#we just don’t see it bc it’s from a decade ago

[daisiesonafield-blog]

Hey D, now that larry is viral on tiktok, are there new larries coming to your page? Or the drama stayed on tiktok?

Ummm 🤔 I’m not sure. I think most of the tiktok fandom isn’t even aware of tumblr 😩 so even when these things go viral, tumblrs May see a few extra people join, but not much more unless you’re linking things.

And tiktok is notorious for not linking, giving credit or giving context so

😬

[i-like-writing-stuff]

the other five [ five hargreeves x reader ]

request: Hello! This is my first time desperately requesting a fic because the new season is SO bad 😭 Can you write a fic where the reader finds out about everything that happened between Five & Lila and then she gets taken away by one of the Fives at the deli and promising her that he’ll treat her better than OG Five (You can also add a part where OG Five finds out about this and lives to regret it)

a/n: AU where everything in that trash season was the same, except when five made the first jump in s1 he made it in his 32 yr old body bc i will not have y/n pull a zach justice (lmao)

even if lila did 😭😭

anyways basically everyone is the same age

i like to think of the five that comforts y/n as the five that explained everything to five in the last episode because that one literally felt like the five we were supposed to get, the five that was there all the first three seasons

sorry i cant stop trashing this season you guys 😭 i’m just so disappointed

summary: after breaking up with five, you make up with… well, five

part two

“Leave me alone, Five!” You yelled in despair, pushing the man before you away, “Actually, first take me back home, you psycho! I have nothing to say to you!”

“Y/N, please, just hear me out!” Five tried to reason with you, as if anything he would say could make your heart glue itself back.

You were standing in the subway station after Five had blinked himself and you away from the family- or what was left of it, watching him at loss of words. You didn’t recognize the man before your eyes, as much as you tried. You didn’t even have time to gather all your thoughts since there was yet another impending apocalypse on its way, so your mind was completely all over the place.

Five Hargreeves was not the same Five Hargreeves you fell in love with all those years ago. He was not the same man who had stolen your heart and made you feel like you were the most precious person in the world. He wasn’t your partner anymore, he wasn’t your lover. Your boyfriend wasn’t there. You looked at this person and there was a stranger, acting as if he was the same who had hugged you, held your hand, kissed you all those many times. You were questioning everything about him now.

“Take me back!” You yelled again, ignoring his same pleas, curling your hand in a fist, “I’m this fucking close to making you ash!”

As your pure anger got the best of you, you were ready to let your powers take over for a second. Obviously you weren’t actually going to hurt him, no matter how much you wanted him to feel your pain, at least physically.

You met him six years ago, during the first time you tried to stop the apocalypse. You were also one of the extraordinary kids, but luckily enough, Reginald Hargreeves didn’t manage to adopt you- more so, purchase you. You only met Five not long after he managed to time travel back to his family in 2019 after spending all those decades by himself. Before you knew it, you were dragged into the Hargreeves family and your relationship soon after developed.

Your six year relationship that was so merry a few hours ago. Now it was crumbled, trashed.

What hurt was that it was six years only to you. Five managed to block himself seven years away from you, only in the presence of Lila.

“This is so fucking stupid,” You scoffed, fighting back the tears in your eyes, “It’s fucking over! Do you want me to spell it out for you?!”

“I want you to listen!” Five didn’t give up on arguing, “I thought I’d never see you again!”

“You didn’t want to see me again!” You screamed, wailing your hands in the air, “Fucking save it- It’s over! I don’t want to ever see you again if we survive this apocalypse! You ruined our relationship, you ruined your brother’s marriage, family! For fucking Lila!”

You hated him absolutely. The mere thought of his infidelity, of the nerve to act as if he still loved you, it was all despicable.

You grew to love all of your boyfriend’s siblings, and also your nieces and nephews, even if you and Five were not yet married. You planned to be a part of the family officially, but still wanted to focus on your careers, you wanted to adjust yourself to your old life, back to your origins.

“Y/N, please!” He tried to step, towards you, but you started stepping away.

Thoughtlessly, because of all your anger, you just walked towards the first train approaching you, fully intending to be away from him at whatever cost.

“If you don’t want to take me back, I’ll fucking find my own way!” You hopped onto the train, watching as he tried to catch up with you.

But he was too late.

In hindsight, maybe it was not the smartest idea, but you were just so devastated nothing made sense to you anymore. You spent the past six years thinking that you are set for the rest of your life, now that the world wasn’t ending anymore. You reconnected with your family, you built a career for yourself and were living happily with Five, you had literally just finished settling yourself in the new house you bought together. You couldn’t understand how he could do this to you.

You couldn’t understand how Lila could betray your friendship either, especially Diego and their kids.

You tried to make it make sense, be reasonable- it was only a few hours to you, but they were lost in this subway system for seven years.

But then again, Five was lost in the future 45 years by himself and he didn’t give up on trying to return to his family once.

Now he did, he gave up on trying to return to you.

That’s definitely another aspect that stung.

“Fucking piece of shit,” You mumbled, as the train approached its first station, “How do I fucking get out of here?”

You stumbled out of the sub, taking in your surroundings. It was yet another crumbled down station, but if you were to be at least a tiny bit fair, it was maybe a bit better kept. You looked around curiously, trying to figure out where to go from now on. Your fire-based superpowers were totally useless in this situation, so you hated to admit that you were in a bit of a pickle.

You rolled your eyes, as Five rounded the corner and stopped in his tracks, watching you with widened eyes.

“You again?” You sighed angrily, “Take me back or get out of my sight, Five.”

Five raised his brows, putting his hands in his pockets curiously. He didn’t say a word yet, as a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He slowly stepped towards you, not taking his eyes off you once. For a split second, you stopped as well, sending that something was up.

You took in his features, trying to make sense of what was going on, realizing that he didn’t have a coat on him. He was wearing the exact three piece suit an black tie, he was wearing the same silver watch on his left hand, but he didn’t have his coat on.

“Y/N,” He smiled, stopping in front of you, “I never thought I’d see you again, more so here.”

“What the fuck is going on?” You calmly asked, over-analyzing the man before you.

His smile didn’t drop. It was a genuine one, a smile you hadn’t seen in a while. Things between you and Five were okay a few hours ago, but he hadn’t watched you with this look since you first met. His eyes were sincere, taking in every single feature of yours, traveling all over your body.

“I take it your Five danced the devil’s tango with Lila,” He sighed deeply, raising a hand to gently brush away your tears.

When did you even start crying?

Your mind was scrambled all over the place, but at that exact moment you couldn’t say another word. You just melted into his touch, feeling warmth. It really hadn’t been that long since Five touched you, but this touch felt different. His hand rested on your cheek, as his thumb caressed you lightly. His touch was so intoxicatingly sweet, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’m so sorry I’m a literal shitface in some other timelines,” He lightly shook his head, “I’m so sorry.”

“What is going on?” You asked once again, calmer this time.

For whatever reason, you relaxed in an instant. You couldn’t tell if it was because of his gentle touch or simply his presence. Ironic, since just ten minutes ago you were ready to set him on fire.

“Come with me, my love,” Five said, grabbing your hand in his, “I’ll explain everything.”

You didn’t fight his touch, locking your fingers with his. None of you said a word, as you watched you hands fit so perfectly in one another. How could your relationship be over when you were so good together?

You followed Five through the subway station, rounding the same corner he appeared from. You watched as he turned his head to give you a reassuring smile, lightly squeezing your hand in comfort.

After a few more steps and going down a couple of stairs, you widened your eyes seeing a literal deli tucked away in this godforsaken out of order subway system. The headlights above the front entrance were lit up, writing Max’s Delicatessen. You saw inside a huddle of people as you entered, gathering everyone’s attention.

When they all turned to look at you, you literally couldn’t tell whether you or the huddle of people was more shocked.

They were all Fives.

There was music playing inside, as the deli was full of different versions of your boyfriend, whether they were customers sitting at the tables, drinking coffee or having a meal, reading the newspaper or having a chat. There were also other Fives working around, waiting tables or cooking in the back.

Nonetheless, they all stopped to look at you.

“Yeah, yeah, Y/N is here, carry on, you guys,” The Five that was holding your hand waved the others off with his free hand, “She needs a moment, stop being creeps.”

“I can’t tell if this is a dream come true or my worst nightmare,” You said, looking around the deli, as Five guided you towards an empty booth.

You sat down as the other picked up again whatever they were doing, still watching you with the corner of their eyes. Five took a seat in front of you, still holding onto your hand on top of the table, using his other hand to rub small circles on your skin.

“I am not the Five that dragged you here, in case you didn’t tell yet,” Five managed to say, “But I’m pretty sure that you did, since I know you’re smarter than he gives you credit for.”

“He did mention that this subway system is the knot to multiple timelines,” You sighed, as Waiter Five set down two cups of steaming coffee on the table.

You watched him curiously, as he looked yet again exactly like Five, wearing just a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, with a black tie, pantsuit pants and a server apron around the waist. He smiled at you warmly, setting down two small packs of sugar and a creamer.

“I’m sorry, my love, we don’t have any Irish Capuccinos around here, since you’re the first Y/N to set foot in here,” He apologetically smiled, “I can only get you a shot of whiskey, if you’d like.”

Of course they all knew your favorite coffee.

“Make it a bottle,” You said, cracking a smile for the first time, causing him to chuckle, before walking away to attend to your order.

“I can’t begin to explain how much I missed your smile, darling,” The Five before you said, as you turned back to him, “The Handler got to the Y/N in my timeline,” He added, as sadness took over his eyes, “I missed you so much.”

“I can’t understand how you’re the same Five that fell in love with Lila,” You said, before quickly adding, “I mean- technically, you’re not, but still.”

“Everyone around here is a different version of me, from a different timeline,” He said, “I’m one of the many that didn’t go down that road.”

“Thank you, I guess,” You laughed, making him smile again.

What a sweet smile it was.

“When I lost you, I was a total wreck,” He confessed, as you couldn’t help but place your other hand on top of his, “I love you so much, Y/N, I could never hurt you like that no matter what. This is all such a fucked up turn of events, but when I saw you coming out of that train, my mind froze.”

“I love you too, Five,” You said, “But I need to wrap my head around what is going on- Everything is insane, I mean I’m right now in the middle of yet another apocalypse, I just found out that you love Lila and there’s just so fucking many of you.”

“I know, my love, I know,” Five nodded, “I wouldn’t dare to ask you accept everything so fast, I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“Can you just… hold me?” You asked, watching as he didn’t waste another second and got up to slide ne t yo you in the booth.

Wrapping one arm around your shoulders to pull you into his chest, he used his other one to caress your hair. You nuzzled your face into his shirt, taking in his scent, as you felt a wave of certitude wash over you. Five held you tightly into his arms, embracing you after years of your absence. He was grateful to have you in his arms once again.

And he was not about to let go anytime soon.

“I’ll always hold you, my love,” Five muttered, peppering small kisses in your hair.

The Five from your timeline watched from behind the window as you took comfort in his arms, but not exactly his arms.

This was only the beginning of his lifelong regret.

[withleeknow]

lost cause.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, kinda angsty idk?; unedited bc we live just to suffer, erhm i don't think there's a lot of warnings here, open to interpretation if oc is depressed 🤔; basically “it's rotten work,” “not to me. not if it’s you,” + that one scene in nobody wants this (if you’ve watched the show you’ll know what i’m talking about) word count: 0.6k listen to 🎧: risk - gracie abrams

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

“i think i’m starting to hate myself again.”

your voice is casual when you say it, indifferent, nonchalant, as if you’re merely bringing up the weather or reading from a shopping list. you’re used to it by now — the fact that it comes and goes, that if there are highs then there must be lows too. that sometimes, there are no good days, just better ones.

you know minho hasn’t fallen asleep because you still feel him playing with your hair while you lay on his chest, his index finger twisting a lock around before letting it fall over your back. he doesn’t falter, not even once. no change in his calming breathing, no sign that he’s all too surprised by your sudden announcement. you suppose he’s used to it as much as you are.

he’s quiet for a while, like the night outside the comfort of your bedroom. the weather forecast warned you of thunderstorms, but everything remained still and safe. there wasn’t even a spark of lightning to be found.

when minho finally speaks, only a simple “okay,” comes out, followed by a question. “then i’ll love you more to make up for it. how much time do you need? couple weeks?”

you shake your head. “longer,” you say.

“couple months?”

a beat of silence. another shake. “longer.”

“couple years?” he asked. no hesitation. “couple decades?”

minho can’t see you from this position, but you can hear the sound of his heart. he’s steady and secure and you’re nothing more than a fickle flame that’s always on the verge of going out.

“you can’t handle it,” you tell him. “better to quit while you’re ahead.”

it would be so easy, wouldn’t it? for him to pack up before he realizes somewhere down the line that he’s wasted his time and effort on a lost cause?

“i know what you’re doing, by the way. stop that.”

you pretend to ask, “what am i doing?”

before you know it, he’s already managed to flip the both of you over. he’s hovering over you with his forearms on either side of your head, effectively caging you in, chest to chest, and his hips pressed flush against yours.

“i told you i’m not going anywhere,” minho says, brushing some hair away from your face. “stop trying to get me to leave.”

you blink. he’s so close and oh so warm, so beautiful as he stares down at you, so patient and kind when you’re telling him that you need him to love the parts that even you can’t bring yourself to love.

your hands settle on his shoulders. “don’t blame me when you regret it.”

“i won’t regret it. not if it’s you.”

then he’s kissing you, soft and slow, and that’s when you finally hear the first roar of thunder that should’ve arrived hours ago. he kisses you like he was made for you — or you for him, you’re not really sure, but it can’t possibly matter that much.

“so?” minho prompts after he’s pulled away, “how long?”

his eyes are sparkling and you’re still a little dazed. lightheaded but you know that you’ll always love him the most, know that you’re pushing it, know that you’re asking for what many would never be willing to give. “what if i say i’ll need you for the rest of my life?”

his lips curl into a tender smile, one that he presses to your mouth once again. you taste devotion in the kiss, in the way one of his hands crosses the short distance to hold your face so delicately it makes your heart hurt.

“i’ll love you more for the rest of our lives then.”

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 30.10.2024]

[livwritesstuff]

for @steddie-week day 5 | exes to lovers

fully and completely inspired by @emchant3d's divorced dad's post [x] from a few weeks ago bc i did not once stop thinking abt it

tags: modern day, artist!eddie, finance guy!steve, steddie as rich gay divorcees, sort of an accidental parent trap situation

They were too young, Steve thinks in retrospect – married at twenty-three, their daughter born when they were twenty-five, and then divorced before his twenty-seventh birthday.

He gets to think retrospectively because in a few years it’ll be a full decade since the papers for that last bit got signed. Now, Steve is thirty-four and sweating his ass off in a red polo and crisp jeans, the stiflingly hot July sun beating down on him as he scans the perimeter of a crowded playground for a familiar head of curly brown hair – not his nine-year-old. He found Rosalind already, wreaking havoc on the jungle gym. No, he’s looking for his ex (-husband, technically, but Steve usually stops at ex; the -husband part just makes him sad these days).

It’s custody swap day, which is either his favorite or least favorite day of the week depending on who the swap is favoring.

Today it’s favoring him which is why he’s slowly making his way around the edge of a playground in Bushwick, keeping an eye out for his ex, Eddie.

“Steve,” he hears from somewhere behind him. Steve turns towards the sound and sees not that curly head of hair he’d expected. Eddie’s hair is completely buzzed (which, for the record, was not the case last week when Steve dropped Rozzy off with him) and he’s wearing a paint-splattered white t-shirt tucked into old jeans and all that combined is making it reeeally hard for Steve to pretend he’s not crushing hard on the guy he divorced eight years ago.

