#when your first born son is a physical form of all your pain and suffering but you also love the bones of him

[dubblebubbleibuprofen]

The poison drips through or whatever

[fanfictionwritingblog]

Hisashi Shigaraki Backstory Part 1

Hisashi was born in Japan in 1983. His father is unknown and his mother was Ai Shigaraki, a Hibakusha, a bomb-affected person.

Ai was born a few months after the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima, her mother being in the early stages of pregnancy at the time. She was born in perfect health; her only abnormality was bright white hair and eyes. The doctors assumed that her white hair and eyes were caused by the radiation of the atomic bomb as many children who were still in their mother's womb had medical problems like being born stillborn.

Discrimination against the Hibakusha was common; people were often afraid that the effects of the radiation could be contagious, and many Hibakusha suffered health problems like different forms of cancer, resulting in fewer job opportunities and marriages, especially with Hibakusha women. When he and his mother venture outside their cramped apartment she wraps her and Hisashi with a kitchen head scarf to avoid the stares and whispers of uninformed citizens, making themselves look more discrete among regular Japanese citizens.

Growing up very poor, Hisashi remembered feeling hungry often, as Ai was often unable to afford food for the two. Working multiple low-paying jobs was how Ai could pay the rent of the Shigaraki small apartment. But many times, Ai often stole and pickpocketed to purchase food and necessities. The most Hisashi remembered from his mother was being carried on her back as she worked and stole, unable to find or trust people to take care of Hisashi.

When Hisashi was two years old, Ai met Sebastian Shaw, catching his attention from her and Hisashi's white hair and white and red eyes. Ai distrusted Shaw initially, but when he offered a deal to pay her in exchange for examining Ai and Hisashi, she agreed. The next few months were the most financially safe the Shigaraki family had ever been. However, Ai began to suspect Shaw had deeper plans for her and Hisashi.

Shaw explained to Ai that she is a mutant. From tests and experiments, they discovered her mutation was immunity to radiation. Her x-gene was most likely activated during the womb when her mother survived the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima.

Uncovering Shaw's true motivations, his plans on using Ai and her children to be used by the Hellfire Club, Ai demanded to end their agreement but was kidnapped by Shaw, her son Hisashi, and taken to the United States.

Imprisoned in a rural laboratory, Ai was under immense stress. From painful experiments that left her bedridden, her inability to understand the scientist's English left her frightened and confused, and abusive guards gave her no pity when she begged to return to her home country. When she discovered she was pregnant with her second son, Yoichi Shigaraki, it only worsened her mental health to her physical health weakening, knowing he would suffer under the harsh environment.

On the due date of Yoichi's birth, Ai had prolonged labor, lasting for 24 hours. Surrounded by scientists she hated and frightened of. Hisashi remembered hearing his mother's screams and begging for him. Escaping the guards, Hisashi held his mother one last time as she gave birth to his brother, giving Hisashi his brother's name, Yoichi, and demanding he promise to take care of Yoichi.

Tightly gripping Hisashi's tiny hands, the three-year-old suppressed his tears for his mother to let go as she whispered, "Your sibling's name is Yoichi. I won't be here any longer. I need you to promise to care for them. Promise me, Hisashi."

Swallowing down his fears, tears welled up in his eyes as Hisashi nodded, "Okay, I promise."

When the guards tried to pull Hisashi away, he activated his power All For One. All For One can steal any mutation from other mutants. Hisashi first used his power to steal his mother's mutation as she died. In the days after Ai's death, her body was examined by doctors. They discovered cancer cells developing rapidly. Her body's immunity to radiation was taken by Hisashi when he hugged her for the last time; the trauma of witnessing his mother's death activated his mutation. 

For the next few years, Hisashi raised Yoichi, acting as Yoichi's parent and protector against the horrible Hellfire Club scientists. On nights when Yoichi would just cry, Hisashi would rock and rub his back until Yoichi tired himself out to encourage Yoichi to eat every few hours, even when the younger brother was fussy.

Unfortunately, there was no one Hisashi could rely on as he experienced his traumas and abuse. Other mutants lived with them, who also didn't have anyone from children to adults. All For One was the most potent mutation the scientists had seen, constantly forcing Hisashi to explore the different functions of his power by taking the mutations of others and putting different mutations on to others. Multiple times, Hisashi has been forced to steal mutations and ends up killing the mutant, terrifying Hisashi as a young child. Even if his power didn't kill the mutant, later on, he would hear a gunshot ordered by Shaw, as the powerless mutant was no longer of use to him. At night, Hisashi would have dreams of talking to his mother, asking her how to raise Yoichi, nightmares of his fellow imprisoned mutants, having them screaming and begging in a black void, and asking Hisashi to let them go. In training, Hisashi reluctantly used the stolen mutations to appease the scientists and avoid harsh punishments for disobeying.

Yoichi's immune system was often in jeopardy. Frequently bedbound for days, and fell behind the average development of a child. For example, he learned how to speak only when he turned five, and his asthma made his lungs easily infected with viruses. One day, when Hisashi was ten years old, he heard of plans to kill Yoichi because of how weak his younger brother was. 

With Yoichi's life on the line, Hisashi escaped the facility, using the mutations he trained and used for years encouraged by the consciousness of his mother and the original users of the mutations he had taken.

For a month, Hisashi and Yoichi lived on the streets, constantly running away from the authorities as the uniform and weapons they carried reminded Hisashi of the guards he faced off with the Hellfire Club.

The living conditions after escaping the Hellfire Club took a toll on Yoichi's health; sleeping in the cold streets of alleyways, eating scraps of food from dumpsters behind stores and restaurants, and only one inhaler, by the end of one month, they lived in homelessness, Yoichi almost succumbed to pneumonia. Noticing Yoichi's limp form Hisashi searched for help, spotting an expensive car belonging to Charles Xavier driving in his direction. Jumping onto the road, Ororo halted, nearly hitting Hisashi. Hisashi directs Ororo to his dying brother and speeds towards a nearby hospital.

As Yoichi slowly recovered from pneumonia, Hisashi stayed with Charles and Ororo. He explained, to the best of his ability, of his life held captive by the HellFire Club, his mutation All For One, and his fears of returning to life in the HellFire laboratory with Yoichi dead. With the harsh reality of his life up to that point, the death of his mother, raising Yoichi at such a young age, and the abuse from the Hellfire Club, Hisashi barely speaks from his cries for his brother's health and life. Even if Yoichi survives, he doesn’t know how to care for Yoichi's needs and himself on his own.

Listening to Hisashi's past, Charles decided to change his and the Shigaraki brothers' lives. To take Hisashi and Yoichi under his guardianship and mentorship as X-Men, his team of mutant students to train and live together with humanity.

Tell me what you think about Hisashi past, might change Ai a bit.

[thetruthbehindtheemotions]

Death

Who am I? Well, I am the most complex secret of humanity. The most feared being. The most tragic. The cause of countless unanswered questions, tears, laments, and sufferings. But also the only certainty you have in your life journey... nice to meet you, I am Death.

I keep some secrets, just as destiny keeps everything. One of my biggest secrets is also one of my greatest bitterness. Why am I not loved?

I, like every other eternal being, will stay here until everything ends. Not even Hope will escape me on some fateful day. I will be the last to finish. I am the one who will close the show of Life after applauding it standing ovation. Some see in me a way to end their own suffering and torture. Their final venture against my youngest son, Despair. But things cannot be that way. You should not hate me, curse me, and certainly not fear me, just as you should not take your own lives simply because you can no longer tolerate Despair. He was born out of a need of yours, just like me, just like Life and all other things. Life is too fragile for the burden it carries. A stake, a knife, a gun, a rope... Things created by man are capable of taking away what you hold most valuable, what allows you to be in all physical and literal forms. Taking someone's life, or even one's own life, is very simple in practice, sometimes it even brings relief.

Because that's exactly what death does, it takes away the pain, ends the problems, and puts an end to all the agony that seems to have no end. But for those who remain, death is an endless pain that can never be repaired or replaced. It is a black hole, something irreversible.

It is so sad to see how life has been trivialized. Drugs, thieves, murderers, man-made plagues, hunger, prejudices, diseases infecting the world and claiming more than I would like them to claim. It was so much easier when these evils - not as great as they are today - did not exist. It was really much easier. Don't you understand that when you die, you will fall into the river of eternal oblivion? And that river is called time, where its waters are red, murky, and impossible to swim in. They sink you and drown you, they make you nothing but memories that only I will remember one day. But you know what really annoys me? It's that Destiny knows who will die and who will live even before they are born. Isn't that unfair? Yes, it is, both for me and for Life. But there is nothing we can do, we were created specifically for this. While one generates life, the other takes it away. However, that doesn't make our task any less painful. But I'm not here to talk about my pain, much less about Life's pain. I'm here to reveal a little more of my essence, so unknown to you mere mortals. And you want to know something? Here's a piece of advice for you. Don't come into my arms looking for all the answers because I won't give you all of them, I will only show you the path you will have to follow to conquer them. Hold on to your dreams and try to fulfill them in some way. Don't let yourself be carried away by the destruction that the world has become, much less get lost in its despair, but I won't deceive you by saying that it will be easy because it won't be. This is called living, and living is difficult, especially if you do what you love. So don't stop at the first obstacle on the way, don't immerse yourself in the delirium of chaos when you can live beautifully and simply. Live each moment as if it were the last because it really can be!

