget you... but for me it’s as if time stopped five years ago. I... still cannot come to terms with the thought that you’re no longer here. So, if you are the Reaper, I hope you will stay by my side until my time comes...”

He’d contemplated joining his brother. Sometimes it felt like the only logical thing to do. The world seemed so cold and devoid of vibrancy without Klint in it. Like someone had stolen the sun. Of course, he couldn’t go through with it – at first he had to bring his brother’s killer to justice, it had consumed his every waking moment. He’d read the case file until he could recite it with his eyes closed; until he dreamt of the autopsy report.

Then, once he’d gotten some semblance of justice for Klint, his thoughts had started to wander to the notion that his purpose was now fulfilled and there was nothing left to keep him here; but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It wasn’t what Klint would have wanted. If there were an afterlife, what kind of expression would his older brother wear when he arrived there prematurely? He could practically hear the disappointed words whenever he thought about it.

“Oh little wolf.... how could you?”

And it was that which stayed his hand.

Instead, he’d thrown himself into being a prosecutor; to following in Klint’s footsteps and maintaining his legacy. His brother had believed so deeply in justice and integrity, and he would honour that memory by doing his damnedest to hold the corrupt and evil to account for their crimes. It was all he could do.

And yet, he’d even failed at that. He ran away from the Old Bailey, too overwhelmed by the Reaper mythos and the gravity it put upon his shoulders...

“I hope you will forgive me, brother,” Barok murmured, voice strained as he tried to swallow back the desperate sadness in his core, “I’ve been a poor substitute for you... I was unable to save you from the Professor... and now I’m not even capable of continuing your legacy as a Prosecutor... Truth be told, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m at such a loss.”

“I’m so tired, Klint...”

[ofathcns]

The Courting of Narcissus

Alternately titled “Dionysus, again?!” 

Rated PG-13 for mentions of wink wonk

Ft. Mentions of @dorianxagapetos, @mylesxdelian, @kairosxevander, @elenepetrakis, @penelcpes

There is more to do in Elysium, he realizes. He is not an anomaly for keeping up with his training, but he does take longer than the rest to actually enjoy his afterlife. Sometimes he goes to heroes, other soldiers touched by gods, and he requests a match simply because no one has come to him. He finds the people of Elysium lounging, drinking wine in various stages of undress. More than once he’d stumbled upon poor Achilles and Patroclus, sometimes even joined by who he believes to be the lover of Apollo himself. It’d been the hero who’d slayed Hector who had told him to find a lover or two of his own.

It is not as if courting in Elysium is quite a thing, but there are many of them there without their lovers, Theseus thinks Achilles got rather lucky in that department. His dear Pirithous is still lost to the Underworld and Ariadne…

He tries not to think of her.

Helen was granted Elysium, she is there somewhere and it does cross his mind to perhaps try wooing her now that they are older. In life he’d wanted to marry her simply for the status. She’d been too young when he and Pirithous had gathered her up the first time, she was meant to stay with his mother, have a happy life in Troezen until they were ready to marry. But even as a youth, he’d been more interested in doing whatever would get Pirithous’s attention. And his attention was kept with their adventures, with challenges.

If he were to ever step foot past the threshold of Helen’s door, it’d be to apologize profusely for the folly of a lovestruck boy.

So he set his sights on people he saw decently often. Wrestling with Odysseus got heated, combat felt more...There was a tension there that he couldn’t quite ignore and perhaps Achilles really was onto something.

Of course, being king of Athens, being a hero, he cannot have just anyone as a lover, he needs a challenge, he needs an equal.

And what bigger challenge than someone in love with themselves?

He doesn’t mean for it to happen, but it does.

People forget that Narcissus is a hunter, or perhaps they simply see him and are so taken by his appearance, that they do not think to fear him. But the moment that Theseus first lays eyes on him, he is perhaps a little afraid of him. He’s truly beautiful basking beside a pond, a basket of fruit beside him. It is ridiculous, he has fought many man, he has fought many beast, and yet there’s this apprehension coiled tight in his gut and he finds himself speechless.

Aside from rattling off his titles.

Which don’t seem to impress Narcissus in the slightest.

And so Theseus, ears burning just a little, hurries back to his training grounds and tells Asterius all about it. The beast seems to give just a solemn nod as he recounts the exploit and if he weren’t so embarrassed, he’d have gone to Achilles.

“I am a king, Asterius! And yet I looked at him and I felt like a boy again!” His companion nods again, arms crossed over his chest as Theseus paces the field. It’d been like looking at Pirithous again for the first time, Ariadne even and perhaps Achilles really is onto something, he is absolutely lonely but he refuses to acknowledge such a thing out loud. So instead he sighs and stops in his tracks before the minotaur.

“You will try again.” The beast says in his somber, thoughtful way.

So he does. Not once, not twice, but several times he approaches the most beautiful man he’s ever laid eyes upon without feeling like he is making any progress. Until one day one day Narcissus asks him if he’d like to go hunting and of course, he jumps at the chance to perhaps finally show off a little. It doesn’t quite go well the first time, but it doesn’t go...Terribly. It’s a lot of traipsing through the wood. Some days they don’t see anything, other days it’s a deer, a pheasant, a rabbit in a snare.

They talk on days when it seems they won’t find anything, though often Theseus just finds himself listening. It takes time, he wants to meet all of Narcissus’s stories about his life with tales of his own accomplishments, but he finds the other will not listen to his boasts. If he does, he doesn’t seem all that impressed and at first it is frustrating and then one day, it isn’t. He is a king, he brought democracy to Athens, he doesn’t need to boast, and he finds that he actually likes listening. There’s something about his voice that he finds just as pleasing as his face.

The first time Theseus kisses him, it is to shut him up. They are among the many flowers that surround Narcissus’s home, the ones named after him, and he doesn’t know if he does it because he’s been watching the other man’s lips move or if he wishes to get him to just stop talking.

Achilles and Patroclus had a fair point, he did need someone. But the hunter was often visited by another, and not just any other person, but Dionysus himself. It spoils something for a few days, when he first glimpses the two. Dionysus had stolen Ariadne from him and now he was in the home of the man who he had affection for. He waxes about the matter only to Asterius and when Achilles asks him how the impossible is going, he simply smiles and tells him that not everyone could find their Patroclus.

It isn’t a deterrent for long though, he’s a hero, he’s a king, and there’s many more kisses to be had. They have them, he stops wondering if the other man is simply entertaining him, it does not matter. It does not matter until he is back at home alone or with Asterius gazing out at the water and then Theseus thinks about Phaedra, about Hippolytus, Aegeus even. And when he is done thinking of them, when he is done mourning them for the day, sometimes he thinks of Athens, the kingdom he’d let down.

It never lasts, those moods. He is good at picturing his worries upon the shores and mentally watching the Aegean wash them away. He likes to think it’s both of his father’s telling him not to worry.

