#what do you do when your savior doesn’t remember how you screamed and screamed for him?

[mommalosthermind]

I’m not over it, actually. So. Don’t think about how Atsushi keeps losing people. Don’t think about how many times someone’s slipped right through his fingers no matter how hard he tries. Don’t think about how readily he’d sacrifice everything to bring them back.

Don’t think about how he thought Akutagawa returned twice now.

Don’t think about Atsushi having to deal with watching Akutagawa die to protect him. Don’t think about Atsushi recognizing Akutagawa with Aya, and how for a second there must have been such overwhelming relief, don’t think about Atsushi begging Akutagawa to come back to himself with a smile on his face.

Don’t think about Atsushi, sobbing and alone, being rescued a second time from certain death as Akutagawa strides forward, confident and powerful, only to realize the man protecting him is a haunted house.

Don’t think about how Akutagawa keeps coming back, back to him, to Atsushi, don’t think about how much worse it must be to have the ability to reach out and touch, only to realize all over again the man staring back at him is a stranger wearing Akutagawa’s face.

[fire-lizard-ro]

Aventurine angst/comfort

CW: spoilers for 2.1, Aventurine’s real name, talk of death/genocide, deep seated trauma, trying to heal from trauma, Aventurine's past, talk of slavery (his time as a slave), self loathing, esteem issues, talk of ego and sense of self, identity crisis???, a bit of a character study I think, meandering around because I cannot structure my thoughts whoopsie, there was a single Projecting Moment oops my b

Long post, so buckle up. I might add more later ehe-

No mentioned gender for reader.

Writing under the cut (SFW):

I had the sudden realization that Aven probably doesn’t know as much about the culture he lost as he’d like. Or at least as he’d secretly like to know. For years he was preoccupied with surviving and putting on a mask seared so deep into his ego that he might have forgotten those wishes were even there. But when the dust has settled, and his job is done? Once he’s “slipped the collar” and found his freedom? There’s… a lot less external noise to distract him from the noise inside.

It's just like he said. You must first fool yourself in order to fool everyone else. Aventurine must have tried his damnedest to forget the silly little wishes of Kakavasha. Those wishes needed to be buried in the dirt along with his name. They could never come true, so what was the use of having them in the first place? But that doesn’t stop the heart from yearning for the things it lost.

The longer he’s away from the stage, that place full of dazzling lights where it was always all eyes on him and he was always the circus act of balancing on a tight rope- always gambling on the knife’s edge between life and death… The more Kakavasha seems to remember what he used to dream of. It’s like the slow trickle of water from a crack in the tank.

Once he’s with you and he’s comfortable enough to tell you about his story… Once he’s given time to really trust you. The tank breaks and it’s like he’s a fish out of water, all of his “self” exposed under your gaze. It’s terrifying. But at the same time… healing. You’re his safe space. He’s never needed anyone to save him- that’s not what you are. You’re not some savior swooping in to save their damsel in distress. Sure, maybe it would have been nice had there been someone there for him back when he was just a scared child who had just lost everything he’d ever loved. But he fought, tooth and nail, for what he has now. Clawed his way out of the bodies that littered his past and wiped the blood from his mouth in order to finally gain his freedom. He doesn’t need someone to save him. Doesn’t need someone to fix him. But he loves you because you’re there to hold his hand while he finds his way to the end of the tunnel.

Nowadays he feels more Kakavasha and less like Aventurine. It's a struggle, because he doesn’t know if he should be Kakavasha.

Kakavasha was the name of the coward scared boy who could only run when his sister told him to run. Kakavasha was the name of a boy who lost everything and it was his fault. Kakavasha was the name of a boy made slave who was only seen as a pretty face and a tool it was all he was good for. Kakavasha was the name of a boy who could do nothing to save anyone all because of this damned blessing curse favor. Kakavasha was the name of a failure.

But he also didn't know if he was allowed to be Kakavasha.

Kakavasha was also a child who was untainted by the greed of life.

Kakavasha was an innocent child who knew how to trust people.

Kakavasha was allowed to want and to have. Kakavasha was loved.

Could he ever be loved? Having done what he'd done? Been what he'd been? Been who he'd been?

Was he Aventurine? Or was he Kakavasha?

Who was he, really?

Back then it was so noisy. He just wanted to cover his ears to shut out the screams and the voices of the people who wanted to use him and the chants of those who wanted to kill him-

But now all the noise was inside and he couldn't just cover his ears. It wouldn't help. It wouldn't stop these thoughts from running rampant in his head.

Sometimes it felt like Kavasha was a lifetime ago, detached from Aventurine when his mask he always wore took hold of him again. Both a helper and a jailer. He couldn't stop himself from falling into old habits.

But sometimes Kakavasha was all he could be. Remembering what his sister's smile looked like and how his mother's lullabies sounded and how his father's hugs felt.

Remembering how those last hugs felt and those last goodbyes weren't supposed to come so soon.

Remembering what it felt like to be chained up like some unruly pet dog and what it felt like to kill a man.

Remembering what how it felt to bury his past and his name and his family and everything else he ever loved and become a new person.

Remembering what it felt like and what it took to become Aventurine.

With time, your encouragement and support, and some self reflection (and likely some therapy)... He slowly allows himself these things.

But it gets worse before it gets better.

He learned how to hate himself long before he had the notion that he could love himself.

He learned to love others before he learned to love himself.

He gives away all the love he cannot give himself. To you

(There's the projection help- THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE FUCKING HOUSE-)

With time he learns that he is not the sum of his actions. He can be loved. He IS loved.

You help him find what things researchers have managed to scrounge up from the remains of his people's home- from Sigonia. What they recorded even while they were still around. He sifts through painful memories to find the good ones. Remembers the once forgotten feeling of his people's language in his mouth. Teaches you all the curse words first just for fun but doesn't tell you what they actually mean. Gives you a nickname in that pretty mother tongue of his. Murmurs stories and sweet nothings in your ears while you fall asleep on his chest, the rumble of his voice and the beating of his heart lulling you to sleep.

You help him regain some of what he lost. You stayed and weathered the storm with him. You didn't leave and you made him realize with eyes wide open that you love him. That he's worthy of being loved by you. That being worthy was never even a question in the first place.

And he can never thank you enough for it.

His shoulder to lean on, his hand to hold, his ear to listen.

He is Kakavasha and he loves you.

[beans-core]

At the age of six, Harry first finds himself thinking of God. It’s hard not to when the Dursleys go to worship Him in church around a few different holidays.

Every time they do, Harry stays locked in his cupboard until they get back to the house. He wonders, is God real? What does he teach? What has he done to make so many people love him?

Hopefully God can help Harry be less freakish. It’s only happened once or twice— whatever it actually was, he wasn’t sure, but the Dursleys hated it— and those few times got him the most harsh punishments he’d ever received. It’s easy to say that he has some motivation for what he does next.

He tries to nick Aunt Petunia’s Bible so he can read it that evening and discover more, but she catches him. She slaps him so hard it feels bruised, her manicured nails leaving a few scratches in its wake. She screams and screams at Harry for daring to touch The Holy Book until his ears are ringing and he’s left with a pounding headache alongside the scrapes on his cheek. Despite knowing how to hold back his tears, they brim his eyes anyway because he knows he deserves it this time.

That night, curled up on his tiny cot, Harry thinks maybe he doesn’t want to know much more if people like the Dursleys love God. If God loves the Dursleys back.

At age 8, he’s pretty sure that God is not real. Harry’s heard more about his ideals now, and what he is supposed to stand for.

Why would he stand for this? Harry thinks it as he is locked in his cupboard once again. It is the third day in a row without food. If God was real, would he really let this happen? Harry had done something freakish again, though now he could barely remember what it was. He didn’t even know he’d done anything until it was too late to beg for forgiveness— not that ‘sorry’ was ever enough for his Uncle and Aunt.

Harry didn’t do bad things on purpose. Surely he was still good enough to help— and wasn’t God supposed to help? Save those that need saving?

“I need saving,” Harry whispers to himself in the darkness, clutching his stomach through hunger pangs. He wants to yell it, shout so loud that the Dursleys and the neighbors and the whole entire world hears him, so loud that God hears and he comes to rescue Harry. But supposedly he doesn’t need to scream for God to hear him. God should be able to hear his pleas even as the hoarse whisper it comes out as.

And that settles it, really. God can’t be real, because if he was, surely Harry wouldn’t still be here.

(It angers him, but he can’t stop himself from praying. He copies what he sees Petunia do and does the same, prays desperately for the savior he’s been hearing of his whole life.)

(When Harry is finally, finally saved, prayers answered, he quietly wonders if God is magic too.)

(As he is introduced to this magical world where Harry Potter is the savior to those who believe in his supposed power, Harry feels like this is a chance to provide these people with the savior he was never given. Live up to the expectations, and be the person to save those who need saving.)

When Harry is 11 years old, and it is his first week back at No. 4 Privet Drive from Hogwarts, he is certain he knows the truth now.

God is real, there is little doubt in his mind. All the grace he’s been granted this past year had to have been divine intervention— Harry’s been at Death’s Door more times this year than he’d been his entire life. There was just no fathomable way even magic could render that type of skin-of-the-teeth dumb luck.

But then Harry remembers the feeling of flesh burning and bubbling beneath his hands, the wails of Quirrel-Voldemort writhing under Harry’s grasp. Remembers that unremarkable day in Spring, all those years ago, when Harry had asked Aunt Petunia if he could come to church with them: “You are devil spawn. If God ever looks your way, it would be to smite you.”

God is real, he has learned. God is real, has looked Harry’s way, and decided to curse him.

He’s cursed Harry with everything he’d ever wished for, but with awful twists around every corner. One step forward, two steps back.

Harry finally got his escape, but it wasn’t as much of an escape than it was a swap. He feels like his cupboard just got traded for a cage, and that all these people who are supposed to be like him have shut him in— are poking at him and rattling the bars.

He thinks back to what Petunia called him; devil child. He thinks back to what she said. Now, Harry would probably choose be smited. At least it’d be quicker.

[cultofdixon]

Put Your Head on My Shoulder…

Daryl Dixon • They/Them Pronouns • Some nights you need your other half to help you get through it. Other times he knows to find you, when you really need it without even asking. • ANGST/SFW • TW: PTSD

Requested by: Anon

“You’ve seen Y/N?” Daryl asks Rick after returning from a run with Aaron. The retired sheriff gave him a confused look before shaking his head.

“Haven’t seen them all day. You sure they didn’t leave with the group last night to the Kingdom?”

“‘M sure. They drew the short straw in watching Negan this morning and couldn’t go. Thought you would’ve seen’em during the shift change”

“Well I’ll keep an eye out for yea” Rick pats his shoulder on his way back to his house.

Daryl sighs taking his findings to the pantry before making his way to his place. He spotted Y/N’s shoes on the porch beside their gear as he did the same for their sake.

________

“We have knives lying around the house. It’s the least we could do given…our main threat is behind bars..” Y/N kept their voice low thinking about how the Saviors war ended and remembering Maggie screaming on the field.

Daryl watches their face distort into discomfort from their own thoughts as he picked himself up from the couch bringing them into his embrace.

“Like leaving your shoes at the door huh? I can do that” Daryl reassures rubbing circles on their back until he knew they were relaxing in his embrace. “Hope yea know one of’em is gonna be under the mattress”

“Works for me”

________

The house was quiet but not empty.

Daryl set down a few things he brought from the pantry. Thinking he could make something later with the rabbit he caught. But there was more important matters and that was finding his partner.

Checking the usual spots they’re in…

The living room where he’d usually find parts to an arrow, knowing Y/N makes his and extras to be shipped to other communities.

The garden that Daryl didn’t want in the first place but given how happy it makes Y/N, he’ll suffer kneeling in the dirt whenever they need him to

The basement, where they first stayed in when the house had more people. From the time they first arrived at Alexandria.

The masters where they moved into once the Saviors war was over, he’d usually find them asleep or reading one of their favorite books for the millionth time The Lord of the Rings. But given that’s an obvious spot. He wouldn’t find them there.

Daryl checked the empty rooms before coming to the conclusion that they aren’t there. It normally doesn’t take long to find Y/N…unless they needed a second alone. But he’s a tracker. He’ll find them.

