#we can all die in peace now

[mythalism]

based upon and inspired by this wonderful post which led me to do my own research on the myth and found this blog post that nearly knocked me out with how perfectly it fits them

[sulky-cabbage]

AU: Where Sukuna Wins

Part 1

Part 2 here

Imagine an alternate universe in which Sukuna triumphs, dominates over Japan, and endures a lonely existence for many centuries, while allowing some humans to live.

They hold a grudge against him, of course, and want to kill him. They train at Jujutsu High and have some great fighters that occasionally provide Sukuna with some entertainment. 

They are so desperate for salvation, they can only find solace in prophecies about a figure with powerful blue eyes that will defeat the king of curses and rescue Japan.

And do you know what Sukuna does in response to that? One might expect him to go full Pharoah mode and kill newborns, but NO!!

HE DOES THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE !!

Whenever he ravages a village and devours the women and children, he ALWAYS spares the blue-eyed infants.

All the curses know better than to kill an infant with blue eyes. The last time a curse did that, Sukuna made sure to make an example of it.

Killing a member of the Gojo clan is also off limits, as well as anything that could delay the reincarnation of this certain person.

These humans are not the only ones waiting for salvation.

Sukuna is also WAITING...for his wretched existence to end at the hands of this person.

The ONLY one worthy of having the honor to do so.

[valkyurii]

it’s funny how things have gone full circle with malenia. she was so hated when the game first came out, but then people grew to like her. then the dlc came out and now people hate her again lmao

[katy-books]

My first conversation of the morning -

Mum - I've got bad news.

Me - Is the world over?

Mum - Yeah, pretty much.

Me - We're all going to die.

I wasn't kidding. You guys could have made history with the first female president (who has a long political career and knows how things work - like her of hate her you can't deny she'd be competent) - instead you go for a guy who loves Putin and once blackmailed Zelensky in order to try and gain an advantage over a political opponent - REALLY!? What the fuck America!? (Obviously that doesn't count for everyone who voted Harris)

I'm going to start considering becoming a prepper and anyone who voted Trump can go fuck themselves 😡

*edit*

Could have sworn I posted this around 10am but it's fine to out now - I'm no longer yelling but my sentiments are exactly the same - I've felt a little dizzy all day - this is honestly terrifying

For the record - I don't care if you don't like Harris - neither do I - it's not about whether you like her - it's about how she's not very likely to cause WW3 compared to the guy who thinks bombs are cool (like a fucking 6 year old)

[redbean-nom]

I kind of hope tech stays dead (probably bc of the silm fandom tragedy/angst instincts lol) but honestly it's star wars so he probably just got dumped in the pile of "characters to be resurrected if they seem like they could sell another movie" a la maul/boba/etc

[wedding-shemp]

I sort of don't think "those babies were MERELY murdered and not decapitated so what are you whining about" is the winning argument some of you think it is

[halinski]

.

dont read

[carbonateddelusion]

something that makes me want to commit murder: people snapping at me

[majimassqueaktoy]

Yakuza 8 better give Haruka peace and Kiryu the ending he deserve's if it really is going to be his last game.

[arolesbianism]

Doodle I did of my girl Juliet earlier

[kavehater]

Do I have to start saying not that anyone would care in that super duper passive aggressive way to guilt people into caring or what

[cuddlebugmonster]

Peepaw supremacy

He owns this, Leo told me himself.

[wvlfbreath]

i will never forgive supernatural for Cas and Dean. i refuse to accept it. but the rest… the rest is okay.

[myheartxmyman]

Ich wusste seit einer ganzen Weile, dass ich genetisch vorbelastet bin an einem plötzlichen Herztod zu sterben, ebenfalls wusste ich, dass immer mehr junge Menschen auf diese Art sterben.

Als ich die Warnsignale gelesen hab konnte ichs gar nicht glauben.. Synkopen, Krampfanfälle.. Beides Dinge mit denen ich schon seit Jahren lebe. Mal häufiger, dann wieder seltener.