“Dude,” Steve started, eyeing Eddie’s hair (or lack thereof) as he made his way to the section of fence that Eddie was occupying, “What–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie rolled his eyes, “Rozzy already hit me with all the good zingers so you’re too late.”

“No, I don’t –” Steve stopped, “It’s…not a bad look, just…you know. Why the change?”

Eddie looked away.

“Long story,” he replied as Steve remembered (yet again) that he doesn’t get full access to Eddie’s world the way he used to.

Luckily for Steve, Rozzy runs up to them and spares him from having to figure out a response for that.

“We should get pizza,” she says. Steve’s eyebrows fly up.

“We should get pizza?” he repeats.

“Please,” she adds, her eyes shining, “At Dad’s? And we play Mario Kart? Dad said I’m getting good at 200!”

“He said that?” Steve asked, and he glances over Rosalind's head to see that Eddie is making a so-so gesture with his hand.

He’s never been all that good at saying no to his daughter (or anyone), so it doesn’t take much more convincing on Rozzy’s part for the three of them to head off in the direction of Eddie’s loft, with a pitstop planned for the pizza shop down the block.

They actually have a nice time.

It’s true that Rozzy is getting better at 200cc – good might be a bit generous, but Steve’s fine with that (he doesn’t know if his ego could handle getting crushed by a fourth-grader).

Just as they’re finishing their second grand prix (the Star Cup, because Rozzy likes the dolphin race), one of the other kids in the building knocks on the door and invites Rozzy over for a sleepover, which Steve agrees to because he remembers the illicit kind of joy in a summertime Monday night sleepover.

Eddie doesn't show Steve the door after Rozzy's gone. Rather, he pulls a bottle of wine from the fridge – an expensive Sémillon he says was given to him by a client.

“So the art biz is still going well, I assume,” Steve comments as Eddie pulls two vintage wine glasses out of a cabinet and pours them each a healthy serving.

Conversation about work manages to sustain them through the first few glasses (Eddie actually remembered that it’s been just over a year since Steve left his dad’s Fortune 1000 for a CFO position at a marketing company that had just graduated from small to midsize status). They work through the second quarter of the bottle talking about Rozzy, and the third vanishes even quicker while Steve spills some of the latest Harrington family drama.

While Eddie is updating him on how Wayne is doing, Steve finds that he isn’t really listening, distracted in the way he can’t help but notice how Eddie’s paint-stained t-shirt is actually more like an undershirt, and a size too small for him, the torso and sleeves tight around lean muscle, and there’s a thin silver chain around his neck and a scruff of facial hair around his jaw, and –

Steve doesn’t immediately realize when Eddie stopped talking. When he does, when his eyes finally unstick themselves from the buzzcut and drop back down to Eddie’s, he sees that Eddie is staring at him too.

Eddie’s tongue darts out to wet his lip.

“Ask me again why I buzzed my hair,” he tells him.

“Why’d you buzz your hair,” Steve asks, because he’s obedient like that (and because he really does want to know).

“Steve–” Eddie stops, a giggly, wine-induced hiccup of a laugh slipping out before he shakes his head, “An entire can of paint tipped ov–” He cuts himself off with another half-hysterical laugh, barely managing to say, “Spilled on my head,” before he was completely doubled over, and Steve is laughing too because he can totally picture it and because he had a bit more wine than he planned to and this is honestly the first time that he and Eddie have hung out without their daughter in…Steve doesn’t even know how long.

“Steve,” Eddie says again when they finally both recover, and his tone is completely different this time around and there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that wasn’t there before and something is happening, something is happening, “Please don’t kill me for saying this, but…fuck, it’s really kinda pathetic how badly I still want it to be you and me.”

Steve thinks he tries to respond, but then he was too busy kissing Eddie to do anything else, too busy scraping fingernails over Eddie’s scalp, too busy choking back a moan as Eddie sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, too busy tugging Eddie’s shirt out of his waistband to shove a hand up underneath and finding that he’s built more solidly than Steve remembers from the last time they touched like this, but something is telling him that’s true about Eddie – true about himself too – in more ways than one.

And if Rosalind comes home the next morning ready to ask how she’s getting back to Daddy’s house only to find that he’s already there, stealing Dad’s mug out of his hand for a sip of coffee when his own is right there…that’s a conversation for another day.

part 2

[mushroomates]

some thoughts on elves and lactose intolerance:

on the topic of elves being vegan/vegetarian, where would they get eggs? foraging? what about milk.

because they do drink milk!!! they have cheese and milk but they don’t have cows. they don’t rlly farms,,, like i mean the grow food but cows??

because elves CAN eat p much anything and we know they have cheese. where r they getting this cheese??

some potential cheese sources:

aragorn introduced the culture (ha) of cheese.

but then imagine- hey elf dad i got some fermented milk it’s rlly good. like absolutely not would that become widespread accepted and make its way to lorien and mirkwood in a few decades.

they trade??? with humans??? certainly not drawfs. but who are these secret human links to cheese. with hobbits??? i could see bilbo being the elvish cheese supplier.

with gandalf???? is gandalf the cheese wizard? did he try some cheese off in the shire centuries ago and thought- yk what my girl galadriel would love this.

this is mostly likely how cheese was discovered. gandalf just kinda floating through like “you won’t believe what the hobbits just came up with”

but then who brings the cheese to other elves. consistently. like i get a one time thing but that’s a lot of cheese to keep for centuries.

does gandalf have a cheese wagon he brings round elven establishments and gives away wheels on wheels??? does he make them pay. does gandalf even have money or even need it??? (question for another day)

i mean rohan is kinda close to lorien but even then like. lorien is mysterious and gated and no horse girl no matter how cool can pull up and be like “yo elves try this sick brie we just made”

also elves are like capable of making their own cheese i know but that requires milk. and milk doesn’t save like cheese does. also there’s no COWS in lorien,,, where on earth would the put them. in the trees???

so like is the cheese even. cow,, cuz it’s not cow or goat and idk man. sheep?? maybe for clothes,, but where are the tree sheep?? where is the mirkwood sheep?? i can see rivendale with some maybe but???

also how r y gonna convince them in the first place to even TRY it. bc no matter how u pitch it some other creatures lactation is not it.

where is this milk coming from??????? i’m so sorry but i have questions mr tolkien please

also the idea of legolas being lactose intolerant to me is so funny im sorry but like imagine this poor boy goes his whole life without dairy and rocks up to rivendell for the first time, goes to the feast and tries this new fancy treat on crackers and has the shits for weeks

cuz there’s no way cheese is making its way to mirkwood. absolutely not. maybe in like the five army’s war they got SOME but like not enough. also thuranduil would not trust that shit. he’s not eating that and his son certainly isn’t.

but it tastes good with wine…. and that might have been the selling point.

mr tolkien i need awnsers please. tell me about the cheese wizard.

[mixelation]

first part of velocity (unproofed bc i am running out the door) ->

Minato was stressed. 

“Then Orochimaru has Shiranui,” Danzo intoned, dead confident even though Shikaku’s report on the situation had included dozens of unknowns. “No one else in the area could pose a threat to a Jounin of Konoha.”

“We still don’t know anything about this new village,” Minato pointed out, “or what clans joined it. There could still be lone actors–”

“Please,” Danzo interrupted, unimpressed. “No Sound ninja could disappear a Jounin so thoroughly.”

“With all due respect,” Minato said tightly, “you have not been on the frontlines in decades. Does anyone who’s actually been to Sound have any thoughts?”

Had Minato even invited Danzo to this meeting? He barely even remembered calling the meeting. Meetings just happened, now that he was Hokage. Turns out that’s all being Hokage was: things happened, and then instead of doing anything about them, Minato sat around listening to high ranking ninja explain their opinions. Oh, and sometimes he stamped things. Forms. Proposals. Budgets. Paperwork.

Four years ago, Minato had been spending most of his time on the frontlines. Going from the most hands-on possible approach to this had been a rough transition, and he had perhaps relied too heavily on the ancient Hokage's Council as a result. 

The war was slowly coming to a stop now, and he could definitely make some moves to bring in younger people with more recent experience. But for now, he had to work with what was in place. For this meeting, that was Shikaku, an ex-field commander he’d nab in the hallway because she’d been stationed in Sound, and a bunch of old people. 

“Danzo-sama is right in that we’ve knocked out most of their known major players,” the ex field commander drawled. “But you never know, out there in the boonies. They’re not like us; they just let any ninja wander around and chop up whoever they want.”

To illustrate this, she held up her right arm, which ended not with a hand but with a wiry assistive device meant to let her hold a writing utensil. 

“...right,” Shikaku said slowly. “Inuzuka last caught his scent near the new… village, if we’re calling it that… but we can’t pin it on them, and we also can’t eliminate some other third party.”

Genma had only been officially missing a scant thirty hours. He’d been en route between camps for normal restationing and missed his check-in. If he were most ninja, this would not have warranted a meeting. It probably would have been dealt with locally, shoved into a summary report, and Minato probably wouldn’t have found out for days that anything at all had happened. If this had been at the height of the war, even someone like Genma might have gotten this treatment. 

But the war was waning, and Genma was part of the Hokage’s guard. As someone intimately familiar with Minato’s personal life and the inner workings of Hokage tower, Genma was important enough to warrant a quick investigation, and they had the people and time to dedicate to it. 

“Why was Shiranui even in Sound?” Koharu asked. 

Minato leaned back in his seat, biting his thumbnail in thought. He really didn’t see the need to have a full guard inside the village, and morale at field camps was usually better when popular Jounin like Genma were hanging around. Minato had seen it as more useful to have him running chores out in the field. 

It was true that a Hokage’s guard would be a great hostage, if some nefarious player wanted to re-escalate war. 

That would be so many meetings, Minato thought. He really couldn’t have that. 

The meeting wrapped up with barely a plan in place, as was what happened at many meetings. Shikaku would send word to both camps to re-sweep the area, and then Minato would add it to his agenda at yet another meeting to rearrange people to put together a tracking team instead of just one random Inuzuka who happened to be on duty. 

Miraculously, one of his afternoon meetings was canceled. Someone had died. Such was life as a shinobi. 

“I could move up your meeting with the fruit vendors’ union,” his secretary said. 

“Please don't,” Minato replied. He hated talking to those guys. 

His secretary left, and Minato immediately felt antsy. It was very rare he had an hour free like this in the middle of the day. What could he do? Take a nap? Kidnap Naruto away from his babysitter for a playtime speedrun? Bother Kushina? He glanced at the clock. No, Naruto would be down for a nap and Kushina would be meeting with the Academy headmaster about their curriculum on storage scrolls again… 

Minato glanced down at the mess of paperwork on his desk. He really, really didn’t want to do any of it right now. How was his job both stressful and boring? He liked being free to see his little family most evenings, and he mostly liked acting as a leader. But he’d thought he’d get more time to just be a ninja. 

Actually, he thought. Was he not his own boss? Was there not a pressing problem he couldn’t just solve right now?

Sound Country had been home to several major ninja pathways, camps, and battles during this war. Minato had plenty of Hiraishin markers scattered around, including along the path Genma would have taken between camps. 

Minato found Genma in about eight minutes of searching, several hundred meters off the normal route. 

“Hokage-sama!” Genma cried in evident relief. His face was one Minato had seen often in his lifetime but not so much in the last few years of mainly administrative work: the instant relief of a man who’d consigned himself to death, now realizing that he was going to live. 

Minato shot him a reassuring smile even as his eyes darted around the clearing. There were no ninja in the area, but Genma was currently trapped within the glowing walls of a massive blue-green chakra barrier. It had an unusual shape, delineated by stalks of bamboo at the corners of an irregular pentagon. 

Well, this shouldn’t be too difficult to dismantle. Minato might be off the battlefield, but he was still up to snuff on all things fuuinjutsu. He stepped up the closet bamboo shoot, which had a seal carved… into it…?

“What happened?” he asked Genma as he eyed the seal. This was… not a normal piece of fuuinjutsu. Hmm. 

“There was a little girl,” Genma started. He sounded incredibly stressed as he described the sequence of events: Genma had encountered a local civilian girl on his trek. He recognized her as belonging to a nearby village and being one of the local women and children who’d occasionally barter with Konoha field camps. She’d sprained her ankle, and he’d stop to help. 

“But then she… I don’t know, she… the barrier…”

 Then this random civilian girl had activated a barrier and left Genma. Sure. Why not. 

“Are you sure she’s not a ninja?” Minato asked, frowning at the seal. He could recognize it as a barrier seal, but there were like seventeen things going on with it he didn’t understand. A civilian could activate certain types of ninja-made seals in theory, but not this one. 

“No, she’s the soap girl!” Genma bemoaned. “She shows up sometimes to sell shitty soaps. There’s no way she’s a ninja.”

But then, Genma continued in a clearly upset sort of ramble, she’d asked him if he was well-hydrated and how much water and food he had on him, and just left. 

“I’ve been here at least two days,” Genma said. 

“The barrier lasted that long?” Minato asked. “Impressive.”

“Impressive?” Genma repeated. 

“It’s a fairly chakra-heavy barrier,” Minato replied. Genma continued to stare at him with what looked like a vaguely scandalized expression. “Usually to maintain something like this long-term, you’d need to put a lot of chakra in at the beginning– usually done with multiple people, and definitely not by a child– or you’d need to be actively maintaining it. This little girl never came by? No other ninja?”

Genma stared at him, wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open. Minato raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

“Well, no,” Genma said after a few moments had passed. “Can you please get me out before we debrief?”

Ah, Minato supposed Genma was a little freaked out by the prospect of his own untimely death, withering away in a random barrier by what seemed to be the random whims of a child. That was fair. Minato turned back to the seal. 

He looked at it some more, then moved around to the next bamboo shoot, and then the next. 

“Huh,” he said. 

“Hokage-sama?” Genma asked. 

“I have no idea how to undo this,” Minato said, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. 

“Hokage-sama.”

Genma was looking at him in horror now, but Minato could feel a certain giddiness building in his stomach. Finally, something interesting! What was going on with this seal? He could tell a bunch of the mystery components had to do with pulling chakra, but from where? The bamboo itself? Minato had heard stories from Kushina of ancient Uzushio seals using length of living kelp, twisted into seals that could pull on chakra as long as the kelp was alive. But those were supposed to be legends! 

“Hokage-sama, are you smiling?” Genma whined. 

“It’s just really interesting,” Minato defended. He was going to save Genma, okay? “I’m going to get my notes.”

It only took Minato a minute to teleport to his office, dig up a notebook with enough blank pages, and then teleport back. Genma still gave him a look of deep betrayal that he’d left at all. 

Minato was pretty good at multitasking, so he quizzed Genma on details of how the seal had been activated while copied the location of the seals and took etchings of them. 

“She didn’t mention any name at all?” Minato confirmed. “No boss she’s working for?”

Minato really, really wanted to meet whoever had made this nightmare of a seal. He wanted to know how they’d come up with it, and then quiz them if they new more seals like this, that could use chakra from natural sources, and then maybe have this person to dinner to just talk fuuinjutsu with him and Kushina all night. 

Except they were in an enemy nation, so probably Minato would have to settle for imprisoning this person and then interrogating them via Yamanaka mindwalk. Boo. 

Also, on top of the wild chakra source, the barrier was just really well made. Genma had not just been sitting around for two days; he’d executed several earth jutsu to try and burrow out, but the barrier extended underground. It even stood up to a rasengan. Minato couldn’t even destroy the five bamboo shoots powering the whole thing, because they were integrated into the walls of the barrier itself. 