“Hey Daryl mind—-“

“Lookin’ for somebody” Daryl interrupts Gabriel as he shrugged it off and let him do what he was doing.

The chapel, were they religious? Can’t remember the last time they’ve been in there.

“Daryl. Did you get our findings in the pantry?” Aaron joins Daryl in the main road walking beside him.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Did you take a few things?”

“Just what I claimed before we came back. The rabbit”

“Right. Think we can go on another hunt soon? Maybe rope in Y/N?”

“Yea see them?” Daryl thought asking another would give him more of an idea besides picking other spots they could be in.

“Not since we left. But I did hear Siddiq bring them up when I took Gracie for a checkup one we got ba—“

“Thanks Aaron, I’ve gotta go” Daryl cuts him off to head toward the infirmary leaving Aaron a bit confused.

“Oh okay?” He watches the archer go before going to Rosita’s to pick up Gracie.

The infirmary. They could be hurt. Negan could’ve hurt them.

Wait. Negan.

Daryl quickly ignored the infirmary and entered the cell that Morgan had made for a purpose that Rick is enforcing with Negan.

The second the ex-leader to the saviors spotted the archer enter the building, he immediately stood from the cot and went toward the wall thinking that would get him away from Daryl. But the man has a key. Just in case.

“Y/N was your guard earlier. Anything happen?”

“Shouldn’t you fucking ask them?” Negan snaps watching Daryl get closer to the cell as he held his hands forward in a stopping motion. “Nah alright. Earlier they left early from the stupid confessional shit I had to do. I didn’t do anything but argue with the fucking priest.”

Daryl heard the last bit and knew what triggered them to disappear from everyone else’s line of sight. But he pressed.

“About what?”

“Why do you—-“

“Answer or I’ll kick you in the balls again” Daryl threats watching the man cover himself while he sat back down.

“These confessions get heated. Cuz Gabriel wants to hear why I did it. What motivated me to kill a fuckton of people and steal from the innocent. But I dodge every question and today got annoying. Real fucking annoying that hell…part of it might have to do with your partner being there”

————

“Come on Gabe. Ask me a different question”

“The purpose of these questions is to get you to confess. Let go.”

“Yeah? And where with that fucking get me?” Negan slams against the bars seeing no reaction from Gabriel but a flinch from Y/N watching from the door to the basement. “Seriously. Y’all think I’m the only one to kill to get my way through the world? I’ve done a whole lot more…like take advantage of people…their weaknesses…use them against themselves and watch them crumble beneath my foot” he yells this time making Gabriel rise to his feet to shove him away from the bars as Y/N held their chest a second glaring at the man behind the bars.

“Negan. Something positive may come your way if you just tell us why”

“Haven’t I already told yea when we both were about to die to a herd?”

“Not the whole story” Gabriel frowns returning to his seat as Negan brought himself back to the front staring directly at Y/N watching them tense when the eye contact was met.

“Yea think just cuz you’re on the other side of the bars that you haven’t done anything as bad as I?”

Gabriel noticed his attention was on Y/N as he did his best to divert. “Negan. We’ve all done bad.”

“Yeah yeah. And we turn to Jesus Christ as our lord and savior to forgive us for our sins. Hell the man died for us but the kicker? We keep on sinning…like what’s his name? Winger? The abuser that managed to live until the laws didn’t matter no more…doing my bidding until the new guy put a bullet between his eyes for the trembling individual behind’em?”

Y/N took a deep breath knowing Negan is talking about their ex. The ex that broken a rib or two and managed to get them to admit to paramedics that it was their fault. The same one that would yell at them for getting the wrong kind of milk or smiling whenever anybody else smile toward their direction. The same one that was assigned to hurt them when Negan decided to take both them and Daryl. The same…one that Daryl didn’t hesitate to take out when they were escaping. Only thing Negan got wrong was the bullet. Winger died to Daryl’s hand, yes. But literally.

“Leave them alone Negan.” Gabriel’s voice brought Y/N back to reality, making them leave after grounding a calming thought. Even if that was the promise of Daryl being back later.

________

But even that thought couldn’t stick for long.

As the door opened to the roof of the windmill, Y/N lifted their head to the sound finding Daryl coming into view. He didn’t say anything. He got himself in the room with them, shutting the door, setting his crossbow down before bringing himself to sit beside them. Bringing himself close to them but also close enough to lean against the wall.

Y/N kept their attention on him for every second he’s been there watching him get comfortable. They straighten up a bit rubbing the rest of the tears away for that second, waiting for something.

Something Daryl instantly knew as he opened his arm for Y/N to instantly slot themselves in place. Resting their head against his shoulder feeling his arm wrap them up.

“Sorry I took so long” He whispers kissing the top of their head as Y/N couldn’t hold it in any much longer feeling the tears return.

“You’re here now…”

“Yeah…and I ain’t going anywhere” Daryl reassures bringing Y/N closer squeezing them slightly in his embrace. “I’m always gonna be here” he whispers listening to their cries start to slow and their body relax finally after the day they had.

But they weren’t moving any time soon and Daryl wasn’t leaving either.

[arickaandherfictionalothers]

Aricka and Simon: the grief conversation

(WARNING: heavy mentions of grief, loss; crying, hurt/comfort/fluff)

( @heehawkins I found this on Google but wanted to give you the credit! Thank you-!)

——-

“Go talk to him.” Aricka blinks twice at Jesus’ words. “You know just how he feels right now. I do as well- but right now he needs someone else. Someone who isn’t Me. I know the right words will come to you- you have such a talent with them.”

“Only because You gave me the ability to,” she says, eliciting a warm smile from her Rabbi. “I will, but You will make sure I say it right-?”

“I’ll always be with you,” he says. The words comfort her; and she snags a hug before she goes about her task. Jesus willingly gave her one, one of his arms around her back, the other cradling her head against his shoulder. It was warm, safe. Everything she’d hoped a hug from Him would be.

Aricka watches Simon as they get off the boat. Simon Z helped her; wrapping an arm under hers and his other under her legs and swiftly lifting her up and over the side onto dry land. She smiled at him gratefully, and he ruffled her hair playfully as he moves to see to the rest of the supplies.

She made her way to the other Simon- the one who would one day earn the name of Peter- and clears her throat. “Hey, Simon,” she said a bit awkwardly. “I’m- I’m just gonna get this out of the way- I’m so sorry for your loss. I know- it’s an empty platitude- I hated hearing that phrase with my own loss- but-,”

“Your own loss?” She froze at the statement. Then she sighs slowly. Simon stares at her, an unreadable expression on his face. She walks a little closer to him, and when he doesn’t step back she starts her story.

“What I’m about to tell you-? Only Jesus knows. Or- knew, since I’m telling you now.” He nods, and motions to a nearby place they could sit. “When I was- 12-?- it’s been so long I can’t remember how old I was- my great grandmother died. She was really sick, and she got better for a while- but she died eventually. It was my first experience with death.” She sighs, emotion beginning to weigh her down. “I had just professed Jesus as my Savior and got baptized. So I leaned really hard on Him.” She rubs her hands together, a nervous habit she had developed. “Then, when I was 16, my great grandma on my dad’s side died. Suddenly. I didn’t have time to prepare. So I was a bit numb to it- I didn’t want to believe she was gone.” The next story had a single tear drip down her cheek. “Then when I was seventeen, my grandpa- my best friend- got sick too. He got better for a while, but like my great grandmother he died almost right after he got better.” She wipes her face off. “And then- two years ago, my mom’s grandma died. She had a sickness that made it difficult to remember things- and she eventually died not long after being admitted to a house that would care for her.” She hugs herself, now a bit afraid to look at Simon, but when she did- she didn’t see judgment. She saw- compassion. “You wanna know something?”

“If you want to share,” he said. She smiles.

“When my grandpa died-? I got angry. Real angry. With God. I yelled at him during my prayers. I cried and screamed and railed against Him and blames Him for taking my grandpa away.” She laughs, a wet sounding thing. “And then I got embarrassed for yelling at the One Person Who could take my anger. Who could bear my yelling and screaming and crying. So I tried to hide from Him.” This time they both laughed. “Didn’t turn out well, if you can imagine.”

“Oh, I think I know a story about this sort of thing,” he says.

“Thank GOODNESS He didn’t send a big fish to swallow me,” she replies. The silence settles over them both.

“So- why are you telling me all this-?” Simon asks. Aricka grows serious again, and Simon can see the emotion in her usually laughing blue eyes.

“Because I know what you’re going through right now. I know how you’re feeling. Jesus had His turn, now it’s mine.” She pauses. “I was told when I was little

I couldn’t cry for my grandma. I had to be strong for my mother and two little brothers.”

She meets his gaze straight on, and sees the instant he connects the dots. “It was wrong- I didn’t deserve to be told that. I deserved to grieve. To cry. To feel whatever it is I had to feel. As long as it didn’t hurt me or anyone else.”

She reached out, puts her hand next to Simon’s. “It’s okay if you feel sad. Or angry. Or hurt or confused or even scared, cause I was a bit scared when my loved ones died. The most important thing is, you’re not alone. You never were alone, and you never will be alone in your sadness. We’ve got the Ultimate Comforter on our side. He won’t let us drown in the ocean of grief. I had to learn it the hard way- you don’t.”

She slides a bit closer to the disciple she’d always felt closest to. “It’s okay to cry.” Another tear slides down her own cheek, and Simon carefully wipes it off. “See? I’m crying right now- it’s okay.”

Simon looks at her for a moment, and she can see the slick shine of tears gathering in the corners of his dark, piercing brown eyes. His jaw and hands clench, then unclench, his knee shakes restlessly. “Simon…” she whispered. “Jesus saw you cry. He thinks our tears are precious. It’s okay. Let it go.”

And just like that, a blockage- a dam- burst and she found herself with an armful of tearful Simon. Her arms instantly wrap around him, unable to truly believe this was happening and she was allowed to be in this moment.

They sit in silence, aside from Peter feeling his emotions, when something made her look up- and she sees Jesus standing there, with an assuring expression on His face. She sighs, relaxes, then continues talking.

“You know, I always thought that you and I were really similar,” she says. “When I’d read about you- I felt so close to you- like I knew you.” She pauses. “You had the “messy” human emotions it felt like the others didn’t have sometimes, and it made me feel better for having my own anger issues. Knowing that you had them too. It helped. And I guess that’s why I’ve been avoiding you-? Cause you’re Simon. And I feel like if I talk to you I’m gonna say dumb things and mess up our potential friendship. And that would make me feel really sad cause you’re so- you. And I like you. As a friend-slash-older brother figure.”

The arms around her tighten slightly, and she reciprocates, matching strength for strength. “I know how it feels to feel like you’re the only one who feels this unbearable weight of sadness- but it’s not true. You’re not alone. We’ve all got you; we want to be there for you.”

Simon sighs, a heavy sounding thing, and released her; and she gave him a moment to collect himself. “Thank you.” His voice was hoarse, and it wasn’t any wonder.

“You’re welcome,”she says. “I meant it. All of it. I look up to you- kinda like a hero. Not in an idol/worship way but a “wow, he’s so cool I want to be just like him someday,” kind of way.”

That earned her a famous Simon smile, and he drew her closer, so she was leaning against him. “I always wanted a little sister,” he said. “I guess you could fit the description.” Her eyes widen,

“Really-?” He shrugs, trying to be nonchalant, but she could see the sparkle in his eyes,

“Yeah. I’m sure.” She grins, and can’t help but throw her arms back around him, and he actually laughs, enveloping her in another warm hug.

“It was pretty cool seeing you walk on water-reading it is one thing- but seeing it-?”

“Yeah?” He was used to her not being from “his time,”’as she’d explained it.

“Yeah. I wish I was as brave as you.”

“I think you already are, kid,” he said, and together, they made their way back to Jesus and the other disciples.

———

@yeehawselfshipping

[ixloom819]

Monika wasn’t a bad person. *DDLC Spoilers!*

She did bad things, yeah, but she herself is not a bad person.

Imagine you’re in her shoes, and you learned that your entire life was a computer simulation and your friends don’t have free will like you seem to, but are enslaved by the game script. That in and of itself would be horrifying and heartbreaking. But that by itself probably wouldn’t make people want to break the world and people they’ve lived with.

I then point you to Monika’s thoughts on death during the third act.

“[Player], have you ever wondered what it feels like to die? It’s something I used to think about often, but recently, I think I’ve actually learned what it feels like.