Die Frage, ob ich unfruchtbar bin geht mir bereits seit Monaten immer und immer wieder durch den Kopf. Wenn ich Kinder sehe, wenn ich Hugo sehe. Zack, instant denk ich an mein Kind. Mein Baby. Dann kommt die Frage, begleitet mit einem stechenden Schmerz "Was, wenn das meine einzige Chance war jemals ein eigenes Kind zu haben?". Teilweise fühl ich mich gelähmt vor Angst, hab das Gefühl "kaputt" zu sein. Gleichzeitig versuch ich mir einzureden "besser so für das Kind, deine Gene sollte niemand haben.", Gedanken rasen in alle Richtungen, vor und zurück. Hin und her. Es stresst mich schon seit langem, ich weiß, dass ich Gewissheit bekommen muss. Für dich. Für mich. Für uns. Denn sollte ich unfruchtbar sein, ist es nur fair, dass du so schnell wie möglich darüber Bescheid weißt. Allerdings hab ich mich nicht getraut, hatte auch soviel zu tun, keine Energie, nur Stress, Angst, Panik.

Insgeheim hatte ich die Hoffnung, dass du mich begleiten würdest. Dass du merken würdest, wie sehr mich das mitnimmt. Dass du wissen würdest, dass ich unbedingt Gewissheit brauch. Ich konnte mir nicht vorstellen alleine zu einem Gynäkologen zu gehen, alles triggernd für mich. Allein der Gedanke. Der Stuhl. Instant denk ich zurück an die Notaufnahme im Gesundbrunnen. Die Kommissarin, den langen schmalen Flur voller Menschen. Wie alle mich angeschaut haben. Diese grenzenlose Scham, das Gefühl des verschwinden wollens. Ich saß eingefroren wartend und gleichzeitig befragt werden dort, aber in mir hat alles gezittert. Meine ganze Welt war so unwirklich. Mir war so schwindelig, ich hab mich so tot gefühlt, alles war in Bewegung und gleichzeitig erfroren. Funktioniert hab ich aber wie, weiß ich bis heute nicht. Dann dieser Behandlungsraum, ausziehen, auf den Stuhl.. Zuhören wie die Ärztin der Kommissarin die verschiedenen Verletzungen dokumentierte, zeigte. Plötzlich der totale fassungslose Schock, als ich die Kommissarin sagen hörte "dann mach ich mal Fotos zur Beweissicherung". "was?! Nein! Nein!..." Ein Glück erklärte sich die Ärztin bereit als Zeugin auszusagen, zur Kommissarin meinte sie "wir haben die Verletzungen beide gesehen. Dokumentiert sind sie. Wir können es beide bestätigen, das müsste doch reichen.".. Scham Scham Scham. Die Ärztin sagte leise was zur Kommissarin, woraufhin diese mich vorsichtig aber bestimmt begann auszufragen. Von alten Verletzungen / vernarbungen in mir redete, Details wissen wollte welche ich nicht mit Sicherheit geben konnte. Ssv Narben wurden entdeckt und ich wurde darauf angesprochen. Unangenehm, alles. Die ganze Welt. Retraumatisierung durch rape kit, Befragungen und Gerichtsverhandlungen sind absolut echt. Es ist gefühlt ein horror nach dem anderen, man möchte nur noch dass die Welt aufhört sich zu drehen. Oder man verschwinden kann, sich einfach in Luft auflösen..

Die Vorstellung alleine zum Gynäkologen zugehen, auf diesem Stuhl und dabei prüfen zulassen, ob ich womöglich durch die illegale Abtreibung unfruchtbar wurde, das erschien mir unmöglich. Alleine der Gedanke, die Vorstellung, jagten mir Panik und Herzrasen durch den Körper.

Jeden Monat das hoffen, bis ich versucht habe es mir auszureden.. "Ja oder nein, beides okay, beides gut." instant schrie mein Kopf "beides gut, SOLANGE ES NOCH MÖGLICH IST!", und trotzdem jedes Mal wenn meine periode angefangen hat, der Stich der Enttäuschung. Mit jedem Monat tiefer. Mit jedem gemachten Test ebenfalls. Ich wollte mich selber gar nicht erst "hoffen" lassen, aber die Hoffnung stirbt zuletzt..

Dann kam die Panik vor einem plötzlichen Herztod in jungen Jahren dazu. Ich stellte mir vor, fünf Jahre in der Zukunft mit dir zusammen glücklich zu sein. Ein gemeinsames Zuhause, mit Kleinkind und Hund. Ich stellte mir eine glückliche Zukunft vor, und dann starb ich plötzlich aus dem nichts, als ich alleine mit unserem Kind war. Das Kind total verstört, für mich jede Hilfe zu spät... Ich träumte von dieser Vorstellung, wieder und wieder. Ich hab angefangen zu denken, dass du ohne mich wesentlich besser dran bist. Wer möchte sich schon auf jemand einlassen, wo vermutlich unfähig ist ein Kind zu bekommen, und gleichzeitig jeden Moment einfach "tot umfallen" könnte.