“This person must have troubleshooted this a lot,” Minato said, squinting at one of the seals. This thing matched no reports of anything Konoha had seen during the war. How could they have never noticed this person running around?

Genma was clearly starting to panic again. 

“Sir, what are you going to do?” he asked. “I’m out of water and food.”

Minato cocked his head to the side, thinking. He did have another meeting he really had to go to, as much as he wanted to stay here and geek out over this cool new seal. He could teleport over to the nearest camp, tell them where Genma was so they could put a guard on him, and then come back later with Kushina. Could they safely bring Naruto? He always felt guilty when they had to leave the kid alone in the evening…

Then, they heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. They weren’t particularly loud, but they were definitely civilian. Genma shut his mouth, and Minato turned to the source, eyebrows raised. 

The person got close enough that he could see the outline of a figure through the bamboo. The person was small, clearly a child. Then they clearly realized they’d made a terrible mistake and turned to flee. 

Minato shot forward, grabbing the kid by the back of her yukata. She matched the description Genma had given of the kid who’d trapped him: dark curly hair and eyes, around eight. She stomped over to the clearing like a civilian who was used to navigating bamboo, and then for the briefest moment where she’d attempted to run, made it very clear she was a ninja in training. 

So. That was interesting. 

Minato pulled her into the clearing and set her down on her feet. She was technically an enemy who had put an important Konoha Jounin in a situation which might actually kill him, but also she was a little kid. Minato hated having to kill or bully kids. 

“Hi there,” he said, shooting her his most child-friendly smile. 

“Reina, you horrible little brat!” Genma yelled, banging his fists on the wall of the barrier. 

Reina ignored him entirely, eyeing Minato up and down with deep suspicion. She was either extremely confident the barrier could completely contain Genma, or she’d recognized Minato as the greater threat, or both. 

“Don’t worry,” Minato said. “I’m not going to hurt you. Just answer some questions as best you can, and you won’t even get in trouble, okay?”

“Oooh, you’re going to be in so much trouble when I get out!” Genma screamed. 

“Ignore him,” Minato said, then winked playfully at her. 

Reina’s lips thinned and she looked doubtful. But she also didn’t even spare Genma a glance as she shouted threats at her. 

“Look, I’m not going to kill him,” Reina said finally. “I was… even coming to feed him.”

She produced a beat up looking bag of dried fruit from her pocket and held this up as if it were evidence. There were only a few pieces left. If Minato hazarded a guess, he’d say it was left over from her own snack and then forgotten in her pocket. 

“Right,” Minato said slowly. “Listen, I don’t really care that you trapped him.”

(“WHAT?” Genma yelled.)

“But I really want to know, Reina-chan,” Minato continued, trying to look as friendly as possible even as Genma continued to bluster in outrage, “do you know who made this barrier?”

Reina’s brows furrowed slightly, studying his face. Minato smiled back encouragingly. He eyes finally darted over to the barrier. 

“Oh,” she said, as if realizing something. “Oh. Yeah, of course that’s what you’d want. Ummm.”

She fidgeted with the bag of dry fruit in her hands, crinkling the plastic under her fingers. The label was faded with time and the wear and tear of riding around in a child’s pockets, but it was one of the brands Konoha included in their ration packs for field camps. She’d likely gotten it from a field camp. 

“Did someone show you the trap?” Minato asked gently. 

“Uh, well,” Reina replied. “About that…”

Reina didn’t seem to be too afraid to talk to him, but she also seemed to be afraid of whatever the answers to his questions were. This made sense to Minato. If she was a ninja living in this area, she was probably associated with this new “village” Orochimaru had made. It would be logical to fear he’d turn violent if she brought up Konoha’s most notorious missing-nin. 

Briefly, Minato wondered if the seal was Orochimaru’s design. Setting up and then abandoning a trap such that a child might take advantage of it was not something Orochimaru was likely to do, but perhaps he’d developed the fuuinjutsu and someone else had set it up. 

Except, no– that wasn’t really aligned with Orochimaru’s skillset. Orochimaru was a prolific fuuinjutsu user, but he wasn’t a true master. Under Konoha he’d never shown interest in developing new fuuinjutsu beyond some modifications to seals useful to his research. Not even he could wake up one day and spontaneously invent what looked like an entirely new field of fuuinjutsu. 

Minato felt like fidgeting himself with excitement. If it wasn’t Orochimaru, maybe dinner wasn’t completely off the table. 

Reina still hadn’t answered, so Minato tried, “I know you’re an Oto-nin, and that our villages don’t really get along. But I promise I just want to know who made this seal. Nothing bad is going to happen to you.”

He did his best “don’t worry, I’m here to save you and you’re not going to die” smile. Reina tilted her head back, eyes narrowing. 

“Okay,” she said. “Nothing bad will happen to me? I have your word?”

“Um, yes,” Minato said. 

“So if I go back to my boss and tell him I gave up fuuinjutsu secrets to the Hokage, he won’t do anything bad?”

“No,” Minato replied slowly, and Reina looked at him like he was deeply stupid, the type of look only a little kid could level at an adult. It was the type of unimpressed expression he now only ever got from his own child. “Well,” Minato corrected. “I won’t do anything to you, and my friend here won’t either.”

He shot Genma a look. Genma glared back at him but shut up. 

“So I don’t have your word that nothing bad will happen,” Reina concluded. 

Gods above, Minato thought, starting to feel annoyed. His meeting was in fifteen minutes, but he wanted the identity of this fuuinjutsu user so bad. Why do they have to make kids so smart?

“At least ask her to get me out of here,” Genma said, keeping his voice level this time, although there was a hint of desperation in there. 

Minato had not asked for this, because he had assumed the girl had simply known of the trap and walked Genma into it, and was therefore unlikely to know how to deactivate it. But she eyed Minato up and down again, and then said:

“I’ll let him out, but you have to keep your word.”

Then she pulled a brush and a bottle of ink from her sleeves and walked over to the nearest bamboo shoot. Minato followed her, holding back the urge to ask her about fifteen questions. She was eight. She probably had no idea how the seal worked. 

“You know, my clan kicked me out,” Reina said conversationally as she applied ink directly to the barrier as it hummed over the wood of the bamboo. Who the hell taught her to do that? No one did that. That would have been Minato’s “well, nothing else worked” level attempt at breaking it. “I don’t have any biological family to defend me or look after me. My clan only lets me stay around because uniting the clans means other people take care of me. Really, I’ve been looking for a way to escape.”

“Uh huh,” Minato replied, watching her hands as she painted characters over the ones etched into the bamboo. A counter-seal then… what a bizarre way to design something, to only be able to undo it by painting a brand new seal on top. That barely left room for any error, although he supposed the benefit was that this approach had made it so Genma couldn’t just break the bamboo, and even someone like Minato would need days of work to come up with a counter-seal. 

Reina made no errors in her counter-seal, and so she didn’t blow them all up or screw up the seal such that no one could take it down. The walls of the barrier fizzled away, and for a second Genma looked like he was on the brink of tears. 

“Hey, stand down,” Minato chided when Genma made a move towards them and Reina tensed. Had Genma not been listening to their whole conversation? 

Genma obeyed, standing at attention while also scowling at Reina. 

Reina stared up at Minato expectantly, the ink brush still in her hands. The counter-seal had melted into ink stains on the bamboo and the surrounding grass when the barrier lifted, and Minato considered asking her to draw it again for him to make sure he got all the details. 

Still, who on earth had taught such a young child such advanced fuuinjutsu? Minato flipped his notebook to a new page and eyed Reina. 

“Reina-chan,” he said slowly. “Who is your fuuinjutsu teacher?”

“Oh, um,” she said. “Oto encourages… self study…?”

He stared down at her. 

No way. No fucking way. 

“Sir,” Genma said. 

“About your promise,” Reina started. 

Minato had his stupid meeting in two minutes, and it was vital to keeping the village running or whatever. He didn’t have time to unpack this right now. 

“You said your clan kicked you out?” he asked Reina. 

“Yes,” she confirmed. “So if you could just drop me off in–”

“So you don’t have family you’d miss?” he asked. 

“Uh… no?”

Right. This was perfect. He took her hand, then grabbed for Genma’s forearm. He teleported all three of them into his office. 

“This isn’t–” Reina started, for the first time showing actual fear. 

“It’s okay,” Minato said, patting her on the head. Children liked that, right? Well, Naruto hated it, but Academy kids loved when he paid attention to them. “Genma, go get checked out at the hospital and then come back for a debriefing.”

“Um, yessir,” Genma said, eyeing Reina and looking completely unsure of the situation. 

Minato actually couldn’t wait to quiz Reina on what the fuck was going on in Oto. How much fuuinjutsu did she actually know? How had she gotten the idea for the wild bamboo seal? Did Orochimaru maybe have old Uzushio materials lying around that Minato and Kushina should know about?

“Hokage-sama,” his secretary said, entering the office, “the Hyuuga clan representative… who is this child?”

Right. His meeting. He’d have to hold off on talking to her. If she were an adult, the protocol would be to stick her with T&I. But she wasn’t an adult; she was an increasingly frightened looking child. If he stuck her in T&I, he’d not only create a ton of red tape for himself to interact with her, but she might end up too freaked out to talk to him as soon as he wanted her to. 

“Genma,” he said, deciding on the best course of action. “On your way down, drop Reina-chan off with Kushina.”

Genma sighed. “Sure, Hokage-sama,” he said, sounding deeply unhappy. 

There. Now Minato could have his fun little dinner. 

[theemporium]

ESP bc he seems so peaceful that you’d never expect him to fight🤭🤭🤭🤭 kinda like lando

also can we talk ab him getting into a bar fight for you🤭🤭🤭🤭

no because you put this in my head and i just had to write a wee blurb because i couldn't stop thinking about it🫠

.

“Pay up, Moosey.”

“This is exploitation.”

“It’s called a bet and you lost,” you corrected before flashing him an innocent grin. “I won fair and square, don’t be a sore loser.”

Luke rolled his eyes, grumbling something under his breath as he reached for his wallet in his back pocket. He made a point of exaggerating the sigh that left his lips as he slapped the twenty dollars in your palm.

Jack watched the interaction with interest. “What bet? Why was I not involved?”

“Luke and I made a bet before the game,” you said with a casual shrug as you leaned back into Jack’s embrace, his arm thrown over your shoulder. “Twenty bucks that you’d score the majority of the goals tonight.” 

“And she was right,” Luke muttered. 

“I have faith in my man,” you stated simply, turning to see Jack grinning wildly. 

“My favourite fan,” he murmured before he tilted your chin back so he could lean down to kiss you, his lips breaking out into a smile against yours.

“Oh gross!” 

After a string of difficult games and long roadies, the Devils were back in Jersey and had managed to win their first home game in a while. The boys were on a high, your boyfriend especially after scoring two of the three goals tonight, and you had all but been dragged out with the rest of the team to a nearby bar to celebrate. 

Not that you minded. You were on that high as well, seeing your boyfriend smile widely and easily for the first time in a long time after a game made you eager to celebrate as well. And the bar was local, only about a ten minute walk from Jack and Luke’s apartment which meant none of you had to worry about playing the designated driver.

You could just curl up beside your boyfriend, have a few drinks and celebrate what would hopefully be the start of a string of wins. 

“Let me out,” you murmured against your boyfriend’s lips. “I wanna go buy some outrageously fancy cocktail with Luke’s money to piss him off.”

Jack snorted as he slid out the booth, holding your hand to help you out. “You want me to come with?”

“I’ll be fine,” you assured him before you pushed your way through the crowd, making your way towards the bar at the other end of the establishment. 

And it should have been fine. You managed to find a free spot at the bar to lean against the counter, your fingers aimlessly tapping the wood as you placed your order and patiently waited for your drink to be made. But it was busy and the place was a little crowded, and you found yourself being pushed by a few other patrons who were just walking past, and bumping into a man standing beside you.

“Sorry,” you said with a sheepish smile as you tried to move away, back into the spot you were standing in moments ago. 

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” the man smiled back. He was older than you, maybe by a decade or so. And he looked friendly until his arm wound itself around your waist. “You don’t have to move away soon.”

“Uh,” you let out a nervous laugh as you tried to wiggle yourself out of his grasp. “No, I’m fine over here. Please move your arm.”

“Don’t be like that,” the man laughed as his arm tightened around you, and a wave of panic hit you.

“I-I have a boyfriend,” you told him firmly, still trying to push his hand off you.

“Yeah, a sweet thing like you oughta be locked up,” he said like he didn’t really believe you, like he was playing along with some joke you didn’t get.

Your chest tightened in panic, a cold shiver running down your spine when you realised this man wasn’t just going to let you go. Your eyes darted around for a bartender but they were all busy before you glanced over to the booth the team were sitting at, hoping to catch a glimpse of your boyfriend. 

But he was no longer sat at the booth, because not even a few seconds later he was pushing through the crowd and making a beeline towards where you stood with the man.

“Let go of her,” Jack said, his voice oddly calm as he approached.

“She’s fine where she is, kid,” the older man laughed, almost mockingly.

“I’m gonna give you one more chance,” Jack stated simply. “Let her go.”

The man scoffed, lifting his chin. “Or what? What’s a pretty boy like you gonna do?” 

You barely had a chance to catch yourself when Jack ripped the man’s arm off you, causing you to stumble a few steps towards the bar. By the time you caught your footing and turned around, Jack had already punched the man until he was hunched over, clutching his bloody nose. 

He shoved the man until he lifted his head before he swung again, and you swore you could hear a crack despite the music and chatter sounding through the bar. 

Your lips parted in shock as Jack swung the third and final punch and knocked the guy out before he could even think about swinging back. You looked at your boyfriend—your sweet boyfriend who didn’t even fight on the ice when he was egged on and chirped at by other players—who was now looking at the man like he was almost disappointed that he went down without much of a fight. Bartenders and security were flocking around the scene, words muttered about first aid kits and ambulances and all sorts, but Jack didn’t even say a word as he turned to look for you. 

His face instantly softened the second he saw you and he was rushing over before security could even try to stop him. His hands softly cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over the apple of your cheeks as he gave you a once over.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a gentle voice, a crease forming between his brows. “Did he hurt you at all? Do you need—”

“I’m fine, Jack,” you murmured as you wound your arms around his waist, nuzzling yourself against his chest. “Thank you.”

“Always,” Jack whispered as his arms tightened around you, pulling you into a tight hug. “Do you wanna go or stay?”

“You guys won,” you mumbled into his chest. “You should celebrate with the boys.”

“The boys aren’t my priority right now. You are.” Jack said as he pulled back enough to look down at you. “Say the word and we can head back to the flat and just chill for the rest of the night.”

Your lips twitched upwards. “It’s fine, Jack.”

“Nope, you’ve used my actual name twice in the last three minutes which means you’re upset,” Jack concluded before leaning down to press a peck to your forehead. “Let’s say bye to the boys and head out.”

“Jack—”

“I don’t wanna stay anyways,” he said with a shrug. “I’d rather spend a night in with you anyways.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And you’re not just saying that?”

“I promise, baby,” he murmured softly. “As much as I love fighting for your honour, I’d rather go home and watch Cars.”

You laughed softly. “Cars marathon?” 

“You read my mind,” Jack grinned. “Plus, I think I need ice for my knuckles. That dude had a hard face.”

This time you snorted, and the sound made his grin widen. You gently lifted his hands to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles before you looked up at him with a smile.

“Thank you for being my knight in shining armour,” you mused with a teasing grin.

“Anytime, princess,” he retorted with a matching smile.

.