It may seem surreal how time passes so quickly, how people constantly enter and leave your lives. It's all so delicate, resembling that little flower called dandelion. It only takes a random puff, in any direction, and everything falls apart. That's why you should never miss the opportunity to tell those you love how much they mean to you because in a single second everything can change, and then it's too late. Sad? Yes, but it's reality. It's what I am.

I always catch you off guard. One moment you're with someone, playing, talking, making plans for the future, and seconds, minutes, or even hours later you find yourself on top of a coffin lamenting the departure of someone who meant so much to you, and on another occasion, you are the body inside the coffin. Flowers, candles, cotton stuffed in the nose, and the body pressed against a piece of wood to turn into dust months later. Just dust buried in dust. It's torturous to think of death this way because it is always seen as the end of everything, as the great villain who is always ready to snatch away what you hold dear. But perhaps there is more to it than meets the eye.

Death, in its essence, is a natural part of the cycle of life. It is the inevitable conclusion to the journey that begins with birth. Death, in a way, gives meaning to life. It reminds us of the preciousness and fragility of our existence. It pushes us to cherish the moments we have, to love deeply, and to pursue our dreams passionately.

While death may bring grief and sorrow, it also has the power to inspire and transform. It reminds us to live fully, to appreciate the beauty around us, and to make a positive impact on the world while we can. Death teaches us the value of time and encourages us to make the most of every fleeting moment.

In the face of death, we often ponder the mysteries of life and the universe. We seek answers to profound questions about the meaning of our existence, the nature of consciousness, and what lies beyond the threshold of this reality. Death invites contemplation and introspection, urging us to explore the depths of our souls and discover our true selves.

While death may seem like an end, it can also be seen as a transition. Many cultures and belief systems hold the notion of an afterlife, where the soul continues its journey beyond the physical realm. Whether it is a heavenly paradise, reincarnation, or merging with a universal consciousness, the concept of an afterlife offers solace and hope in the face of mortality.

Ultimately, death remains a mystery that eludes our complete understanding. It is a reminder of the vastness of existence and the limits of human knowledge. It humbles us, reminding us of our place in the grand tapestry of the cosmos.

So, while death may bring fear and sorrow, it is also an integral part of the human experience. It is a teacher, urging us to live with purpose, to love fiercely, and to embrace the beauty of life. In the end, it is up to us to make our lives meaningful and leave a lasting legacy that transcends our mortal existence.

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

Morte

Quem sou eu? Oras, eu sou o segredo mais complexo da humanidade. O ser mais temido. O mais trágico. O causador de inúmeras perguntas sem respostas, de muitas lágrimas, lamentos e sofrimentos. Mas também a única certeza que você tem em sua jornada de vida...prazer, eu sou a Morte.

Eu guardo alguns segredos, assim como o destino guarda tudo. Um dos meus maiores segredos é também uma de minhas maiores amarguras. Porque não me amam?

Eu, assim como todo e qualquer perpétuo, vou ficar aqui até que tudo termine, nem mesmo a Esperança escapará de mim em algum fatídico dia. Eu serei a última a terminar. Sou eu quem fechará o show da Vida depois de aplaudi-la de pé. Alguns poucos veem em mim uma saida para acabar com o próprio sofrimento e tortura. Sua última empreitada contra o meu filho mais novo, o Desespero. Mas as coisas não podem ser assim. Vocês não devem me odiar, me xingar, e muito menos me temer, assim como não devem tirar suas próprias vidas somente por não tolerarem mais o Desespero. Ele nasceu por uma necessidade de vocês, assim como eu, assim como a Vida e todas as outras coisas. A vida é algo frágil demais para o peso que possui. Uma estaca, uma faca, uma arma, uma corda... Coisas criadas pelo próprio homem são capazes de tirar aquilo que vocês possuem de mais valioso, o que vos permite ser, de todas as formas físicas e literais. Tirar a vida de alguém, ou até mesmo a própria vida é algo muito simples na prática, às vezes, gera até alivio.

Porque é exatamente isso o que a morte faz, ela tira as dores, acaba com os problemas e finaliza toda a agonia que parece não ter mais fim. Mas para aqueles que ficam, a morte é uma dor inacabável, que nunca poderá ser reparada ou substituída. É um buraco negro, algo irreversivel.

É tão triste ver como a vida foi banalizada. Drogas, assaltantes, assassinos, pragas criadas pelo homem, fome, preconceitos, doenças impregnando o mundo e ceifando mais do que eu gostaria que ceifassem. Era tudo tão mais fácil quando esses males - não tão grandes quanto hoje em dia - não existiam. Era realmente muito mais fácil. Será que vocês não entendem que, quando morrerem, cairão no rio do eterno esquecimento? E esse rio se chama tempo, onde suas águas são vermelhas, turvas e impossíveis de se nadar. Elas te afundam e te afogam, te tornam apenas memórias das quais um dia somente eu me recordarei. Mas sabe o que me deixa realmente irritada? É que o Destino sabe quem morrerá e quem viverá antes mesmo de elas nascerem. Isso não é injusto? É, é sim, tanto comigo quanto com a Vida. Mas não há nada que possamos fazer, fomos criadas especificamente para isso. Enquanto uma gera a vida, a outra a tira. Entretanto, isso não faz nossa tarefa ser menos dolorosa. Mas não estou aqui para falar das minhas dores e muito menos as da Vida. Estou aqui para revelar um pouco mais da minha essência tão desconhecida por vocês meros mortais. E querem saber de uma coisa? Aqui vai um conselho a vocês. Não venham para os meus braços a procura de todas as respostas, pois eu não lhes darei todas elas, apenas lhes mostrarei o caminho que terão que seguir para conquistá-las. Agarrem-se aos seus sonhos e tentem de algum modo realizá-los. Não se deixem levar pela destruição em que o mundo acabou se tornando, muito menos se percam no desespero do mesmo, mas também não irei enganá-los dizendo que será fácil, pois não será. Isso se chama viver, e viver é difícil, principalmente se você faz aquilo que gosta. Por isso não parem perante a primeira pedra no caminho, não mergulhem no delírio do caos quando podem viver de forma bela e simples. Vivam cada momento como se fosse o último, pois ele pode realmente ser!

Pode parecer surreal a forma como o tempo passa tão rápido, em como pessoas entravam e saem constantemente de suas vidas. É tudo tão delicado, semelhando-se a aquela florzinha do mato chamada de dente-de-leão. Basta um soprinho à toa, em qualquer direção, e tudo se desmancha. Por isso vocês nunca devem perder a oportunidade de dizer para aqueles que amam o quanto significam para vocês, pois em um único segundo tudo pode mudar, e então ser tarde demais. Triste? Sim, mas é a realidade. É o que eu sou.

Estou sempre vos pegando desprevenidos. Uma hora você está com a pessoa, brincando, conversando, fazendo planos para o futuro e segundos, minutos, ou até mesmo horas depois você se encontra em cima de um caixão lamentando pela partida daquele que tanto significou para você, já em outra ocasião, você é o próprio corpo dentro do caixão. Flores, velas, algodões enfiados no nariz e o corpo sendo pressionado em um pedaço de madeira para meses depois virar pó. Apenas pó enterrado no pó. É torturante pensar na morte desse jeito, porque ela é enxergada sempre como sendo o fim de tudo, como a grande vilã que esta sempre disposta a acabar com a vida. Mas a verdade não é essa. É importante que vocês saibam que, diferente do que muitos pensam, a Vida e eu não somos opostas, quem dirá rivais, na verdade somos irmãs, amigas, quase que a mesma coisa. Andamos por aí de mãos dadas, uma completando a outra. Enquanto ela é o início de tudo, eu sou o fim, ou quase isso. Na verdade eu sou aquela que dará inicio a um novo começo, o começo da eternidade. Não a um final, não a uma linha de chegada, a apenas um caminho diferente. A Morte— no caso eu - nada mais é do que o prólogo de uma vida sem dores, sem medos, sem destruição, sem ódio, sem crueldade. Eu sou a porta para o tão sonhado paraíso. Por isso vocês devem aproveitar ao máximo cada segundo, minuto e hora de seus meros dias.

Sorriam! Vivam! Amem! Sonhem! Delirem! Desfrutem! Desesperem-se! Desejem! Destinem-se! E em um dia inevitável, mas não menos fatídico, morram com a alegria de saber que seus momentos cairão juntos a ti no rio do esquecimento. Alegrem-se ao saber que irão deixar alguém para trás que os amem; que se preocupam e que irão querer vê-los novamente algum dia. Então, quando chegar a sua imprescindível hora de partir, não tenham medo, apenas me acolham como uma velha amiga.

"A morte é apenas o ponto final da primeira frase do primeiro livro de uma enorme biblioteca."

[astraymetronome]

Of a Mother's Grief

A Mother's Pain in Her Nirvana - Chapter Six

Notes

The song for this Chapter is Immortal by Reinaeiry.

This chapter has a bad ending. What would have happened if Aizawa hadn’t been able to stop him? Btw, chapter five is the proper end. This is just a what-if chapter.

Warning, I get graphic in my descriptions in this chapter. This isn’t actually the ending so it isn’t needed. Read Chapter 6 at your own risk, please.

Inko felt her eyes become more focused on the sky than on what he was doing. Inko had been hovering over his shoulder but, now, she was sitting next to him with her head on his shoulder. She kept whispering soft words to her son as she rubbed his back a little. Her son was so broken after everything and she wanted him to find something to live for. She hated seeing him so broken and the fact he was so content with dying made it even worse.