All diese Sorgen, die Ereignisse dieses Jahres, es raubte mir soviel Kraft und Energie. Angst, Sorgen, Zukunftsängste bzw das denken gar keine Zukunft mehr zu haben, kummer, Schmerz, Zweifel. Und sooft das Gefühl mit alldem alleine zu sein. Was mir an einem Tag als richtig erschien, nachdem Motto "ich möchte ihn nicht belasten", allerdings durch die Intensität meiner Gefühle, Gedanken, gepaart mit den Albträumen, dem schlechten Schlaf. Diesem Gefühl keine Pause zu haben, nie, nicht einen einzigen Moment.. All das ließ mich denken "Ich steh zwar noch, aber bin so kurz vorm zerbrechen. Ich brauch ihn. Ich brauch eine Auszeit vom Stress der Welt. Er hat die Fähigkeit mich in Zeiten wie diesen zu beruhigen. Aber er ist nicht da, immer ist irgendwas und die Erledigungen rauben mir die letzte Kraft. Aufstehen, von a nach b nach c, der Stress wuchs und wuchs ins unermessliche. Mein Herz begann öfters weh zutun, nicht verwunderlich aber ein Teufelskreis. Mein Zyklus wurde unregelmäßig, vermutlich eine Folge des Stresses, allerdings ein weiterer Teufelskreis...

Heute habe ich rausgefunden, dass ich nicht nur eine potentielle Risikopatientin für einen plötzlichen Herztod bin, sondern auch für andere Herzerkrankungen.

Was mich am meisten belastet, ist zu wissen, dass Angehörige ersten Grades ein 50 prozentiges Risiko am plötzlichen Herztod zu versterben habe.

Risiko für :

Atherosklerose

Vorzeitige koronare Herzkrankheit

Genetisch bedingte arrhythmiesyndrome (SADS)

Myokarditis

...

Eigentlich ist das Risiko über 50 Prozent, da mein Dad so verstarb, und mein Onkel welcher als näher Angehöriger zählt an einer Herzerkrankung leidet.

Als potentieller Risikopatient ist es besonders wichtig Maßnahmen zu ergreifen, zb das vermeiden bestimmter Medikamente. Diclofenac war vermutlich das Schlimmste, was mir passieren konnte, denn seit der Einnahme hab ich stärkere Herzprobleme als jemals zuvor. Gleichzeitig ist Stress der absolute Feind.. Synkopen könnten jederzeit durch spezifische Faktoren wie Stress, schrille Wecker, sportliche Belastung, ausgelöst werden.. Bestimmte Sportarten sollte ich vermeiden. Bevor ich wieder aktiv mit Sport anfangen kann, MUSS ich erstmal mein Herz untersuchen lassen...

Und das werde ich jetzt tun. Ich habe heute einen Gynäkologen gefunden, sowie eine Klinik für Kardiologie. Ich hoffe die Wartezeiten sind nicht allzulange... Ich brauch Klarheit. Dieser Dauerstresszustand in welchem ich gefangen bin ist einfach zuviel. Es ist irgendwo alles zuviel, aber wenn man nicht mit irgendwas anfängt, dann wirds nicht besser. Ich muss den Stress reduzieren, muss meinen Puls in Balance bringen. Muss Dinge klären, welche nicht nur für mich sehr wichtig sind, sondern auch für dich. Du hast ein Recht darauf zu wissen, was Sache ist.

Ich finde nach und nach meine Stärke wieder. Wachse über mich hinaus.. Ich bin genug, ich schaffe diese Untersuchungen auch alleine. Ich "stütze" mich selbst. Genauso wie ich mich seit Monaten selbst nachts umarme, um nicht auseinander zu fallen. Manchmal halte ich meine eigene Hand, um weniger einsam zu sein. Da ist immer eine helfende Hand, selbst wenn man allein ist. Wenn man sich selbst nicht helfen kann, dann kanns niemand.