[hazelcephalopod]

Matron seems to be on team ‘the gods are holding mortals back’. She’s sick of the other gods and sick of this job.

some relavant points-

She did not know what would happen to Vax as she couldn’t “see his thread” after he became her champion. Also he’s rash and therefore hard to prefect. But doesn’t derserve his current state.

When asked about the Archearts plan. Says They wish to destroy the divine gate and deal with Predathos directly. Consensus amongst those who designed it has not been made.

Says she wants fate to decide the gods destiny, specifies she wants Exandrians to decide the fate of the gods.

She will not flee and excited by new possibility and trusts in her abilities.

When asked what happens to the souls in the afterlife currently. Says there were spirits before her brethren came and she assumes Exandria’s natural cycle will reestablish itself. “The substance of the soul is forever it will find its way”.

Why did she become the god of death? Admits there is some truth in her just having ambition, and also she wanted to see if she could. Additionally she did so with the help of the one who came before. She first tried to take the secrets of divinity from him. They became teacher/student(?), friends and ultimately she thinks she loved him. He asked her to become a god, helped her craft the rite lf ascension.

What became of him? Peace. “Wherever gods go when they come undone”.

Dows she still feel him? She feels echoes of him in is domains and her work. Maybe she still feels for him, but she feels for many including BH.

Is it worth it? For her in the end? She doesn’t know. Which is perhaps why she’s so curious.

What do you know of Predathos? It was before her time, and the family has kept the knowledge from her until they couldn’t. Whatever Predathos is it is bound to where they came from.

Asking someone who became a god. How do they contain what Predathos is? The same thing that allowed her to survive despite it being unlikely, what she is. Love.

We don’t share the love for Predathos, but we love each other? Love for each other might be enough.

The Archeart is bold and impulsive and wants them to do something, she just wants empower mortals to do as they wilt. She has no interest in breaking down the wall and doing another Calamity and refuses to be part of it.

Are you two willing to become new Betrayers? She is.

We’ve been told to embrace Predathos by some, but do you believe we can undo it? Anything is possible. “Anything is possible for you.”

Could you lend us any kind of help to tip the scales? Predathos undoes and unravels the power the gods rely on and she is uncertain what she could provide that wouldn’t also unravel in its presence but is willing to try.

She offers them her mask, Braius reaches for it. She tells him he’s at a crossroads and asks if he knows what that is and he says that a choice is ahead. She lets him take it, and says I’m a moment of need one of them may wear it and call for her aid. Aid might come.

Says she’ll see them all eventually but first one more question at least: are they to replicate the rite of ascension? That is not possible, she made sure of it.

oh and another! If you go what happens to your champion? I don’t know. I like not knowing.

and more. When was the last time you were surprised? Vax, three decades ago. The sacrifice/s he made.

Mortals are great because they keep defying the gods. And that is a sign the gods should stop forging the future of mortals.

If mortals let them stay they should damn well let the gods know why and renegotiate the terms.

Is there anyway we could help your champion? Destroy the key but make sure to remove the beacon first. As the (Luxon) beacon -in the bloody bridge machine- can change the universe in ways almost as terrifying as Predathos.

Can’t you just cut his thread now? His thread is beyond any of our grasp. (Edit: this refers to Ludinus)

Why are the gods afraid of these? Bc they don’t understand them. And they don’t like to admit they aren’t all knowing or all powerful.

If they should trust the people they fight? That choice is up to them she just wanted to see if they could do what it takes.

Laudna’s fate thread is silver and her fate is between realms, or did but now is connected to other fully living people, turning hers gold. The Matron considers her a victim not anathema. Could Laudna be whole if she continues the path of connections to her friends? Anything is possible.

Matron thinks she “deserves little but remembers what it means to fight for her survival and has her ways.”

[spacelazarwolf]

People call you a Zionist because you don't post about the horrors that Palestinians face and have voiced support for the Israeli regime before. Not because you're Jewish. Although I don't deny that many of your haters are just antisemites, because the "left" fucking loves antisemitism. That's why they're upholding nazis like Jackson Hinkle.

i have posted abt that before, numerous times, and even if i hadn’t that still wouldn’t make me a zionist bc that’s not what zionist means. they call me a zionist bc i’m a jew they disagree with and i call out leftist antisemitism, and they know that labeling someone a zionist is a very easy way to discredit someone in leftist spaces, especially recently. there is a long history of this happening in many different countries, most notably the ussr and iran. people have been trying to call me a zionist long before i’d ever even mentioned israel on my blog, and a few weeks ago someone was trying to spread the rumor that i, a random american who has never been to israel, am in the idf.

they do it because i’m jewish. i know this because they don’t do this to gentiles they disagree with, there are other buzzwords they use for them. i get called a zionist while the gentiles who reblog from me get called zionist sympathizers. i and other jews can see exactly what’s happening here, and we don’t need random anonymous tumblr users to dismiss what we have seen time and time again for decades.

also i’ve never posted support for “the israeli regime” i’ve been loudly opposed to the israeli government. it’s just that y’all love to play telephone and also blatantly lie abt me.

[closetcasefabray]

i found this in my drafts, & i don’t remember when i started to write this, but ta-da! finally wrote something. this is not a cohesive whole (nor is grief so we can pretend it’s intentional).

also this phone business is awful—almost threw it when tripling the length of this (what was supposed to be) drabble 😒 forgive wonky formatting &/or typos. (laptopless life sucks)

this drabble-ficlet thing is for @snowandwolves bc our friendship is based in wrecking each other emotionally with avatrice au’s & headcanons. also some of this was inspired by sixth to the ninth hour, from which i will never recover. but this isn’t complete despair!

—

summary: beatrice returns to switzerland and tries to live her life. (canon compliant, s3, grief)

—

a thing that carries itself

—

It is when you are asking about something that you realize you yourself have survived it, and so you must carry it, or fashion it into a thing that carries itself.

(nox, anne carson)

—

beatrice knows hans could close the bar down on his own while blindfolded on a night like tonight—not much money to be made mid-week with dwindling tourists and seasonal stays—but beatrice doesn’t suggest it, and hans doesn’t offer. he’s come to recognize when beatrice needs some company, even if it’s just a couple hours and they exchange few words.

—

beatrice returned to switzerland a few days after camila found her asleep at the arc for the fourth time.

(jillian is moving it back to her lab to rebuild, camila offered with a gentle smile—one that expressed she too was hopeful, but not so much she wished to give beatrice too high of expectations.

beatrice knew, even with every scientific expert working on the arc, it would take over a year to repair the arc and source enough power within their earthly limitations for it to open even briefly. beatrice also knew it would likely require a decade of research before someone could go through the arc, let alone explore the alien realm beyond it.

as of a month ago, the arc team is still a few brilliant nuns led by a genius scientist, but when beatrice looks at them, she only sees young women—too young to be willing to die in a holy war—and a mother mourning the loss of her son for a second time.)

before she left, beatrice said goodbye through the arc—if only for the smallest chance a loving god would take pity on her and split open the barrier between realms just briefly enough for her words to reach through to ava:

see you at home. (i love you.)

—

when beatrice first arrived back to town, she became overwhelmed as she took in the remarkably unchanged neighborhoods, all the same buildings standing as they had when she and ava left in the night.

(the ache in her chest turned bitter, so much so she had to refrain from shaking the couples laughing and enjoying each other’s company in the sunshine—ava is gone. do you understand? don’t you feel it too? the absence of her?)

their old flat sat untouched as well; beatrice knew the elderly couple who owned the building weren’t eager to put much work into clearing it out to show it to young university kids who would be far too loud for their liking. (not that ava would ever be considered quiet—she had charmed them like she does everyone.) they warmly welcomed beatrice back and handed her the keys within the hour.

(she found a crumpled tank top of ava’s in the back of the closet and, holding it in her hands, pressed to her chest, she let herself cry for the first time in weeks, sitting on the dusty floor, counting the pieces of furniture in the room that ava once touched.)

the usually absent bar owner also returned the keys and beatrice’s managerial position before she even finished asking if they were hiring.

(what about hans?

he likes being head bartender.

there’s really no one else?

i’ve had two different managers and three different bartenders come and go since you and ava left. i can’t find a replacement half as good as either of you.

beatrice isn’t sure what expression he read on her face, but he didn’t say ava’s name again after that.)

—

throughout the next few weeks, beatrice thought returning to a place so full of memories of ava was possibly some misguided, catholic-guilt-induced self-flagellation—to wake up in their bed alone, to drink tea across from an empty chair, to walk the familiar paths to their favorite places without her—the lack ached in the hollow of beatrice’s core like penance.

maybe i’m meant to feel like this, she thought, and still thinks at times, but then she remembers ava in the gold room—the only thing holy in a temple devoted to a false prophet—telling beatrice to live her life. (gospel, she thinks.)

when ava kissed her, beatrice didn’t think of sin or hell. she thought only of the truth of ava’s lips, her body—capable of flight and phasing through stone—standing before beatrice and choosing love, a tenderness the world had never offered her. it was the opposite of sin—it was sacrament, a baptism that tasted of salt as they kissed, bathed in light.

so beatrice stays and tries each day.

(we are all just trying to be holy.)

—

in the months of staying, of trying to live her life, her friendship with hans has grown into something quieter and gentler than beatrice would have expected from the same bartender who had taught ava german curses and euphemisms. (beatrice would pretend she couldn’t hear as they whispered conspiratorially, knowing ava was familiar with more than half of the swears, but ava was still delighted by every cautiously murmured phrase hans offered her.)

it surprised beatrice at first, to find that hans actually likes her as she is—his overly organized manager-turned-friend who drinks tea out of the same mug every afternoon she comes into work and almost never drinks alcohol but will sip the occasional “virgin cuba libre” when he asks her to hang out with him after work for a shift drink. hans is even familiar enough with beatrice to occasionally tease her in german, her fluency allowing her to respond with a quick-witted retort. she smiles at his amusement, and he is thrilled by each new detail he learns of her.

beatrice is grateful to be closer to someone who doesn’t owe god his life, who remembers ava as ava—not the warrior nun or the halo-bearer.

(instead, hans remembers training ava at the bar, her focus when he taught her classic cocktail specs, and her enthusiasm that breathed life and vibrancy back into the bar job he had begun to find tedious. he remembers making ava laugh so hard her cuba libre came out of her nose, the little snort in her laugh when something amusing surprised her, the pout she’d use before asking for a favor—always far less effective on hans than beatrice. he remembers ava beaming when she mastered a new skill, her eyes finding beatrice to check if she saw—beatrice always saw and always smiled back; how could she not? beatrice was a moon in ava’s orbit, and she had no other option but to glow in her light.)

mostly beatrice is grateful that their friendship doesn’t try to fill the space and silence ava used to occupy; instead they fashion it into a kind of shared insulation for them to keep warm in the cold of grief. so when beatrice daydreams over the books at the bar and something startles her back into this realm without ava, she appreciates that hans doesn’t say anything to draw attention to the way her eyes shine with the sorrow of reality, like they did the first time hans said ava’s name months ago and all at once beatrice felt the air leave her lungs and her eyes burn. hans will stay nearby in those moments, offering an ear if she does wish to talk, but far enough she doesn’t feel obligated to explain it. sometimes it’s just the comfort of someone nearby who misses ava too.

(occasionally beatrice lets her mind project ava across the bar, watching her move from table to table, turning to beatrice and giving her a wink, hips swaying to a german pop song, sometimes accompanied by a little spin as if she wasn’t carrying a precariously balanced tray of glassware. but when the reel in beatrice’s mind starts to fade and flicker, she blinks and the shining sadness of her eyes dims into a melancholy others often mistake for stolidness—when the vision of ava smiling and making drinks beside hans blurs, it’s too ghostly for beatrice because ava is alive.

beatrice doesn’t find much comfort in god these days, but she still has faith.)

—

beatrice steps outside with hans, takes a deep breath, looks up at the unpolluted skies, and finds the constellations ava drew when they would sneak onto the roof of their flat when the nights were clear. beatrice has taken to writing the mythology of each one in her head as she walks home at night. she often considers writing some kind of scripture based less in fear and shame and more in love and forgiveness. maybe if she tells the stories enough, ava will return a new testament.

(but beatrice promised herself that once ava returns, she won’t share ava with the world—no temples, no saviors, no holy wars. beatrice wants to watch the sun set on the ocean, casting ava in golden light that doesn’t feel like a goodbye. she wants ava to press her lips to hers again but as a greeting, as a stay here with me. she wants to watch the sunrise spill across ava’s face like a promise beatrice will keep. she wants ava, and she is learning to forgive herself for this—the selfishness, not her love—beatrice’s love does not apologize.)

“are you off work tomorrow?” hans asks as they start walking the several blocks toward their respective apartments.

“yes, but if you need—”

hans shakes his head vigorously, and beatrice gives him a small half-smile.

“you should go to the library, get a couple books. if you come by, i’ll make you tea but you absolutely cannot work,” he says, pointing his finger at beatrice with an exaggerated sternness.

beatrice smiles a little wider, “i won’t.”

when they reach the cross streets where they part ways, hans wraps his arms around beatrice’s shoulders, and she wraps hers around his waist—a strange arrangement of limbs both of them had grown up unfamiliar with, something that ava taught them to appreciate—touch, closeness, a human intimacy too many would never admit they needed. so they make a point to hug each other for brief moments to carry that part of ava with them.

—

her nighttime routine unfolds as muscle memory so her mind wanders to work, hans, and always ava. she climbs into bed and imagines ava teasing her for keeping her shirt under her pillow, where she rubs the fabric between her fingers.

you always liked being close to me when we slept, ava would say.

i always liked being close to you when we were awake, beatrice would confess.

she savors the moments just before sleep, when those minutes are hers alone without obligations or the weight of the outside world—her mind in a free fall. (when beatrice was a child and her mother was kinder, she would soothe beatrice after a nightmare by telling her to think of all the exciting things tomorrow would bring.) as if directing the trajectory of her plummet, she chooses ava every time.

she closes her eyes and plays the memories against the back if her eyelids, setting her unconscious mind on a path toward a kind of imagined heaven, so maybe—just maybe—beatrice will see ava again in her dreams.

tonight she is walking into work, and ava looks up and smiles at her from behind the bar.

hey, bea.

hi. she feels something joyous swell inside her, and the glassware behind the bar starts to glimmer as she walks toward ava. i missed you.

we had breakfast together this morning, ava says with a laugh, but once beatrice is beside her, ava leans close and whispers, i miss you too, bea. everyday.

when ava pulls back slightly, beatrice sees it—the melancholy half-smile on ava’s lips, her dark, shining eyes. the shimmering light grows, and beatrice feels ava’s hands take hers and pull her closer.

i’ll see you at home soon. ava tucks a strand of bea’s hair behind her ear, and she feels herself lean into her touch.

ava—

it’s okay, bea. just wake up.

when beatrice opens her eyes, she can see the night sky outside her window, but the flickering light of her ocs necklace on her bedside table seems to light the entire room. she cradles it in her hands and decodes it on the first pass, but to be sure, she watches it flash three more times—ava is alive.

—

fin

—

thanks for reading!

some rambles/notes:

i almost never write from bea’s perspective bc she’s v smart—i’m decidedly not bea-smart (nor am i ava-smart but i am ava-eager-&-a-little-reckless, so that’s what i typically lean toward). so i think i did a rewatch & felt a little heartbroken. also p sure i drank half a bottle of wine during the rewatch so that may have been why this is [gestures vaguely] like this.

but anne carson and richard siken are my roman empires, so i named this after the opening anne carson quote from nox. and i will always think of avatrice when i remember we were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want . . . we are all just trying to be holy.

also what i didn’t include & is in my head:

- hans & bea’s talk about what happened with ava. basically “she had to leave, and i don’t know if… i don’t know when she’ll come back” & hans isn’t sure what it means but he never tells beatrice to move on bc he knows he couldn’t understand what happened. mostly he saw them together and he’s never seen beatrice smile the way she did with ava. also i said beatrice rarely drinks but she & hans have this conversation with wine involved. the drunk cry bar staff bond is real.