He doesn’t worry the first time he has Narcissus. The hunter’s house is full of mirrors, there is not a single room that their reflections aren’t watching them. And watch them they do as muscles ripple and lips collide again and again and again. Time is a funny thing in paradise, he does not know how long they go about such a dance and Theseus does not care. For he has the most beautiful man under him, sometimes over him, and it is hard not to get wrapped up in such a thing in what could be a matter of weeks, months, years even. He has never cared much for aesthetics, it’s a trivial thing, but seeing the two of them together is so pleasing and he thinks Narcissus thinks so, too.

Things change, Patroclus and the Spartan prince Hyacinth that is often with him leave Elysium, leaving Achilles alone. Theseus watches the world with him; they keep an eye on Corinth together or he views it through one of Narcissus’s many mirrors as they lounge amongst the flowers. They banter about it, about the gods, about magic, about how funny mortals dress nowadays and how unfortunate this whole thing must be.

But when his father comes to call upon him, the god of the sea himself, the thought of himself and the hunter, the phantom feeling of him coming undone under his hands, it isn’t enough to get him to stay. Theseus jumps at the chance to do right by Poseidon, but he makes a point to say goodbye to those he’s met in paradise.

First is Odyseuss, the man who is always up for a story, a tale of the sea, or his clever wife. It’s one last sparring match, one last story, and he wonders what the other hero would do in his shoes. If he would seek out his Penelope, if he would continue his adventures. But he does not ask, instead he goes to see Bellerophon, his brother. They talk and they drink and muse about their father, their many siblings. He promises to tell him tales of them if he meets any of them again.

It pains him to leave Achilles when his house is already nearly empty. Theseus still half expects to see Patroclus flanked by Hyacinth, but there is just aristos achaion. Much like Odyseuss, they spare a final time and Theseus promises to return to him, ensuring him that he will do right by Patroclus, even the Spartan prince he’s so fond of. They embrace the way men do, hands clapping at shoulders and he is on his way.

He is half expecting to be met with the sight of the god of wine, and yet it’s just Narcissus and his many mirrors. Somehow, he thinks that makes it worse, makes it harder. He tells him he is leaving, that he is going to Corinth to put a stop to all of the madness there, he thinks. That Poseidon himself had asked him to go.

What feels like the most important part, is that Theseus tells Narcissus he will miss him. With his hand upon his face, he tells him that he will miss him, that he’ll return triumphant. He’s a king, after all, he’s a hero, and he will do what heroes do. It is a fleeting moment, but wasn’t all time in Elysium fleeting? The kiss he gives the other man isn’t. It is perhaps firm and desperate and leaves him wanting. He leaves quickly, not because he doesn’t want to hear what the other man has to say (and he imagines it is a lot), but because Narcissus is perhaps the one who could convince him to stay.

It is just a way to pass the time, their tryst. Narcissus will still have Dionysus, he will still have whoever else comes to call upon him, and he will be just fine ‘living’ amongst his hall of mirrors. But even as Theseus tells himself this, he finds himself already missing the other.

When he goes to say goodbye to Asterius, the beast regards him the same way he always does. “You will return, Theseus.” Is what he tells him in that steady baritone. Not ‘King of Athens’, not ‘Son of Poseidon’, but he calls him by name. For he is his friend, and Theseus responds by embracing him the way men do.

Except as they part, the minotaur presses something into his palm. It’s a narcissus, colored gold, petals soft and familiar. It’s from the hunter’s own garden and something in his chest seizes at the sight of it.

“Do not forget us.” Asterius states, voice perhaps a little far away.

“How could I ever?” He smiles up at the beast, closes his hand carefully around the flower, and then he turns towards the sea. He’d press it when he got to Corinth, he thinks. There it would sit on a mantle and wait for him in a way he wished Narcissus would.

[avenger-hawk]

Hi, can you talk a little bit about naruto’s dark, controlling and possessive side? Or if you already wrote about it, link me the post? Thankss

I mentioned something here, here and probably there is smth in this tag. 

And like I said countless times since you guys just don’t care about other ppl, if you write n*ruto’s name entirely it will show up in the search pages and I am fed up with raging SN/SN.S/Nar stans bitching at me.

Sorry (nope, not sorry) to break someone’s bubble but Nar is not a happy ball of sunshine and he’s not selfless. 

He was neglected as a child, totally abandoned to himself with some money each month and an apartment he was supposed to clean and manage all alone. He was shunned or treated like sh*t by villagers and classmates alike, his only ‘parent’ was Iruka who couldn’t be with him always, and his idea of friendship, family, everything was twisted, cause try living all by yourself since you’re a child and you have no idea of why ppl hate you and avoid you. Of course he saw the Hokage as this big authority figure that everyone respects and ‘loves’ in his child mind, and of course he wanted to be Hokage so that ppl would finally respect and ‘love’ him. His idea of love is obviously screwed, and it’s a mix of respect, aknowledgement, deference.

He doesn’t have a sense of equality because he never learned what equality is. He was below everyone else being shunned and hated, and his role model was above everyone else, where he aspired to be.

He started to make friends and he’s all about comrades, yes, like all shounen protagonists. But it’s always him reaching out to them, him protecting them, him changing their minds about something (or about himself), him obtaining their admiration and respect from an initial situation of being the opposite, being considered a good for nothing and a loser.

Sasuke is considered the opposite since the beginning, he’s a good student and shinobi, he’s left all alone too and nothing is shown of his alone life but from the little things we see he learned to manage himself and the house better, he didn’t care about people probably talking behind his back about the massacre, and he obtained a good reputation in the academy, so the story starts with him in a different situation. And Nar considers him a rival, he’s clearly jealous of the ‘success’ he has, not realizing that he’s alone too. Because Nar is not empathic at all, and his child self is even less, being a child with clear difficulties in processing things, which makes sense since he had no education basically. He just sees external signs of adjustment and ‘success’ which is what he wants, so he ‘hates’ Sasuke and he provokes him all the time. They become rivals, then comrades (and rivals), then friends, but it’s always Sasuke who, despite his aloof personality, shows positive signs, first hand feeding him, then defending him against Sak*ra, then shielding him and many other little things while Nar is always overreacting or doing questionable, not to say bad things (like attacking him and tying him up to meet Sak*ra) to him.

Nar’s lack of empathy can be seen after the inn scene, cause instead of being I won’t even say supportive but, not irritating, he mocks Sasuke who just woke up after Tsukuyomi, provoking him so that Sasuke, already (re)traumatized and feeling worthless towards both his brother and Naru, challenges him. Right after waking up from a coma, basically. And ofc Nar doesn’t hold back.

When Sasuke leaves in part 1 Nar is enraged, ofc, and he reacts violently, even their fight is very violent, and ofc it is being a fight, but Nar is really really brutal, feral I’d say, and possessive, trying to bring him back. I don’t remember their fight well but if I’m not mistaken that’s when he first threatens Sasuke to break all his bones?