As they sat, she could tell he wasn’t really there anymore. Izuku was next to her physically, but he was lost in his thoughts and completely dead to the world around him. She’d witnessed his dissociation before she passed. It wasn’t often but she made sure all his doctors treated him for his problems. She had suffered from depression and anxiety when she was younger until she managed to find her way with her new relationships. Now she was stuck in her old rut, and she knew she was, but that wasn’t gonna stop her from trying to stop her son’s choice.

When he slowly returned to the world, the rain had already started to pour. She was quietly shaking as she leaned against her son. He got up and moved to the other side of the railing. She trembled as she watched him do this and tried her best to grab onto his shirt with no luck. Inko listened as he cried and watched as he let sobs rack his body. She could see his emotions as clearly as she saw him the day he was born. She remembered bursting into tears when she heard him cry for the first time, the proof her child had made it through birth and that she was a mother. It signaled her life-changing for the better.

Inko wrapped her arms around him, managing to hold him, actually holding her son. Izuku didn’t seem to be able to feel her touch but that wasn’t going to stop her from holding him, from clinging to her baby. After a few minutes, she made up her mind. She let go of her son and quietly began to look around. She had to get help, she couldn’t let him die.

Inko couldn’t see anymore. No one was there, even the road below them was empty of people. She could feel her dread flooding her soul again. She was sobbing softly as she tried to shake her son, desperate to get him out of it. ”Izuku! Stop it! Don’t you dare jump from here!” She called out as she looked around once more. After a second she began to scream, someone needed to come. If there was a chance any other ghost could at least help. It wasn’t probable but at this point, she had no choice.

She pulled away as her boy began to slip over the railing. He was teetering on the edge as she tried her best to calm herself. She could feel the pain he carried and she’d witnessed it for the past month but she can’t bare to watch or feel him do this. Inko kept her eyes closed as she curled into herself. Her spirit was screaming at her for this. Her actions were that of a spectator, someone who no longer had any effect on the living. At most, she could brush against people but it wasn’t like they could feel her.

Maybe if she could his smile, a real smile like the ones he gave when she made his favorite food. She felt her mind drift as the rain picked up, falling harder and soaking her soul, ignoring the fact she didn’t exist anymore. Her eyes returned to the sky, the one safe haven they shared despite everything. Even now, despite the clouds and rain, it was something they had.

Her eyes drifted back to her son’s form, watching as his hands clung to the rails with white knuckles. The moister on his skin and the metal was letting his grip slip. She could see in the way he struggled to keep ahold of the cylinders. She gave a gasp as she moved closer once more. Her own mind seemed to be as sporadic as his was. Her grief was heavy but so was her love for her child. Her flesh and blood were on the edge of life and death, one loose finger or missed step and he’d join her in this horrid afterlife.

Inko took notice of wet steps in the distance. Her son seemed too lost to register them and it honestly scared her. What if this person had bad intentions or meant to help him? If they planned to help her boy, they might frighten him. He could slip from that. If they were planning to harm him, she wouldn’t be able to accept seeing him being hurt more than he has been. It took a few minutes before she caught sight of blue hair. The way it mirrored the clouds and sky was recognizable from miles away. She felt her chest flood with hope as she moved away from her boy. He could forgive her for this, she knew that, but she’d never forgive herself if he ended up joining her here.

”Oboro! Please! Help! I-I can’t get him down!” She called out as her eyes drifted to the figure that lingered behind the fellow ghost. She could feel her misty tears increase as she turned back to try and grab her son. Izuku needed to stay for a few more moments. He needed to be spoken to at the least and Oboro spoke highly of this man.

She felt her hands phase through her son which didn’t bother her. Being able to phase through him at least confirmed he hadn’t dropped yet. As soon as the hero, she assumed he was a pro, her son let go. A scream left her as she tried to grab his hand, unable to make the contact she longed for. Immediately Inko broke into loud sobs as she pulled herself over the rail as well. She needed to see him, she couldn’t let him be alone once he first joined the end.

The thud that sounded out as her son collided with the ground made her want to gag. The cracking of his skull and the way his body just crumbled against concrete wasn’t something that would ever leave her memory. Her ghostly hands were quick to try and caress his head as she heard Oboro get closer to her. Inko’s eyes were tightly closed as she sobbed against her son’s corpse. The fact he hasn’t appeared with them yet was enough to tell her the impact hadn’t ended his life on contact.

She opened her eyes to see the hero moving to check her boy’s pulse. His eyes were wide for a second but the guilt proved to her he wasn’t long for their world. Inko turned her gaze back to her child, seeing blood pool around him. If she didn’t have a stomach she’d probably have lost it at the sight. His limbs were twisted at angles, bones visible in some places. Even bits of his brain matter was visible where his skull split open. She watched as the hero closed his eyes and pulled his hand from his neck and immediately her eyes bolted up.

Her son faded into view, ghostly pale as she was. His eyes were closed still as he appeared in the clothes he’d passed in. Her baby looked so small like this. He seemed like a child again and she hated it. Her hands reached for him, not hesitating to hold her baby as she felt Oboro touch her shoulder. Sobs began to rack her body as she made contact, her hands no longer unable to feel his skin and hair. She cradled him in her arms as she cried into his transparent hair.

It didn’t take long for hands to wrap around her, hugging her tightly as a head burrowed into her neck. Inko’s own grip clung as she brought her hand up to his hair. ”I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry Izuku!” She called out to him as she felt his own tears fade from her shoulder. She didn’t even hear his response. Maybe she didn’t want to, after all, she never wanted this for her baby. She just wasn’t there to stop his choices.

----

I'm so sorry this took so long to get out. I'm a senior this year while juggling a dual credit course so I was busy. On top of this, my grandpa passed away last week. Like on Thursday. His visitation is today but I felt like I really needed to get this chapter out. Thank you for being so patient. I hope you enjoyed Our Emotions In The Night.

[ohnominamino]

An Essay on Love in Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time

Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time is a movie about love in all its forms. From the love of family, friends, and neighbors, to the compassion we feel for people we have never met. The movie reminds us that love is something we continuously gain, lose, and choose, again and again. Which love is greatest? In my opinion, the answer to that question is left up to interpretation. In this essay, I will give my own personal interpretation on certain character interactions and what I believe we are meant to take away from their Rebuild portrayals. 

The character I will start with is one I’ve noticed the most outrage over from people who haven’t seen the movie and read out-of-context spoilers: Kaworu Nagisa. 

Kaworu is a beloved character among many Evangelion fans, especially those who are members of the LGBT+ community. He is a canonical love interest of Shinji Ikari and I want to reassure people that this final movie does not change that fact. However, it does not make the couple blatantly endgame either. This skirting around the couple might make some fans upset, and while their feelings are completely valid, I do not think they fully understand the difficulties faced by LGBT+ people in Japan, nor do they understand the way that romance is typically conveyed in Japanese storytelling. (I recommend watching “Is ‘Yuri On Ice’ Good Gay Representation?” by James Somerton for more about storytelling nuances.) 

What have we been shown about Shinji and Kaworu’s love? The good news is, anything you read into the original TV series and End of Evangelion is completely true for the Rebuilds— because Kaworu is the same Kaworu. This movie proves Evangelion is a single universe set on repeat, and that Kaworu and Shinji meet each other every loop, and in each, Kaworu is trying to make Shinji happy. Within the final movie, Shinji becomes aware of the loops and chooses to break the cycle and free Kaworu from his pain. 

What does the relationship between Shinji and Kaworu teach us? I believe the purpose of their love is to show the audience that first, in the words of Kaji, “love has no gender.” Second, I believe Kaworu’s love in particular is a warning about basing your own happiness solely upon another person. There are parallels drawn between Gendo/Yui and Kaworu/Shinji. Gendo could not exist without Yui, and so he was willing to destroy the world to be reunited with her. For Kaworu, it was not the destruction of humanity, but the destruction of himself that defined his tragedy. What’s important within the final movie, in my opinion, is that Shinji does not reject Kaworu’s love. With the insight he’s gained from remembering past loops, he sees Kaworu’s love and appreciates him, but he also sees his suffering and wants to ease it. He helps Kaworu into a new world where he can seek his own happiness and find balance in his life (something his father did not have). 

While Kaworu and Shinji are not seen as an explicit couple at the end of the movie, it’s significant to note that, when he sets Kaworu free, Shinji holds out his hand to Kaworu as a promise to stay together. Over the course of the movie, Shinji comes to accept his connection to others through accepting touch (in the form of hand holding and hugs from Rei, Misato, and Gendo); however, Kaworu is the only character in the movie who Shinji initiates physical contact with and that speaks to how much Kaworu means to him. This simple gesture, in my opinion, keeps the door open for Kaworu and Shinji to be a couple one day, after Kaworu has found more balance in his life. 

If I were to write an entire essay about Kaworu, it would be titled, “Out of the Coffin: How the Resurrection of Kaworu Nagisa Buries the Tragic Lovers Trope” because this movie truly does just that. 

Another potential love interest for Shinji for many years was Asuka; however, unlike with Kaworu, the nature of this relationship is not left up to interpretation by the end of the movie. Before her big final battle, Asuka tells Shinji, “I think I loved you back then” (regarding their time in middle school) and Shinji, during Instrumentality, tells Asuka, “Thank you for saying you loved me. I loved you too.” It is past tense. 

What does this relationship teach us? It’s a beautiful way of showing that we can love people, and grow and learn, and let go when we no longer fit each other. Letting go is an integral part of life. Whereas other Instrumentality scenes involve touch, Asuka’s, mirroring the ending of End of Evangelion, has a distinct lack of touch. Shinji sits with his arms around his knees and Asuka turns her body away from him. He gives her his thanks and he sends her off to find her peace. Asuka and Shinji teach us that it’s okay to grow out of relationships. You can appreciate what they were to you at the time they happened and move on. 