- the day beatrice realizes she’s been without ava longer than she was with her—she’s marking the date in the inventory book, then she just stops as her brain does the math against her will. hans sees her hands are trembling & he just knows. he takes bea up to the office & gives her some water. he asks, ���do you think your home will help or make this harder right now?” so he has beatrice over to his small, neat apartment and he makes some food for her. he asks if it’s about ava & whether or not bea wants to talk about it. she doesn’t want to talk, but she says hans can talk about her. so hans tells bea some of his memories with ava. thus some of the memories included.

anyway, sorry? i guess?

also if you haven’t—read @snowandwolves fics if you want coherent & complete(ly devastating & healing) fics:

sixth to the ninth hour is canon compliant s3 & basically ava walks through hell to get back to bea. 😭 i cried. my heart ached. but also there’s plenty of spice 😏 [ava eyebrow wiggle]. all my favorite things heh…

leave the light on (i'll find my way home) is lighthouse au. our babes are so soft and in love 🥹 i went on a trip to see puffins & lighthouses bc of this. the whole fic is incredible, but there’s this one part in the lighthouse… i think it altered my brain chemistry in the best way.

[thelastofhyde]

i. sea-day 1.

pairing. tourguide!joel miller x fem!reader. series synopsis. on the brink of undergoing a life-altering change, you runaway from your problems in the only way any sane person can: embarking on a mediterranean cruise. there you meet joel miller, a grumpy, private tour-guide, who just so happens to be tasked with touring you through each stop on your cruise. from greek goddesses to roman ruins, you have ten days to avoid your fate. maybe a frowning, southern, sex-on-legs of a man is just what the doctor ordered. chapter summary. as the ship sets sail, you search for help. at the bar, you encounter a familiar stranger. series warnings. no use of y/n, set in 2015, no apocalypse au, cruise!au, rom-com, enemies-ish to lovers, sunshine!reader, tour-guide!joel, unspecified age gap, depictions/discussions of grief, angst, fluff, a whole load of smut, a lot of cheesy stereotypical romance tropes bc i just wanna see joel not suffer ( too much )<3 chapter warnings. alcohol, mentions of class/wealth themes, implications that the reader has underlining mental health issues, convenient plot-devices that would only ever happen in a rom-com bc this is fun silly fiction baby!, joel suffers from acute insuferable-bastarditis :( word count. 3.7k hyde’s input. let's all hold hands and agree to ignore the fact both parts so far have opened on the reader panicking in a bathroom, okay? maybe she's a stressed girlie with a flare of ibs, you don't know her life. feeling a little insecure abt this chapter and lowkey don't wanna post it, but i promise the actual fun begins in chapter two, where we finally get to see tourguide!joel in action. previous chapter - next chapter - series masterlist

“What time did you say you boarded?”

Your mother’s voice travels from where your phone lays, abandoned upon the bed, all the way into the decadent bathroom.

Eyes moving a mile-a-minute, as if you're rushing to take in every jaw-dropping detail.

There’s the sink area, a double-vanity that’s centred with an array of lotions and soaps, and overlooked by an overwhelmingly large mirror that makes up half the wall, lined with a golden hue of light. A shower, with glass curtains and enough room to fit your whole wardrobe in it. Then, there’s the bathtub you’re already envisioning yourself sinking into. Marble lines the floor, and the outer wall is made up of three window panes, gifting you a view of pure blue, the sea and the sky melting into one another across the horizon. It’s making you nauseous, this looming feeling of imposter syndrome the interior brings you.

You don’t belong in this, a fancy room designed for fancy people.

An iteration of your name, back on the bed, drags you away from your own troubled reflection.

“Seven,” you call out, inching your way back into the main area of the suite.

“In the morning?!” She’s just as shocked as the first time you answered her question, fifteen minutes ago, and the second time, seven minutes ago.

Humming in approval, you give a sweeping gaze over the plush carpeted floor, the wall-mounted television displaying the cruiseship’s logo, the king sized bed that’s calling out for you, seducing you with the promise of a mattress that won’t be stabbing at your back the whole night. As if on queue, there’s a sharp pain in your lower back, a lasting reminder of the hostel you’d found little rest in last night.

“Well, there goes my jealousy!” Lacklustre replies aside, your mother continues her ramblings, used to filling the void of conversation with the sound of her own voice. “Can you imagine? Me, awake at that time? You’ll be glad you’re travelling on your own, honey.” Usually, you admire the positive spin your mother tries to bring to life. Your being alone upon this trip, however, is not a topic you want her to address, much less find the good in. “I mean, I don’t think even your sister-”

“I think they’ve made a mistake,” you cut her off, eyes zeroing in on a pair of glass doors. Snatching the phone off the bed, you turn off the speaker and press it to your ear just in time to hear your mother’s confusion, questioning what you mean. Focus on those doors, you slowly make your way over to them. “The room,” you clarify, fingers curling around a handle to unlock it, prying the doors apart. A wave of salty fresh air, hits your face as you step out onto wooden decking. You find yourself upon a balcony, facing off into the deep blue distance. To your left, there’s two sun loungers and a glass coffee table, mounted by two champagne flutes and a simple welcome note sprawled out in black ink. “I think they’ve given me the wrong room.”

It’s the next best thing to a reasonable explanation you can find, no chance on earth you were ever listed to stay in such a suite. No, a room like this is meant for a wealthy businessman and his uptight wife to overindulge themselves on gold-trimmed furniture and a fur-lined bed for a week, in which they do everything but address the lipstick stains that keep lining his collars or the chauffeur who keeps himself parked between her legs.

You can already picture such a pair now, storming over to some poor, unsuspecting deckhand, red on both their faces as they begin to berate him over the fact they're in a cabin the size of a cupboard, with a communal restroom and a bunk barely fit for one person.

“Why? Is something wrong with it?”

“No,” it’s an answer you reluctantly give, more than aware of how ridiculous it sounds. “It’s… nice. Perfect. Too perfect, like I should feel lucky to stand in it, nevermind live in it for the next few days.”

It’s with caution that you glance over each shoulder, taking note of the seemingly never ending row of balconies that line the ship, a sizable gap between each one. Guts twisting a little at the thought, you peer ever so slightly over the right edge and are greeted with views of more balconies. Beyond that, there’s only blue. Waves crash into the ship’s side and bounce off in white foam. You renew the distance between you and the ledge, unable to stop yourself from glancing both ways, confirming there’s no neighbouring balcony that finds itself occupied.

Then bend down, clasping a hold of one of the champagne flutes.

You take your first sip like it’s a crime, wearily, eyes darting back and forth, waiting to be caught in the act and dragged out of this room, down to whatever poverty loft you really belonged in.

Or, maybe they’d just toss you overboard, rid themselves of any possible hassle. People go missing all the time at sea, right? People go missing all the time on cruises. You’d just be another blip in the system, an error that can be overwritten with a simple-

“I can hear you thinking through the phone, sweetie.”

You take another sip, and let a weight fall off your chest, dragging in a breath large enough to make up for the moment or two you’d stopped breathing. “I’m just… tired. Don’t worry, I’m perfectly fine. No big freak out on it’s way, again.”

“Honey, you know how me and your father feel about you calling it a freak-” she must be able to hear your eye roll through the phone, cutting herself off before she can keep going. “Just, try and enjoy this trip, okay? Maybe you’re in that room because where you’re supposed to be. Maybe you’ve been awarded some free upgrade, like that time your dad got bumped up to business class!”

Bless her for trying, though she may fail. It’s enough to bring a smile to your face.

You swallow back what remains of the bubbled liquid.

Through the phone, you hear a door burst open and the entrance of a loud, excited little voice. Something akin to granny rings down the line, and it’s enough to have you frozen where you stand, bones rigid and unable to move. Something seems to smack into the microphone, a rustling of fabric as you envision your mother making room for little limbs on her lap.

“Hey, my little munchkin! How was soccer?” You can’t make out what the voice tells your mother, heart too busy beating louder than any drum, inching its way further up your wind pipe and threatening to choke you on it. “Guess who I’ve got on the phone?” The tiny voice squeals out your name, bile joins your heart inside your throat. Maybe this is how you find out you get seasick. “Do you wanna say hi-”

“Mum, I, uh… I’ve gotta go,” you’re eyeing the remaining glass on the table, the rising bubbles enticing you to hurry up, drink it before it goes flat. “I should go find the help desk, get this room thing sorted out.”

“Just a second, let E-”

“I’ll call you later,” you hang up.

You’re left with just the raging waters below, a caw from seagulls up above. Eyes slipping shut, you pull in a deep breath and push out a silent plea for that sting in your eyes to be from the salt in the air, not a set of unfallen tears. A few more breaths and it feels safe enough to open your eyes again, glancing down as your phone vibrates in your hand.

Two texts, each from your mother.

09:38 - She says hi, and that you better bring her back a cool souvenir. 09:39 - Doctor Anderson says she’s showing improvement and they’re finally starting to get somewhere. Just thought you’d want to know x

Giving in to temptation, you snatch up the champagne glass, bring it up to your lips and- pause, interrupted as you make eye contact with a man one balcony over. He’s older, a well-rounded gut fit into a light blue shirt and tailored trousers. With a rolex on one wrist and set of bright white teeth smiling right at you, there’s no mistaking he belongs in one of these suites.

You wonder what he thinks of you and your frayed sweater, no jewellery on your wrists.

He nods, politely, and raises his own glass towards you. A silent cheer, a recognition that you’re both here, living life in luxury. You meet it, raise your own glass, and try to smile as brightly as him.

Then knock back your second drink and saunter back inside.

“Miss, there’s been no mistake.”

In spite of it being an excuse to hang up, you stay true to your word.

Come early noon, you’re standing within the help centre. Against all odds, accidental nap and wild goose chase upon the ship deck be damned, you’ve found what you were looking for.

Or, well, an older woman with sweet smile on her face and a squinted nametag pinned to her chest found it, pointed you in the direction of the ship’s atrium. What you’re looking for is the Purser’s Office, dear.

“See? The booking under your name lists you as part of our excelsior guests.” The desk clerk turns her screen towards you, acrylic nail pointing at your booking information. Sure enough, in bold letters, your full name accompanied by a golden badge at the end. Excelsior Status, checkmarked and approved by the cruise. “This grants you access to one of our excelsior suites and all private excelsior lounges.”

In all honesty, you’re tuning her out a little.

You don’t mean to, sincerely, but you’re just so caught up in reading both your name and excelsior suite, over and over and over again, that you forget to really listen, mind running just a few seconds behind the speed of her mouth.

When you finally process what she’s saying, all you can manage is dumbstruck look on your face and a muttered, “oh.”

Paper rustles as your hands wring, the pristine pamphlet you’d been flicking through to fill the time as she’d searched up your details now rumpled, thin white cracks of paper peaking out beneath printed ink.

“I also see that you’ve added the excelsior tour package onto your booking, though I’m willing to change that for you, if you’d prefer signing onto one of our team tours instead.” Confused by her offer, you glance down and read over the pamphlet’s title- All-Aboard Tour Trips, Fun for all the Family! “Would you like to hear what your current tour package grants you?”

“If,” as if you’ve not embarrassed yourself enough with your cluelessness towards your own booking, your voice cracks under the pressure of being used, more squeak than actual intelligible words. You swallow back the lump of shame in your throat and push through. “If you don’t mind, please. This, uh- The ticket, it was a gift, so I’m just a little out of the loop of what’s been booked for me.”

“Not at all! So, the excelsior tour package gives you access to your own private tour-guide, for all seven stops we’ll be making on this cruise!” Already, you feel a little queasy at the thought. A private tour, no one but you and some stranger. It’s not exactly your dream scenario. “Your guide’s purpose won’t just be to walk you through all the memorable sites, but to curate your visits to your liking, helping you explore foreign land with a familiar taste. Where the tours in team are restricted to allocated timeslots and a set route of sites to visit, having a private tour-guide grants you the privilege of exploring where you want, for however long you want. The private tour also provides more time for you at each stop, as your timeslot to board will be the latest available, making your whole trip less of rush and more of a thrill.”

The clerk, without a doubt in your mind, is quoting a script she’s already said hundreds of time- word for word, beat for beat. Yet her voice is animated, her smile is kind, and you admire her a little for getting through it without a single laugh at the corniness of it all.

You, however, fail the challenge, glancing off to your side and biting back a giggle that you hope she takes no note of. The last thing you want is for her to mistake the laughter as directed towards her.

Weighing your options, you nervously ask, “but, you could change me over to a team tour?”

She says of course, with a smile that doesn’t waver, and the tension in your shoulders lessens, the ice cold feeling of inconveniencing her melting away at her warmth.

Her nails clack as she types away on her keyboard. A double click and then, a hiss. She’s no longer smiling, a grimace taking it place. “I’m sorry, but all of our tours are fully booked.”

“Oh. That’s- It’s okay.”

“But, I could add you to the waiting list! If there’s any cancelations for any of the stops, you’ll be the first to know. This won’t affect your excelsior tour package, so either way you’ll have some kind of guide.”

With nothing to lose, you figure why not and let her throw your name in the metaphorical hat.

Mid-typing away, eyes glued to her screen, you watch as her brows shoot up. “Oh, while I’ve got you here, there’s one more thing. With our excelsior guides, it’s customary that they meet with you on the first night, to touch base on simple things, like your interests or any goals for this trip, and to plan out tomorrow’s official first stop, which is in Santorini. Your guide has left you this, detailing where you’ve to meet him.”

With renewed hesitation, you grab at the folded note she slips over the desk. It’s small, with half an inked fingerprint burnt into the top left corner.

As you thank her for her help and bid her goodbye, she interrupts you before you can turn to leave.

“I know private tours can seem daunting but, you’re in good hands. Joel will take care of you, he’s our top-rated guide.”

The note remains folded as long as you can control your curiosity, which appears to be only until you’re back on the deck, sun shinning directly in your eyes and forcing you to squint as you read over faded blank ink.

10 pm, the Tipsy Byson bar.

Below that, in a bolder blue ink, wear something green for me to find you, JM.

You’re awfully overdressed, and painfully aware of it.

The Tipsy Byson is nestled between the arcade and the casino, a balance of childlike shrieks harmonizing over outraged yelling of men cheated out of their hands. Brown wood lines just about every inch of the place, from the walls, to the tables, to the bar. There’s an outrageously large Stars and Stripes flag hanging on the wall, and memorabilia of all things Texas Roadhouse. The place is themed, down to the cowboy hat that sits atop the bartender’s head, and clearly everyone is aware of this, decked out in scruffed up boots and worn out denim vests.

Everyone but you, dark green silk clinging to you in the shape of a laced-back midi dress, dainty black heels tucked into the footrest of the barstool you occupy.

It’s the only green thing you brought and- wear something green for me to find you- you’d had no choice.

It was a quarter to ten when you got there, earlier than you were requested, but a gentle buzz of something shooting through your nervous system left you impatient, unable to wander the ship’s halls any longer.

It was fine, you figured, gave you a chance to get a drink, cool your nerves a little. Sticking with the theme of green, you’d yelled over the line music for a midori sour, please, and even cracked a little smile at the cute bartender.