[criminalamnesia]

Traitor part 8

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

here it is everyone :)) took me forever but it’s finally here! now I can disappear in peace lol. I’ll proofread everything later, but I hope this lives up to everyone’s expectations. thank you all for the love you’ve given this series. I hope this gives you some closure.

let me know if you want any drabbles from the series <3

thank you again!

after kyle finally leaves you alone, you slink back against the door, shutting your eyes so tightly stars dot your vision.

it never ends, does it?

apologies. worry. sympathy. pity.

it was in each of their eyes— the one-four-one. each of them trying to mask their pity for you behind sickening sympathy. you were exhausted of that look— not just from them, but from everyone you had walked past or looked at since everything had happened.

you open your eyes, scanning the room. what once had been a haven had become a hell. shattered glass sprinkled the floor near the mirror. clothes were still strewn about. you hadn’t bothered picking up what had been disturbed.

you’d be gone too soon for it to matter.

your phone rings then, the screen lighting up in the dimly lit room. you let the ring tone play for a second longer before you’re moving, reaching for the device on your nightstand.

it’s kate, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“hello?” you say as you answer the call.

“it’s kate,” comes the woman’s familiar voice through the speaker. “im on my way to base. should be there by tomorrow.”

you startle, eyebrows raising in confusion. “you’re coming here? why?”

you hear her sigh. “we can talk about it tomorrow. I need to meet with john, anyways. two birds, one stone and all that.” she tells you.

“can you at least tell me if the paper work is all set for my transfer?” you ask.

she doesn’t answer for a moment, and then:

“we’ll talk about it tomorrow, sergeant. get some rest. you sound like you need it.”

you hear a click, and then the line goes dead. you furrow your brows as you look down at the phone in your hand.

why on earth would she come all the way here just to talk?

your mind is moving a mile a minute, and suddenly, it clicks.

laswell is coming here to do damage control.

you huff a mirthless laugh, dropping your phone as your hands come up to run through your hair.

you weren’t being reassigned. you were being discharged.

but was it at her insistence, or someone else’s?

you whip around, wrenching open the door and storming down the hall to price’s office. those you pass in the hallway give you bewildered stares, and suddenly you’re aware that you’re still in that damned robe, but you’re on a mission.

and when you start something, you see it through.

you don’t bother knocking as you reach price’s door. instead, you barge into the office, effectively interrupting an argument between price and simon. their voices die off, heads turning to appraise who had barged in.

price’s eyes widen at the sight of you, but simon’s face is as unreadable as always. the door clicks shut behind you, and you stalk towards the two men, your fists clenched as you seethe.

“you motherfuckers,” you hurl the words at them, “you fucking knew. you knew.”

“love, what are you talkin’ about?” price questions, his brows furrowed as he turns to you.

“laswell,” you say, and price’s eyes widen. he knows. and now he knows you know.

“whatever she told you—”

“she didn’t tell me shit,” you huff. “I figured it out. why the fuck else would she come here just to talk? she’s playing fucking babysitter, isn’t she?”

price doesn’t speak. your gaze flits to simon’s.

“I’m sure you were rooting for this outcome, weren’t you? couldn’t finish me off in that fucking room, but hey, this is just as good, isn’t it? sending me back to fucking nothing.”

“this job is my life,” you turn your attention back to the captain. “and you fuckers just can’t stop ruining it, can you?” your voice is raising, and tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’re becoming hysteric.

“all because of a fucking lie!” you’re yelling now, jabbing a finger into the chest of your former captain.

“calm down,” the sound of simon’s rough baritone leads your head to snap toward him. your eyes are wide, fury and terror blazing in them.

and he expects you to let loose. scream and hit and scream some more. but you don’t.

you stand there and you stare at him with those wide eyes. the rest of the room— hell, the world falls away— and it’s just him and you.

like it was on patrol during countless nights, your bare fingers dancing over his gloved hands as you prattled on about a show you liked.

on countless nights curled up in his bed, your back to him, pressed so close he could feel the beat of your heart in his own chest. his arms wrapped around you, one of your fingers lazily tracing the ink on his forearm. no words spoken, yet so much said.

in the field, when you and johnny bicker over comms and he takes your side. when you take a bullet to the shoulder and he holds pressure on it until evac arrives.

when he makes eye contact with you as you pin kyle to the training mat, finally able to overcome his strength. when price tells him you’re the rat and he doesn’t want to believe it.

it’s just him and you. a lieutenant and his sergeant. but it’s more than that.

it’s a deep understanding of this job being your life. of losing everything and everyone you hold dear. of finding family again in this team, and doing whatever it takes to keep that family safe.

and he fully realizes, then, what you have been condemned to.

what they condemned you to.

what he condemned you to.

he breaks from his thoughts as you slam your fist into his jaw.

price’s eyes widen, his feet carrying him forward to intervene, but simon waves him off as he cradles a hand to his jaw.