What about Rei? To be honest with you, this movie is less about Rei’s relationship with Shinji, and more about her relationship with the world. Rei teaches movie viewers about the simple pleasures of living. While Shinji is in mourning for the first quarter of the movie, Rei (as “Sokkuri”) is learning about crop growing and community, the wonder of babies and kittens, the joy of the bath after a long day of fruitful work, and the power of words and picture books. At the end of her life, she only regrets not having more time to spend with the people she loves. In Instrumentality, Shinji accepts her hand when it is offered to him, which I hope signifies he is ready to see life as she had come to during the final movie. 

Rei teaches us that we can love living and to not take our limited time for granted. 

Next, we move on to parent figures: Gendo and Misato. I think they both represent people ill suited to the role, who do the best they can despite it. Gendo, as mentioned for Kaworu above, is a warning about defining yourself by your relationship to another person (Ikari, afterall, is Yui’s name). He is also a lesson in how people mourn and how they can lash out. Misato, like Gendo, felt herself a poor parent, and while mourning the loss of Kaji, she gave up her child to be raised by other people, but, unlike Gendo, went forward to put all her energy into protecting humanity. Both of them reach out to hug Shinji within the movie and he accepts them where they are. 

While I wouldn’t say the movie shows that Shinji forgives Gendo, it does show his making an effort to understand and make peace with what others have done. For Misato, it is fair to say we can still hope for a better future, even when it feels like everything is crumbling around us. Her self-sacrificing love for her son and the whole of humanity is what enables Shinji to then save the people he loves (via the spear of Gaius). 

In the movie, we are also shown friendship. Touji, Hikari, and Kensuke are important members of their community who maintain open communication with those around them and respect others’ boundaries. They are patient and kind and represent the importance of being present. They teach us to meet people where they are and support them how we can, whether it’s giving them a warm meal or giving them space when they need it. 

There are many more characters that could be talked about, but today I am going to end on Mari. Mari’s love is physical. She enjoys being in people’s personal bubbles. She cuddles Asuka and helps trim her hair, she gets into Gendo’s space at college, and at the end of the movie, she reaches out her hand to Shinji to help him stand up from his seat. Upon first glance, some viewers might take Mari and Shinji’s final scene to be romantic, but the reality of it is this: We do not, and cannot, know what kind of love she is meant to represent in his life.

We do not know Mari’s relationship with Shinji because they hardly interact in the movie. She clearly cares about him, but in my opinion, it comes from a place of duty and compassion— Mari was friends with Gendo and Yui. She has been there since he was born. (If we take the manga to be canon, then Mari even had romantic feelings towards his mother. Her hairstyle and glasses are from Yui. At the end of the movie, Mari has changed her hairstyle, which to me implies she has moved on, and “getting” with Shinji would be a thematic break.)

Additionally, their conversation, while flirty, is very much one that implies they haven’t seen each other for a while. Mari is someone who is very physically affectionate. With everyone. If someone ignores that and focuses on the fact she gets into Shinji’s space and claims that’s romantic, they better acknowledge it’s possibly romantic with Asuka, who we see far more intimacy with. When Mari flirts, Shinji flirts back and her initial reaction is surprise, “Wow, you’ve learned to talk back!” Her purpose is clear. She is there to remove the DSS choker from his neck. 

Personally, I love that Mari is the one to close the movie, for the exact reason that we do not know her relationship with Shinji. For Mari to have an assigned role would be to say, “This kind of love is most important,” when the entire movie was spent showing us each love is of equal importance in the balance and building of our lives. (It’s wonderful to see those types of love embodied across the platform from Shinji at the end of the movie: Rei and Kaworu, who, just like in End of Evangelion, could signify the ability to connect with others and be loved.)

If you view Mari as a romantic love interest, then I think it speaks to the value that you as an individual give to romance rather than what the characters themselves are feeling. To me, Mari, the character who was created to “destroy Eva,” is a symbol of all love. When Shinji takes her offered hand and then pulls her to run into the new world, it’s a symbol of balance. The give and take of any kind of relationship. 

We are the product of every relationship we have ever had, from our parents to the people we once loved, from our friendships to any other person we want to stay connected to. Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time is a story about these relationships. It is a story about love. 

[saturnsstufff]

Epolouge: The Empress

Warnings: slight NSFW

"Thena, sweetie, you can't play with that-" Techno warned to his child, moving the wrapped sword away from her tiny hands.

"But Daddy- you said you'd teach me!"

As Athena got older it was obvious she shown sides of taking after her father. Her curiosity in weaponry, speech, and body language told you that much. But, to be honest, you didn't mind.

You would admit, after being away from the toxicity of the empire, and the people it entailed, life was much simpler, and way more humble. It was homey, something far more than the large palace was. Instead of large marble floors, tall lengthy walls, and perfect matching fabrics, the cozy cottage home Techno and you built was made of warm, strong logs, wooden floors that gave off a warm glow, mismatched blankets and curtains that hung with care, showing they were frequently opened and closed. It was perfect for your small family. You adored it.

After the fall of your kingdom and the near escape you all had, life was hard to adjust to. Techno was distant, scared he would lash out at you again like he did in the library. You wanted to tell him it was ok, that it was a terrible misunderstanding between the communication, and the people holding the letters. Yet, the way he grabbed you still had you hesitant. You could still remember the first few months within the tundra.

Your eyes watched the brute cut more logs. The way he moved the axe, you wouldn't have expected him to be a once prestigious emperor. Instead he looked like a boy far past his years- someone overly exhausted.

The baby in your arms was easily fast asleep. Warm and cozy from the near fireplace, and if that wasn't enough, her mothers arms and chest opted as a warm cushioned resting place.

The past month was hard, both mentally and physically. Between the tension techno and you had, and the fear of Athena getting too cold from no true shelter, you both were at your wit's end. Thankfully Techno and Phil worked to built a small shelter. Something you could rest Thena in, well the three of you worked to build a more suitable home for a family.

The rocking chair you were seated in offered a soothing place to think back on it, of course your thought's were disrupted when Tech walked back inside the home. Logs over his shoulder for the fire, not wanting it to die out and bring the tundra chill into the home.

"Did she fall asleep finally?..." he asked softly, setting the logs down. Although he walked over to the two of you, he didn't rub his finger on her cheek like he normally would, he probably had sap on his hands from the wood. Something that was now normal.

Your smile came easy to his tone "yeah, she zoned out pretty quickly after she ate. You were right about rice cereal, she's not as hungry anymore" your eyes went up to meet with his. His smile was just as gentle as yours. "Where did you even hear about it?"

"I was curious if it would... I was trading in the village and I herd it from a elderly woman" he explained, moving to the sink to wash his hands off.

Your curiosity perked at this.

"You did?"

He hummed and wondered back, sitting on the couch, still respecting the space you wished. Just because you two were married didn't mean it was all sunshine and rainbows. Things were still healing, you still got weary around his touch after the library incident, and he was still blaming himself for the years you were alone. He didn't feel like you could forgive him so easily- he knew you shouldn't.

"Mhm. She saw me looking at a small plush and rattle. She asked if I had any children or if they were for a friend... I explained I had a fussy infant... she kind of laughed and told me a few ways to avoid it..." his cheeks went pink as he glanced away.

It was easy to believe Sarah tampered with the letters, the tech in the letters was cold and distant about children. Where the one you laid with every night cooed, and played with his daughter, eager to show her the world. One thing he did for her almost made you break down in tears.

Due to fleeing for your lives, Athena no longer had toys, blankets, or anything she needed. She even lost her plush, the one she slept with every night. When she was particularly fussy one night, you explained to techno why. Of course he was saddened too, he didn't wanna hear his little girl cry, no parent did. So the next day he found some scrap fabric and sewed together a small Pig for her. You would always remember how eagerly she pulled it into her arms.

In the end. It was easy to see Technoblade was a family man.

When night time rolled around, you were thinking back on all the nights techno held you close. After his return you both slept with a bit of distance between you. The first night you both were tightly within each other's arms, too scared to loose each other again. But after that something about laying tightly like everything was ok didn't feel right. So the two of you kept a bit of distance, easily a hands reach away if needed.

Tonight however, you wanted tech to hold you. You wanted old times back, the endless giggles, the warm arms, slight smirks, his nose in your neck content with life. You missed it so much.

So when Techno crawled into bed, you fallowed in suit, but instead of crossing over him for your place by the wall, you sat atop straddling his waist. The action alone was enough to make him pink, and curious. His hands didn't rest on your hips, rather you guided them to rest there yourself, showing it was ok for him to touch you.

You could feel how hesitant he was. He didn't want to scare you, drive you away farther than you already were.

"Princess... what are you doing?" He asked softly, admiring your form above him, dearly missing the sight deep down.

"Tech I miss you... I miss you holding me, making love to me, whispering how much you love me... I miss how close we were..." you said slightly pained.

He drew a slight breath, the air coming out shaky. "Darlin'- Princess... look... I miss it too... But I hurt you... I accused you of sleeping with Orion, i also assumed you hated me... It made me draw my sword to you... it made me Grab you-" he was cut off by you.

"And I forgive you... it's in the past... we can move forward... I mean... I'm assuming you wouldn't do it again..." you said slowly, watching him discard your hips for your hands.

"Ill never raise a hand, or blade to you again... never again... God's I love you too much to even think of hurting you like I could have... Your all I have..." he said softly, tearing up slowly. Thinking back on it, he hated how he acted, he was hurt and took it out in rage, he took it out on the one person who endlessly loved him.