By twenty past ten, you’re still alone, no tour-guide in sight, and your glass is empty, a sole ice-cube all that remains. You order another glass, given him another smile, and return your eyes to the entryway as you sip back the taste of the dewy melon goodness.

The doors opened, your hopes rise and- a couple walks through the door, adorably dressed in matching jackets.

Another sip.

The doors open again, this time you watch as a few women walk in, party hats and bachelorette signs dripping off them.

Half your drink, gone again.

Two, three, four more times the door opens and you watch as strangers filter in and out, pretending you don’t notice the way some of their eyes linger on you, sticking out like a sore thumb.

It’s as you throw back the last sip of your cocktail, eyes catching the time- 22:36-, that you watch a grin overtake the bartender’s face.

The door shuts with a slam, buried beneath the layers of stomping feet across the dance floor and the twang of a country song, yet you hear it all the same, twisting in the stool.

A man stands by the entry, salt-and-peppered hair a little tousled and a scowl etched into his forehead. He moves like water, slipping through the cracks in the crowded bar with minimal effort. All the while, eyes seem to follow him, the occasional head turning in his direction. He spares no glances, to anyone.

Instead, he’s staring right at you.

And heading your way, frown and all.

There’s something in his face that feels familiar, and you swear that this is not the first time you’d stared into those eyes. Broad, scruffy facial hair, his irritation as some drunk girl slams into him so palpable, you almost taste it on your tongue.

You mumble something to the bartender, a request for another drink, a parched feeling stirring in your loins.

He’s inching closer, and closer, and closer- and, only as he’s a mere three bar stools away from you, do you realise who he is.

You’re in the way.

Signore Miller.

The rude man from the airport!

God, you can’t wait to see what this is about. He must recognise you, must feel the shame licking at his wounded ego, driving him to come over, apologise, beg for forgiveness to a stranger he unnecessarily berated.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” It’s not Signore Miller that speaks, nor is it you. It’s the bartender, arms crossing over his chest, smirk widening on his face. “Thought you said last season was your last!”

“You know me,” his eyes are still glued to you, an intense stare, even as he replies. There’s so little space between you now, you manage to notice the wrinkles in his flannel shirt. You choose to ignore the fact it’s green. “Ain’t no good at stayin’ away from the things I hate.”

“Wasn’t what you were saying at the staff party last year, Mr. Blubber-face. Took two whiskeys to get you crying ‘bout how you were gonna miss the cruising life.”

Another midori sour lands your way, yet you don’t even manage a single sip of it before he’s opening his mouth.

“Well look at you, all dressed up with nowhere to go,” his eyes still pierce into your own and, this time, it is you he’s talking to.

You’d have half the mind to throw your drink on him, if it weren’t for the fact you’re too busy taking a stabilizing gulp out of it, a sweetness to counter-attack his sour persona.

“Excuse me?!” You final sputter out, face burning too hot and pride too scorned to begin to feel even more out of place.

He seems unfazed by your outrage, turning away from you to acknowledge his friend behind the bar at last. “Do me a favour, Luke, don’t give her too much to drink.” Condescending tone perfectly intact, Signore Miller doubles down on your initial impression of him: an absolute asshole. “Last thing I need is to spend all day draggin’ around some prissy hungover diva.”

The man- Luke- scoffs back a laugh, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Quit teasin’ the poor girl, ‘fore she runs for the hills and ruins your five-star rating.”

An uncomfortable feeling creeps down your spine. It’s cold and alarming, and has your straightening your back, sitting a little tenser in your seat, realization rising in you like the dawn.

It can’t be.

He can’t be-

He’s stepping all in your space, face leaning down till his mouth is at the level of your ear. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t even come close to it, yet there’s goosebumps littering your arms and hairs standing at the back of your neck.

Like touching a live wire, his proximity feels electric.

“Best be on that deck by 7 am, darlin’, or I’ll be dockin’ without ya.”

“Wait, you’re-”

“Joel, tourguide. At your service.” He’s pulled back, just to thrust his hand in your face. By the time you reach to shake it, he’s retracting it, that grating quirk in his lips moving higher up his cheek. “Oh, and do yourself a favour. Wear somethin’ a little more… practical. Santorini ain’t the place for dainty heels like those.”

You knock back the rest of your drink moments after he leaves, only to find Luke’s already placed a fourth glass at your side.

“Our little secret,” he faux-whispers, pressing a finger to his pursed lips. “Besides, you look like you could use it.”

Signore Miller.

Joel, tourguide.

Joel Miller.

He’s already making your trip unbearable, and it’s hardly begun.

+ extra hyde. sorry if that was a little boring it was a necessary part to get the ball moving, i promise chapter two gets right into it. again, updates to this fic happen every other friday! i'm bad at describing spaces, so if anyone is curious to know what reader's suite looks like, here are some reference pics:

taglist. @auteurdelabre

[danikamariewrites]

do you write for dark reader?

if so could i please request a slightly dark reader x slightly dark batboys, reader might be obsessive and wants them to herself so seeing their exes drives her crazy with rage. the thought of there being someone else who used to share a bed with them makes her mad. slowly all the people they used to see end up missing , they eventually catch her but aren’t afraid or mad. They finally stop hiding their dark side aswell.

They discovers she has one of the girls rhys dated a while back tied up in her basement and they are so happy bc she is showing them she cares and is possesive, yeah they’re all just nuts idk🙏😍

Missing

Poly!bat boys x dark!reader

A/n: I’m loving these dark!reader requests plz send me more guys

Warnings: kidnapping, mentions of torture, mentions of violence (plz lmk if I missed anything)

“Curious,” Azriel said under his breath as he ran his eyes over the cork board set up in Rhys’s office. The reports of missing females from around Velaris are tacked to the board. Each with notes underneath from Rhys. “There has to be something connecting them, right?” Cassian asked.

“The names look familiar,” Azriel looked over his shoulder at Rhys. “Cass, didn’t you briefly see Melody a decade ago?” Cassian stepped up to the board, staring at the name and notes. “And Rhys, you were with Dela before we were mated to y/n.”

Rhys stood, crossing the room to inspect the board as well. “These are all females we’ve dated.” Azriel connected the dots for them, their eyes went wide. Rhys’s mind was running wild with theories.

Cassian voiced what the three of them were thinking. “Do you think y/n has something to do with this?” Azriel and Rhys turned to him with a bewildered look. Appalled that he could suggest that. But Rhys couldn’t be angry at Cassian. Not when he was thinking the same thing.

Azriel was fuming. He grabbed Cassian by the collar of his leathers, slamming him into the wall, causing the room to shake. “Don’t you dare think for a second she could do anything like this.” Azriel growled at him. Cassian held up his hands in defense.

Rhys pulled Azriel off Cassian, “Az, I won’t lie to you, I’m having the same thoughts. You can’t deny she might know something.” Azriel took a deep, shaky breath. “I know,” he breathed out, “I just…you think she would do this? We have that side to us but her? I’m not sure.”

“I’ll talk to her.” Rhys would have to approach this carefully. He didn’t want you to shut down or push him away.

———

Later that afternoon Rhys found you in the garden sitting with the flowers. You looked so sweet. So perfect. He didn’t want to ruin this peace, but he’s High Lord and he has a duty to the citizens of his court. Rhys sits with you, putting a smile on his face.

When you look at Rhys your face lights up. You throw your arms around him, tackling him to the soft grass, both of you giggling. You rest your chin on his chiseled chest and bat your eyelashes at him. “Hi Rhysie. I thought you were working.”

Rhys rested a hand on your back tracing small circles as he smiled back at you. “I am baby, but I was hoping you could help us with something.” You tilt your head curiously at him. Your brows knit together in confusion. “Me?” Rhys sits up turning you to sit with your back to his chest.

That’s when you noticed the file in his hand. You were praying to the Mother that this wasn’t what you thought it was. You were trying to keep your heart rate under control so your mates wouldn’t feel it. When you saw the first paper with Melody’s name you wanted to freeze up. You kept your body as relaxed as possible. You can get through this, you kept telling yourself over and over again.

“The three of us knew these missing females.” Rhys was taking a gentle tone with you. You could tell he was worried you would get flighty or anxious. “That’s weird. I didn’t know females were going missing?” You might’ve over done it with the innocence in your tone, but Rhys, Cass, and Az would never know anything.

Not if you could help it.

So you pulled out your greatest weapon. Your fear. “Am I safe Rhys?” You were trembling. You couldn’t help it at this point. What would your mates think of you if they knew you were the one doing this.

Rhys’s eyes went wide. “Oh darling, of course you’re safe. You have the three of us. No one would ever get you.” He coos at you, holding your face in his hands. You wrapped your arms around his neck forcing out tears. You sat like that for a long time. Rhys eventually carried you inside, leaving you in the kitchen. With a quick kiss on your head he was headed back up to his office to finish up his work for the day.

When Rhys was out of ear shot you snapped back into your cold self. They we’re getting suspicious and you didn’t like that. You’d have to make this last one count then.

It’s not like you were going after all of their ex-girlfriends. Just the ones you knew they had briefly passed by in shops or at you guy’s favorite coffee shop. You could scent them. Knowing that those females touched your mates drove you insane.

They had their chance. And now they needed to stay very far away. You had ensured they did. But there was one last female you had to tend to.

You remember what you did to all of them. Their punishments fitting their crimes. One lost all her fingers simply for handing Azriel a napkin and letting her touching linger too long. Another lost her beauty for trying to seduce Cassian. Dela was the most fun. She lost her pretty singing voice she claimed Rhys loved soooo much.

They all ended up in the same place. Dead, never to be seen again.

You flung open the door that lead to the dungeons deep into the mountain the House of Wind sat on. Azriel hadn’t used this place in centuries. Nor did he watch over the secret passage way at the bottom of the house. You’d have to seal that permanently when you were done here.

As your footsteps echoed around the cavernous halls you heard Maurelle’s muffled screams. Another one of Cassian’s exes. Approaching the cell you stop outside the cell door. Maurelle starts screaming and tugging at the chains tying her to the wall. Her face was splotchy and covered in tears.

You unlocked the door smirking as you slowly made your way to her. “Sshhh,” Maurelle’s yelling faltered. You grabbed her jaw forcing her to look at you. She struggled against you but your could tell she was getting weaker.

“Unfortunately, our fun has been spoiled.” Your voice was quite laced with fake sympathy, “I haven’t decided how long I’m going to keep you though.” Maurelle started sobbing again, lolling her head back and forth in your grip.

“Awww. I know I’m upset too.” You pushed her head back into the stone. After she let out a cry you started walking away, slamming the cell door shut again, locking it. Not like she’d go anywhere. “I’ll be back later!” You shouted over your shoulder, heading back up to the house.”

———

Coming back up to the main house you scurried off the the library to bury your face into a book until dinner.

An hour later Azriel was pushing the door open of the upstairs library, his shadows swirling around him and daring ahead of him, as he looked around for you. “Y/n,” you put your book down and hurry over to Azriel before he could cross the threshold.

“Hi Azzy. I missed you today.” He smiled down at you, holding your chin between his fingers. “I missed you too princess.” Azriel leaned down to place a small kiss on your lips. He slipped his large hand in yours and pulled you out of the room. “Dinners ready so I thought I’d come get you.” “Thank the Mother, I’m starving.”

———

Dinner was going by far too slow for you. The clock on the mantle behind you seemed to be ticking extra loudly this evening. Your nerves had gotten worse. You felt yourself slipping. If you gave something away they’d get suspicious. And you were already uncharacteristically quiet tonight.

“Sweetheart, are you ok? You’ve barley said anything?” You jump a little looking at your mates. “Oh. I’m fine. Just thinking.” Cassian reaches across the table to hold your clammy hand. “Rhys told us you were nervous. It’s ok y/n. We’d never let anything happen to you.” He swiped his thumb across the palm of your hand and gave you a small smile.

“Thank you, Cass.” You squeezed his hand, returning his smile. When Cassian pulled his hand back he looked down at his plate, picking up his fork. You watched him blink down at his hand.

Cassian’s eyes narrow at his thumb as he brings it closer to his face to inspect it. “Dried blood?” Shit. You didn’t wash your hands when you came up from the dungeons.

Cassian sniffed, but your could tell he didn’t recognize the scent. He held his hand out for Rhys and realization dawned on his face when he recognized the scent. All three of them were now looking at you. “Darling, is there something you want to tell us?”

Rhys had the feline grin plastered on his lips. Your heart was beating so fast you were certain they could feel it. Suddenly you felt waves of reassurance down the bond. “You’re not mad?” They all shook their heads. “Just tell us what’s happened, y/n. I promise everything will be fine.”

“Are you going to break the bond? Am I going to jail?” You ask quickly, eyeing them in case they moved to grab you. They each let out a deep chuckle. “No darling. We would never dream of that.”

You slowly stand from the table motioning for them to follow you. As you lead them to the dungeon you explained everything. Your jealous tendencies. The rage you felt scenting another female on them when they’d come home from the city. How you just wanted to rip your hair out at the thought of another female with them in any way.

Entering the dungeon Azriel stopped you. “You did all of this for us.” You nod. “You’re so cute princess.” You were confused. And it clearly showed on your face. “What, did you think we didn’t hunt down your ex-boyfriend’s?” Cassian asked with a deadly smirk.

A devilish smile broke out on your own lips. “We couldn’t let those males think they’d have another chance with you now could we?” You shook your head in agreement. Good, you were all on the same page.

Rhys brought a hand up to cup your cheek. “Now who do we have down here darling?” You grabbed his hand, guiding them towards the cell at the very end. “Maurelle.” Your voice chipper with your nerves gone. “I could scent her perfume on you last week. It was an unwanted hug I assume?” “Of course it was darling.”

You hummed in approval at being right. Oh you were going to have so much fun with them as you ended Maurelle.

[okkalo]

Hi! I saw you opened requests and thought I would drop one into your box!

I really like what you wrote for the crush + confessions, and was wondering if we could get scenarios for Reo, Shidou, and Kunigami saying "I love you" for the first time

Thanks in advance if you decide to write this!

hello! congrats on being my first request back 🤭 i hope u enjoy these and have a good day!!

characters: reo, shidou, kunigami (i haven’t mentioned this in my rules yet but i will always write pre-wildcard for him unless specified otherwise [it depends on the req too bc i feel like i won’t be able to characterize him right 😔]!!)

reo

- he was down bad since you started dating so he’s been feeling it for awhile

- knows not to say it early though because he doesn’t want you to doubt his feelings

- you’re probably feeling insecure about your relationship once he says it

- he revealed your relationship on social media not too long ago and a lot of the comments were making suggestions of you using him for his money and frankly just not being good enough for him.

- the average reo cliché am i right 🤣🤣

- reo knew you wouldn’t use him so he never worried about the comments

- he didn’t take into consideration the other comments though and just you not being used to hate comments

- he only realized once you had broke down in front of him

- he’s quick to comfort you, holding you in an embrace as you cry while rubbing your back

- once he hears you blubber about truly loving him and not needing his money he immediately gets it and separates from the hug to gently yet firmly hold your face, looking into your eyes as he confesses

“y/n, you know i don’t think any of that.” he started off, tone softening to match your vulnerable state. “and who cares what those losers claim? they’ve probably been single for decades to where they need to talk shit to cope, leave them be.”

“reo!” you gasp at his claim, giving him a light smack on the arm. that didn’t stop you from smiling, however. he only shook his head, continuing with his speech despite your disruption.