“let ‘em,” he grunts out, and price looks bewildered, but he nods. he takes a step back, his hands falling to his sides, and he lets you strike again.

“fuck you,” you seethe, and despite your best efforts, your voice cracks. emotion seeps in, and your eyes are wet as you swipe a leg out from under him, forcing him to his knees.

he falls with no grace, knees hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud. you’d cringe if this were any other circumstance.

instead, you deliver another blow, cracking his nose with the force of it. blood sprays out and wets your robe.

“ghost—” price begins from somewhere off to the side, but simon just shakes his head.

“fuck you, simon! fuck you!” you scream at him, and your fists are flying blindly as tears cloud your eyes.

and he just takes the hits. you subconsciously register the sound of the office door squeaking as it opens and quickly closes. price didn’t want to be a bystander any longer, it seems.

but he still didn’t jump in. was it because of ghost’s insistence? or because your captain didn’t want to watch one of his soldiers finally snap?

you finally stop yourself when blood drips from your knuckles. unsurprisingly, they’ve split again. there’s no doubt in your mind that there will be little scars between each of them once they’ve healed.

more to add to the reminder of everything. god, at this point you knew you’d never forget it even if you wanted to. even if you tried to. even if you did for a brief moment, those little white lines— discolored and jagged skin in the place of what should be smooth and unmarred, would be your reminder.

blood pools on the floor, a mix of yours and simon’s. you pay it no mind as you wipe the backs of your hands on your completely ruined robe. good— now you had a great excuse to throw the damned thing away.

you would’ve thrown it away anyways.

you bring your hands to your eyes, wiping away tears that had freed themselves their cage. you see simon clearly then, his face bloodied and yet still beautiful in that way of his. his nose is obviously broken. lacerations above his eye and on his cheekbones.

his eyes are staring back you, the icy blue of them never more intense than now.

you heave in your breaths as you look at him. his split lip cracks further as he opens his mouth.

“done?”

and you don’t have anything left to give, so you nod. then you slump to your knees, down onto his level, and you don’t look away from what you’ve done.

it’s no different than what you did to the doctor, or to countless enemies in the field. but, at the same time, it is different.

because it’s him, and he let you do this. he could have easily stopped you. he’d shown his strength against you numerous times on the sparring mat, picking you up and tossing you around with ease.

and yet he didn’t stop you.

“why?” you ask him, and it’s a loaded question. your voice is a watery tremble, and the word comes out as a whisper, but he doesn’t shy away.

he shrugs. “you needed it.”

he’s focusing on one aspect of the question— on why he let you hit him. you open your mouth to respond, but he surprises you by speaking again.

“least I could do,” he says.

you close your mouth, your chapped lips pressed into a thin line. why is he doing this now? saying this now? what changed?

“is it your fault, then? that I’m being discharged?” you find yourself asking, and you’re not sure if you want to know the answer.

maybe you just want a reason to hate him more.

“no,” he says, and you know he means it.

he never lied to you, regardless of any pain it may have saved. it was one of the things you had loved about him.

he sighs. “I didn’t want you to go.”

that surprises you. simon was never one to freely speak on his feelings. he had opened up to you during your relationship, but it was as if there was always an invisible line he could never cross. never did he utter the complete truth to his thoughts or feelings. and you had accepted that— because that is who he was.

and you would take him with all his walls if it just meant that you could have him.

“I don’t want you to.” he corrects himself.

the room falls silent around you. the part of you that still holds love for him yearns for his embrace at this moment. but you push that side of you down. you will not go crawling back, not after what happened.

“you’ve been an asshole,” you say, and he gives a curt nod.

“probably.” he concedes. “but I wouldn’ take anythin’ back. I told you, I meant what I said.”

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” you ask. god, he has a horrible way with words.

“no,” he tells you. “nothin’ I can say can do that.”

you snort. you fall back on you haunches, your hands in your lap as you look at him.

“I am never going to forgive you,” you tell him, words full of so much hurt.

he nods again. “I know. I don’ blame you. don’ expect you to, neither.”

“but I’m…” he starts, and his lips crease in a frown. “im sorry.”

you just look at him. perhaps you had wanted an apology at one moment in time, but now? now none of it mattered.

“I hope so,” you tell him. you move to stand, and he remains still. he hasn’t moved an inch since you’d finished your assault.