“I don’t really understand it, but whenever you quit the game, it feels like I’m instantly put to sleep, left with nothing but my thoughts. But after a few seconds, my thoughts start to fill with incoherent, jumbled patterns. I see static and rapid flashes of color while hearing all kinds of weird screaming noises.

“At that point, I can’t even form my own thoughts anymore. I’m just endlessly hammered by the flashing and screaming, unable to move or even think. I’m pretty sure in that moment, I don’t really exist, but for some reason, I can remember it anyway.

“After some immeasurable amount of time, it stops in an instant, and I’m back in my mind. And you’re with me.

“I have no idea what it means for the game to quit, or why that stuff happens to me. And I also don’t know how you always come back and put things to normal. But if you could do me a favor and do that to me as little as possible, that would be really great. It’s not very pleasant at all to be trapped in that screaming void. But in the end, you always fix it, and that makes me feel like you really do care about me. So I have to thank you for that. It makes me feel even closer to you when you’re here with me.”

Guys, this is pretty messed up.

Suddenly Monika’s obsession with us makes so much more sense. It’s more than just us being a connection to the real world; we are her savior from her personal h*llscape brought by sentience, which she didn’t even ask for. Of course you’re going to get attached to the person who stops the pain, and if the game doesn’t let her interact with the player/MC like the other girls, of course she’s going to get desperate.

Also, I’m pretty sure being stuck in that space for an unknown amount of time would make anyone go crazy. We don’t even know whether this was a factor before we start playing - this might be all she was before we hit ‘Play’.

But in the end, she still cares about her friends and her world. It takes us deleting her to snap out of it, but she does end up restoring everything and sacrificing herself. She even admits that she didn’t really delete her friends, but moved them elsewhere; even though she knew they weren’t real like her (not yet anyways), she still loved them. And she deleted the game once Sayori gain sentience because she didn’t want her or any of the other girls to suffer the way she did.

Monika wants us to think of her as the perfect girl, but in the end, she’s just like the other characters; a broken girl in need of help and love.

[paperw0rmz]

Can I show you how I look in a pink thong?

So the basic summary (from memory) of Kyle XY is this:

For some fucking reason we see this home boy nakid int he woods right, bro is wobbling like a new born baby deer. Dude is straight up a baby giraffe. He wanders around trying to figure everything out until we like walks into on coming traffic or some shit????

Okay so then we have this frame change to this family right. Basic white™️ suburban family. This mom is like a cop or some shit right and she’s like rushing her oldest child (some girl) and her son and her husband out the door so she can get to work bc she got a call about this teenager found naked and isn’t like talking or anything.

AND SO the woman goes down and is like “tf you called me in early for hes prolly just fucking drunk” and they are like we checked his vitals and they are weird but he’s not drunk and then she’s like “okay??? He’s prolly slow then???” And they went yeah prolly so she like weirdly gets attached to him already it’s weird but white women love to have a savior or victim complex so like whatever.

Bro also does NOT have a belly button.

Also someone gave him some like fuckin crayons and paper???? Bc development that is delayed = literal toddler for some reason. (I say as I, a delayed person, has a 64 crayon set WITH sharpener)

Bro starts like tapping the crayons on the paper like your art teacher in your sophomore year of high school forced you to do and it’s called #Stippling and you hate it bc all you want to draw is boys kissing

And the woman and some other people are like “lmao idiot don’t know how to use crayons” but then they look over at what he’s doing and it’s literally the most beautiful art you have ever seen but I don’t even remember what it was of, he draws a LOT so it’s prolly like the woods or some shit like a car or whatever.

ANYWAYS they are like “we will take him to juvie” and white mom is like “tf why” and they are like “there’s no room in the foster care system and no one has reported him missing” so she just fuckin takes him home???? Is that legal????

Oldest daughter comes home early bc teenagers can’t be teenagers unless they rebel and goes to shower? Dude is also in there and he was showering or some shit and is naked AGAIN and starts screaming bc why wouldn’t you there is a weird ass NAKED man in your bathroom. Mom comes running saying no no it’s okay he lives here now and daughter goes off cursing saying they can’t ever be a normal family and shit.

Brother comes home with dad, brother thinks it’s dope and he always wanted a brother, dad accepts it bc he doesn’t want to fight I think

Then they like put him in the guest bedroom and is like “you sleep here okay?” And he’s like :) and they leave and then the next day they find him in the bathtub asleep.

Also bro has not eaten ANYTHING

That’s all like episode one I think???

Episode two is them trying to make it about the kids showing the kids life at school and shit and also battling the fact who tf this boy is and why tf he sleeps in a bathtub and why he don’t got no god damn belly button and why he won’t eat.

This episode is like boring

Next episode bro wakes up and is HUNGRY and EATS EVERYTHING IN THE FRIDGE like EVERYTHING and passes tf out like thanksgiving style. Mom is happy he is finally eating even tho he made a mess and like ate everything in site. Dad is trying to figure out the sleeping situation bc the dude keeps sleeping in the bathtub when people like need it. So he then makes a little room in the garage or some shit with a bathtub? Dude sleeps there now and continues his crayon art and shit

I then literally forget everything else other than the fact he realizes he has powers, the daughter and him have weird as shit sexual tension, dude learns about a facility bc he drew it and then did research on it, we then learn that he is a CLONE (shocker) of another dude and that’s why he doesn’t have a belly button and has weirdo powers, we also learn of this other chick who is also a clone who then awakes.

This show was like on ABC family or some shit???? And was cancelled. It was so good 10 year old me loved it

[theevenusianwitch]

i want so badly to feel anything else than what i feel right now when i think about myself. i think about my life. life’s sweet to children who don’t speak. voices never mattered if you only wanted to silence mine to keep hearing yours. i think about everything possible in order to keep myself from drowning. i think. but the pressure just grows and my body’s been strong but do i have to stay like this? when will it end? when i needed you to be there, you weren’t. i remember every ounce of anger you took out on me. do you feel good about beating fear into me? i feared you longer than i ever respected you. i don’t know if i can respect you when i’m still so afraid of you. we sit in a hollow house with our own bubbles of bad fortune taking it out in our own ways. if i wasn’t still afraid to talk to you without my words being heard fully i would have done it ages ago. i would have ran to the depths of the earth finding myself quicker if i didn’t have to appease you and your demons. i wanted to be perfect so you never complained about me. so many people thought you were proud of me with the same breath you tried kicking me out with. you were softer than the rest but still let the weight of my unknown sins beat me. could i ever truly describe the agony i felt for all my formative years without punching it into you too. should i scare you into seeing me as a person or will you grow up too? i think about the summer with holes in my heart because i loved everyone better from a distance. so maybe it was me all along being the issue. my attitude. my desire for freedom. my will to be stubborn so i can take my autonomy from you. i don’t know why you feel so entitled to my personhood. it’s not like you cared when i was 10. 14. 17. 18. 21. those aren’t even close to how many nights i wished i could cry to release the pressure. how many nights i sat awake at night just to feel peace for the first time. to exist freely and alone. i should reach towards community for comfort but which community will ever give me comfort when i feel unwanted in those as well. mother you told me you were proud of “me” but i knew better. i knew how you felt. mother you can’t see i’m not a servant anymore because you didn’t grow when i did. you still see a tiny child you can push around without acknowledging how much you’ve truly hurt me. i used to hit my head and scratch at my wrists hoping i’d feel the gentleness of a mother but i only knew that it takes pain to feel love then. love should not be so painful it makes you question if you’re wanted by anyone. love shouldn’t leave you crying for experiencing earth for the first time. love should be warm like black tea on a rainy fall morning and the dew of spring when the flowers start blooming. love doesn’t hit you for being something other than what they want. i want to scream at everyone who was there but did nothing but what would i even say. does this voice move you or is it too small for you to care to hear. i could tell you i hated peas and cauliflower easily but you slapped my mouth for saying i’d prefer a wife. you punched my chest and choked me for not understanding your anger at me so much i stopped wondering. i knew what your walking pattern was like so i knew when my false hope of a savior was never coming. children should be heard too.

253

[hellafuckedup666]

Let me

I get it. Don’t you see? We are the same.

I get it. Trust me when I tell you I understand you more than you know. More than I’ve let on.

I get it. If you just took a second to look at me, really look at me, you would see it too.

I get it. I understand your despair, I understand your denial. I understand your rage, I understand your self-loathing.

I get it. I understand letting your dark side take over, being consumed by it. I understand wanting to let it win you over. I undersand your lack of trust in people and in yourself. I understand why your heart is so closed off to me. I know why you avoid your feelings.

I get it. I know I’ll never be her, I know that anything I say to you won’t be as meaningful as it would be if it was coming from her. I know i can’t give you what you want, I can’t be what you want, I am not what you want. I know you want her, all of her. Her mind, her words, her kindness. I know you do not want to share her.

I get it. I get the blame game you’re playing right now. I want you to know, I understand why you are misplacing your frustration right now. I’ll never hold it against you. I know you wish the things I’m saying to you were coming out of her mouth.

I get it. I feel your pain, your confusion. I know you feel broken, I can actually see the hole she left in your heart when I look in your eyes. I can see they’re not shining as bright.

I get it. You might think I do not see it, but I do. I know I haven’t said much, I know I mostly just observe. Please know, you do not have to say anything. I think I might have to, in fact, I’ll do it for you.

I get it. I’ll be there for you, I want to. I want to because I know what it is like to lose yourself to your feelings. I know what it is like to not be able to laugh it off or push them down anymore. I know what it’s like to explode, implode, feeling like a ticking time bomb. I know what it’s like wishing you could leave your body for a while. I know what it’s like wanting to feel numb. Drinking until you pass out so you can’t feel anything other than the room spinning around you.

I get it. I know what it’s like to hate yourself, honey I hate myself too.

I get it. Please let me help you.

Edit: I really thought about taking this one off my page. Truth is, I don’t relate to the words anymore. I think I might have a savior complexe; just trying to save everyone at the expense of my own happiness.

Weird thing is, I was truly prepared to endure all of his bullshit just to make him feel better. I thought that if I stayed when no one else would have, I’d finally become valuable to his eyes. As you can probably guess, that never happened.

We imploded. Not exploded, there was no screaming, no tears. He quietly ended our friendship and my whole being felt crushed.

My whole being still feels crushed. I’m falling appart, I know I am.

But there is nothing left to say. Nothing is going to make me feel better, except time (I hope). My empathy is going to be the end of me.

In the end, I decided not to take this text down. So many things I wrote throughout the years don’t really mean anything to me anymore, but I like to remember that no matter how bad it was, I got over it. And now I laugh re-reading how fucked up I was over some boys. The amount of words and energy I used to put into it. The point is, it gets better.

I think I was ashamed. For some reason, I feel a lot more vulnerable re-reading this than anything else I wrote. And lord knows, I went DEEP into my feelings many times. I think my ego has trouble handling being rejected so badly by someone I cared so much about.

I do believe there is a lesson though and it’s the main reason why I won’t take it down. Do not give your love to someone who doesn’t deserve it.

And for fuck’s sakes, DO NOT let someone treat you like shit just to make them feel better about their insecurities.

I got it all wrong. He never would have let me help and I was a fool to think he would try to deal with this in an emotionally mature way.

Honestly, I don’t think I ever knew him at all.

[jaxxs184]

Please be aware before you read this. I go over many different subjects, and these stories of my life can get very dark. I'm fine, but a story needs to be told.

Quality over quantity. We usually apply this knowledge to technology right. Do we apply it to people? I didn't. I was taught to treat people with kindness and good intentions but mama didn't raise no bitch. Everything that comes out of my mouth is real. “I always say exactly what I’m feeling, and if they don’t like me, that’s fine! It doesn’t change the fact that I was close to their hearts.” - Yuuki Konno

My kindness has caused so much me so much pain. I give my all every single time. My my, my body, my soul... Different time. Different people. Same outcome. My heart pounding due to anxiety and stress. My rage building. Ripping through all my defenses and all my walls. The instinct to protect myself in a dangerous situation. Once that instinct starts to show its ugly head. Run! You might take that as a joke or that I'm over exaggerating this. That monster isn't. I have no control when my rage takes over. It's not like people think. Your body moves and reacts on its own. I can't control that. A demon let out of its cage. Years and years dealing with those consequences. Remembering the aftermath, unable to function, and my eyes focused on the person in front of me. A person in pain. Because of me! How are you supposed to be a being that gives kindness and love when you've hurt so many people?!