“y/n, i love you so so much. at this point even if you were using me for money i would still oblige.” he was quick to place a finger to your lips to stop your complaint. “i know you aren’t, though. but either way i still want to spoil you everyday, so i couldn’t care less about what those shitheads think, i only care about you.” you forgot how much of a sap reo could be, but either way his rambling certainly did comfort you. he sealed it all with a deep and loving kiss, making sure to replicate all of his emotions into his action.

shidou

- i’m actually going to stun everyone for a moment and say it actually takes him a WHILE to finally say the three words

- now stay with me for a minute

- i get that he’s a very say what he feels kinda guy but at the same time he doesn’t really feel love until later on

- and i mean like a year or 8 months

- it hits him so suddenly too

- you’re probably just doing something domestic with him and he realizes how important you’ve become to him

- he was soon to leave for a match abroad, so he had to get the most of your affection now before he was left to his lonesome

- that also meant he had to get some of his rowdiness out as well

“shidou, put me down!” your shout rang through your shared apartment as you thrashed around on his shoulder, which he had thrown you on like you were a stupid sack of potatoes. humiliating. he gave into your wishes shortly after, flinging you aggressively on the bed. he paid no mind to your hiss of pain at the not-so-polite meeting with the mattress. he was quick to climb on top of you. though, you noticed his usually aggressive eyes turn soft once looking down at you.

all at once, the thoughts of not being able to see your face for days on end, let alone hear your real voice hit him. he remembers back to the last time he had to leave you. how off he had felt the whole trip, his mind always thinking about you. wow, has he stooped as low as sendou?

without thinking another thought, he whispered a soft, “i love you.” he must have to be sounding this vulnerable in front of a woman. he figured he didn’t really care, enjoying the feeling of being you all to much to care. he dropped down to collapse on your body, effectively knocking out all of the air from your body while doing so. meanwhile, you were still shocked he showed you his softer set of eyes.

kunigami

- he probably tells you 2-3 months into the relationship

- it honestly depends how fast you guys are going

- he absolutely does it when you are doing something cute in his eyes

- so that can be in public or just the two of you, he doesn’t care, really. if it’s public get ready to blush because the way he says it with total emotion will make you weak.

- for this one you guys were in the comfort of his house, lounging around on the couch on your phones while you rested on his chest

- you got hungry so you got up to go get something to eat from the kitchen

- still on your phone, you gasped so loud once you came across pictures of baby and mama polar bears together, knowing your boyfriend would love the sight

- so, of course, you ran back to his arms, ignoring his worried questions, and shoved your phone in his face.

“rensuke, look!” you exclaimed, eyes wide as you shuffled in to get comfortable in his lap. he gave a confused look to you, wondering what the whole ordeal was about. you sighed, bringing your phone down to give him a pouty expression. “it’s polar bears, you’re favorite.”

realization spread across his face, now understanding you had been excited to show him the pictures of his favorite animal. “that’s what all that was about?” he breathed a sigh of relief. you only nodded, lifting your phone back up so he could look at the pictures of them.

a small smile spread on his face, more at you then the pictures. once you finished scrolling through the different photos of polar bears and looked back at your phone with a content smile he confessed. “i love you,” it was mostly a thought that just happened to slip from his lips, catching him but some surprise too. your eyes widened, looking back up at him. he had a soft pink tint on his cheeks. he figured there was no going back with his sentence, instead leaning in to give you a soft peck on the cheek.

unedited thanks for reading!

[romana-after-dark]

Blessed Be The Fruit: Part 2

Commander!Joel Miller x Handmaid!Reader

Series masterlist Join dark!Romana's tag list Dark!Romana's Masterlist

(sorry if you get two notications, accidentally posted this to my mainlol)

Summary: A few decades into Gilead’s conception, you head into your first posting as a handmaid after an affair with a guardian landed you in trouble. Determined to keep your head low in order to keep your son safe, you take on the moniker of OfJoel. Commander Miller has very little to do with you and mrs. Miller regards you with disgust, however you find solace in an unlikely friendship with Commander Miller’s daughter from a handmaid 14 years ago, Ellie who just got done with wives school. You and your friend, Ofthomas start teacher her and her friend Reilly under her mothers nose. Slowly, Commander Miller begins spending time with you and you begin to learn more about the man he was before and an affair begins outside the confines of the ceremony. Although initially you go along with it out if survival, you find yourself falling for the version of Joel you saw in these late night rendezvous.

Which Joel is really him, and how will he react when his own daughters secrets are revealed?

Content and Warnings: DARK JOEL! DUB CON!

Although no violent rape happens like in TWW, reader is under systemic misogyny and a society of ritualized sex abuse. Everything other than the violent rape scenes, everything that happen in either The Handmaids Tale book or show are liable to happen here including but not limited to discussion of rape, child abuse, child marriage, ritualized sexual abuse, sexual abuse in general, acts of violence, major character deaths, mentions of miscarriage but never shown and never pregnancies we know of. Big ole homophobia warning, specifically in regards to lesbophobia. As for Joel, PIV sex, breeding kink, degrading (slut, whore etc but thing like Raider!joel) forced breeding and breeding kink, power dynamics, Joel is not the good guy but he’s also not the worst, slightly rough sex but not violent. Warnings are liable to be added as the story goes but I’ll always update. As always if I miss something please tell me, but i extensively label my warnings and in the end media consumption is your own choice. If you would like to know if this is a happy ending or not you can message me and I’ll tell you that way I don’t spoil for everyone but you can decide if this is for you.

Immersability: Reader has long hair, can conceive children theoretically. At one point, she has to pose as Ellie's mother and I know this can be loaded in terms of skin tone. I am no genetics expert but I know dark skinned parents can have white passing children, like Lional Richie and Nicole Richie. It's up to you to see if this is going to take you out of the story or not.

Support writers, reblog and leave comments!

Additional warnings: forced blowjob but reader is into it. Still dub con bc the nature of everything.

*******************

It was a strange feeling, knowing the entire household was keeping track of your monthly cycle. Mrs. Miller had been cued in by Aunt Lydia of where you were at last week, and since then you were told the date of the next ceremony; the night during the highpoint of your fertility. You wondered, not the first time, why the ceremony was only once a month, not during the entire time of ovulation, or why not two or three times a day… but you supposed that’s where the wives would draw a line. No rights to reading or education, no voice, no power. One wrong move and you too can become the victim of ritualized rape… but no, your husband fucking a random woman more than *checks notes you aren’t actually allowed to read* once a month is too far. 

Internal humor is how to cope. The reality of the situation was terrifying, but it’s not like you were shocked by the idea. You had grown up your whole life knowing this would be your fate if you strayed; well, if you strayed and you were fertile. That fertility is what landed you in this problem in the first place.

It wasn’t love. There was no grand story to it. You were married at 15 to a man in his 20’s who hit you, as was his right. Even that wasn’t as dramatic as it could have been, just slaps, shoved into furniture, things of that sort. When a local guardian made advances, you took him up on it. The sex was fine, and eventually produced a baby; your son, who looked just like his real father. 

The guardian was sent to a new local and seemed indifferent to his son who was placed with some commander and his wife. You didn’t even get to say goodbye to him. He probably has a new name now, something biblical, and you often wonder what it is, what word it is that calls his attention. Babies recognize their name around 6 months after all. Benjamin? Levi? Asa? You named him… well, that doesn’t really matter now. It’s a name he’ll never know as his.

Angela had a better story. There was a group of you, a few other handmaids in your region and Angela rallied you all together, sharing your real names and stories. She had lived one hell of a life, always brave. As a low ranking wife she went behind her husbands back for the underground resistance at the young age of 16 and was pregnant a few times, none of which made it very long. For ten years she fought against Gilead, continuing the tradition of her youth. Hell, even before Gilead’s official formation she fought, being a part of pro-LGBT and women’s rights activism since middle school. After her husband was killed in war a guardian attempted to rape her and Angela stabbed him to death. Badass. Gilead didn’t see it that way, despite espousing wanting to protect women. She was going to be hung, of course, but a pregnancy test reviled she was pregnant again, a baby she carried to term, this time. He died of illness a few months later. Regardless, she’d had a healthy baby, and was sent to Thomas Miller’s for her first posting last year.

Aunt Lydia had told Angela that this commander Miller would suit her temperament and you understood what that meant. Angela had confirmed the impression that you had gotten early that week.

Thomas Miller had kind eyes. The kind of eyes that warmed you, relaxed you. You bet he was a charmer in another life. The brothers seemed close, Joel- Commander Miller you mean, lighting up around him like you only see with Elizabeth.

Commander Miller adored his daughter, that much was clear. Many men in Gilead only viewed their children -especially daughters- as possessions or pawns, but it was clear it wasn’t like that between them. You wondered if that closeness is why she wasn’t married yet. At 14 she had been out of wives school for a few months, and it was time to at least get her betrothed. God forbid she waste of moment of potential fertility. Yet, Commander Miller didn’t even seem to be looking.

 Few knew more than him how dangerous it was as a woman in this world, and Elizabeth wasn’t a woman- she was a child, still. Commander Miller also seemed aware that Elizabeth was… particular. She only had one friend, Riley, a child from before the handmaid system who was married already. Mrs. Jones, she was called by Lisa, you and Mrs. Miller (who always tried to do things by the book). Joel refused to call her Mrs. Jones, saying “I’m not addressing a child who I’ve been forced to play dolls with as Mrs. anything. She’s Riley to me.” Outside though he did things right. Can’t be too familiar with another man’s wife, even if he’s known that wife since she was in pull ups. 

The ceremony was tonight, and it seemed like everyone knew. Angela did, but only because you mentioned it.

“Got any questions?” She asked you, always the older sister, even if she only had a few years on you.

“Believe it or not, I’m not a virgin.” You joke back.

Angela laughs and nudges you with her shoulder. “I know, it’s just your first ceremony. I mean, it’s pretty straightforward to what they teach you in the Rachel and Leah Center, only-” She seemed to shut herself off with that, but you urge her on.

“Only what? You can’t leave me there.”

She swallowed thickly before attempting again, somewhere between a cringe and a childish giggle. “Well, you know, genetically-”

“Angela.”

“Brothers have similarities-”

“Just say it!”

Angela stopped, pulling you in to whisper. “Tommy has a massive cock.”

You stand there frozen in shock until a guardian shouts at you to keep moving and stop whispering. There was a lot there, including the implication that if they share genetic similarities, Joel might be harder to take than expected, especially without foreplay, but the thing that really struck you, the thing that sent your mind whirling was how Angela phrased it. She called Commander Miller, Tommy.

*

He was handsome, Commander Miller. At least there was that. Another handmaid, Ofglen, was stuck with a 70 year old man. Several girls had commented in hushed whispers that you and Ofthomas were luck; the Miller brothers were a dream posting, comparatively. So many men were ugly, old, or cruel. Ofhim had scars from lashes on her back. Some of the wives were worse, Ofcole’s wife would starve her when her monthly cycle proved the ceremony useless. Mrs. Miller was a pain and was rude, but she’d never take anything like that into he own hands. She wanted to play the part of dutiful wife so bad. That didn’t stop her from constantly making digs at her daughter.

Mrs. Miller requested your aid in her garden once, using you to dump all her feelings. She confessed the reason you were here was her doing; Elizabeth had proven a failure in her eyes, and she wanted another child to raise, to start over. She said her father spoiled her, let her get away with to much. Commander Miller refused to physically discipline her, and Mrs. Miller was insistent that that’s what the girl needed. Commander Miller reminded her she was just a teenager, and Mrs. Miller countered that she is a woman, not a child. You were married off young and it had seemed fine. You felt like an adult. But now you look at Elizabeth and think ‘did I look that young? Did I seem that childlike?’ 

Mrs. Miller had expressed that she had hoped wives school would fix her, or that maybe after coming back, Riley’s influence would be good. Ellie’s friend, Riley, was 16 and was married to a man in his 20’s, both children from before who had been taken from an unworthy family. An age gap, but certainly not the worse you’d seen, certainly, but now you were near her husbands age the the idea of marrying a 16 year old…

All this to say, Commander Miller was a blessing. You’d been lying if you said you never thought of him when you masturbated. And of course you masturbated. His sweaty body all encompassing around you, brown curls falling on his face, his facial hair on your skin…

*

It was time for the ceremony, you and Mrs. Miller were in your respective positions, you laid up between Gina’s spread legs in her blue dress, her hand gripping your arms with your legs bent. Commander Miller emerged from the bathroom and your chest tightened at the sight of him, knowing what was coming. The pomp and circumstance had passed, the prays having been done in the living room with members of the household: You, Commander Miller, Mrs. Miller, Lisa, and the driver, Isaac. There had been a passive aggressive spat between Mrs. and Commander Miller on the idea of Elizabeth attending the prayers.

Mrs. Miller: “She needs to participate in household activities”

Commander Miller: “It’s bad enough she knows whats going on, I don’t need her to participate.”

Mrs. Miller: “She’ll be a wife soon enough herself, god-willing she’ll have a handmaid of her own!”

“God-willing she won't need to!”

Mrs. Miller scoffed. “As if God would find her worthy in her state!”

Commander Miller grew deadly calm, jaw set in a tense gaze as he stared at his wife, you and Elizabeth standing on the other side of the room. “Woman, you do not speak about her like that again, understood?”

The intensity of his eyes must have been warning enough, Gina backing down. “Yes sir.”

He straightened up. “Ellie, you are excused. Gina, drop it.”

The tension had carried over into the bedroom, the air thick with it as the reality of what was going to happen settled in. Commander Miller’s bulge was prominent even in his dark pants, having worked himself up alone before coming out here and undressing once again. Just pulling down his pants and underwear, god forbid you see him shirtless. This wasn’t for your pleasure, you filthy whore, this wasn’t even for his. This was for you to bare him and his wife a child. A son to lead the family in righteousness, or a daughter to bare more children and so on. This was a job.

You hear a spit and the distinct sound of masturbation, then a few more spitting sounds. It took everything in you to not look at him, keeping your eyes glued on the ceiling but the picture was clear in his head. The tall, broad, powerful commander furiously jerking off the the site of your body spread of before him. Was that for you? Or was he looking at his wife? He sure didn’t seem very fond of her, but there was no denying she was beautiful.

“Joel, do you really need to do that? It’s obscene.”

“Well you can’t expect her to take it dry when you can barely-”

“Joel!”

“Well unless you want me to-”

“JOEL!”

You couldn’t help it, opening your eyes to see him, his face scowling but eyes with a glint of mischief. He was fucking with her, purposefully embaressing her infront of a lowly handmaid to get back at her for what she said about Elizabeth.

When Commander Miller slid into you, you were suddenly acutely aware that this was going to be difficult. Slowly he moved inside and the inches just. Kept. Coming. Your breath hitched and you bite down on your lip trying to keep any possible sound from coming out, no gasps of pain that could be mistaken for pleasure. The stretch was unbearable by the time Joel was fully sheathed inside of you, thrusting as the tears pricked up in your eyes. It would be quick. There was no presence of needing to last, at least. Just get it done. Fill you up and hopefully you conceive. Problem was… the stretch.

 It wasn’t your fault, really. It was natural, wasn’t it? Even under these circumstances. Or maybe you were a harlot, only redeemable by producing a child for a high value man. That's why you were in this position, right? You could feel yourself getting wet and you wished he would hurry up before the smell of sex and arousal fill the room, before the fucking sound became impossible to ignore. The warmth in your belly grew, tightening, the feeling of being filled so completely was just dizzying and you needed him to finish, now.