“I hope you feel this way for the rest of your lonely life. I hope that you never forget what you did to me, and I hope that it keeps you up at night. because I can tell you with certainty that I will never forget. and I hope the others remember, too. I hope it tears you all apart from the inside. that it follows you around for the rest of your career.”

you breathe in, then out. “and I hope no one ever gives you the chances I did,” your voice is soft. “because I would never wish what you did to me on the next person you think you love.”

his face conveys no emotion other than the small frown still on his lips. his eyes, so cold, have softened the tiniest bit. you used to love when you could bring out that softness inside of him. when it was just the two of you, your hand in his, his eyes on you.

those memories would suffocate you if you let them. what could’ve been will suffocate you. you refuse to let it.

you turn and stalk towards the door, not bothering to spare him another glance. you open it, stepping out into the hallway, coming face-to-face with the rest of the one-four-one.

their eyes are all wide as they take you in. your bloodied hands and robe. the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. you pull the door shut behind you before you speak.

“i don’t care to speak to kate,” you say to price, your eyes meeting his. “fuck her for not giving me a chance. and fuck you for laying down like a damn dog and not fighting for your fucking team.”

you turn to johnny next. “you shove your sorries up your ass, mactavish. I don’t want your sympathy, and I don’t want your pity. I hope your regret eats you alive.”

finally, kyle. “and you,” you glare at him. “if anyone other than simon should’ve defended me, it should’ve been you. I met you first, kyle. you were my closest friend, my brother. and you turned out to be just another fucking lap dog.”

you shake your head, blinking away hot tears. “I want you to get me temporary housing and a car because that’s the least you owe me, after ruining my life. and I don’t want to hear from any of you ever again. if I do, I guarantee you I will not show you the mercy you think you showed me when you had me tied up in that chair.”

none of them spoke, and you didn’t give them a chance to as you pushed past them, heading back toward your room to change.

a yellow cab retrieves you from base the next morning before kate arrives. it’s still dark outside when you leave the shelter that had once been home. rain pours down around you, a raging storm hanging overhead as it had all night prior. perhaps it was a reflection of your mood. you liked to think that it was.

you toss your duffle bag into the trunk, shutting it before climbing into the back seat. you hadn’t bothered to pack anything other than a few pairs of clothes you’d recovered from the floor of your room. everything else could be trashed, especially anything the boys had given you.

the driver doesn’t speak— price had given him all the information he needed— and paid him— before he’d fetched you. it seems your final outburst— and beating simon to a pulp— had finally put some urgency in his movements.

none of them had seen you off, per your request. you thought it was the least they could do for you after continuously disrespecting your boundaries.

(unbeknownst to you, simon had watched you leave through a window.)

the driver turned up the music— some pop song you didn’t know the name of— and you slumped in your seat, your head turned toward the window as you watched the rain race down it.

you found yourself drifting off quickly, and you didn’t try to fight it. you’re finally free of that place and the men you thought were your family. free of the anxiety of seeing them around every corner. free of the hate that sparked in your heart every time you heard their voices.

you sleep, and for the first time since before everything, it’s peaceful.

you wake to the taxi driver talking to you.

“we’re here,” he says, knocking on the glass separating the front and back seats. “can you get out now? I gotta get home. it’s my wife’s birthday.”

you blink the sleep from your eyes, nodding before you even register what he’s saying. “sorry,” you mumble as you fumble with the seat belt.

you slip from the car, your boots splashing in a muddy puddle. you grimace as the murky water seeps in, wetting your socks.

you trudge around to the back of the car, opening the trunk and retrieving your bag. you’ve just shut the trunk and stepped back when the car is driving off, kicking up mud that further dirties your boots and jeans.

you pay it little mind as you look at the small cottage before you.

nestled between some trees, it’s beautiful. a shingled roof. light blue paneled siding. a small front porch with a rocking chair and a bench swing. a beautiful dark blue door.

your favorite flowers live in the flower beds surrounding what you can see of the house. it makes you wonder if its a simple coincidence or if simon or price planned it.

how long have they known that you would have to come here? that you would have no where else to go except for where they put you?

you vowed that this house would just be temporary. you would get away from it as soon as possible, putting the rest of the one-four-one behind you. you didn’t want any of them knowing where to find you.

the rain slows to a sad drizzle. drops prick your skin as you make no effort to avoid puddles, splashing carelessly to the front door. you can hear birds beginning to chirp, slipping out of their hiding places as the sun’s rays begin to illuminate the earth once more.

a new beginning, you think.

you reach a hand toward the door knob, twisting it open and pushing inside. it’s a cozy little place with wood floors and a brick fireplace. it’s furnished, but there’s no personality to it. it clearly hasn’t been somebody’s home.

the door clicks shut behind you as you toe off your boots and drop your duffle by the door. as you nudge your boots out of the way with a foot, you notice an envelope on the floor.

eyebrows scrunched in confusion, you lean down and scoop it up. your name is written on the front in a scrawl you don’t recognize.

who else knows you’re here?

perhaps you’ll need to leave sooner than you thought.

you push your thumb under the seam, ripping it open with little finesse. inside is a typed letter. it’s an offer, you realize. a job offer.

its got an american stamp on it, and its signed by a phillip graves.

a new beginning indeed.