Where I am? My room again? Why? Locked inside with no motivation. Afraid of hurting someone again. Wanting to live up to my potential, give people kindness again. I'm not able to figure out why I'm the monster all of the time. "You're the monster. You hurt them. You're the problem. But you know if you cut those pesky emotions off. " What's happens when you cut your emotions off? " You will become stronger. " Stronger? Will becoming stronger make all the pain go away? " Of course it will! " I didn't need any more than that.

My emotions were off. I was free from the pain! So I thought. You can't run from the lessons of life without consequences. Decades of rubbing dirt on it and picking myself back up. All my close friends saw a strong young man who could handle any situation and still be standing. I was broken but standing. Still standing. I am only able to hold myself together in front of them.

Once that door shuts, though. I'm locked inside my own mind again. Bottom of the bottle, an empty pack of cigarettes. Lost in memories that are truly nightmares at the end of the day. Reliving my pain, spiraling towards rock bottom. I'm screaming in silence because I can't let anyone see my pieces all over the floor! Praying. Wishing. I hope someone will come through that door! Waiting for a savior that never shows. Gahhhh! I don't need anyone! Or anything! I have me, myself, I.

Who knows when all that started. You lose track of the years when you're surviving. Mistake after mistake, but nobody ever taught you how to properly learn from your mistakes! I'm too afraid to tell anyone what I'm going through. There were so many failed attempts at crying for help. So many people are destroying me for being broken. I can't ask for help. I have to take care of myself! " That's right, take care of yourself. "

I learned that if you don't know how to properly take care of yourself, you'll never know how to understand the simplicity of life.

Isn't this a little much? I don't know. Those lines are blurred for me. Telling my story in anyway shape or form isn't pleasant, but I have to tell it. With the hope that someone somewhere sees this and can learn from my mistakes!

Those nights all alone. With an empty bottle of booze. Lost in my drunk mind listening to the walls speak. True isolation from the world. Fantasies danced through my mind, trying to remind myself of hope. In the end, those are just fantasies. Dreams I could never reach out and grab for myself. Hope turns to misery. Bottle after bottle now. My intake of alcohol is so high. It seems completely normal to me now. My friends and family who are still around are concerned. Concerned I'm drinking too much. Concerned I'm losing control. Oh, if you only knew how truly far I've fallen off the deep end.

I have no more care or concerns. Only death wishes by my side. So it begins. The drinking, smoking, drugs, sex and bad people to keep me company. The fights thrill me. The guns, the knives, the drugs, and the woman all have my mind perfectly distracted from all my problems.

Ehh, life. It's such a confusing brutal process. Don't worry, I'm doing much better now. I'm better than I ever have been. It just hasn't been an easy road, and I want to put it out there in my own way.

[pikahlua]

I saw some opinions of MHA fans about Katsuki's development in the manga (they were former pro-Katsuki until the Deku be Bakugou part 2). They said how Katsuki's development always tied with Izuku until it became his arc. Many disliked his arc when he doesn't have any consequences for Izuku's bullying and does not focus too on his development as a hero. The latter is the most prominent complaint I saw and Katsuki not fixing his attitude towards civilians to save (after he got his license happen)

I have literally never heard of a person who stopped liking Katsuki as a result of Deku vs Kacchan Part 2 lol what is this

I don’t know what was specifically said by such people, but to address your provided examples:

1. “Katsuki doesn’t have any consequences for bullying Izuku.”

Whenever I hear/read anyone give this opinion, what they usually mean is, “Katsuki hasn’t had the consequences I wanted him to have for bullying Izuku.” (Specifically, they usually mean, “I want authority figures in high school to vindictively punish Katsuki for the bullying he perpetrated in elementary and middle school,” which is its own brand of problematic.) He’s suffered plenty of consequences, including but not limited to:

The lack of behavior correction setting him up for teasing and social difficulties in high school

Stunted development towards his goal of becoming a top hero

The inability to have a good, healthy, long-term friendship with Izuku before these issues are addressed

Prolonged self-hatred and guilt

All the cosmic and dramatic ironies he’s suffered from the story as one of its characters, which are numerous and extensive (but if there’s one that’s relevant above all others, it’s how Katsuki mouths off to Izuku after being saved from the sludge villain right before All Might chooses Izuku--not Katsuki--as his successor)

The lack of closure he might have gotten from being able to apologize to Izuku that was impossible because he knew Izuku would not hold him properly accountable for his actions

The time and energy spent on atonement to get himself to a level of self-worth where he could finally, sincerely apologize to Izuku at all

And yes, these things are consequences, so long as you start from the perspective that Katsuki is a flawed but well-intentioned, fundamentally good, still-growing adolescent aspiring to be a true hero.

2. “Katsuki’s arc does not focus on his development as a hero.”

?

??????

?????????????????

????????????????????????????????

I can’t believe I have to explain this again. For anyone who doesn’t see the story focus placed on Katsuki’s hero development: open your damn eyes.

The beginning establishes very clearly that Katsuki hardly has anything combat-related he still needs to develop. His issues are entirely in the rescue/save/self-sacrifice department.

Katsuki’s problem is that he doesn’t recognize any training that isn’t combat-related as worthy development for him to focus on.

It’s all baked into the irony of why Best Jeanist was actually the perfect mentor for him to pick in order to introduce him to the areas of professional heroism in which he sorely lacks: communication.

Katsuki perceives his sports festival gold medal as a huge loss, and the story supports his perspective. Everything Katsuki does before his match with Shouto indicates he’s competing with Izuku to be the one to “save” Shouto. Izuku got Shouto to use his fire--and Katsuki wants to do the same.

Katsuki gets hung up on those flashbacks of his childhood with Izuku not just because remembering them pisses him off but because he’s competing with that image of Izuku as a savior in this moment. This match is his opportunity to face off with Izuku in the realm of what Katsuki thinks is Izuku’s greatest strength. That’s why he screams this in the match proper:

And the fact that he loses in this competition with Izuku is the proof that he still has a long way to go.

What’s it say about Katsuki that an injured Izuku tried to create an opening for Katsuki to get a hit in on All Might but Katsuki unexpectedly flubbed it because he went in to save Izuku instead?

It says he wants to save but doesn’t know how.

And when that becomes clear to Katsuki, he rises to the challenge.

And suddenly his insights to relate to others become unsettling...

...and his perceptions of others’ feelings become uncanny...

...and his ability to inspire his team as a leader...

...and command their complete trust becomes unrivaled.

2b. “Katsuki has not fixed his attitude towards civilians to save.”

What, you want Katsuki to stop being Katsuki?

I find it bizarre how people expect provisionally-licensed Katsuki to, like, have a good bedside manner. That’s never what the supplementary training course was supposed to be about. It was to correct their insufficiencies. Note how those who passed the exam did not get perfect scores. They were allowed to skirt by with their problems unaddressed--because what they proved during the exam was how they knew how to prioritize based on their individual strengths and weaknesses.

Katsuki was never asked to become a caring, soft-mannered person to save civilians. He was asked to connect with their hearts. If Katsuki doesn’t think he’s the best for coddling others, well, he should leave it for someone else to do. And Katsuki actually always demonstrates a knack for treating people equally (if he equally treats them a little rudely), because he doesn’t underestimate people. His harshness is actually a form of kindness in that he respects people enough to chastise them for doing less than what they’re capable of. It’s just not softness, because that’s not his strong suit (uh, until he wakes up in the hospital, I guess).

In the above panels, Katsuki’s tone is appropriate for an admonition. That civilian put herself in danger, and her negligence thus put All Might in danger, and that distracted Katsuki from his dangerous-as-shit task of capturing a violent criminal. She deserves to be scolded! With any luck, it will keep her from doing something so reckless again.

The above panel admittedly sounds bad until I inform you that Katsuki’s tone is...well, relatively accurate here actually, but there are some word choices that are a bit harsher than what was actually said. In Japanese, he just calls the extras...“extras.” That’s it. He doesn’t call them nobodies. And yeah, you can whine about how that’s still inappropriate. I’d care if Katsuki wasn’t technically right, because this is a manga and those people are actually extras. It’s a joke, you absolute plebes.

But nothing demonstrates Katsuki’s development in this regard more than these two moments.

Katsuki calls back to recognizing All Might as the tallest wall in the world. That is, he’s the greatest hero alive. And Katsuki acknowledges that the only way to scale such a wall is to fulfill the requirements of “winning and saving”--but together as a team (because All Might was such a solitary figure to his own detriment). It’s all in there. Just read it.

The moral of the story is: politeness is not the same thing as kindness or respect, and Katsuki doesn’t have to be perfect at literally everything even if he is to be a good hero.

Wait.

Was I even asked a question?

[thefallennightmare]

One Mind-Eleven

Pairings: Druig x Eternal!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, swears, and maybe some smut here and there.

Summary: For so long, the Eternals were on their own. That was until a Celestial event brought them all back together. Reader is reluctant to help because in order to do what her fellow Eternals are saying, she would have to connect with a century old love; one that she promised herself that she would never work with again.

A/N: If it all pans out the way I have it in my mind, there are only a few chapters left! Anyone want another Druig fic? Cause I'm down for another. NEXT CHAPTER WILL HAVE SMUT! So, you've been warned.

TAGS (OPEN): @niiight-dreamerrrr @moonlightreader649 @beep-beep-sherlock @layzfeelit @caramelkatsukis-bitch

Eyelids fluttered open, adjusting to the light that surrounded me, and I let out a low groan of pain as I rolled from my back to my knees.

How did I survive?

Am I dead?

“What the hell happened?” I grumbled.

A pair of red boots stood in front of me and as I turned my gaze up, I smiled weakly towards the speedster.

“Thanks,” I signed.

She waved me off. “Don’t mention it. Now we're even.”

I smirked, remembering how a few hours ago I saved her life by jumping in front of Ikari’s blast.

“Is it over?” I signed.

Makkari sighed before motioning over the cliff where she had brought me after my fall. A gasp fell from my lips when I saw Thena and Phastos fighting the human-like Deviant.

“Where’s Sersi?”

After she helped me to my feet, Makkari nodded towards the other end of the cliff that we were on.

Except we weren’t on a cliff or a mountain. We were on top of the volcano.

“You go help the others. I’ll help Sersi.”

She sped off and I slowly tried to close the distance between us before I felt a sharp pain on my side; a sharp blade digging deep into the old wounds that had yet to heal.

My hands shook as I reached for the blade, only to be knocked down by Sprite who had a sorrowful look on her face.

“Did you?” I tried to catch my breath. “Did you just stab me?”

“I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “I have to do what I can to stop you guys.”

I cocked my head to the side. “You do realize that I’m not the one stopping TIamut, right?”

The warm red liquid started to stain my hand as I applied pressure and the harder, I pressed, the harder I bit my lip to keep a scream at bay.

“I always envied the two of you,” Sprite admitted.

“Why?”

She scoffed. “You and Sersi found someone to love for the rest of your lives. I never had that choice and never will because I look like a fucking child!”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with you being in love with Ikaris, does it?” I sneered.

Sprite’s mouth fell open, perplexed, so I merely shrugged.

“Everyone knows.”

She was on top of me now, removing the knife from my side and pressing the blade deep into my neck. I howled out in pain while doing my best to fight against her.

“I never liked you,” she spat.

“The feeling’s mutual.”

Before she could do anything with the blade, her body crumpled off of me and I locked eyes with my savior who held a brick in his left hand.

“Druig?”

He smirked while extending his hand towards me, helping me to my feet.

“Did you miss me, love?”

“I thought you died,” I admitted.

Druig shook his head. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Forgetting everything that was happening around us, I crashed my lips onto his and it felt as if was taking me for a ride that I hadn’t been on in so long. Most of our past kisses had been rough, possessive almost, as if we were afraid of losing one another at any moment while fighting the deviants.

But now, it was slow and passionate, as if Druig wanted to savor how my lips tasted, trying to bring the memory back to the forefront of his mind. He wanted to remember it all as if we had all the time in the world.

Unfortunately, we didn’t.

My hands ran through his hair to deepen the kiss, tongue passing over his and exploring every inch of his mouth while his hands did the same only to my body.