Then Sasuke leaves and Nar starts his own “sad boy missing his ‘best friend’ drama” and all the fandom is uwu look at him so sensitive, but he’s being abstract there, while when he faces Sasuke direcly or indirectly he’s different, more direct and not sentimental. As expected of a badass fighter, cause that’s what he is, that’s what everyone is in the story. when in part 2 Orochimaru calls Sasuke ‘his’ he goes berserk, and his search for Sasuke becomes even more obsessive, to the point of claiming that if they’ll fight they’ll both die and theyll be ok in the afterlife...this is kinda poetic but also creepy af. It’s stalker material tbh. Also because in that moment Sasuke just ‘killed’ Danzo, he’s exhausted, visibly blind, especially after fighting Kakashi, whose fight clearly took his toll on him (He avoided Sak*ra’s pathetic attempt to kill him but that was easy). Nar has all his energies and he’s stronger physically anyway having more stamina and kyuubi’s chakra. But he’s ready to fight him, even tho he gives a speech because ofc. too bad that Sasuke doesn’t fall for it cause he has his own personality and his own goals, which for Nar is unacceptable cause everyone must be on his side, especially the one he wants.

Sasuke remains on his own side until Itachi does his thing and bla bla bla, Itachi first is brougth close to Nar which was interesting to watch but also a huge narrative move to bring Sasuke to his side as well, getting to fight alongside his beloved brother and wanting to understand him and his ideal of protecting Konoha thus summoning Orochimaru, the 4 Hokage and deciding to join the battlefield. Then they fight together and even then it’s Sasuke who accepts Naru’s lead, not the other way round because Nar would never obey anyone who’s not himself especially he wouldn’t obey someone he wants to possess, metaphorically (but if you like also literally).

When the battle is over and their battle starts he shows his true colors. He’s no longer the one wanting to die with his ‘friend’, he’s a leader wanting Sasuke, his ‘friend’ who in his eyes took the wrong road, to get back to the village, because Konoha is HIS concept of happiness. In fact, Sasuke in Konoha is Nar’s concept of happiness. And to obtain it he uses every method, not just a good ol’ fight, the more brutal the better. In fact their last fight has a different vibe, it’s Sasuke the one who’s more stressed and emotional, he’s drained, completely, cause he wants his revolution and he wants to change the world to make him like Itachi dreamed of, and he needs to eliminate Nar for it, he doesn’t want to eliminate him but he needs to and he clearly explains him why in the beginning of the fight. The way he fights is desperate.

Nar instead is calm, his emotions are under control, he fights with his hands but also with mind techniques because he manipulates Sasuke all the time: he tells him that he didn’t understand his own brother (implying that he did it better. That he, who interacted with Edo Tensei Itachi for a couple of hours, understands him better than the brother who basically worships him!), that everything he believes is wrong, that he knows what’s best for him (which is interestingly exactly what he wanted in life, what a coincidence). And it works, cause Sasuke admits his own defeat, and, later, he is further brainwashed and guilt tripped, jailed and submitted until he’s a perfect Konoha dog. Even in his Shinden episodes he’s away but loyal and guilt ridden for his actions. He became Naru’s watchdog, his most loyal servant. Not his equal. He fulfilled Naru’s wish for him.

And, in case someone’s still not enraged because Hawk how dare you shit on their amazing bond?  shocking huh? yeah I write what I think and I am very interested in their bond actually, since it’s a dark unhealthy one, completely unbalanced, just like I’m interested in Nar very much when he’s not idealized, cause he’s much more complex and interesting with his dark side.

Every episode shows Nar’s lack of care and empathy, his inner violence and selfishness, but they also are justified somehow. I can understand why, since his childhood made him self-centered and lacking the ability to interact with people on an equal basis, basically he never grew up for real, he acted like a grown up person but he remained a child inside, a possessive child who wants something and then discards it. And it shows whenever he ‘saves’ someone with his TnJ, this someone becomes his ‘friend’, loyal to him forever, and he moves on to ‘save’ someone else, all the while having Sasuke as his ultimate goal. Too bad that after he saves him too, he discards him as well. Not as much as the other cause Sasuke is special to him, but not as an equal either. I won’t mention the jail moment while Naru is basking in his popularity cause some don’t see it as canon, but when in the manga Sasuke is leaving Konoha and stumbles on Nar he says he didn’t think the other would come greet him. This shows how their relationship isn’t so amazing, since one would imagine that Nar would be 24/7 with Sasuke after he comes back.

So, all these moments show a clear picture of him as a possessive and selfish person who only ‘cares’ about ppl because he wants to be ‘loved’ (=admired and respected and aknowledged as the best) by said ppl, and whose ‘love’ for Sasuke is possessive and obsessive to an extreme point, a desire to be aknowledged and respected but also to submit the one whom he most ‘loves’, because there is no equality in the way Nar sees himself and the rest of the world, including ‘his’ ‘best friend’.

(btw if someone disagrees, keep it for yourself, I don’t give a damn about discussing with you)

[laryna6]

One of those ‘A Christmas Carol’-based fics with Saotome Eiji.

Kyousuke’s dad appearing warning of the demons of the Sanzu river and the measuring of karma that awaits the dead, and Saotome going ‘I must have fallen asleep/that’s a foreign Buddhist thing’ because of the... heavy pushing of a... propagandized version of Shinto as part of Japanese nationalism building up to WWII.

Instead of Christmas it’s Obon (a festival of Buddist/Confucian origin) ofc.

To fit with ‘the idea that people have to earn the right to live is effed up’ from the original, perhaps as a child he was sent to an orphanage bc his family couldn’t feed him? The additional damage of not knowing who your ancestors were in a culture practicing ancestor worship.

Other students of psychic research inviting him to hang out at the university but he wanted to get an officer position in the army, so needing to avoid undesirable elements.

Saotome’s present day obon, Kyousuke who was raised in China being taught about Shinto because as a half-Chinese person on top of an esper in an era of nationalism... they worry about the kid and he might be safer if he do all the ‘I am a loyal subject of the emperor’ signaling. Two of the espers in the unit canonically come from traditional priesthood families and have OPINIONS about what these motherfucking nationalists are doing to corrupt and twist everyone’s spirituality and traditions and their sense of connection to their families and their people and the land. Making shinto priests government officials?!

Saotome going they’re not proper LoyalTM to the army and Japan

Spirit #2 going ‘was the army ever loyal to them?’

Fujiko and her father discussing how their family is nobility and the need for the nobiiity to give up power and instead bring about democracy if Japan was going to escape being conquered and exploited by imperialists like the countries around them.