[helaintoloki]

May I request a five x reader where they are living domestically and just being happy and lovey dovey especially experiencing everything they did together while being in the apocalypse, the time commission, stoping the other apocalypses etc (five x Lila doesn’t exist five x Lila doesn’t exist five x Lilia doesn’t-)

a/n: this piece is basically a big fuck you to s4 so enjoy five being happy and domestic with reader and not his own brother’s wife. also five and reader are mentally older adults but physically in their twenties

warnings: language, fluff, mentions of pregnancy

summary: now that the timeline has been fixed and the world is no longer in danger, five can enjoy a peaceful life with you

The sunlight that bleeds through the curtains is almost blinding as Five begins to stir himself awake. Stretching out his limbs until he hears a satisfying pop, he lets out a sigh and moves to reach out for someone that isn’t there. Your spot in bed is still warm which means you haven’t been gone for long, but Five still rises with a sense of urgency when greeted with your absence. Call it muscle memory from dealing with multiple kidnapping ploys against you or an old habit that just won’t die off after having to remain vigilant when protecting you from the enemy, but the poor boy’s heart always skips a beat when you go missing.

He finds you in the kitchen brewing a fresh pot of coffee, your back to him as you hum along to the radio that plays on the counter and search for Five’s favorite cup in the cabinet. He has to pause and take a breath to remind himself that you’re not in danger, your life of protecting timelines and ending apocalypses is over, and the fresh start you’ve made for yourselves isn’t in any jeopardy. You’re real, you’re alive, and you’re his.

“Morning,” Five softly calls with a careful smile as he rests a hand on the small of your back and presses a tender kiss to your lips.

“Good morning,” you great cheerfully before handing him his cup of coffee. “I didn’t hear you get up. Did I wake you?”

“Not at all,” he assures you before taking a hearty gulp of the hot liquid. After years of being together you know how to make Five’s coffee just the way he likes it and could probably do so in your sleep if asked. Your thoughtfulness is just one of the many traits of yours that have him wrapped around your finger always.

“We need to go grocery shopping,” you note dutifully as you peek your head into the fridge in search of breakfast. Frowning, you announce, “We’re out of eggs, so I guess it’s frozen waffles for breakfast.”

“Why don’t we go out for breakfast today?” Five suggests with an innocent shrug.

“Really? But you hate breakfast places. They can never make your coffee right.”

“I also hate seeing you eat frozen waffles three days in a row,” he reminds you with a wry chuckle. Maneuvering you out of the way, Five closes the fridge shut and gives you a gentle nudge in the direction of your shared bedroom. “Go on, get dressed. You can wear that new dress you bought the other day.”