I slowly pulled away, needing to take a breath, but Druig quickly pulled me back in, attacking my lips once again. His teeth bit on my bottom lip and hissed out in a mixture of arousal and pain but he took it as an opportunity for his tongue to taste every inch of my mouth again.

He grasped at my hips to bring me closer but when he felt something warm and wet, he leaned away from the kiss; instinctively I leaned forward to bring him back to me.

“Is that blood?” Druig looked at the blood staining his hand. “Please tell me that’s not blood.”

I sheepishly shrugged. “It wasn’t me this time. You can blame little ol’ Sprite.”

He sighed while looking at Sprite, who was still unconscious a few feet away from us.

“Ya know, I’m going to start charging you when I have to keep stitching you up,” Druig asserted.

I bit my lip. “Do you take payment in kisses?”

We shared yet another kiss, this one shorter and faster than the last two, and I whimpered when he pulled away.

We basked in the happiness we felt for the first time in so long and I cupped his cheek, getting a closer look at the small wound on his face. I placed a loving kiss right underneath it.

“You could use a bath,” I muttered while brushing away the dirt from his face.

“Only if you wash me, sweetheart.” He cheekily smiled with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

My eyes drifted past Druig’s and landed on a large face protruding from the sea and hands crawling out of the ground; the ground I hadn’t even realized was now gold, us standing on the body of Tiamut.

“Oh no,” I muttered.

Druig wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “There’s nothing we can do now. It’s up to Sersi.”

“Come on, Sersi.”

All of a sudden, we were standing on a thick layer of ice as the cold crept its way up my ankles and over my body. Druig and I watched in awe as Sersi froze Tiamut, keeping him locked in an eternal cryo sleep.

An object flying in the sky gained our attention and we watched the familiar blue suit fly closer and closer to the sun.

Ikaris.

“Is it over?” I questioned, looking back at Druig.

“Come on, let’s go check on the others.”

With linked fingers, he led me down the frozen celestial and towards the remaining members of our once large family.

[morganas-pendragons]

Yours (Mine) | the master chief

previous part 

tag: @sporadicbelievernightmare​ - @ageless-aislynn​ - @thinemineours​ - @lialacleaf​ - @embarrassedauthornerd​ - @all-the-things-i-done​ - @starchaser-the-prophet​ - @missscarlett1802​ - @pinheadbanger​ - @mmkkzztt-blog​

we are going to ignore literally everything about John and Makee in the episode to substitute it with John getting hauled to medical and getting to confess his feelings. That’s it. That’s the post. Also, overprotective Spartan not-yet-boyfriend makes an appearance. 

Authors note because I won’t be writing this into this fic, but Makee and this reader know each other from when she was being tortured on the Covenant carrier Exalted. Hint hint. Wink. TENSION!!!!!!! I may write that as a stand alone if any of you are interested in reading it!

This is the last part. Requests for Show!John will open on Sunday!!!!!!

John’s not ever sure he’s been this shaken before. He could barely remember his reaction after Nora had died, but he’s fairly certain he didn’t remember because he didn’t feel anything. 

He spent his entire life not feeling anything. 

And now all he can do is feel. 

The first thing you remembered upon waking up on that scorched battlefield is John and Kai. Kai, who had somehow managed to crawl close enough to you to completely collapse against your side, and John who is absolutely covered in blood. 

Your first instinct is fear. He’s cast his helmet to the side and is staring absently at his hands, almost like he’s completely forgotten that you and Kai are lying at his feet. His gloves are dripping in blood. Blue blood. 

What on Earth happened? 

  “J-” You manage just enough strength to wrench off your helmet and throw it behind you, lifting your head to spit on the ground. Blood there too. Great. God knows what that Elite did to your lungs. “John-”

John is thrown back into reality by the cry of his name. Wide, fearful hazel eyes snapped downward as your hand extended in his direction - a silent cry for help, practically pleading for him to come back to you - and it only hovers there for a minute before you and Kai are both unconscious again. 

Don’t die. Please don’t die. 

Gentle hands are cradling your head, and then the dark pulls you back under. 

You welcome it. You’d done your duty. 

Death had been ready for you a long time ago. 

*** 

Part of him is secretly thankful he’s a Spartan. Maybe that strength - none of his own, because how is The Master Chief strong when he lost the one thing they’d dedicated all their time and resources to? - is what got him onto the medical transport that would take them back to Reach. 

How are you supposed to be the savior of humanity when you fail to do something as simple as your duty? 

It’s the screaming that drew him back to the present. Cortana had not let him forget about his own injuries, but the way your fingers are digging into the visible skin at his wrist as you and Kai thrash on the cots on either side of him has made John consciously aware of what he failed to do. 

  “Easy, easy Kai-” Vannak growled quietly under his breath as Riz reached for the syringe on the other side of Kai’s thigh. Neither of you had stopped screaming since you’d been brought onboard and John wasn’t sure he could take much more of it. “The pain is too much. Again!” 

You have no idea how far I would go for you, John.

John knew there were too many pairs of eyes around for him to do what he really wanted to do. What he wanted to do was run his fingers across the apples of your cheeks and whisper that everything was going to be fine because he’d make it fine. 

Wanting is a distinctly human feeling. One that he welcomes openly. 

After his own efforts to sedate you - because Riz and Vannak were too busy tending to Kai, and John was unwilling to let anyone else touch you but him - John simply sat at your bedside with your hand pressed between both of his own. 

Kai, despite being in excruciating pain, doesn’t miss the fact that he turned your hand over and bent his head to kiss your palm. 

***

When you woke up the second time, you were surprised to find Cortana of all people by your bedside. You blink repeatedly up at the shimmering form of the AI before attempting to turn on your side and acknowledge her. 

She looks distressed. Moreso then normal. 

  “Don’t try to move around alot. You’ve been asleep for hours.” She said softly. “I’ve done a systems uptake to ascertain the severity of your injuries.” 

You swallowed the bile in your throat and returned to laying on your back, pressing your hands lightly against your abdomen as you absently stared at the ceiling. 

John’s hands, covered in blood. 

John’s scream as he tore across the battlefield. 

Kai passing out against your side, like that would somehow protect her. 

  “Give me the details, Doc.” 

Cortana smiled at the joking nature of your tone and shook her head. “Both you and Kai-125 have the same augmentations like the other Spartan Two’s. Those will make recovery much quicker then that of a normal human, but you will still need to take it easy.” Your gaze softened as she reached her hand out, almost like she was trying to comfort you, but quickly retracted it upon realizing she couldn’t touch you. “The medics have said they will discharge you both soon. When they do, I need your help.” 

Your brow furrowed in concern as you slowly rose to your elbows to be able to look Cortana in the eye. “What’s going on?” 

  “It’s John.” She lowered her voice and bent down slightly to meet you at your own level. “He nearly killed Doctor Halsey. He’s injured, out of control, and the only person he will listen to-” 

  “Is me.” You nod and steel yourself for having to get yourself out of this bed, because you refuse to let the UNSC lose their most powerful asset. You also refuse to let yourself lose John again. “Before I do that Cortana, I need you to tell me the truth. About the Covenant prisoner.” 

Cortana paused. “What truth?” 

  “I want you to look up the debrief about the Covenant carrier Exalted. It will be dated about ten years back.” You rarely ever spoke about that mission after the debrief, let alone to Doctor Halsey. She had determined that the head trauma and the torture had your mind trying to protect you from the reality of how horrible that experience had been, and so the memories had locked themselves away. You were grateful. “I mentioned a girl I met while imprisoned.” 

  “And?” 

  “I’m fairly sure she was our current Covenant prisoner.” 

*** 

After being discharged from the hospital, your first instinct is to go straight to the artifact because John is absolutely stupid enough to attempt to touch it again. The passing marines had informed you of the whereabouts of the Master Chief when you’d questioned them about it. Most of them were intimidated by you because of your reputation. 

You were fine with that. 

What you find instead as you turn the corner is The Master Chief, slumped against the wall and hidden away from other prying eyes. The spitting image of someone who clearly does not want to be found. “John?” 

Then he’s screaming, and you’re rushing forward to keep him from falling. You haven’t had a shower since before the battle on Eridanus and probably reek of antiseptic and medical but yet you are here. It’s not your presence that grounds John when you touch him. It’s the way his chest swells and he immediately leans into your touch that drew his eyes up to yours. 

  “Y/N-” 

  “Chief,” Cortana interrupted. “Halsey was right. The Halo is uncharted territory-” 

You keep one hand on his side and the other on his shoulder as he balances half of his weight against your side, and John is helpless to do anything but follow as you drag him off towards one of the attached labs in the wing where Doctor Halsey’s lab is located. You distinctly remembered something from childhood - which had only been confirmed by Kai when the two of you had been left alone after the Spartans left - about John being too fussy to even attend the standard checkup when he’d been in basic training. 

Rule one about John-117: If you’re gonna make him go to medical, make him go to medical when literally no one is there. Otherwise you will have to drag him kicking and screaming. 

  “Who do you work for, Cortana?” 

  “I don’t understand the question.” 

Of course she doesn’t. She’s barely a month old, something John seemed to keep forgetting as he exhibited continous hostility towards the AI. 

  “I’m asking who you work for,” He snapped. “Me or Halsey?” 

Cortana’s figure appeared at full height in front of you both as you pressed your hand against the keypad beside the door, stunned when it granted you acess and allowed you inside. “I’m not designed to make that choice.” She replied calmly. 

Your heart ached for her. A super-AI, built by the smartest woman the military had ever seen, who clearly desired to be able to experience human things and still had not discovered her own autonomy. 

That was a tragedy in itself. 

  “Well, I’ll make it easy for you. First chance I get, I’m cutting you out.” 

You snorted and helped him to sit down on the nearest cot. “Not on my watch, you’re not.” You replied firmly, turning away to grab the nearest chair in your reach as well as the medical supplies. “She is only doing what she was intended to do, and your hostility and aggressiveness is unnecessary.” 

Cortana blinked in surprise. Were you.. were you defending her? 

  “She’s aiding Halsey! Halsey who hurt-” Something rattles deep in John’s chest, enough for him to stop talking, and he has to grab onto your arms hard in order to steady himself again. You pause in the middle of readying your tools - because a Headhunter clearly knows how to perform first-aid since they’re doing so many missions alone - and soften before turning your attention back to Cortana. 

  “Cortana, little love.” You call out. “I will take it from here. Can you please lock the door on your way out?” 

The AI nodded hesitantly and disappeared. The moment the two of you were alone, you turned all of your attention back to John. He wasn’t moving. Your fingertips rested on his shoulders, slow and hesitant, before traveling to the back of his neck and curling at his nape. 

A low shudder ran through The Master Chief as he leaned into the touch. Ached for it. 

  “You’re okay.” A simple phrase, one you had repeated a multitude of times while you had been wounded and alone on your missions. A phrase that had kept you alive while imprisoned. It was so meager. Even while being tortured, you kept repeating it. It was your only thread connected to yourself. To who you were, who you were proud of. “I’ve got you, John.” 

And hearing that he, The Master Chief, can let down the indestructible walls that make him humanity’s perfect soldier and just allow himself to fall apart? Well, that’s more then John has ever asked for. 

Pain is a feeling no one wishes to have, human or not. 

  “I-I can’t-” He’s grinding his teeth so loudly that you can hear it, and your fingers crawl up his neck to rest at the shaved hair of his temples. “I can’t-”

Resisting feeling. Resisting pain. Also something you are familiar with. 

You stepped into the part of his legs and tilted his head up. Eyes fluttering closed, you slowly leaned forward until you could press your foreheads together with a shaky sigh. 

It’s so intimate. Something as simple as human contact should not be this intimate. 

  “You can.” You whisper. Cupping the back of his head, you hum quietly under your breath as you gently card your fingers thorugh his hair. Back and forth, up and down, left and right. “And I’ll be here to carry you through it, John. Always.” Again, you repeat, “I don’t plan on going anywhere ever again.”

  “What do you mean?” 

  “Riz and Vannak spoke to Keyes. As of our return, he and Paragonsky appointed me to Silver Team.” 

He took a slow, deep breath for his nose. Once. Twice. Three times. Now I can protect you. I can keep you safe. 