Fujiko going ‘but the warrior classes all got positions in the military, and now we’re a military dictatorship and Japan has just become one more imperialist power, it’s disgusting and her father going absolutely, and discussion of duty to their ancestors and their country foreshadowing Fujiko making a choice that according to traditional morality and the noble code of conduct was ABSOLUTELY UNACCEPTABLY HORRIBLY WRONG to the point of disgracing her entire family line because what kind of people could have produced a traitor like that... but because of it in the modern day Japan is the second least awful country in how it treats espers.

Then spirit #3, and Saotome going ‘I’ve seen the precogs, espers going to war with normals, Kyousuke betraying the country/me to serve a queen’

And then it’s the younger queen and two other girls going ‘Minamoto we want to go to a festival with you’ while a harried man basically shoos them out the door with a broom and goes ‘go! Your families want to see you! Here are your boxed lunches and snacks for the trip’ and the girls are espers who use their powers to get to their normal families. the queen and her big sister get in a wrestling match over the cookies and only belatedly realize their mom’s eaten them all while commentating while they dress for the festival. another girl and her normal father engage in some police brutality towards festival pickpockets as bonding. the third girl, at least, is traditional and proper even if she’s performing a ceremony that comes from non-Japanese origins (and yet... it’s still a tradition that ties them to their ancestors and the gods and who they are, and Shinto says that tradition is sacred, it doesn’t say that traditions that first came from outside aren’t sacred)

The man is following his mother around as she chatters with everyone and gets up to shenanigans at the festival. ‘Father couldn’t make it again’ mentioning a grandmother who used to stay with him at these. Looking up at the sparks rise above the fire to send the dead home, lonely even though he’s surrounded by people in his hometown... and then he gets tackled by the three girls demanding he take photos with them while they’re all in kimonos

And then it switches to someone announcing That Bastard is finally dead. Far from the land he was born, with no one in the country he served who cares to claim his body ‘so we should send someone to pretend to be a relative’ and someone declaring that this is now a formal meeting because while obviously they all want to desecrate his grave, they are going to do it in an organized fashion that reflects the gravity of his crimes and pays respects to his innocent victims and continuing victims of that bastard’s legacy of murder and hatred. Eggs and toilet paper are not up for discussion is said with a pointed look at another man, who whines ‘big bro!’

This is the most diverse group of people Saotome has ever seen, people from all over the world united in their hatred of someone who gets referred to with several different languages’ curse words.

And then someone walks in and goes ‘here you are, okay, what are you up to? I’ve been raising kids for half a century, I know that when you’re all quiet and busy somewhere you’re up to no good’ and it’s Kyousuke. The guy who went ‘big bro’ gets his ear twisted, and whines ‘dad!’

It’s revealed that ‘that bastard’ is someone who hurt Kyousuke, who they’re protective of like the unit is (he still looks so young...) but when he gets it out of them he’s no! and there is a whine of ‘dad! He shot you!’ ‘I know’ *bullet scar revealed* ‘I’m the one he shot, so I get to decide what to do with him’

Kyousuke lifting away a sheet to reveal a body old and twisted and crippled. And Saotome’s. Kyousuke is blank an solemn... and sad.

Going through the Shinsosai funeral rites, all foreign Buddhist influences removed as he would have wanted, and maybe there’s a reason the people of Japan for centuries were happy to have Buddhists to help them usher their families into the next world, because he can see the weight of the kegare on him, how Kyousuke mourns him, is the only one who mourns him. Eventually a woman who treats Kyousuke as both an embarrassing younger brother and as a respected father comes to help, to cheer him up, even though she despises Saotome too, for hurting him.

A picture of the unit, in Kyousuke’s family shrine. ‘Now everyone in this photograph but Fujiko is dead... He took my family from me, but he, too, was family.’

Then he grabbed the woman, teleported, and dragged her down with him into the ocean for purification.

...then Kyousuke goes to bully the man from before, who is arguing with the three girls about how yes, they are sleepy, Kaoru nearly flew them into the ground getting home, while making them all tea before he shoves them into their bedroom. When he turns around Kyousuke has stolen the cup that was supposed to be for him, and the man at first automatically raises his hackles, but then looks sympathetic.

Kyousuke looks away, annoyed and pouting, at sympathy from this person.

‘...If I try to comfort you you’re going to shove my head in the toilet again,’ the man says, getting himself another cup of tea.

‘Absolutely’ Kyousuke agrees.

Silence, and eventually Kyousuke says, ‘at first I thought you were his reincarnation, even though he would have been offended at the idea of him reincarnating. Then I found he was with the Comericans, had been since the war, and I thought, it would have been better if he was you. Not for the Queen. But for him. If I hadn’t failed to avenge my comrades back then, he could have moved on to a better life or the otherworld. Not been forced to live on a failure and a pawn in a foreign land, unable to return home. He was a proud man.’ Looking down at his tea, ‘when I met him again, he asked me to kill him.’

‘..in the precog, I know there’s a nuke on the way when I shoot Kaoru,’ the man says, and now Saotome knows where he’s seen him. ‘even though I want to kill her so she can’t leave again and I want it enough to kill her before she stops that nuke from destroying Tokyo, I still know that I have to die for this. I’m just getting the order wrong. I should die before I do that. Having to live with what I do in that precog would be a fate worse than death.’

‘That was why I erased his memories that day. He... there was no point in him continuing to suffer. None of us would have wanted that for him. I thought... didn’t he know our feelings? That we were loyal to him, that we didn’t mind dying for him? And then I saw that he truly didn’t recognize our feelings. Because he didn’t know what it looked like, to recognize when people truly cared for him. But he cared for us, and so when he thought that espers would turn against normals, that it was impossible for us to ever care for him... Those damn precogs. They broke his heart before he put a bullet through mine.’

‘Maybe... next obon?’

a shake of the head. ‘he thought it was too foreign. It’s fine, our comrades will beat sense into him in the afterlife.’ Kyousuke drank the rest of his tea.

‘..Some of the parts of the traditional ceremony... PANDRA loves you, but I think that would have made it hard to force them to cooperate,’ the man said. “I don’t want to hear words honoring him either, but you like to do things I don’t want.’

‘What, are you going to give me condolences for his loss?”

‘I can honestly say that I am very sorry he’s dead, because it means I will never get to strangle him,’ the man vigorously throttled the air, going from kind and patient to a man more than capable of shooting a young woman in love with him, and back, ‘from turning you from such a sweet, good little kid into the godawful brat I have had to deal with.’

Kyousuke snorted.

“Do you want another cup of tea, or a cup of milk?”

“Milk.” Kyousuke said, and when the man was on his way to open a white door, he began, “Utsumi-san said that he graduated first in his class, but he had no family and no background. The esper unit was his proposal, so when he told us that we could serve our country and be accepted, he wagered his own future on the chance that ours could be happy. Utsumi said later that he never trusted Saotome-Taicho, because he knew he didn’t truly care for us. I asked once why he didn’t warn us, if he knew that, but... Utsumi knew his heart, so he knew that Saotome-taicho also was different, was desperately wishing to prove he was valuable enough to accept. He knew what bait to dangle before us because it was the exact same lure that led him to the army. We all wanted him to have that happy future, along with us.’