Then it happened, the orgasm hitting you so hard your eyes rollback in your head and it takes everything you have not to cry out. You can only pray Joel isn’t looking at your face as you attempt to stifle every bodily reaction as you pulse around him. Warmth floods your insides when he stills inside you, a light groan from his lips. He’s allowed to make a few sounds; he’s the man, after all. It’s supposed to feel good for him, but for you? This was wrong. This was bad, and you were going to be in a fuck ton of trouble now. Aunt Lydia never said anything about orgasming. Did the law have a specific article about this, or was it left up to the commander's discretion? You hadn’t seen Joel raise a hand to Gina yet, but you were only a week in. You open your eyes, daring to take a peak at Commander Miller in order to gauge your future. 

You can see him smiling at you before tucking himself back into his pants to go clean up. Mrs. Miller instructed you to lay there for a while, bettering the chances of it taking, and left the room. When Commander Miller exited the bathroom and returned to the bed chambers, he excused you with a soft “You can go now, darl’n”

*

Another 2 weeks went by without incident, and it appeared Commander Miller wasn’t going to do or say anything about your embarrassing indiscretion. Angela had told you to play with yourself before the ceremony to get yourself wet, but you had been too scared of this exact scenario happening. Fat lot of good it did you, huh?

Unfortunately for everyone involved, you got your period as expected. One would think you didn’t want to get pregnant. The odds of dying in child birth had increased despite growing technology. It was the pregnancy complications and the insistence of home births even when the pregnancy was warning them not too. Gilead’s obsession with rituals meant that there was also an extensive one for childbirth and that obsession rendered many women dead. In addition to that, there’s the horror of growing a child inside you, and even if it was a healthy pregnancy and that child lives, after a period of breastfeeding you are taken away from the life you created to go to another posting.

If you produce a child and remain behaved, when you are no longer of birthing age, you get to retire in peace. Whatever that meant. You weren’t sure you entirely cared, one way or another, but the idea of the wall was scary. 3 postings, 3 years per posting, this was your window.

You often heard Elizabeth sneaking downstairs after the household went to sleep; always after Joel went down. Your room was right by the stairs, so you heard it all. God knows you aren’t sleeping.

You were bored. So bored. Bored enough to sneak downstairs after Ellie and go investigate, so you do. Slowly and carefully you go down stairs and find Commander Miller’s office, creeping up to the door to listening. You hear music. Music that was supposed to have been destroyed a decade ago, and you take a moment to enjoy the sound. Steady acoustic guitar, soft male singing.

“Can we listen to it again?” Ellie’s voice spoke from behind the door.

“After your lesson.” Commander Miller.

“UUUGGGHHH”

“I thought you wanted to learn?”

“I do…” Ellie acquiesced, and you can hear the sounds of pulling a book off a shelf and opening it. Biology. Commander Miller was teaching Ellie biology. This was unheard of, especially for a commander's daughter, a woman who was supposed to be getting married off soon. She didn’t need to learn science, to listen to ungodly music? So why was a high ranking Commander not only allowing it, but teaching her?

You move to go back upstairs where you belong, but the creak of the floor gives you away. White-hot panic, the kind where everything runs hot and the world suddenly feels funny floods your system. You freeze, hoping to God no one heard you. That goes out the window when the door flies open, Commander Miller spotting you and yanking you inside the room by the dress.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” He shouts, loud and angry and so close to you that you can smell his breath.

“Dad?” A panicked Ellie stood to the side, drawing your attention. She looked terrified, and you felt sorry for scaring the poor girl.

Joel gripped your face, fingers digging into his skin as he forced you to look at him. “Eyes on me. You don’t look at her.” Keeping your face forward, Joel turned to Ellie. “Go upstairs, I’ll take care of this.”

“But dad-”

“Ellie. I got this, you go to your room, it’ll talk to you in a bit, okay?”

Ellie nodded, going out the door and only stopped to eye you for a moment.

Joel turned back to you. “What did you hear?”

“Nothing-”

“Liar!” He screamed, fingers pressing harder into your skin.

“I heard the music! And, and some of the lesson, but I won’t say anything I swear-”

“Of course you won’t,” Joel chuckled. “Who are they going to believe? A commander and the first daughter of Gilead, or a handmaid who cums during the ceremony.” Your eyes go wide at that, the way Joel’s grip loosens but never leaves, thumb slowly beginning to trace at your cheeks. “Yeeeah, that’s right, I felt you. Little bitch in heat couldn’t help cumming on cock? Didn’t even need any build up, huh? You just take whatever's given to you. Little whore, all pent up…” 

God, he looked good like this; towering over you, broad shoulders closing in on you and making it clear there was nowhere to go. When he placed his thumb at your lips, you didn’t even hesitate to take it in your mouth and begin to bob your head, eyes closing just a little. “Dirty, dirty girl…” Joel taunted. “Just need to get filled up. All that pent up slut, nowhere to go. Tell me, sweet thing… Do you think of me when you touch yourself?”

Your sucking stopped, but Joel continued moving his thumb in your mouth. “Yeah, I know you do. Get on your fucking knees.” He didn’t wait, shoving you down to your knees, his cock entering your mouth before you had a chance to think.

The stretch pried open your mouth, pulling at your chapped and dry lips. The bulbous tip hit the back of your throat and made you gag, but he wasn’t stopping.

“Dirty fucking whore, that’s how you ended up here, isn’t it? Needed to be constantly filled, your husband wasn’t enough?” He thrust into you with vigor, your sputtering sounds only spurring him on more while you breathed through your nose, you couldn’t help but whine, preening at the sensation of a dick in your mouth once again. It felt, so, so good, despite the circumstances. “Don’t you worry, I’ll fill you up alright, fill you up enough you stay full.” His pace began to falter after a few more minutes. “Fill you up with my baby, fulfill your biological destiny like the pretty little whore you are.” You wriggle, trying to get some sory of sensation between your legs as you hungrily sucked at him, desperately needing his cum inside you.

He spilled into you, salty and thick and so fucking good, you swallow down every goddamn drop.

With a hand fisted in your dress, Joel pulled you up and to your feet, shoving you back against the wall as he cleaned up. “You are going to apologize to her, and after that.” Joel was close up against you again. “You are going to keep my daughter’s name out of your fucking mouth.” His tongue flicked out to lick at the corner of your mouth and swiped his tongue over your lips. “After tonight, we on’t be wasting one more drop in your mouth. Every last bit of me goes to filling you up, but this-” He patted your stomach where his cum was heading. “Should keep you satisfied until next time.”

Until next time.

Joel pulled you upstairs and into Ellie’s room where he shoved you forward. You fold your hands in front of you and bow your head, hoping she can’t see any evidence of you being a whore for her father on your face. You doubted Joel would’ve allowed that.

“I’m sorry for intruding, Miss Miller. It won’t happen again.” You are careful not to imply you heard anything, know anything, and certainly not imply that she did anything wrong. Joel wouldn’t stand for that.

“Yeah, whatever.” Was all she replied before Joel sent you out of the room, and all you hear as the door closes is “It’s okay, baby girl. It’s handled.”

But your thoughts were swirling on something else, how turned on you were, how dominant he was, how fucking hot he is, but most important, those last few words.

Until next time.

******************

We get to the spice nice and fast ayyyyyyyyeeee

We love Joel being protective of his daughter <3

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[hannahssimblr]

After a freezing, wet trek along the Clontarf seafront I turn into Michelle’s estate. All the houses have warm, yellow light spilling out the windows onto the grey, rain beaten pavement, inviting, yet it only reminds me of how grim this damn country is in the winter. It's been eight years since we moved here now and yet I still don't understand how people are supposed to cope with the winter. I suppose they don’t. I suppose we just accept that we will be a little bit sad for a while. 

They always leave the door off the latch for me on Tuesdays, they know I’m coming, and I let myself into the warmth of their home. It always smells good here, tonight like seafood and lemongrass, and whatever is cooking sizzles enticingly on the pan. I won’t ask for food, I never dare to, but if they offer I have yet to refuse them.

Rahim Tengu peers into the hallway as I shut the door. He is cooking in a suit. He’s always wearing one, even when doing things like mowing the lawn in the heat of summer. 

“Jude,” he says, “Wet outside, eh?”

“Yeah,” I take my shoes off and leave them by the door, “Whatever you’re making smells good, like always.”

“Nasi Lemak,” He says, “I’ll leave a plate for you when you're finished”

“Oh, thank you.”

He hesitates, “So how are your studies?”

“Yeah, good. Trying to get back into the swing of it since the new year. Fifth year is tough, you know?”

“Yes,” Another pause. Rahim is the most awkward of all the dads, he never knows what to say to me, but I let him think on it for another moment, brows knitted, spoon halfway to the pan, before I decide to put him out of his misery. 

“Jen upstairs?”

“Yes, yes, in her room.”

“Cool, see you in a while then.”

She’s sprawled out of the duvet with her earphones in, laying still like a corpse with her hands clasped on her stomach and white socks stacked on the pillows.

“Oh, you’re here,” she drawls. She doesn't even have to open her eyes to know it.

“You sound thrilled.”

“Ugh,” She flips to her stomach, pulls at her iPod cable and tosses the whole thing towards the head of the bed, “Come on, then, make me feel like a dumb bitch.”

“I bet you say that to all the boys,” I dig my maths notes out of my school bag and join her on the bed, “You been practising your trig?”

“That the one with the protractors?” 

“I’ll take that as a no.”

She lays still for a long moment, just staring into the middle distance before gathering the energy to learn. She falls onto her back and pulls the book I have opened toward her. “‘In the diagram, [AB] and [DC] are two parallel roads, where [AB] = 800m and [DC] = 500m. By measurement, it is determined that [&lt;ABC] = 75° and that [BC] = 600m. Find [AC] to the nearest metre,’” She looks at me, eyes filled with hopeless despair, “How am I meant to know?”

“Well, do you remember what we went over before Christmas? The cosine rule?”

“Before Christmas? You might as well be talking a decade ago. I don’t remember anything that happened before last week. My brain is mush.”

I pull out my ruler, “Well, look, let’s start by drawing it out so we can visualise it, like this, then, we know that A² = B² + C² - 2BCcosA…”

“Do we know that? Are we sure?” 

“Jenny, yes. C’mon, we’ve done this.”

“I don’t think you understand how much I hate maths.”

“It’s not that bad, look, based on the cosine rule and the information we know already, we can write out the formula, right? x=(600)² + (800)² - 2(600)(800)cos 75°, so all you have to do is work that out.”

“Oh, is that all.”

“Yeah, so c’mere, hand me your calculator, it’s-” A shriek from the next room almost rattles my skeleton free from my flesh. 

“Why are you always like this?” It's Michelle. “I’m old enough! Just let me go!”

I glance awkwardly at Jen who is ignoring it, diligently punching the formula into her calculator and kicking her feet in the air. 

“When you demonstrate responsibility,” her mother screams back, “I will give you freedom, but until then…”

“Don’t look so shocked,” Jen says when she catches sight of my stricken expression, “You and Collette are like this.” 

“Not really. We don’t scream at each other.”

“This is just the volume they speak at here. It’s not as dramatic as it sounds. They're kind of just... having a conversation.” 

“Okay but you’re being such a bitch about it.” Michelle bites out, and I wince. 

“I don’t talk to my mom like that.”

Jen shrugs, “It’s not that serious, really, they don’t mean it. They'll be all lovey-dovey-happy-families again tomorrow. You get used to it.” she scribbles something onto her copy book and pushes it toward me “X equals 751533?”

I frown, “I don’t know, let me check.”

“Well you’re a nightmare of a daughter sometimes, do you hear me? I don’t want to be like this, I don’t want to be up here shouting at you, but you drive me to distraction with all of this carry on!”

“Um,” my fingers hesitate on the buttons of the calculator, “So… it was… (600)² which is…”

Something clatters to the floor and they start shouting even louder. The corners of Jen’s mouth curl up, “Let’s take a break, yeah? We can drown it out with some music.”

“Good idea.”

She scrambles to fetch her iPod again and hands me one earbud. We lie back on the pillows while she puts on some whiny emo track about a guy who is either dying or wishing he was dead. 

“Are you traumatised by Michelle and her mam because it reminds you of your parents?” She leans over me and sweeps my hair from my forehead. I laugh, “You trying to therapize me?” 

“You said they fought when you were small.”

“Yeah but I only heard it a handful of times, I wouldn’t say I am traumatised.” 

“Still, I think there’s something lodged in your psyche about it, it’s why you hate conflict.”

“Nobody likes conflict.”

“Yeah but most people don’t avoid it like you,” She pokes my arm because I've looked away, “Hey, would you say that you’d rather run away from your problems than face them?”

“Did you steal that question from your counsellor?”

She pretends to be shocked, “Um, no! Excuse me.”

“You’re excused. Hey, would you like it if my voice sounded like this guy’s?” I tilt the iPod screen to her and point to the album cover guy who has blood pouring down his face. 

“First of all, that’s not the guy singing, that’s a cartoon. Secondly, I don’t know what you even mean.”

I lean into her ear and put on the whiniest voice I can in imitation of him “Hhhhwhat’s the worst that I can say… hhhthings are better if I stay…”

She snorts and shoves me off her, “Go away, you freak.”

“hhhAND IF WE CARRY ON THIS HHHWWWHAYAH…”

Jen’s bedroom door opens and I jump. Michelle stands there frowning. I hadn’t even realised in the midst of my caterwauling and our hysterical giggles that the shouting had stopped.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[duckiemimi]

i love what u had to say about second chances as a theme in jjk, and I don’t remember if u said anything in relation to megumi. sorry if this is incoherent or nonsensical, I binged the manga so I could be missing things!

I’m trying to think about what megumi is facing right now & how it’ll effect the plot later? I don’t think he’s as good as dead, but i also don’t think we’re getting that ultimate power re-up or whatever once he “deals with his soul” Or something 😭…

idk what I’m trying to get @ here bc i def lost my train of thought but in no way am i trying to center megumi when yuji is the mc!!!! but in a way, I think megumi was a marker of the new gen for gojo, a second chance? i think saving megumi once more could also reflect the passing of the baton. if this makes any sense? beyond my frustration with the unnecessary megumi hate, i think gege’s emphasis on megumi’s lack of will makes a lot of sense & is deliberate. i would’ve loved to see the survival of megumi, esp w the help of gojo, it would reinforce those themes of hope & community & Allie’s we saw from jjk 0!

i just really hope megumi isn’t killed off, especially in this way. i would love to hear ur honest thoughts about what u think megumi’s role in this arc is!! if u also don’t have thoughts regarding this maybe something related? thank u for always engaging

i hope ur doing well, we rlly miss u! 🩷🩷

i'm sorry for taking so long to answer! but given the recent leaks (which i hope you're caught up with before reading this), i thought it'd be nice to look back on how we thought before knowing what happens! and i'm really really happy you took the time to read the posts i've written to discuss them with me :)

268 leaks ahead, i hope you've caught up before reading!

have you caught up yet?

yes?

well! megumi is alive and in one piece! 268 felt like whiplash at breakneck speed, but you're on the nose here. saving megumi (it's fitting that his name means "blessing") is everything the last generation couldn't achieve, from camaraderie and finding meaning to life other than a cog-like role. i think both megumi and yuuji serve as a marker for the story's second chance at ending generational cycles. after chapter 265 and 266, i can now confidently say that megumi's lack of will was exactly what gege was going for. that was why he needed "saving," just like geto once did more than a decade ago. saving megumi would be saving jujutsu at this point, rectifying the "sins" of the past and moving forward with new hope. (i wrote something about geto and fatalism here! click!) after rereading some chapters, aside from geto and gojo parallels, i could even pull some parallels with kenjaku and tengen, but i'll write that piece sometime later.

yea! megumi is quite literally the blessing the ending needed! he needed to live and be saved to finish the overarching thesis of love and ending cycles!

(also, thank you for checking up on me there! well-appreciated, this made my day <3)