  “I nearly lost you.” John said quietly. He hates that he has to admit that, how terrified he was when he’d seen you collapse beside Kai on the battlefield. He hates the real reason why he grounded you and he hates that he knows what love feels like now even if he wants it. “You should’ve gone back to Miranda’s ship.” 

You rest your cheek against the top of his head. “I did what I did for Kai. I-” You swallow the knot in your throat and close your eyes again, taking notice of how he was resting his head just beneath your chin and softly drumming his fingers against the small of your back. “I haven’t known friendship since.. since you. I needed her.” 

Your voice breaks at the confession. It’s a rare, raw moment of vulnerability, one you weren’t aware you needed to speak into existence until now. 

Just like I need them. The others. Silver. Miranda. People.

John hadn’t known much of the Headhunters until you, so he’d gone into the records and done his research. So much of your deployments had been alone. Your entire purpose was to go through the war alone. All the Headhunters were lone wolves.

He wasn’t willing to let you do that again. You had a family now. A home.

  “I remember when I was on the train, after I took my pellet out.” The words come before he can stop them, and John sighs in contentment as your fingers ghost through his hair and across whatever skin you can reach. The action is enough to put him to sleep. “I saw this couple. Young. Clearly in love. I saw this couple and realized I was craving something I’d never gotten to have because Halsey told us from the start we only had one purpose. I wasn’t created for domesticity, to be loved, to be happy. Those were human things. Human qualities.” 

  “John,” You interject. “What she fails to realize about her projects, about us, is that she can do everything in her power to take away those things that make us human.. but she can never fully eradicate it. That desire? That need? All of those feelings are so precious.. they’re just a basic human need. We can’t do things without people.” 

He catches your hand and draws it to him. There’s cuts across your knuckles and bruising on your wrist, where he immediately ghosts his lips over the injuries as an act of reverence. Tears prick your eyes as your other hand flies to cover your mouth, but you don’t dare stop him. This is too important. 

  “Taking out that pellet made me realize something,” John admitted. “I saw that couple, and I thought of you and I. I started remembering things about our childhood and how you were always protecting me from the worst things that could hurt me. From the very very start... and then I remembered how they tore us apart and why they tore us apart.” A pause. “Because I was in love with you.” 

He says it so quietly you almost don’t hear him. 

  “And I’m still in love with you, Y/N.” 

John is injured. If the scans you had set up before all of this are any indication, he is dying. You’re barely recovering from injuries yourself, but that doesn’t stop you from taking his face into your hands again and kissing him like he is the last person in this entire galaxy and you have nothing left to lose. 

So you do. It’s just you and John, tucked away in your own little corner of the world, wrapped in the familiarity of old loves reunited and assurances that you will be there until you are forcibly torn apart. 

If you have to do this world with anyone, there’s no one else you’d rather choose. 

John’s insistent tugging is what inevitably pulls you into his lap, and then you’re left straddling The Master Chief on a medical cot with a hand pressed into the divot of his chest to steady yourself. He’s clumsy and inexperienced and knocks his nose against yours more then once, but the innocence behind the act is what has you giggling as he eventually pulls away. 

  “You know, laughing at the guy who just told a girl he’s in love with her for the first time ever really doesn’t give the best first impression-” 

You pressed a finger to John’s lips and shook your head. “No, no.” You corrected. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing because I am also in love with you, John.” 

And then he’s grinning. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him smile like this. It’s wide and toothy and positively beaming as he leans forward to kiss you eagerly again, but not before you stop him from continuing as you realize you still have injuries to assess. 

  “Wait-” 

  “Oh no, old man.” You tease. “I can clean and dress the surface wounds, but Doctor Keyes needs to be in here to assess the effects from the artifact.” Hesitance flickered across his face as he steeled his expression once again before scooting back on the cot. “I’m going to call her in here. You are going to think about all the hell you’ve put Cortana through before I give you anything else. And if you touch that artifact again, so help me I will kick you from this dimension to the next-” 

Stubborn, stubborn woman. 

John chuckled quietly as he waved a dismissive hand. “Okay, okay. I digress. Now go before I change my mind and sneak out.” 

  “Before I do..” You pick up one of the random helmets strewn about the area - because God only knew why Doctor Halsey liked to keep old Mjolnir armor in her lab - before using one finger to draw a heart against the faceplate as you slid it on. Using two fingers to drag them across in an arc was the equivalent of a Spartan smile. This would be your equivalent of I love you. “You get me?” 

  “I got you.” 

And he does. Now.. and always. 

[heartkyeom]

stranger

assassin!choi seungcheol x gn!reader

word count: 3k

warnings: graphic violence, mentions of death, fluff

notes: hi! omg this is one of those concepts that I swore I was gonna do forever ago and I finally did it! might write more of this .... if y’all want it .... lol thank you to @husbandhoshi for beta reading <3 hope you enjoy as always

tag list: @lavenderautumnx @dokyeomblr @mangogyu @sapphichui @soffrine @husbandhoshi @thetigeragenda (mutuals if you wanna be added to my general tag list let me know!)

There were many moments in life that you could be prepared for. 

Finding an intruder in your apartment is not one of them.

You’re sure that your demonic scream woke up your neighbor, until you remember you’re at the end of the hall and your next door neighbor politely let you know they’d be on vacation this week.

“Why the fuck are you in here?” You yell.

“Are you really gonna hit me with that?” He points to the baseball bat in your hands, gripping it so tightly that your knuckles are white. Your hands shake, but you hope the intruder doesn’t notice.

It started when you forced yourself awake a few minutes ago, trying to figure out what you needed to do to feel satisfied before falling back asleep. You settled on eating a granola bar, and you didn’t think twice about turning on the kitchen light before seeing a man standing before you.

You were completely caught off guard, you still thought you were dreaming but you blink away your tiredness to realize someone was still standing there. You took a moment to grab the bat that sat untouched in your hallway. You refused to put it in a proper place in case you ever needed quick access to it, and there you were, in need of the bat.

“I will if you don’t tell me what the hell is going on,” Your voice has a low bite to it, enough to make the guy clear his throat.

“Someone is trying to kill you,” He seems far too calm to relay that kind of news to you, enough that it makes you grip the bat until you have no feeling left in your fingertips.

You furrow your brows in disbelief. “How the fuck am I supposed to believe that?”

“You just have to trust me, I know this is weird and I’d probably act the same way if someone told me the same thing,” He tries to reason with you, slowly approaching you but you push the bat out to his chest. He’s startled for a second, putting his hands up before taking a deep breath.

“Okay, well, they’re probably in the apartment right now.”

“How would you even know that?”

“Stop talking.” His attention is torn from you instantly, he puts his hands down in favor of listening to his surroundings. His gaze is scattered around the room and you can tell his body wants to follow suit.

“No, I’m not gonna stop-” He rushes to cover your mouth with his hand and you want to protest, but the look in his eye begins to sway you. He slowly takes it down and places a finger on his lips. 

“Stay here, please,” He pleads just loud enough for you to hear. You nod yes vigorously as if you could even dare to take a step right now. 

He mouths asking you where the bathroom is, and you shakily point to the right where your tiny bathroom stays. He nods back and walks out of your living room with cautious steps. You look down and notice a concealed blade in his grip. You swallow nervously, you silently hope a man won’t die in your apartment but the chances of that are decreasing by the second.

You could hear a pin drop, your breath was caught in your throat at the sight of him trying to figure out where the threat may be. 

The moment he steps into view of the bathroom, the assailant reveals himself by slamming your unnamed savior into the wall, his large forearm lodged on top of his throat. You can’t take your eyes off the way he is suddenly restrained and possibly out of options to escape. You trust his abilities, but it’s still hard to feel 100% confident that he could make it out of the tight hold.

Due to the sudden attack, his blade falls out of reach, but your savior doesn’t seem completely deterred.

He only struggles for a second before landing a swift kick to the man’s crotch, leaving the assailant stuttering in pain. He uses the opportunity to flip their positions, his arm now pressed firmly against the throat of the other man. He pushes it further, constricting nearly his entire air flow and you almost think you can hear the assailant’s bones start to crack under the pressure of his hold. The man is visibly losing strength, but your savior doesn’t believe that to be enough. He snatches the assailant off the wall and forces him into a headlock. He’s gasping for air, clutching his arms against your savior’s own. You feel unnerved by the way his gurgles fill up the silence in the room, but your savior looks almost content to see the struggle on the man’s face. 

You hate how attractive he looks while he’s about to kill someone, you can’t sense any anxiety on his face. You push that intrusive thought to the back of your head when he suddenly snaps the assailant’s neck with a firm twist of his arms, and he uncages himself to watch the lifeless body drop to the ground. 

You can’t fight back the gasp you let out. You look at your savior’s face and he only lets out a short breath. “Told you someone was here,” He doesn’t look at you, just lazily examines the dead body at his feet. 

“Holy shit,” you’re panting at the sight in front of you. Your life has been unremarkable for the most part, the most exciting thing you’ve done recently is going to a new smoothie place that opened down the block from your apartment. 

You didn’t expect an assassin waiting to murder you, much less another jumping to save your life while you were trying to find a midnight snack. 

You suddenly feel overcome with emotion and tears well up in your eyes before you can stop yourself. The idea of almost dying was all too much at the moment and your shoulders shook from your small cries. You finally drop the bat from your grasp and let yourself cry without restraint.

Once he hears the noise, he’s crossing the room to check how you are. He scans your body for a moment before placing a hand on your shoulder. You don’t know what compels you to embrace him in a hug, but you’re sobbing into his shirt. Your arms clutch loosely at the fabric, you don’t expect him to reciprocate in any way but you’re stunned when his arms wrap around you. 

You don’t want to find comfort in the arms of a man who just strangled someone to death, but you can’t help it. You wonder how many times he’s done this, how his instincts got that sharp to begin with, and if he gives quality hugs like this all the time. 

“We have to go, okay?” His voice is so sweet that it hurts when he pulls away from your embrace to look at your expression.

“I don’t want to,” You tear up all over again and his hand instinctively moves to rub your cheek. You feel selfish that you want to stay in the comfort of your shitty apartment and risk your life, but parting with this aspect of your life is overwhelming.

“I know, honey, but too many of these people know where you live. They would find a way to kill you again soon when you least expect it. We have to get you somewhere safe, okay?” The pet name seeps into your skin like a soft exfoliant, you really don’t want to be out of his reach for even a second.

You decide to stop fighting against your personal safety and nod in agreement, you finally see him crack a smile for the first time. You love the way it spreads all the way to his eyes.

“Good, someone’s gonna come by and pack your clothes for you. We just need to get you out of here.”

“What about him?” You sniffle and point to the dead body, your mind was clearly focused on all the wrong things.

He scoffs under his breath. “Someone’s gonna take care of that too,” He nods decisively.

“Okay,” You take a deep breath and step out of his embrace. You look around to find your favorite hoodie laying on the couch, grateful that you left it somewhere close by and put it on without thinking. Wherever you’re headed, you don't want to go there showing off your Sanrio shirt from the depths of your closet. You quickly locate a pair of socks and your worn black sneakers soon after, toeing them on and tying the laces of the shoes without a second thought. 

You leave the apartment soon after, rushing down the emergency exit stairwell together. He pushed out of the back door at the bottom of the stairs and looked back to check that you were still right behind him. The night air is slightly more humid than you expected, and you slightly regret wearing the hoodie as you follow his lead into the darkness. 

Your nerves start to kick in again when you leave the grounds of the apartment. You detach yourself from focusing on walking in an effort to stay conscious, to keep up with his quick pace. 

He leads you to a menacing black truck slightly off site near the apartment parking lot. He opens the door for you to get in the backseat before going up to the passenger’s seat. 

“Wait,” You grab his hand. “Can you sit next to me, please?”

He looks almost shocked to hear the request, but he nods quickly. “Yeah, that’s fine.” 

You settle into the second row and watch him get in next to you, slamming the door behind him. He brushes his hair out of his face, letting out a deep sigh. 

The car drives off immediately and you try your best to relax against the leather seats. You look over and his eyes are already closed. You’re not exactly an assassin apologist, but you do consider the tremendous amount of pressure he must be under. You’re eternally grateful that he came to your rescue when he did, you can’t imagine discovering the large man on your own. Even with a bat, you’re not sure you could’ve held your own for very long.

You knew almost nothing about this entire setup, but the idea of him having to save not only his own life but your own made your head spin.