[flcwerborne-a]

“ i… i would’ve liked for mr. hartley to be the one to walk me down the aisle, but he’s— he’s gone, of course. “    her gaze lowers to her phone as she grips it tightly in her lap. her knuckles are white. she didn’t know who else to ask. well, except for her dad. his name reads in big bold letters on the screen. she feels maren’s hand rubbing her back soothingly.

“ i know, songbird. i know he would’ve been happy to walk you down the aisle and see you get married. “

the little fae can picture it, the smile on his face, the tears of happiness pricking the corners of his eyes. the tight, warm hug he would’ve given her before taking a seat in the front pew. she can’t say she believes for sure in any sort of afterlife, but maybe he would be somewhere looking down at her, smiling, happy for her. melody hopes so. she wants to call her dad, too, at least to tell him that she’s getting married. she would of course be happy to bring him here to norway, money isn’t an issue, it’s just… what if she can’t even look at him? her lower jaw trembles. she hasn’t spoken to him since… well, since she moved out when she had enough money to do so. she was twenty-one then, now twenty-five. four years… it’s a long time to not even speak to someone, isn’t it? especially family, but they parted on such bad terms that melody didn’t even want to speak to him, much less see him again.

she felt that her father should know about his only daughter’s marriage to the woman she loves and plans to spend the rest of her life with, even if… even if he doesn’t want to come. he would still at least know and melody would be okay with that.

from the corner of her vision, she can see maren lean down to look at her wife. there’s a gentle, reassuring smile on her face.    “ you don’t have to call him if you don’t want to, mel. we could always walk down the aisle together. “

actually… melody would like that. she’d like a lot. it would be enough for her father to be in attendance, right? right there in the front with her mother. yeah, that would be good.    “ i— i think i’d like that. “    she says and looks up to maren, a smile forming on her own lips. her gaze returns to her phone.    “ even if he doesn’t walk me down the aisle, it’s enough for him to be there, right? “

“ whatever you want, songbird. “

she had hoped for something a little more sure, a yes or a no, but in the end, it’s all up to her. melody taps her phone screen and her dad’s name pops up again. although maren and melody changed phone numbers after their move to norway, she had kept his number for… what? she supposes maybe she would’ve gotten the urge to call him at some point. before now, she has, but still felt too hurt to follow through and actually call him. for a while, melody hated herself for wanting to call him, to update him on her life. i’ve made many friends. i own a flower shop now. i fell in love and i know in my heart that she’s the one. we adopted a little girl together, her name is ariel and i know you and mom would adore her. you always hoped for grandkids, y’know?

but she would always chicken out and wouldn’t call him. still, she kept his number in her contacts list.

melody’s thumb hovers over the call button. finally, as she presses it, she reaches for maren’s hand and holds it tight. she feels her wife give it a squeeze of acknowledgement and she looks up at her, lips pressed in a thin, worried smile. it rings a few times. static. a voice.

“ hello? “

recognizing her father’s voice, her heart drops into the pit of her stomach. she doesn’t speak immediately.

“ hello? is anyone there? “    his voice is as gruff and gravelly as she remembers. her hold on her wife’s hand tightens.    “ look, if this is a prank, i— “

“ dad? it’s— it’s me. it’s melody. “

there’s silence on the other end and for a moment the little fae worries he’ll hang up. he doesn’t want to talk to her, of course he doesn’t. he certainly doesn’t want to see her. why should he? they left on such bad terms and—

“ mel? is that— is it really you? “    in the background, she can hear her mother gasp and call her name. is that melody? she hears her father whisper almost shakily, yeah. melody chews the inside of her cheek, her heart pounding hard against her ribs.    “ your phone number, i didn’t recognize it at first. i would’ve… i didn’t mean to sound short. “

“ n-no, it’s— it’s fine. i had to change my number a while back, but i— i-i never— “     she takes a deep breath, soothed by the feeling of maren’s hand still on her back, rubbing soothing circles over it. nonetheless, tears well in her eyes. she quickly puts the conversation on speaker so maren can listen too.    “ yeah, it’s really me, dad. there’s, um, something important i have to tell you. “

she hears her mother’s voice again. her dad put melody’s voice on speaker.    “ is everything okay? are you hurt? “

“ hi mom. no, everything is… is great. in fact, i’m… i’m getting married, and i want you to be there. both of you. “

“ married? oh, honey i’m so proud of you. if only you could see your father’s face now. he’s beaming with pride. “

a small laugh leaves melody and she can’t help but smile.    “ really? “

her dad answers this time.    “ yeah, i’m real proud of you, mel. are you happy, does she make you happy? “

melody looks up at maren. her smile grows and she nods.    “ she does, yeah. we’re very happy. i’d love for you to meet her. it’s okay if you can’t afford to fly here, we’d be happy to cover the costs. “    she wants to mention ariel to them, but melody also wants to surprise them with her, too. it would be nice to see the looks on their faces when she introduces their daughter to her parents.

“ well, of course we’d love to attend! we wouldn’t miss your wedding for the world. just— call us again when you’re prepared to have us there, okay? “

“ okay, mom. i promise. “    melody pauses, her smile growing more.    “ i really can’t wait for you to meet my fiancée. i know you’ll love her. “

“ we look forward to meeting her and seeing you again, honey. “    and then the little fae hears her mother whispering to her father, urging him to say… something, she doesn’t catch what. her mother says goodbye, that she has something important to do. and the there’s silence for a little while.

“ dad? “    she calls softly, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“ i wanted to call you after… after you left, but i didn’t think you wanted to speak to me for a while or, well, ever again. so i didn’t. i beat myself up over it. whenever you called your mother, i wanted to ask you how you were doing, but i— i didn’t think you wanted to talk to me. “    he heaves a sigh. she hears the chair he sits in creak as his weight in it shifts.

“ we parted ways pretty badly, didn’t we? “    melody asks, voice quiet.

“ we did, but it was my fault. i thought— i thought i was protecting you. i didn’t want anyone to learn about your true nature because i didn’t want anything bad to happen to you. i didn’t want anyone to take advantage of your powers or for you to be shunned because of them. and, at the time, i didn’t think… i didn’t see how much you really loved what you were doing. i didn’t understand. i didn’t think you would really be happy being a florist for the rest of your life. at the time, it just seemed like a waste. “

“ dad, it’s— “

“ melody, please, i need to get this off of my chest. “

she gives a small nod.    “ okay, go on. “

“ over the years and all the phonecalls to and from your mother, she told me how happy you were with your life and that you even own a shop of your own now. she keeps saying how well you’ve done with your business and i— i couldn’t be more proud of you, melody. i’m so happy for you. i just— i hope you can forgive me for how i treated you and put you down for your dream. i’m so, so sorry, melody. “

tears spill down her cheeks and her hands tremble. she feels maren give her hand a squeeze and bring it up to her lips, pressing kisses to her knuckles. how long had she hoped he would apologize? how long had she felt bitter for what he did? it still hurts, but it hurts a little less. the sincerity of her father’s apology lifts another weight from her shoulders. she feels lighter again.