After talking out how you two truly felt, you tried to make love again, the action felt odd, yet long awaited, Both of you desperate to feel one another after so long without each other, but sadly when Tech moved you under him, you watched his eyes well with tears before he fully broke down in tears.

Their may have not been physical intimacy shared, yet the wounds of words, and actions began to slowly heal, and it all started with techno burring his face into your chest, his sobs drowned out by the wild wind outside the cabin.

Your thoughts were shaken from your mind as you watched your daughter try to charm tech into teaching her sword play.

"You promised!" She said, hoping it would budge the stubborn Brute.

"Yeah, well I promised your mother a new ring too and all she got was another one of you-" he said scooping Thena up into his arms, holding her upside down to get her to laugh.

"Yeah well she can take Ares back! I don't want a brother!" Thena said, sounding like she meant it. "He’s annoying and he always cries at night" she explained, finding her reasoning good enough.

"It sounds like you when you were his size" you said with a smile, stepping up beside your husband, almost eye level with your child. "Ares is young, he'll grow up and get quite darling. Crying is his only way of communicating he needs something" you explained, moving your head so you were somewhat looking her in the eyes.

When tech started to tickle her, it brought smiles to you both. Over the years her giggle, and laugh had become your shared favorite sound. Athena was so innocent and pure, she was the only hope that had survived the darkness of the empire. Luckily out of that darkness came a stronger relationship between you and Tech, even if it took time to develop again.

Without the empire down his throat, he had become much more relaxed. Even his voices seemed to dull down quite a bit. Not only that, but with his son born he felt more at home than he ever had.

This was, and always will be better than what you suffered. This was the life you and Technoblade deserved, after every tooth and nail fought for normality, this was rewarding. This was home.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Bedroom Blues | Luke Hemmings

A/N; I hope you like it, and that it’s angsty enough. I’m not too great at writing smut, but I took more time with this imagine, and I felt quite inspired with it. Feedback would be appreciated for any improvements, thankyou for the request and please enjoy (Sorry if the smut’s bad!)  - M x

Warnings; includes smut, angst, mentions and complications of miscarriage, cheating, mentions of drug use, drinking, swearing, choking, toxic relationship, spit

Uttering a single word was unsettling, there was an edge driven between you and Luke, a bump in the road that you feared that the pair of you were unable to cross. He had distanced himself, pouring his emotions into his music rather than expressing them to you.

It hurt, that he pushed you away, telling you to focus on yourself when all that you could mull your mind over was his state of self and all that you had lost. You needed him, it would never be a cure for the pain in your chest, but even so much as a word would have dimmed the heartbreak.

But he was ‘busy’ as he put it. He remained at the studio as you sat on the bottom of the cold bed, the sheets made and pillows perfectly shaped. No one had slept in it in days, you’d opt for the sofa and he anywhere far enough away.

Sometimes, he’d even crash at Cal’s, leaving you in the company of Petunia, who always tried to make you feel better, bless her little heart. But there was another suspicion arising in your welded brain.

It was not a puzzle to put the pieces together, the clues were straightforward. He was slowly losing himself, and by doing so, also you.

Whenever you had the chance to see him, there was a cheap stench of perfume that waded around him, giving you hints about his altered aura. The scent was new to you, nothing you owned smelt like chemicalised fuchsias and indigos.

It could only belong to another woman, the one who left red marks upon the collars of his white shirts that he ignored, allowing you to wash them when you extracted them from the laundry basket.

He sat at his desk, phone in hand as he spoke frustratedly to his manager. Feldy was unimpressed by the things that the musician that he bought with his money, it wasn’t legal and if it were to escape to the public’s eye, he’d be cancelled.

Drugs was not the only consumption that he tolerated to ease his childless suffering, he endeavoured out to puns, with new friends that the boys hadn’t even met.

They seemed sleazy, and were accountably not a good influence upon him. As you leant against the doorframe, you tentatively listened to Luke cuss at the man of his label, him oblivious to your presence.

“It doesn’t fucking matter, I have a reasonable excuse. My child died, before he was even born, I have to cope somehow! So before you let your criticisms slip through your barking lips, consider how you would feel if you were in my position!”

Luke gave the man no time to reply, he hung up, sliding his phone across the table, it hitting the stapler that was sat on the hardwood surface.

He was hurting, he was trying to tolerate the pain, but he was not going about it the right way. As he attempted to get through this tough time, he was hurting everyone that he claimed to love, including you.

“You can’t keep using our son’s passing as an excuse.” It was his answer to everything, the penance that he guarded himself with.

At the sound of your voice, he sighed, rubbing his face with his hand, sick and tired of it all. There was never a moment to waste, he had realised that. Life was about living, something that his child never got to experience. He was making up for the future that he didn’t reach.

“Don’t hassle me woman, you don’t understand.” It was as though he was oblivious to how you felt, focusing on yourself wouldn’t have made his words burn any less.

However painful the strike of the match was, it also made you angry. The way he had the audacity to speak to you like it, as though he were blaming its body for the error that it had gone through.

“Fuck you!” It leapt from your mouth far more aggressively than you intended, but you didn’t regret the exclamation. It was a blessing, that your voice box had the courage to speak the pickings of your mind. “I understand more than you could ever know, you think you’re in pain. Perhaps you should take some time to think, sit and remember the life that we were going to have. Because whilst your out partying, fucking other women and being blind to the fact that you’re pushing everyone that cares away, it makes me think that it’s a good job that our baby wasn’t brought into the world. You’re not exactly father material.”

Luke threw himself from his spinning chair, clasping his hands around (Y/N)’s neck, holding your furious body against the wall. He sneered at the sight of her, for the first time in two months, looking into her eyes. She had insulted him, he wasn’t in the right headspace for that.

“Take it back.” He sternly ordered her, squeezing tighter around her throat. Her silence infuriated him further, and so the tall blond man pried again, leaning in closer to her face. “Take it fucking back you - you... Please take it back (Y/N).”

He broke, but (Y/N) wasn’t ready to cave for him so easily, even as he kept a hold around her. Instead she pursed her lips, forming a ball of saliva in her mouth and spitting it straight in his face.

It landed upon his left eyebrow, wallowing further down as he frowned at her crudeness. Finally, he realised his girlfriend, stepping back, shaking his curls at the sight of her. She disgusted him, she had no right to treat him that way when he was in so much pain. You weren’t helping him cope, you were only making it harder.

“I can’t lie to you like that Luke.” Your voice was softer, however your cheeks hollowed at the crumbled sight of him. He had sunk to the ground, he was on his knees, his head hung low.

“I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I?” He didn’t need an answer, not when he was already too aware of his own mistakes. There was no redemption, no do overs. No way to revive his son.

Although he had hurt you in ways in which you’d never forgive him for, it drummed an ache in your chest to see Luke like this. The worst part was that through all of his fuck ups and downs, you still loved him.

He was all you had left, you had lost everything else. It made you think that it hadn’t been the right time, or right at all for you and Luke to have a child together. The creation and its demise had split the two of you apart, there was no coming back from that.

But you were both here, on the floor of his studio, and so you got on your knees before him, cupping his downturned face and turning it up to look at your own. He appreciated the warmth that your hands provided, he had missed them, as well as the rest of you that accompanied them.

“That’s one way to put it.” Licking your lips at the dryness that had masked them, Luke watched the action. It was ordinary, as did your relationship to the media. But that things that they did not know was that the string between the pair of you was torn, it was getting old and would soon fall through.

There was still a single spark left, he felt it surpass the contact he had with your skin. Instinctively he rotated his head in your palm, pressing his lips against the smooth skin, placing delicate, harmless kisses upon the skin.

It surprised you, however you allowed him to continue his path, that trailed up the expanse of your arm, across your shoulder, up the hollow of your neck, until he arrived at your lips. They were so familiar, yet he was so estranged from them.

The appearance of them upheld that of an old friend, they had changed, grown away from their friendship and moved on. This was a chance to reconnect, even if it be for only a moment, and so Luke greeted them with the pressing of his own lips, feeling the remainder of passion left.

He would always love you, you’d been the mother of his child, his rock. And thinking of that had you reciprocating the action, opening your mouth and inclining him a taste inside.

His hands ran down the silhouette of your body, feeling every curve and inch for what felt like the last time. And it probably would be, and so he intended to make the most of it, leave with a regretless finale.

Your hands attacked his hair, tugging at the roots, making the man before you groan at the contact. “Bedroom.” You mumbled against his bittersweet lips.

The pair of you stood, and the tall guitarist hoisted you into his arms, walking through the halls that the pair of you shared.

There were so many ghosts wandering the house, it was eerie, nostalgic. He’d remembered when the pair of you had first scoped out this place through an estate agent. It had felt like home, but now it had the aura of a blue sea; polluted and slowly emptying of all life.

He took careful steps up to stairs, as insurance that he wouldn’t drop your body from his amorous grasp, or that he wouldn’t slip somewhere he couldn’t see.

The two of you were already emotionally fragile, it didn’t need to transfer to its physical cousin. And so he proceeded his route, pushing the bedroom door open with his shoulder, not bothering to close it in his wake.

Lightly he tossed you onto the neat and unused bed, causing a crease to form in the material, but it didn’t matter. Not as he stripped himself of his white silk shirt that had an opening at his chest, tossing it onto the floor.

His stomach was heaving as he got caught in the moment, watching you expectedly as he tugged on the end of your own shirt. It had been a maternity shirt, one that you had bought in consideration for later in the course of your pregnancy. At last, it was getting some use, but Luke would have preferred if it received less of that.