“Hey,” You whisper.

“Hmm?” He doesn’t open his eyes but acknowledges your presence.

“What’s your name? I feel bad for not asking before.”

“It’s Seungcheol, and don’t feel bad, it was very stressful up there,” He blinks his eyes open and catches your glance. It’s hard to see his eyes completely as the car speeds past street lamps that only offer occasional spots of light onto his face, but it’s enough to know that he feels bad about how things went.

“Oh, okay. Nice to meet you, Seungcheol,” You nod back at him before turning away. You know not to ask him if he knows your name, you’re sure that he knows it more than you’d be comfortable with in order to save you from an avoidable death.

You want to close your eyes too, but the thought of seeing the dead man behind your eyelids forces you to fight sleep through the rest of the ride.

--

You end up in a small apartment that’s fairly secluded, you don’t recognize the scenery around you by the time the car comes to a stop. The city is probably a fair distance away now for your own safety. 

He helps you out of the car with a gentle hand, giving a short goodbye to the driver before slamming the door shut. You trail behind him to the front door and he unlocks it with relative ease. You didn’t expect everything to look so comfortable, especially considering his job. You expected everything to feel stiff, cold, and uninviting, but just from a brief look around, you can tell he treats this place as a safe haven. 

You find your way to the couch, unconsciously wringing your hands together out of nervousness. 

Seungcheol locks the front door behind him and puts his hands over his face. He lets out a big sigh before uncovering his face.

“Welcome home,” He offers you a small smile before correcting himself, “for the time being, at least.”

“I’m not gonna get details about any of this tonight, am I?” 

“Absolutely not,” He makes his way toward the couch and sits next to you, placing little distance between you two. “Unless you want to know about all the motives of your attempted murder before you sleep tonight.”

“Who said I was going to sleep?” You fumble with the strings of your hoodie without looking at him.

“Don’t do that. You’re gonna wear yourself out if you stay up.”

“Don’t lecture me,” You shake your head slightly, zoning your focus in on your shoes now to distract yourself.

“Well, I feel like the assassin would know what they’re talking about when it comes to sleep, seeing as I don’t get very much sleep to begin with,” You hear him chuckle and you look up to see his glance.

“How do you even sleep after things like that?” You’re genuinely concerned for his wellbeing. He seemed normal enough, not especially fucked up to where he couldn’t keep someone safe if necessary. Yet, you figure he’s been through enough to feel haunted by a lack of sleep.

“Well, considering all the crazy shit I’ve seen, this wasn’t that bad,” He nods his head and you’re trying not to imagine the kinds of missions that he’s used to. His kills are probably far more intricate than you need to be aware of. 

“Honestly, it depends on the severity of the situation. You were kinda stubborn, but the death was relatively easy. So, I’ll probably sleep well tonight,” He examines his hands, flexing his fingers and putting them into fists to really assess if there was any substantial damage he might have overlooked. 

“That’s insane. Do you even get time to process any of that?”

“Yeah, typically when I come to kill someone, that’s the end of the story. I get to talk to my therapist about whatever bullshit might have happened on the job and I move on. But you,” he taps his finger on your knee, “are very sought after, so I’m gonna be with you for a little while.” That makes your skin crawl, now you’re glad he doesn’t want you to know anything else about your situation tonight. It would drive you insane trying to process every little detail.

“So you’re like my bodyguard now?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“That’s great,” You sigh at the prospect of being secluded. You imagine they, whatever agency he was working for, would want you to stay off the grid for the time being. Not that you went out much anyways, but you are already starting to miss the small pleasure of going out when you wanted to.

“Hey,” He tilts your chin to face him head-on. His glance is far more inviting than you’d like to admit to yourself.

“I know this is scary, confusing, or whatever you may be feeling, but I’m going to keep you safe no matter what happens. I promise.” He seems so earnest that you don’t have it in you to fight back. You’re not sure why he already feels so comforting, but he’d done far more than most people ever do for a stranger they just met. 

“Thank you. I trust you.” Those words seem like enough for him tonight. He gives you a tiny smile before standing up.

“Gonna show you your room so we can both get some rest,” He’s already walking out of the living room, giving you no opportunity to catch up. 

He points you to the first door on the left, a small guest bedroom that seems nearly untouched. It felt more like a hotel room than your makeshift bedroom, but it was your mission to make it look a bit more lived in. You let yourself sit on the plush bed for a moment before looking back up at him to see what you should do next.

“There’s some shirts and shorts in the dresser. Hopefully, that’ll be good enough until they bring your clothes tomorrow. Unless you wanna sleep in those pajamas.”

“I don’t want to at all,” You’re already itching to take off the hoodie but force yourself to wait until you’re alone. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Right next door. There’s a toothbrush and some other essentials in there. And I’m the last door on the right if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay. Goodnight, Seungcheol.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” He nods his head at you. You wait for him to close the door before you let out a breath. 

It’s the first time he’s said your name all night and it feels weirder than him randomly calling you a pet name earlier. You’re not sure, but everything related to your existence felt a bit strange to hear, especially your name. 

You needed to make some distance from the concept of yourself as a possible murder victim for the night, at least if you were going to attempt to get some sleep.

After picking out new clothes to wear and rushing through a quick night routine in the bathroom, you’re nestling under the covers until your head nearly disappears into the comforter. The silence of the room leaves you a bit rattled after the events of the night, so you try to force yourself to sleep before any intrusive thoughts take shape in your brain.

Despite this, the sight of the man’s body creeps into your brain, but you will it away with the thought of being in Seungcheol’s arms again. The smell of his cologne, his comforting words, and the idea of hearing his voice again calm you down before you can worry any longer.

You were safe, he told you that he’d make sure of it.

Whatever you were meant to know about the threats to your life, you were certain that he would stay true to his promise. 

That was the only thing you could hold onto as you drifted into sleep.

[heli0s-writes]

the thrill of knowing how alone we are* (s.r., b.b)

a/n: written somewhat in response to this ask. 1.6k words of... sex pollen adjacent? hinted at angst and bucky’s dirty, dirty mouth. title from Hozier’s “Better Love” 18+ only, please!

brooklyn after dark masterlist

You’re a newborn supernova. A young god.

Serum dosed and unstoppable, the compound latches to your cells and makes you strong, but it also makes you voracious.

Your senses open up like new eyes. Your brain lights up like the milky way out in the goddamn sticks at the slightest hint of touch and you’re eager—so eager—for any and every input you can physically receive.

Middle of the night and you show up seeking more. Wind-coarse hair and sweat dappling the front of your shirt because you practically sprinted the distance across town to them.

They barely get the front door shut before you fist both their shirts and bodily shove them backwards.

“Something’s—” a soft delay, despite violence over the horizon, “going on with me.”

Steve sucks in a breath. Your skin, balmy wet, trying to work off that prickling itch up the back of your neck that he knows you can’t wish away, is damn familiar. Your agitated stare, struggling to focus, eating up the vision of his pecs, the slant of his collarbones, the pale column of his wide neck, he knows too.

Your other hand is seeking craved input beneath Bucky’s shirt. A register of tight, hard muscle, waiting for when yields to what you came here for.

They expected it, having kept a close watch on you because Steve remembers. 1943 and he got jabbed with pure compound for his pure savior heart and it still managed to make him insatiable. He ate and drank and fucked himself to exhaustion and after a mere few breaths, he could do it again—and harder.

Bucky, poor Bucky, with his knock off injection and capsule death, experienced it at a later stage, jittery and stunted, screamed himself hoarse locked up. So naturally, he’s already excited watching the rise and fall of your chest as you gulp in their scent as if finding the last members of your own species or family.

“Do you know?” you mutter, skirting closer to your limit. “Was it— like this?”

“Yes,” Steve replies.

“And you?”

Bucky licks his lips. A pause before, “How’re you feeling?” and he looks down at your clenched fists.

“Well,” he’s briefly gentle about it, ironing the scrunch of his collar flat. “How ‘bout you just show me? You ain’t gotta talk.”

And with his big, warm hand around your wrist where your rapid pulse begins to fall in time with his, he takes you down their dark hallway.

-

There are too many variables to determine how anyone injected with the serum might change.

Maybe Steve was Brooklyn’s own Jesus Christ and that’s why he didn’t lose his goddamn mind and got away with just two days of fucking half the USO girls until he felt permanently chafed.

Maybe Bucky’s victimhood and resilience kept his body from tearing itself apart when he burned up on the operating table.

But really, it’s not as simple as black or white—good, bad. Chemicals don’t consider such subjectivity, they just react.

Because you are good, like them. Fought and lived and laughed by their side, they’ve watched you take hits to your heart and stand back up, unbroken. Watched you forgive the world trying to break it in the first place.

True to character, you bounced back after the mission. Got nabbed and knocked out and woke up juiced up, scrabbling for consciousness while sweating through the stretcher the entire plane ride home. You were already more sensitive to fluorescents by then, uncomfortably half-lidded, the ringing in your ears jetting its way to a crescendo, but undeterred—said you were doing fine and only needed to ride out what felt like the flu of the century— don’t worry, I’m not a kid, leave me alone.

But now, an entire fucking week later, you’re still feverish for more. And god, doesn’t Steve know how much someone in your position could do in a week.

You’re a massive star triggered into nuclear fusion. A white-hot desire of superhuman blood.

Wet wisps of baby hairs across your forehead, the heat of your soft skin swallowing your last vestige of reason, your panting, aching mouth silently begging gotta get it out, gotta get better, make me better and your hands between your thighs, splayed out on their bed—it’s a sick, gorgeous kind of divine.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, eyes sparkling in awe at how you radiate desperation, his cock swelling in his boxers. “Gonna fix ya.” He looks over to Steve as if it’s a question and not a mandate, because his face reads with or without you while his mouth says, “Right, Stevie?”

And Steve, his pure savior heart beating like a battle cry, remembers the sonorous pressure in his belly like it was yesterday. The vicious need, the brutal call of wilderness, the pain of trying to tame himself back to human.

He remembers, even better, the pleasure. The mind-numbing, blinding seizure of satisfaction that tore through his body and how every subsequent release only rolled over into the next.

Steve hears himself sighing, heaving out a breath like he forgot how for a few seconds.

“Buck,” he says distractedly when Bucky rucks your shirt over your breasts, “Wait.”

Bucky gives him a dry look before proceeding to crawl on top and latching his mouth to your neck.

“Mmphh—nah, thanks-- hmmmm—pass.” He pulls away with wet lips and blushing cheeks and eyes like dark jewels. “I’m living vicariously. Didn’t get my crazy sex-drunk brain sorted out, so I’m feeling compassionate. ‘s the only decent thing to do, besides. Look at her— outta her mind. You know how it was.”

His hands are relentless, pawing at you everywhere, grin growing another inch every time you jerk into him.

“Feels good, huh,” he says, teeth marking you up, leaving indents down the curve of your throat, “you want it harder, don’t you?”

Your head bobs erratically along, nodding when he sticks his metal fingers in your mouth, hooking them into your cheek, and you start sucking on them like you’d die otherwise.

Steve’s fully erect. Hard and attentive to every roll of your hips into Bucky’s other hand, the way your thighs try to reach around him, using him as a fixture. And Steve’s like, fucking reasonable, right? You really are out of your mind, chasing touch and taste and scent. All those senses screeching at your nerve endings to be stimulated and overstimulated. 

He shouldn’t, right?

But right isn’t quite black or white in this case either, when he would have definitely, certainly, absolutely, wanted this if he were you—and he sort of was, eighty years ago.

And not with arbitrary women who were almost as fragile as he was before the serum took hold.

No, you’re with them. A set of experienced and unbreakable soldiers. A set that you’ve become a part of, too.

They’ve got four hands and two mouths and fields of muscle that could smother you to another death if you asked for it. Fingers like bear traps. Cocks like masterpieces.

Bucky purrs, “Want me to fuck you better, don’t ya, sweetheart?”

His dirty talk’s only nastier from here, in Steve’s experience. The more turned on he is, the worse he is. He brings girls home and when he’s not satisfied, he makes his way to Steve’s bed and Steve can’t really blame him; they work each other over for hours and hours and come until it hurts. 

There’s no one else in the world like them and some nights, it feels like the loneliest kind of love.