“ melody, are you still there? “

“ sorry, yeah, i-i'm still here. “    the little fae sniffles and wipes the tears from her cheeks and eyes. forgiveness. that’s a step, though a difficult one, toward healing, right? how does one forgive? do they just say it? i forgive you. or is there more to it? how does one actively forgive someone for the pain they caused? melody doesn’t know. no therapist could explain it to her. still, it’s important, right? it’s important to repairing their relationship.    “ i forgive you, dad. “

silence. she hears sniffling on the other end, then crying. she can’t help it when tears stream down her cheeks again. melody never could help herself when someone she loves cries around her.    “ oh, melody, i’ve waited so long to hear you say that. i’m so happy that you can forgive me. i’m so happy you called me. “

“ i-i— i’m glad you picked up the phone, dad. i… i’d like to do this again soon. but, y’know, t-talk more. “

“ i’d love to do that. just call, okay? any time for any reason. “

wiping the tears from her cheeks, she smiles again and nods.    “ of course. a-and the same goes for you, too. you have my number again, so— so just call when you want. “

“ hey, mel? i love you. “

“ i love you, too, dad. “

[itsclydebitches]

So I'm curious what are some character designs you love? Not from RWBY, but just i general. I'm the same anon who got you to check out Berserk and I'd say essentially all of the designs are done damn well. Fit the character. Changes that makes sense for growth. Also make sense given the setting. Even women in armor that doesn't have those massive boob plates. Good designs impact so much subconsciously to have much we enjoy other aspects of a story.

Congratulations! You’ve unlocked my never-ending need to praise Yu Yu Hakusho! :D 

This long, picture-laden post needs two disclaimers going forward: 

I’m not an artist. In the sense that I’m not a visual artist who knows anything about what makes character design good from a technical/community approved standpoint. This is purely based on my own, personal reaction to a beloved series. 

Connected to that, I’m going into this under the assumption that people might really disagree with me (?). Based on the cartoons and anime that I see praised for character design, I don’t think YYH fits whatever list more knowledgeable viewers are pulling from. But I’m gonna lay out my thinking anyway! 

Major spoilers for Yu Yu Hakusho below. 

Alright let’s do this. 

First off, when people start talking character design they often reference how cool a character is. Which makes sense. You want a character to be visually engaging and distinct. Something that makes you go “Wow!” whenever you look at them. However, one of the things I love about the YYH cast is how normal they are. Because they’re supposed to be normal. The trope of the main character having a crazy hair color has become so prominent that we’ve got memes about it now and that works for a lot of stories. You know who is important because, despite the assumption that they’re average people not dying their hair, they stick out like a sore thumb among the rest of the cast. 

However, normalcy is a really important part of YYH. The entire point at the start is that Yusuke is not special. He’s not unique. He’s a delinquent kid who most assume isn’t going anywhere in life. When he dies this doesn’t unlock some Super Special Backstory - you were innately amazing all along! - he just gets caught up in the plot because of a paperwork issue. The afterlife doesn’t know what to do with an asshole kid who unexpectedly saved another kid’s life so they just kind of... shuffle him around until he’s given another chance to live. Then he gets to pay back that second chance by becoming a Spirit Detective. Yeah, Yusuke is talented when it comes to fighting and spirit energy, but at the start that’s rarely emphasized outside of “He’s the best street fighter among no-name street fighters so really, it’s not impressive once you take Yusuke out of his tiny world of school parking lots and the occasional alleyway.” The takeaway is that he’s a dime-a-dozen troubled teen who got involved in the spirit world due to an impulsive act and a bunch of bureaucracy. Indeed, it’s a HUGE moment of emotional growth for Yusuke to realize that people do love him despite his supposedly average, unremarkable, and otherwise negative personality. His normal-ness - and others’ expectation that he could someday make himself great if he learns to work at it - is crucial to where Yusuke starts out. Making him visually distinct in terms of Anime Protagonist Looks would undermine a lot of that. This isn’t supposed to be a Super Special Kid Destined For Greatness. He’s just... a kid. A normal kid. A kid who has to work and learn and grow if he wants to make something of himself. So he gets black hair, brown yes, and a green school uniform. He’s pretty damn average looking. 

Same with Kuwabara. Same with Keiko. Same with Atsuko. They’re just normal people going about their lives and I always appreciated that they looked the part. You can still easily tell them apart thanks to different hair colors, texture, jaw lines, and outfits, but none of them seem out of place in the average world they start out in. Which, as said, is crucial to a lot of YYH’s themes. The ones who look more visually distinct - Hiei and Botan - aren’t human. It makes sense that they wouldn’t obey these same average laws of the rest of the cast and they are our first taste of a world that, in terms of character design, will eventually get pretty wonderfully weird. They function as stepping stones. 

This eventually becomes a story about the demon world and those demons wouldn’t come across as particularly scary/other if you begin the story with equally strange looking humans. Or even just “I don’t see people who look like that walking down the street” humans. Alongside many themes, there’s a contrast at work here. Yusuke stepping out into a stadium full of demons who despise him because of his species hits home when he is so clearly distinct from them. Suddenly, his normal is abnormal. 

Once the ball gets rolling, Yusuke’s looks are constantly in contrast with both his environment and his inner self. He looks like a scary thug but then unexpectedly saves a life. He looks like an average human but is actually the strongest among a group of scary-looking demons. He looks like this badass spirit detective who everyone assumes with have an equally badass spirit beast but, uh... 

Oh my god that’s a precious baby. By the time our cast is family and everyone accepts that Yusuke looks scarier than he actually is or ever was - once the core group is made up of not just humans but demon loving humans who are equally soft - we turn it all on its head again and reveal that Yusuke has demon blood. For the first time he looks as strange and powerful as he is. Yusuke’s normality is done away with the second he’s fully accepted his place in these worlds, throwing everything back into chaos. 

Yusuke’s demon form becomes even more foreign looking  when he’s being controlled by his ancestral father. The above is a Yusuke who is still Yusuke and in many respects the design reflects that: natural hair color, human body, tattoos easily covered up with a shirt. When he’s gone full Mazoku though, something dangerous, the white, wilder hair and change to his expressions ensure we read him as something feral. For the first time in the series Yusuke is truly the dangerous creature he’s pretended to be since his principal was running after him at school. 