Removing the article washed away any link that your body showed of a prior pregnancy, momentarily it discarded the memories of the change your body had been due; stretchmarks, swollen feet, a craving for the strangest of digestible combinations.

One reminder remained though. It was Luke, who crawled upon the king sized bed, sliding atop of you and trailing his fingertips down the lines of your bra straps, carefully sliding them down your arms, so that the covering merely stayed on by the back portion.

“Is this okay? I don’t want you to regret it.” He had his own, he know how it ate away at his soul, piece by piece. There was no worse feeling, he didn’t want you to experience the same.

A loose lipped smile came across your face, he was being considerate. It was more than he had been since the miscarriage, then he had resembled a shadow whenever he chose to return home. He was hardly visible, and if you saw him, nothing was uttered, it was just a bleak darkness underneath the sun’s scoping rays that explored through the open blinds.

“I’m okay with it.” With your consent in hand, Luke shuffled atop of you, grinding his half hardness against the cotton shorts that protected the disabled birthing centre that you had been the entrance to this entire ordeal.

Shivering at the feeling, you released a small moan, which further spurred on the man. “Fuck, I can’t wait any longer.” He sat upon his knees, digging them into the mattress as he made easy work of his belt, sliding it through the loops and throwing it aside.

Next were his trousers, and as he removed them and his undergarments, you quickly mirrored his actions, leaving both of you naked, aside from the comfortable bra that you were cooped in.

It didn’t matter if a part of you was shielded, Luke was ready to get down to business and make the most of this last night. But before he could position his tip at your slit, one of your hands softly pushed him back, although he remained hovering above your ample body.

“Condom.” You told him, you not wanting to risk another pregnancy. At the word, Luke’s eyes widened, as though it was flashing him back to the night that the pair of you had forwent using one. It had ended in a miracle, that over time, transformed into the worse curse imaginable to mankind.

Luke reached over to the bedside draw, extracting a single packet and delicately ripping it open, taking out the form of protection. He held it in his hand, rolling it upon himself from tip to base. And then all was ready for him to proceed.

Hooking one of your legs around his waist, he pushed into you, which emitted a gasp from both the involved. It felt almost foreign, like a one night stand. It had been a while since such a natural presentation of affection had dawned in this room, or anywhere in this house.

The angle gave him a deeper point to hit you at, and he took full advantage of that. His pace had began slow, but it increased as your hands traced undecipherable shapes upon his nude back, knowing that in this minute, everything went away.

All the pain was gone. The distance was nowhere to be found, it had been crushed by the closeness that your bodies now emitted. It was all replaced by pleasure, the exotic feeling flowed in flushed lines through your skins, and out of the sinful sounds that emitted from your mouths.

Biting lightly into his shoulder, it made the singer groan, it sounded almost musical. It brought you back to the days when he would sing lightly whilst making breakfast together in the mornings, that was in the old apartment, before you had risked such a great commitment into buying somewhere as a couple.

He didn’t fault in his languid strokes, they weren’t fast or slow; they were the perfect in between. However he was going deep, reaching far into your cunt, which was clenching over and over again around his impressive girth.

“Do that again baby.” The name made the pair of you freeze, staring solely into each other’s eyes as the train stopped on the tracks once more. “Shit, fuck, sorry.”

It pained him too, but there was no other thing that didn’t mean stopping other than pushing through the sensitive clause. And so you dragged his face to your own, allowing him to entangle your lips, clenching around him with your inner walls as he had asked.

“Oh god.” You moaned as he had rammed further inside of your core, he sped up at the sound of your approval. He was driving you closer to the edge, and so were the noises of your bodies battling against each other. The entire ordeal was euphoric, you couldn’t help but let go.

Luke noticed that you had came, and from realising that alone, followed shortly after your bust. And then it was the prompt, the realisation that this was the end, there’d be no more love, no more sex, only ghosts trailing through your brain.

The fact was depressing, but it was healthier for everyone involved, Perhaps one day, you’d return for each other, but first you and Luke would both have to heal from the scarring, separately.

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Hiiii! I saw you asked for fluffy requests!! I love your writing so i got excited hehe

I just went through a ROUGH breakup, could you write where Levi comforts one of his scouts (or members of his squad) who he likes after she gets dumped?

Thank you!!! Xoxo ❤️❤️❤️

Hey I hope you're feeling better I'm sorry you have to go through this but I'm here if you need anything sweet anon, this really made me write hurt/comfort once again, so I hope you like it.

Pairing: Levi/reader

Tags: eventual fluff, hurt/comfort, takes an unexpected turn that I hope you like

November Sunsets

Levi, ever since he could remember himself, was lonely, neglected by life and stripped of anyone he ever cared about. The cruel unfairness of life was something he was forced to accept from the moment he came out of the womb; whilst other children had a last name to claim themselves with he was just Levi, Kuchel's bastard son.

Thinking back, life was the most unfair for his mother as well. The way he would hear men would treat her, hidden underneath her bed, or sticking his head to her door while supposedly playing with other little bastard children. Children of his fate that he couldn't remember the face of. Did anyone remember his own face? Deemed ugly, unbelievably short, dirty and incapable of being bright, that's what life had set for him from his very first breath.

Everytime he had refused to accept his fate another tragedy would curve it's way on his body and soul, staining him with little reminders of how he should sit back and crawl his way through what was simple meant to be. Indescribable gory deaths had happened before his eyes, taking any blue hue he had noticed and liked away from them. Insufferable agonies in the form of nightmares haunted him during the night, his mind didn't want to let him rest.

His heart had to become cold and hard as stone, but the humane of his nature only managed to plaster this longing of his on his face. Perhaps being human was a punishment everyone endured, whether they were born noble, loved by everyone or in a brothel, with almost no one to want them in this world.

Only two years after he had set foot and is remaining days in the Survey Corps were never certain. He was aware that it was a given profanity at his agreement to join, and egoistically he would have chose this any other day over counting down days in the underground. In that rat hole, he was expected to fall ill and possibly dead at any given time in his late twenties.

He still looked like a phantom in the mirror. Whatever concluded his being was set and done unfairly, from the way his skin was as pale as snow and so sheer that made his purple veins show practically everywhere to his lacking height caused by malnutrition and lack of sunlight. Was it the veins around his lips or the ones under his eyes that perfectly blended with his sacked under eyebags? Was it that his nose was small if looked individually but looked elongated in the context of his face? Maybe it was that he was filled with scars.

Oh, and that he looked atrocious with those dark locks in combination with light eyes.

Despite never doubting his abilities, or letting insecurities get the better of him it was in moments like this that he felt broken.

By setting his clippers down on the sink, after making sure there was no single coarse hair on them, he slipped in his usual light gray button down shirt. He didn't bother to secure any strap of his gear on him yet; it was this early in the morning that no one was probably awake yet, only him and his throbbing head, so strapping himself with the gear could easily be avoided for the time being.

The flames flickered inside his cobblestone fireplace demanding to be fed with fresh logs in exchange for his warmth. His hands worked mechanically, throwing logs I the crevice delicately careful not to fill the room in ashes. With a maneuver stir the flames roared with rage, engulfing the wood almost too pleasantly to eye. He didn't hesitate to plouch down on the wooden floor, legs crossed and hands stretched towards the newfound warmth in an attempt to ease the lingering cold of his fingers.

Usually this was the time for the first tea of the day. Under any other occasion his brain would munch on him for the lack of the hot copper liquid in his stomach, but today was different. He contemplated on weather this mere fire could ever warm up anything other than tea but he refused to seek the therapeutic feeling of hot water entering his body. If he couldn't warm up on the outside why would he put any effort to do so in the inside.

The throbbing in his head ravaged the insides of his skull with striking rushes of pain at random places. When he went to rub on his forehead his ear would screech in ache, testing to see if his patience could handle such tag game.

Refusing to soothe any part of his aching body meant that he'd have to physically suffer throughout the upcoming day. Had he been any more grumpier he would be thinking about assigning everyone with another cleaning task, nontheless it didn't fit the nature of his mood. He felt like locking himself in his office to avoid as much human interaction as possible, he wasn't social to begin with so why shouldn't he be granted some days to recharge his ability to utter anything else than a grunt.

He sighed, head falling to face the floor as his eyes were framed by his ebony locks. He seemed to despise them, today more than ever. Was it because of you? It was a question that puzzled his mind for a couple of days, eating away any spare piece of logic he was ever left with. The only thing he knew, or supposed was that this feelings were probably meant to feel like that, at least for him.

Him, who shall never enjoy a simple pleasure of life such as experiencing the feeling of falling in love and having a lover to tend to his soul's wound. Of course he had to be dense enough to let such opportunity go as only a question arose days after day he'd spent with you. Did he deserve to be loved?

Yet those days with you, those days that he cut absurdly were fidgeting with his mind in the worst way possible, trying to torment him over the memory of your face.

It had started off as a simple admiration of your combat skills. The intimidating brushes oh your skin on his everytime he chose to spare with you out of all member in his squad, the sweat that dripped off of your forehead as your eyes gleamed with the enthusiastic power gathered in your fists.

Then, it was the way your hair flipped off of your shoulder when you would wrap your camel colored jacket on your form under the lingering tingerine lights of the sun setting behind the walls. The way it bounced on your back as you gripped the reins of your horse, leaving small encouraging sounds of victory as it seceeded its training tasks. He had taken notice of how well kept your hair was, always fresh and squeaky clean as it framed your face loosely.