“You’re right!” You exclaim with an excited gasp and rush off to your room before Five can change his mind. Not that he would, of course. Five would do anything to see you happy after all the shit he’s put you through in your time together. Sometimes he still wonders why you ever agreed to marry him, perhaps a slip of sanity or lack of care for your own wellbeing, but he wasn’t one to complain. He liked living the quiet life with you, and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

~~~

The night air is cool against your bare shoulders as you sit comfortably upon the porch swing and listen to the cicadas sing their evening song. The sun has long since set, but the string of lights that hang above you are enough to allow you to see the pages of your color by numbers book. Beside you, Five sits with a book in one hand while the other rests atop of your legs strewn across his lap. He enjoys sitting in the silence of your company as you remain glued together despite partaking in your own hobbies separately.

“We’ve been married for thirty years,” you state simply, breaking the silence but never once breaking your focus from your coloring book.

“Sure have,” is Five’s thoughtful reply. Setting his book aside, your husband gives your calf a gentle squeeze and turns to look at your concentrated features.

“Not including your siblings, it’s always been just us. Together in the apocalypse, partners under the Commission, husband and wife.”

“Is that a bad thing?” He asks, not quite sure what point you’re trying to make. Are you rethinking the marriage? Are you finally starting to have regrets about marrying him? He watches with bated breath as you set your materials to the side and finally meet his anxious gaze.

“I want to start a family of our own,” you finally confess, nervously fidgeting with your wedding ring as you await his response with hopeful eyes. “I don’t want it to be just us anymore.”

Sighing, Five leans his head back and shuts his eyes as he processes your request. He can’t say he’s surprised by your question; he’s noticed the way you eye babies in public, how you linger just a little too long to admire the window display of the infant clothing store at the mall, how you’ll hold the twins for hours in your arms and refuse to give them back until Diego has to physically pry them from your grasp. It’s only natural for you to feel this way, but that’s not the problem. The problem is Five isn’t exactly sure how he feels about becoming a father.

“I don’t know,” he admits carefully, taking great caution when choosing his next words so as to not upset you. “Having a kid, becoming parents… it changes everything.”

“I know we couldn’t before because there was the Commission and then the multiple apocalypses, and that’s why I never asked. But Five,” you urge gently, shifting to sit yourself up on your knees so you can reach over and take both of his hands in your own, “all of that is done with. We fixed the timeline, and all that end of the world nonsense is over with for good. No one is coming after us anymore or trying to kill me to get to you. We can properly grow old now and have a simple life together, wasn’t that always the goal?”

The boy is silent as he mulls over your speech. You’re completely right; saving the world and resetting the timeline to its proper place in order to ensure you and his siblings could have the lives you deserved was always the end goal. But after spending his entire existence trying to complete that task, he finds it hard to adjust to his new life of normalcy. Perhaps he’s not exactly scared of becoming a parent, but scared of what a baby would mean in the grand scheme of things. It would be proof that his work is truly over now, that he can turn his survival mode off after having it set to fight for so many years, and that’s a big adjustment for someone like him.

But when he looks at your hopeful gaze and sees the way you anxiously worry your lip between your teeth, he realizes that he’ll do anything to give you the happy life you deserve. He brings one of your hands to his lips and holds it tight as he murmurs his answer into the skin of your palm.

“If you think we’re ready, then I’m in.”

“You mean it?” You gasp while doing your best to withhold your excitement. Your eyes are wide and full of hope as Five lets out a soft chuckle before giving you a reassuring kiss.

“We survived the end of the world several times, how scary could raising a baby really be?”

He isn’t given an answer to his hypothetical question as you fling yourself into his arms and assault his face with multiple kisses along his skin. It’s safe to say his answer has eased your anxieties, and the boy can only laugh as you express your gratitude.

“I’m so happy you agree!” You exclaim giddily, your hands coming to rest upon his chest to ground yourself as you then suggest to Five’s surprise, “Let’s start trying tonight!”

“What?”

~~~

“That has to be the tiniest Hargreeves I’ve ever seen,” Klaus gushes adoringly as he takes in the details of the ultrasound photo in front of him. “Look at the little peanut, isn’t it precious?”

“I can’t believe Five is actually going to be a dad,” Allison notes in astonishment as the three of you turn your gaze to see him arguing with Diego over the proper way to baby proof your home while Ben eggs them on and ruins Luther’s efforts at trying to keep the peace. You’re only two months along, but Five is anxious to ensure that everything is perfect for your child’s arrival.

“You know, you might just be the first 65 year-old woman to give birth,” Klaus points out cheekily. “You should be in a world records book or something.”

“Very funny,” you retort sarcastically before taking back the ultrasound photo to hang up on the fridge. You falter for a moment when your eyes remain stuck to photo and your brain works on overdrive to commit the image to memory as best as you can.

“Everything okay?” Viktor asks after noticing the sudden change in demeanor.

“I just can’t believe this is real,” you murmur quietly, blinking back tears that threaten to spill. “After everything we’ve been through and everything we’ve lost, I guess a part of me worries that one day I’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream.”

“I know how that feels,” Allison assures you with a comforting squeeze to your shoulder. “But I promise you this isn’t a dream, and whatever you need we’ll be there.”

“Because you’re family now,” Viktor adds on with a confident nod. “And we look out for family no matter what.”

“Even though at one point in our lives we’ve all thought about killing each other,” Klaus notes humorously before giving you a tight squeeze.

“Everything okay over here?” Five asks, appearing at your side and placing a comforting hand on your back as you all turn your gazes towards the fridge and admire the newest addition to the family.

“Everything is perfect.”