As a side-note about character costumes, we see this emphasis on normality in their outfits as well. Obviously a story like RWBY is limited by how much time/money they have for animation, but it nevertheless has an impact to see the group almost constantly in their battle gear. They’re never not the main characters of an action-fantasy show, not even while just out around town with no expectation of entering a fight.  

In contrast, Yusuke and Kuwabara are often animated in everyday clothing that remind us that they’re really just teens trying to live their lives outside of this crazy nonsense. Kuwabara wasn’t even formally hired for all this! The cast wears sweaters and jackets while out and about. More formal clothes for special occasions. Jeans and t-shirts when they’re unexpectedly caught up in a fight because, you know, they’re not ready for battle every second of every day. They’re drawn like normal folks because, outside of the ring, they are. 

(We’ve also got a lot of parallels between Yusuke and Kuwabara’s civilian clothing, visually reminding us that they’re far more alike than they might be willing to admit.)

Despite often changing outfits, the group maintains a basic color pallet that makes them recognizable, yet it’s also not so limited that they appear strange for sticking to one (1) color for the entire time we know them. Yusuke, like most people, is drawn to particular colors, mostly greens, yellows, and blues, so each time we see him he’s familiar while also being distinct from the last time he changed. 

Hiei, as someone who initially wants nothing to do with anyone else and relies on assassin-like speed to take out his enemies, is dressed almost entirely in black. Without that bit of white in his scarf/hair you’d lose him in the shadows... which is the point. 

When he opens up and actually becomes friends with the team, his color pallet starts opening up a great deal too.  

And we’re shown all the little changes he starts incorporating that speak to his growth: his Jagan eye, a bandaged arm hiding his Dragon of the Darkness Flame, the necklace connecting him to Yukina. 

I’ve blathered on about the outfits enough but as a quick final note: EVERYONE WEARS APPROPRIATE FIGHTING CLOTHES. 

No one (even the women to my recollection) wear heels. Everything is loose-fitted and looks easy to move in. They’ve got sensible belts, bandages if they need them, and... that’s it. No unnecessary bells and whistles that distract from what’s supposed to be the story’s real draw: good fights and good characterization. Even the more elaborately styled characters (usually) look like they chose their outfits practically first and for the aesthetic after. At no point do I recall watching this show and going, “WHY would you wear that to a fight??” 

Anyway, back to the designs. 

The exceptions to either side of these extremes - from human normal to demon monstrous - are Genkai and Kurama, both of whom straddle the line. Genkai is someone who has pushed her spirit and body far past the norm. She’s the first human we meet who truly goes beyond that normality, even if you don’t immediately realize it. Her pink hair (such a soft color in her old age it’s not at all distracting) is a slight hint that something isn’t quite right with her. She’s obviously human... but not a normal human. Not anymore. 

Those unnatural looks are emphasized in her youth when she was at the height of her power. 

Genkai as a young woman has vibrantly pink hair (a bright pastel like Botan’s), a softer face, and far more emotive eyes. She looks ethereal, which fits not just her own journey to power but Togoru’s as well. Her story is intimately tied up in what that power does to the human body/soul. So Toguro starts out like this 

a pretty normal looking guy who is on the far end of what the human body is naturally capable of. He’s buff as hell, but not so much that it looks unreasonable. I’ve seen body builders bigger than him. He’s the average (dehydrated...) MCU superhero. However, he ends up like this

In Togoru’s case his abnormality is explicitly presented as grotesque. Rather than giving him a cool looking characteristic that’s clearly supernatural (blue hair, an extra eye, curly horns, etc.), we’ve taken a human characteristic (muscles) and expanded them to an unnatural degree. He’s got some uncanny valley shit going on. 

Paralleling Genkai, we likewise see Kurama subtly standing out among his human allies. 

He’s a demon in a human’s body. By in-world logic his appearance should be just as normal as anyone else’s, but a bit of his true nature shines through. His hair is long in a style not popular in YYH’s Japan. His red is far less of a natural shade than Kuwabara’s. He carries himself with the air of someone who is ancient, because he is. His human design deliberately reflects his true demon form so when that’s finally revealed we still recognize him as Kurama. 

(Same sort of work with Hiei’s demon form.) 

When we look at the cast together we have an immediate, visual impression as to who is normal and who is not - and those assumptions are embedded into the story. Yusuke is someone you’d overlook in the crowd, but he’s the most powerful. Kurama is clearly other in some way, but he’s desperate to live an average, human life. Kuwabara is designed to look and move like the fool and a lot of his development (his and others’ in relation to him, really. Like Hiei) is built around respecting him despite those looks. Hiei is tiny but will kick your ass. Genkai is tinier and will kick your ass worse. 

Her size combined with her age - combined with her status as Yusuke’s teacher - is a continuous reminder not to judge power by looks alone. Don’t underestimate your opponent and get overconfident (a major flaw of Yusuke’s). Know that you still have a LOT to learn about the world. That woman you assume is just a rude grandma? She’s going to break your expectations over and over and over again. 

Speaking of size, that’s a major aspect of Koenma’s design as well. When Yusuke learns he’s meeting the head of the underworld he starts picturing a massive, demonic beast who (sensing a theme here) looks the part of a supernatural ruler. Seeing Koenma for the first time - an adorable toddler-like being - is an absolute shock. 

It’s a gag for the audience, but it’s not just a gag. Due to his looks Yusuke is unable to take Koenma seriously, despite knowing the power he holds. 

Which, even more-so than arrogance, is Yusuke’s greatest flaw throughout the series. He doesn’t take school seriously. His death seriously. Ruler of the underworld seriously. His teacher seriously, etc. Yusuke constantly acts like he doesn’t care, throwing basic respect and effort in the face of whatever authority figure is desperately trying to keep him from self-destructing. He’s on the receiving end of multiple speeches throughout the series (mostly from Genkai) that boil down to, “Care about something, dammit. Take this seriously!” and when he does it’s GREAT. It’s a moment of growth we’ve really built to in a hundred different ways, including how he reacts to others’ looks. Koenma’s design feeds directly into the primary flaw Yusuke is working to overcome. How will he go from a delinquent laughing in the face of the most powerful being to someone multiple worlds can put their trust in? Design assists with that. 

When Yusuke does respect Koenma (even if he still insults/teases him because that’s just an ingrained part of Yusuke’s personality) Koenma’s appearance can change. It’s no longer serving its original function, so he evolves into a very good looking young man (with references to Tuxedo Mask to emphasize those good looks) that just... happens to still carry a pacifier. 

A pacifier that is revealed as an incredibly powerful weapon that will help save the world. Again: don’t judge anyone or anything solely on their looks. They’re never precisely what you’d assume they are based on your first glance - with the exception of minor villains whose looks serve only to convey their villainy: 

For everyone else, looks are complex. Two of the most different looking characters (color-wise anyway) are actually siblings, their contrasts reflecting both differing cultures and the emotional distance between them. 