Levi was smitten, wrap around your little finger in the blink of an eye, his nights agonising, his days filled with you mellowy blendind in any scenery and he couldn't get you out of his head. Your affections towards him were meticulously counted at first but he had sat back down and watched as you let yourself go around him, sparring smiles and watery glances to him during meals.

Before he knew it he had found himself longing to be in your arms every single moment of the day, much like a lovestruck teenager. As much as it seemed embarrassing for a man his age to swoon and melt like a candle at the sight of such youthful and sweet woman, he couldn't help it. His loner's manners had started to abandon him in your presence, the persuasion of your soft eyes had him giving in. The sweet touches of your hand on his cheek, allowing his head to rest on your palm as he talked about the enormous work Erwin had assigned him with, curved in his head forever, replaying every time he seeked some form of comfort.

Had it not been for Mike and Hange entering his office unexpectedly that one day he had forgotten to lock, he wouldn't have been forced to leave it all behind to avoid spoiling both his and yours reputation. It haunted him; they way he longed for you as his heart clung into his chest like a prisoner, but his words to you as you cried your eyes out that sunset kept reminding him he was not deserving of anything.

When news spread like a plague in the higher ranks everyone had turned on him and seldomly to you, whispering heart rotting comments. Among them that you were no good for eachother be it due to appearances or the context of your backgrounds. Levi knew the oxymoron of those dynamics, yet why did anyone have to point them out, to make him feel smaller than he was whether it was for teasing or not, he couldn't phantom.

Not only life was unfair to him, he had to strip his own self of the only thing he had a positive effect in his life just to go back to being a what the Scouting Region wanted him to be. Humanity's Strongest. The man with no weaknesses who slaughtered the gigantic beasts with skill and determination. His heart was supposed to belong to humanity, not you, not anyone else.

It hurt. To watch you give out your beautiful giggles to someone else through his office window ached him restlessly. The imagery of your sweet affectionate movements was right before his eyes, directed to someone else this time, during those beautiful November sunsets felt like gunshots aimed anywhere in his vital organs.

You had fallen for someone else, those were the news going around the squad lately. Petra bubbled enthusiastically about Gunther's encounters with you in the small alleyways of Trost on your day offs. Eld would scold you for dressing up appropriately for your dates and Oluo would miserably immitate him, giving you playful comments about reeking shit while biting his tongue. As Petra had informed him, his affiliations with you unbeknownst to her or any other cadet in the picture, Gunther was treating you perfectly, almost too good to be true. Something that made his heart fall into pits of darkness, all masked safely by his humane flesh and skeleton combines.

Would anyone ever treat you like he did? With such serenity? He knew, despite how short lived your fling had ever been, there would never be anyone like him in your life. And for that he had to be the one to punish himself. His fate would be pleased if he turned on himself wouldn't it?

Upon hearing the knock on his door, his mouth automatically spat the familiar inquiry on the knocker's intentions. It felt deaf to his ears; his mind was working on its own while he forced it to torment him with more what ifs. As his fingers brushed brushed underneath his nostril to scratch away any awkwardness that had gathered in the spot with a buzzing feeling.

"It's cadet (L/n) sir" he heard you yelp as you paused, unsure of what to say next. "Personal business if you don't mind!"

When you entered at his command, his eyes didn't dare to spend a second fixated on your bouncing locks. Instead they blinked into your (e/c) ones, staring at the melancholic expression that was plastered on them. Lower on your face, your lip trembled, teeth biting hard not to allow it to show but your efforts had already fell into vain as he quickly noticed it.

He hadn't realised you weren't sitting on the chair before his desk until he got up from his position on the ground, eyes immediately noticing you in his usual spot. You were curled up in a ball with your knees fitted to your eye sockets, silently suppressing what seemed to be the start of a brawling session as he sat there and watched, not daring to touch your back with his hand.

What had happened so early in the morning that had sent you in his office? The two of you weren't much on talking terms nowadays, a restriction he had forced on you from the day that he ended your shared endearments. As potential scenarios chewed on his thoughts your whimpers only grew louder and harsher.

"Don't you dare ask why I'm crying!" You spoke, small hiccups leaving the back of your throat as each time it roared with another wave of sorrow.

"It could be helpful to know."

His steel eyes never met yours as he spoke with his typical steady voice, although this time he had tried to take any nasal sound away from it.

"You're the reason I can't have anything work for me. Gunther said so himself." Another crashing wave of sobs overcame you and he watched frozen, unable to do anything just yet. Confirmation on your status had to be spoken, he wouldn't love to be touchy with another man's woman even if ever cell in his body ached for her.

"You're achingly beautiful, my heart will forever be yours and you knew it. Gunther' isn't fit to be a replacement for you. You get to be the one who comforts me for this breakup, for our breakup up, I can't talk about that shit with anyone else. You're all I ever had and you left me to pretend to be that weapom they want you to be." He had expected you to winch, to flinch or have any negative reaction to his touch on the back of your head, he had prepared himself for it, he had planned the words he'd say but such a reaction never came. You only have in to his lingering touch, hand reaching out for his in an attempt to pull him close.

He didn't feel the pain of his knees hitting the wooden floor as he coarsed you to his neck in full might, he ignored the heart that beat fast at the sound of you admitting you weren't over him, he chewed back at the thoughts that mocked you for calling him achingly beautiful.

The fidgeting of your fingers on the button of his shirt served as an action of your nervousness but all he could care about was that he could feel your heart beating at the right side of his chest almost in synch with his.

"I'm here." He soothed, one hand running through your soft locks as the other one pressed you to his chest. "I'm sorry" he admitted. Whether it was too late was up to your heart's desire to decide.

"You better be." You sniffled the goo that threatened to fall on his shirt.

"You should know by now. I can't bear to watch you thrive with anyone. Tch, I'm a smug runt myself for that."

He fell in silence as you tried to give into his caring comfort. It all felt too familiar, too rushed and too bitterweet to be real. He blinked at the thought and slightly bit his tongue to confirm he wasn't sleeping.

"I thought we belonged together, I thought... I thought I found something in you that was mine."

As your eyes brawled with hit tears once again your fists came to clench onto his shirt. There were distinguishable pauses in your crying; rashes of unspoken pain inside your chest that burned you to think about. It was all too familiar of a feeling to him and it only ever made him press you impossibly closer to his form.

"If it helps, I did so too."

It's only when your face lifts up for your wide eyes to look into his that he realises how much you've cried. Despite the practical darkness of the room your eyes are obviously bloodshot, painted with agony as they burn holes onto his skin, making him shut his in defense of his soul.

"I miss you so much and I can't sleep at night. I can't look at anyone and pretend they are you, they all see through this. I still love you and it hurts. I don't want it to hurt, Levi." Your confessions striked that particular nerve in him that made him numb, frozen on the spot, dumfounded over your words. Had he knew he'd be the reason that love pains you he would have never lead you on, he would have never looked at you with small looks of adoration as you ride your horse's together and most importantly he would have never let his filthy lips touch your angelic ones.

But he didn't find it in him to regret any of his actions.

Not now, not when his lips were begging him to be interlocked with the only pair then had declaired a match.

"I know I came here all of a sudden but it's been nights I haven't slept and I can't do this anymore. J-just hold me and once the sun is out I won't bother you anymore." Even if you tried to speak that nonsense with him you should have known better that it wouldn't work. He could already see the faint purples in the horizon, glazing over the glass of his windows as they lightened by every passing moment.

He knew why you were in his arms, he knew that pushing you away was never an option either. Thus, his hands came to rest under your face your face to tenderly direct it to his. His mouth opened but the words that he spoke took hours, years, eons to come out.

"What if I told you that I still love you, what would you say? Would you press your lips on mine and want to start over?" He inquired as he swallowed the hard lamp that had gathered in his Adams apple. "Would you speak your words in actions?"

The first light of the sky protruded behind the mountains, spreading a yellow light evenly around the sky. As you nodded and tugged your head close enough that your nose touched, your lips faintly brushed against each other's and his heart sped in unimaginable paces.

In the moment he wasn't a doomed underground ugly thug, his nose wasn't misplaced on the context of his head. He wasn't just Kuchel's bastard son that everyone wanted dead. He was that part that you had claimed as yours.

Small victories against his fate didn't always leave him hollow with unbearable loss after all.

My requests are always open, if you want to drop anything I'd be more than happy to write what you want ❤️

[tg-headcanons]

Drop those shuunaki babies hcs please!

ABSOLUTELY ! Okay I have way more of these than I thought I just love these stupid dudes and their stupid kids

After those two extremely weird dudes got married, had a long honeymoon, and settled for awhile, they’d look into getting kids. Both never had any doubts that they wanted them, Naki likes kids and totally lit up when he realized he could have his own, and Shuu had always wanted to start a family since he was 9.

Their original plan was to get a surrogate. They’ve got the money and Shuu had assumed he’d have bio kids, but when Mirumo heard from Kanae that his son was planning on giving him grandchildren, he asked him to come in and talk to him alone. Shuu went in, excited to plan for having kids, and his dad immediately grabbed him by the shoulders and said something along the line of “I’m so proud of you for starting your journey as a father but I am literally begging you not to have bio kids. You’re the first gay in the family you have the option to adopt or use your husband as a donor and should.” Obviously Shuu is confused, he thought his father would want a grandson that had their blood, but was convinced by “you know how you’re a hemophiliac? Garbage genes. Rc absorption problems? Garbage genes. DO YOU REMEMBER YOUR BACK BRACE? DO YOU WANT YOUR CHILD TO HAVE THE BACK BRACE? IT WILL!” Shuu is many things, but he is not a man who would subject another person to his bullshit Alabama genes if it means they’ll have to suffer through going to middle school in a back brace like he did. He was nervous to tell Naki about the change in plans after they’d already made them, but he was totally indifferent. Okay we doing store bought instead of homemade? Cool let’s get a blond one! Doesn’t care at all he just wants child

They send Kanae out to find some ghoul kids. It used to be easy, ghoul children used to be orphaned all the time, but since decriminalization they’ve all been cared for. Kanae tells them that they can literally just go to an adoption agency and ask for ghoul kids.