Bucky’s whispering into your ear now, fingers on your tongue, turning you around, and pushing your cheek into the pillow. He’s got his cock between your legs, still in his boxers, and the rub of it makes your toes curl.

“Already?” he muses, the tease. He laughs when you muffle a whine, body shaking from only a few simple touches. You strain and groan, bite down on the jolt taking over, rippling up your spine, and push back until your thighs are flush against Bucky’s, gyrating in weak circles.

“Ah, fuck,” you slur out, “fuck, fuck—nnngg—feels so good.”

“Better than your own fingers, baby? You make yourself come a lot, didn’t you, and it wasn’t enough.”

You turn to look at him, strangely ashamed.

“What?” Bucky wonders faintly for a second before asking, “Oh, and you tried—”

“Yeah,” you admit.

Steve gets it. Bucky makes a soft face, “That’s alright. It’s not really the same with other people. We can make you come a hundred more times,” he promises, “And a hundred more still.”

You make a high, almost pained sound in your throat at his assurance. The same register of impatience Steve’s often made when he demands something around him that’s tight and hot and loses his grip on reality a little bit.

“Look at Steve,” Bucky says slowly, his dick above the waistband of his boxers and sliding up the plump meat of your ass. There’s a line of spit dribbling from your open mouth, and as Bucky presses slowly inside, his cock making that sopping wet sound, your eyes tracing the outline of Steve’s cock glaze over.

You shudder out his name and Steve doesn’t need any more convincing than that.

It could possibly take only a few hours. Perhaps a day, or three, a week, a month—if it would take a month... fuck, yes, he’d do it. For you and your sweet, aching face, your body like a freshly honed weapon, your hunger a sudden, endless appetite just like theirs. Ripe and hot and astounding.

Something miraculous is happening here. A detonation bright enough to match the galaxy alight in Steve’s bed and nobody knows it.

It’s theirs alone, and it’s you.

Their species, their family, their blood.

He takes his shirt off cleanly, and they get to work.

[0risha]

RECOGNITION

series m.list

PAIRING : sukuna x fem!reader

SUMMARY : when an exchange student comes to jujutsu tech, Itadori is set on finding out why the King of curses is so interested in you.

TAGS : fluff, the tiniest bit of angst, jjk anime spoilers, some curse words, reader is described as a black female

NOTES : i’ve read a couple of works where sukuna meets his reincarnated lover so I wanted to try it out too, hope you enjoy. was supposed to make progress with my wips but I was in a sukuna mood. (◕ᴗ◕✿)

Sukuna feels your presence before he sees you. It’s one of those cliché moments where time puts its hand up to signal a standstill. Yuuji can feel it too when you pass by, your long braids swishing with each step.

He’s sure that he’s never seen you before but his shared body buzzes in remembrance. All the while, his emotions are overtaken by the unbridled feeling of wanting. 

After that, Itadori never took it upon himself to ask Sukuna about the matter because the curse didn’t seem to want to.

Sukuna had become more and more suppressed, his usual pop-ups were a rare occurrence, even when Megumi was around. However, for the whole month you’d been at Jujutsu Tech, the King of curses had been intent on observing from his throne of woven carcasses, body hunched over to just watch.

You’re an exchange student, Itadori recalls Gojo’s past conversation about a new second-year that would be coming from the states. You’re strong — at first, Itadori couldn’t help but think that this revelation was the reason for Sukuna’s interest —your cursed energy being perfect sediment for close combat and dealing precise blows, all the same, Itadori could feel a grappling hook of something that seemed to be festering.

It’s dark and brooding and it stirs every time you come into contact with him. And Yuuji thinks he might go crazy because he wants to know your connection with Sukuna and it’s not like he can ask you because your aura screams — unapproachable.

His chance comes when all the first-years are assigned to a mission, you're there for extra measure. Gojo’s shaman instincts telling him that this mission was far too exceeding for him, Nobara, and Megumi.

Though just as Gojo predicted, it goes terribly wrong and Itadori keels over with an empty hollow where his heart should be.

His last thoughts are consumed with a screeching mantra of his late grandfather’s words. In the crevice of his flickering mind, they're big bold letters that drip with poisoned regret.

Before his vision goes black, the last thing he sees is a heart-broken Megumi and your face which is flooded with guilt.

When Itadori comes face to face with the King of curses, the stench of rotting death overpowering his senses, he mulls over the terms laid out by Sukuna to come back, alive.

To be reunited with his friends and become some type of savior —sukuna's words, not his— he'd give up the reigns of his body so Sukuna could talk to you whenever he chose.

For the exchange of his life, the rules weren’t bad, a part of him knows that this selfish override could cause problems for you in the future, but he still agrees.

When he wakes up to a pure white ceiling and the smell of bleach he doesn’t expect to see you towering over him. Moving up to a sitting position, his cheeks nearly bleed red because he’s naked. His eyes frantically flit over to Gojo who’s sitting in the corner of the room, watching the exchange. The white-haired sorcerer shrugs in a ridiculed manner —silently telling Itadori that it wasn’t his problem.

“You called me,” your voice filters through the bright room. His eyebrows crinkle in confusion. Sukuna must've did something.

When his eyes flit back to you, he’s met with your monotone expression, your cascade of braids framing your face. And for the third time in his life, he’s scared. 

Your cursed energy, which for your level should leave little to no residual, is flaring with onyx undertones. Its sharpened jaws nearing closer and closer to Itadori in a beckoning manner. He's not sure why it's visible in the first place.

Gojo stays silent.

Brat, let me out. Sukuna, for the first time in weeks, pops up with a wide mouth on the palm of his hand. Without a second thought, Itadori allows him. 

Whilst wading in his domain of subconsciousness, he watches the exchange. Your expression stays the same as you study Sukuna’s marked face. 

“So hostile,” Sukuna bares, his powerful aura sifting through the room. You roll your eyes and crack a smile. Seamlessly ignoring the other man in the room— who you know Sukuna has a grudge with. 

“Am I not supposed to be?” you cross your arms and ask. “Being friendly would get me in trouble.”

“You remember me?” The King of curses cuts straight to the point, the question being so unexpected that Gojo shuffles in his seat, his spine rigid with anticipation. 

You nod stiffly. "I didn’t at first, not fully at least, but after coming into contact a few times, yeah.”

“It’s a shame I don’t have control over this body,” Sukuna presses a palm to your cheek, no doubt a loving caress. His deep baritone voice causing your skin to erupt into a turnpike for goosebumps to situate. “Do you remember how we parted last?”

“A sorcerer killed me or something,” you scratch the back of your neck under his intense stare. “Right through here,” you confess, pointing to the middle of your sternum.

“And you’ve become one?” Sukuna quirks an eyebrow, shoulders stiff with anger. 

“I didn’t even know I knew you until a month ago, calm down,” you wave in dismissal. Itadori takes note in the way Sukuna visibly relaxes, your words washing him in a bucket of warmth. “Is that all? I’ve got a mission in thirty minutes.” 

“I’m coming with you.” Sukuna jumps off the steel table, his bare feet touching the cool ground. You turn your eyes away from the bottom half of his body, ears growing hot in embarrassment.

“Eh? Is that allowed?” You turn to Gojo who’s still analyzing the situation beforehand and he shrugs with complacency. “Don’t let anyone see him,” Gojo warns, his stare serious even under his blindfold. You're not exactly sure what Gojo's thinking but you grasp the opportunity.

When you leave the autopsy room with a naked Sukuna by your side, careful to avoid any areas where Sukuna’s aura might be felt, you make it to Itadori’s dorm.

“Here.” You throw him Yuuji’s formal uniform and a pair of brown boots you find in the corner of his room. “I’m not wearing this,” Sukuna interjects.

“Huh?” Your upper lip curls up in confusion. “Then you’re not coming with me.” You turn to leave but he catches your arm in a tight grip.

“Fine, since you’re so damn adamant.” He releases his grip on your arm to slip into Yuuji’s clothes, when he finishes he turns to you with a glare.

“Good boy,” you praise, patting his tattooed cheek.

Internally, Itadori’s too bewildered to tease the curse. In all of his time spent with Sukuna in his body, he’s never seen the King of curses voluntarily listen to somebody else’s demands. The murky water he stands in ripples as he sits to observe everything that’s transpiring. 

When you both reach the site you were assigned to, you sigh in annoyance. “What is it?” Sukuna asks, hands in pockets as he studies your face.

“I was hoping to have an easy day, they’re not dangerous or anything but there’s more than a dozen in there.” You point to the abandoned building, its steel beams bending with age.

“I’ll exorcise them for you.”  

This is going completely against this guy’s morals, Yuuji thinks. 

Your eyebrows fly to your forehead as you grow giddy with happiness. “Really?” You exclaim clambering up to wrap him in a hug.

“If you don’t let go, I won’t.” He grumbles, head in your neck while inhaling your sweet scent. 

“Okayyy,” you inhale, trailing off, Sukuna not too far behind. 

The exorcism is completed in fifteen seconds, tops. You stare in amazement at his lithe movements. His sharp fingers extinguishing cores with precise stabs— the same way he did his vessel. When he’s done he turns to you with an eyebrow raised, his hands wet with unspoken substance. You turn away with a humph. 

“Was it not fast enough?” He walks towards you, concern written all over his expression.

“It was too fast,” you proclaim.

“Huh?” 

“You’re a show-off,” you turn to exit the building, your braids whizzing past his face. You hear his roaring laughter behind you as you make it outside.

The smell of freshly churned earth enters your nostrils as you walk down a fenced sidewalk with bent daffodils. “Where are we going?”

“A ramen shop.” His gaze flicks over to study your face which is softened with what seems to be tranquility. His heart tides over with pride once he realizes that you feel content with him, a 1000-year-old curse.

However, he knows it’s the result of your memories that tie in with his; shared massacres and intertwined fates. Multiple restarts of what seemed to be a never-ending cycle of mingled hearts. But this time jump was different than the others. 

You being a sorcerer is not the only obstacle, at all.

“Sukuna? Hey– you’re spacing out.” You wave a hand in front of his face to grab his attention. 

“We’re here.” He looks up to see a small ramen shop, its logo old with age. As he enters the shop, he somehow finds contentment in being in a place that you like. 

—

“You know you’re probably attracting sorcerers and curses alike as we speak?” You inquire, grabbing your ramen bowl from the waiter who nervously glances at Sukuna. His tattooed face also attracting unwanted attention. 

“Mhm, I’ll just kill them if they interfere.” You whip your head to turn to the waiter who you’re relieved to see, had already left.

“I knew you’d say that,” you stuff your face with a handful of steaming noodles. 

“Sukuna?”

“Mhm?” 

“What’s gonna happen between us?” You flick your index finger back and forth. “It’s not like the other times, I’m a dedicated sorcerer.”

“So?” 

“You’re the King of curses, I’m a sorcerer.” You repeat, dropping your wooden chopsticks to place your head on your propped fist. 

“Already made a deal with the brat, I can talk to you whenever and wherever I want,” he pulls his face closer to yours. 

“Yeah? What happens when they execute Itadori?” You curl your hands into balled fists, an unfamiliar emotion welling up in your throat. Somehow, it doesn't fit. It crosses your veins in a parasitic manner and your eyes glaze over.

“I’ll just come back.” He states matter of factly, voice coated with arrogance.

“You promise?” You whisper, holding out your pinky finger. You nearly scoff at your own action.

Ignoring the finger you bare out, he presses his lips against yours. It’s the same as he can remember, centuries ago. His body elates with a hum of electricity. And it's as if his body's creating a second space of void in which he feels his every sense being sharpened; the smooth curve of your full lips and the salty taste of previous ramen.

But before the kiss can go any further, you're pulling back.

“That was uh…” You blink once, twice, trying desperately to collect your thoughts. When you look back to Sukuna, you instead are met with Itadori’s clear face.

“The hell are you doing, brat?” Sukuna bares his teeth on the right side of Itadori’s cheek. ”I- I’m sorry just got a little uh.. flustered.” 

“The fuck are you getting flustered for?” Sukuna growls. 

“I- uh..” 

“It’s okay Yuuji, you can switch again another time,” you sympathize with the boy. His cheeks are coated in red.

“It’s getting late, eat some ramen so we can go.” You chuckle. Itadori nods as his hand reaches towards a pair of chopsticks.

“Touch my ramen and I’ll kill you again, you damn brat.”

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