The scariest looking monsters are just paper-pushers. It’s the handsome humans you should watch out for.  

And this is our hero, a man charged with protecting three worlds. 

I could say SO MUCH MORE but this is already disgustingly long so basically YYH (I think) does a great job of: 

Crafting characters that are distinct but not different for the sake of different. They always feel like they belong to their individual worlds and adhere to whatever “normal” is by those standards. 

Tying character looks really closely to the show’s themes and individual growth. Which, frankly, is something I think all good character design should do. 

It’s not nearly as flashy as other anime... but YYH knows what it wants to accomplish and went about it beautifully. Catch me still weeping over this show fifty years from now. 

Peace ✌️

[scotiaeire]

The Afterlife and Hel in Norse Myth

“ Norse beliefs in the afterlife were more complicated than usually presented today, and their unusual perspective has often bewildered modern translators. This video looks at general concepts of the afterlife, early evidence, and descriptions of Hel (the afterworld and the goddess who rules it). Jackson Crawford, Ph.D.: Sharing real expertise in Norse language and myth with people hungry to learn, free of both ivory tower elitism and the agendas of self-appointed gurus. Visit JacksonWCrawford.com (includes bio and linked list of all videos). “

SO HERE’S THIS OLD WOMAN, LESS TIME AHEAD OF HER THAN BEHIND. SCOTS BORN BUT WITH ICELANDIC AND SCANDINAVIAN GENETICS STRONG IN HER BLOOD. RAISED IN NORTHERN SCOTLAND WITH A MISH-MASH OF NORDIC AND CELTIC LORE AND MYTHOLOGY. LIVING IN AREAS WHICH, TBH, HAD MORE NORSE BASED PLACENAMES THAN CELTIC IN  NORTH SCOTLAND.

LEARNING ABOUT THE AFTERWORLDS OF BOTH CULTURES AND PEOPLES.

AND SITTING HERE AS TIME GOES BY THINKING “JUST WHERE THE F*CK *AM* I GOING TO END UP?”

“ The Vikings’ religion never contained any formal doctrines concerning what happens to someone when he or she dies. In the words of historian H.R. Ellis Davidson, “There is no consistent picture in Norse literary tradition of the fate of the dead,”[1] and “to oversimplify the position would be to falsify it.”[2] The rational order that people today often naively insist on finding in Viking portrayals of the dead simply isn’t there in the sources. “

SOURCE:https://norse-mythology.org/concepts/death-and-the-afterlife/

SO I’VE SPENT MUCH OF MY LIFE HOPING I’LL END UP, SOMEHOW, HANGING AROUND THOR’‘S HALL, BILSKIRNIR. WHICH IS PROBABLY AS LIKELY AS ALL THE MOSHERS WHO’LL NEVER FIGHT AN ACTUAL BATTLE IN THEIR LIVES EXPECTING TO GET INTO VALHOL. SORRY. BRUTAL BUT TRUE.....

STRANGELY, GIVEN MY STRONG IRISH/SCOT GENES, THE CELTIC AFTERLIFE HAS NEVER HELD ANY STRONG APPEAL FOR ME.

UNLIKE CHRISTIANITY, IN THE NORSE RELIGION THERE IS NO DIVISION IN THE AFTERLIFE OF “HERE’S WHERE THE GOOD GO” AND “HERE’S WHERE THE BAD GO”.  HELA’S REALM’LL PROBABLY BE “IT”. BUT GIVEN HOW LONG I’VE BEEN A THOR’SWOMAN, I HOPE THE BIG FELLA AT LEAST LOOKS IN FOR A VISIT ONCE IN A WHILE....

WE NONE OF US *KNOW* FOR CERTAIN WHAT THE AFTERLIFE WILL BRING. WE CAN WORK TOWARDS A GOAL OF AIMING UP WHERE WE’D LIKE TO HENCE VALHOL AND THE HUGE AMOUNT OF GUYS EXPECTING TO GET THERE, MOST OF THEM FORGETTING FREYJA GETS THERE FIRST TO PICK AND THEY’VE NO SAY IN IT, LIKE THE REST OF US.

BUT...AND I STRESS THIS SUPERSTRONGLY..IT’S ONLY MY MINDSET.

I *DO* BELIEVE WE END UP WHERE, DEEP IN OUR SOUL, WE BELIEVE WE WILL. *SHRUG*. MAKES LITTLE SENSE BUT WHO CARES. IT’S WHAT I BELIEVE.

ONE OF THE REASONS I DELVED INTO MY GENETIC HERITAGE WAS TO FIND OUT WHO WENT INTO MAKING ME, ME. ANOTHER WAS TO FIND OUT HOW STRONGLY MY BELIEFS AND STRENGTH OF FERNWEH MATCHED UP WITH MY DNA.

AND IT DOES. IT DOES...

IF YOU’RE LUCKY ENOUGH TO GET OLD (THE OLD SAW, LIVE HARD, DIE YOUNG, LEAVE A GOOD LOOKING CORPSE IS VASTLY OVERRATED. FACED DEATH MORE THAN ONCE. I WOULD RATHER LIVE. NOT THROUGH FEAR OF DEATH. BUT THROUGH FEAR OF WHAT I’LL LOSE WHEN I DO DIE) THEN MORTALITY BEGINS TO PERSISTENTLY SLAP YOU ROUND THE FACE AND LAUGH AT YOU RIGHT IN THE EYES.

THERE ARE NO PREPARATIONS I’M MAKING FOR MY JOURNEY TO THE AFTERLIFE, EXCEPTING INSTRUCTIONS FOR BEING CREMATED, NOT BURIED, AND THAT IF I HAVE A TERMINAL DISEASE THAT’LL BE LONG AND LINGERING, I GET TAKEN TO BELGIUM FOR EUTHANASIA.

BUT THAT’S IT. WHAT COMES AFTER THAT, WHEN THIS BODY, PACKING UP ALREADY BY DEGREES, FINALLY THROWS IN THE TOWEL..WELL, WE’LL SEE. I’M HOPEFUL.

I GOT TOLD ONCE, BY A NEO HEATHEN, WHEN I WAS DISCUSSING VALHALLA AND HOW IT WAS DECIDED WHO WENT WHERE, THAT I WAS WRONG. THIS YOUNG MAN, WHO SAT AT A DESK ALL DAY, WHO WORE HIS “PRIDE OF ODIN” T SHIRTS FOR ALL TO SEE, WHO “BRAVED” THE PSEUDO VIKING TATTOOS, HAD MADE UP HIS MIND HE WAS GOING TO VALHALLA. ODIN, NOT FREYJA, WOULD CHOOSE HIS “WARRIOR’S” SOUL.

I SUSPECT HE’LL BE MIGHTILY SURPRISED WHEN HIS TIMES COMES.

ME? I’LL TAKE WHAT COMES. WON’T BE LIKE I’VE A CHOICE, AFTER ALL.