Obviously this gay couple made up of a flamboyant rich twink and an illiterate bastard who ate something out of the trash but had perfect eyeliner, both of whom ate people, were ushered immediately away from the human kids. Luckily they’re rich enough to not get dropped from the adopter list so, as rude as biased foster parents are, they still get to meet with the ghoul kids. While Shuu is looking around, realizing that he has no idea how to choose a child to be his own, Naki had already clicked with one. There’s a mute kid with two siblings who’s been there awhile, and Naki so happens to have two best friends who taught him some simple sign. After watching his husband chatting with this kid who looks tentatively hopeful about having someone who can communicate well with him, he knows it’s not even a question

They adopt the three kids. Satoshi, the mute boy, is the oldest at 9. Fudo, the middle boy, is 6. Hoshi, the only girl, is 3. They lost their parents shortly after the youngest was born and had been bounced around foster homes ill equipped for ghouls for awhile, so suddenly having two loving parents, a team of servants ready to help them, and a massive estate, is more than any of them expected

Satoshi immediately latched onto Shuu. The kid loves art and music and his flamboyant ass father couldn’t be more excited to take him to museums and concerts. Now all the upscale events he goes to he takes Satoshi, and it’s common gossip that Tsukiyama has a tiny, silent, blond clone of himself with him at all times. Seriously that kid took right to being a noble’s son, he’s got a tiny suit and everything

Naki has a talent for getting along with kids, he’s always been protective of kids and now that he has his own he’s never away from them. He’s never let Fudo out of his sight for long and barely puts Hoshi down. A lot of the time he’s got all three kids climbing on him and he’s never been happier

Since the Lets Not Eat People vaccine, ghouls have had trouble getting used to human food, especially kids who are picky enough on their own. Shuu always had the most gourmet dishes because he only allows the best for his kids, but they didn’t really like any of it. Shuu was ranting to Chie about how he’s worried about his children not eating, and she suggested that kids don’t want gourmet shit, they just was Dino nuggets or something. He refuses to believe her, but one day she shows up with some microwaved chicken fingers and the kids DEMOLISH it. Shuu finally relents and feeds his kids “middle class garbage” as he puts it. At least Satoshi likes lobster, the only loyal bastard in this house.

Speaking of Chie, she and Kanae make an amazing aunt and uncle. While Kanae is more of a Child Wrangler, Chie is a Child Enabler who gives them candy and firecrackers to scare the shit out of Shuu. They look forward to her visits every time

Fudo is hyperactive, even for a ghoul kid. They give him coffee, which for ghouls helps calm them since it’s how most of them deal with their own hyperactivity, but it doesn’t do much. This kid just needs to move and luckily he’s on an estate where he can do that. He and Naki go sprinting and chasing through the gardens, often with Hoshi or Satoshi on his shoulders, and zoom until he’s exhausted

Having dealt with ghoul persecution, parental death, and being a mute kid in ill equipped foster care, Satoshi understandably has some issues. He hides food in his room and tries to take care of illnesses or messes himself since he’s not used to having guardians quick to help him. Luckily his dads step right in to help him, they’ve gotten him (and his brother for good measure) a therapist and do whatever they can to help him feel at home. He hides food in his room? Okay let’s get a mini fridge so ants don’t get to it. Afraid they’ll be mad when he gets sick or makes a mess? That’s okay they’ll ask him all the time how he’s feeling and if there’s anything they can help him with. The kid’s been doing way better since getting there

Naki is always dragging everyone into family cuddles. He never got physical affection as a kid and is making Damn sure his kids do

Getting them to school was a priority. By the time they adopted ghouls have been decriminalized for a few years and schools are open to them, so they don’t have to go through the same thing Mirumo did for Shuu of setting up a network of ghoul teachers to protect him. They send them to the best elementary school they could find with ironclad IEPs and the only hard part was getting Naki to stop staking out the school. The kids are fine, go home

Mirumo is an awesome grandpa, he’s always visiting the kids. He’s also a very weird man and always telling wild stories

The white suits join in on taking care of these kids, if they’re Boss Naki’s children that means they’re all uncles now

Both Shuu and Naki freaked out when Satoshi started forming his first kagune. Shuu still shudders at the memory of the terrifying and painful ordeal of his and Naki’s wasn’t much better. They assume his will be just as difficult and scary, but it only takes a minute for him to form his, a lovely rose colored ukaku. Turns out the dads just had particularly bad experiences and their kid is fine, but was still immediately rushed into celebratory cuddles

The older these kids get, the more they understand how weird their family is but don’t dislike any of it. Sure Dad can’t read, sure Papa is embarrassingly dramatic in front of their friends, but they couldn’t ask for a better family

[havenoffandoms]

Closure

Vesemir knows that there comes a time in every newly turned witcher's life where he yearns for what was before Kaer Morhen. Vesemir knows, because he was once a young wolf himself yearning for a home, yearning to go back to his roots. It was both the bravest and stupidest thing he ever did.

He knew that his young pups wouldn't be any different.

True, Vesemir shouldn't have had favourites. Rennes often gave him into trouble for it, but Vesemir couldn't help himself. And somehow, he always had a soft spot for the troublemakers. Geralt and Eskel had been his cubs from the start. He always had a hard time not laughing every time the duo was dragged into Rennes study to be punished for their pranks. Tormenting an innocent bee by attaching a jug to it had been cruel and unnecessary, which is why Vesemir had taken over that punishment, but otherwise the pups' pranks were harmless. Filling new recruits' boots with honey, catching live rats and hiding them in beds, pouring oil over the hilts of the training swords so they would slip out of the trainees' hands... But Vesemir always kept a stern face when the boys were brought to him and Rennes.

Why is it that whenever something happens it's always you two?

Lambert was also a menace, but not in the same way as Eskel and Geralt were. Lambert was a broken child from a broken home who had seen far too many horrors for someone so young. He refused to adhere to any male authority.

Barring Vesemir, nobody could get the boy to behave.

No amount of discipline, physical or otherwise, nobody could break Lambert. Everyone admitted the fact that he would forever remain a little shit. One day, Vesemir decided to talk to the pup to understand where the hostility came from. Lambert told Vesemir about his abusive father and everything clicked into place. Lambert was a little shit because he didn't respond to threats anymore.

Vesemir was the only one to realise that Lambert did best when praised. The boy positively craved approval. And when Vesemir gave that to him, the pup did as he was told. Mostly...

Vesemir was not surprised when his three pups all followed in his footsteps and returned to the place they came from, despite the advice of their elders not to do so. Vesemir never discouraged them. He understood his pups' need for closure. It was not until years later, when all that was left from the school of the wolf were Geralt, Eskel, Lambert and Vesemir, that his pups filled him in (after ingesting copious amounts of alcohol).

"I went back to good old dad. I confronted him. He didn't recognise me," Lambert's eyes stared blankly at the table in front, "I could tell the tables had turned. I decided to use the fact that he had no idea who I was to my advantage. He begged for the mean witcher who had broken into his home to spare his life like the gutless coward he was. I asked him 'do you live alone? A wife, children?' He said his son was taken away from him, and his wife died of a broken heart after that. A shameless lie. 'Why did you do it, father? Why did you beat ma and me to a pulp every day, every night?' That's when he realised who I was. He dropped to his knees and begged for my forgiveness. Begged... But all the begging wouldn't undo what he did. 'You killed her, didn't you?' I asked. 'Please son, it was an accident. I took it too far, I didn't mean to kill her. Please son, have mercy.'"

"What did you do?" Eskel asked with genuine curiosity. Lambert looked up at his brother, a humourless grin gracing his lips.

"The bastard killed my mother. What do you suppose I did? I avenged her. I told my old man that I wasn't his son, I never was his son, and then I ran my blade through his heart."

The silence that ensued was broken by none other than Geralt.

"When I was looking for Ciri, I got badly wounded. A peasant found me, helped me. I was delirious with fever. That's when I... I saw her. Visenna. I'm still not sure if it was all a vivid dream or her magic. I knew she was a sorceress after all. It wasn't impossible that she was actually there. I knew it was her because I recognised her red hair and her green eyes. The only things I remembered of her."

Vesemir stayed silent, listening to his pups opening up to him. Making eye contact with Geralt would scare him away. So Vesemir kept his eyes on the glass of moonshine in his hand.

"All I wanted were answers. Honest answers. I wanted to know if she knew what happened to the boys who were chosen to become witchers. I wanted her to look at me when I told her that 8 out of 10 boys died during the Trials. I wanted her to tell me that she didn't know this before leaving me at Vesemir's doorstep."

"And did she know?" Lambert asked, voice unusually soft.

"I don't know. I woke up before I could get an answer."

Vesemir did not say a word. Not yet. He waited patiently, knowing that Eskel, dear empathic Eskel, would soon fill the silence with his own tale.

"I too went back to the village I was born in. In the hills near Toussaint. I didn't intend to at first, but a contract near Beauregard lead me down that road. It was several years after Deirdre. After... This," Eskel waved vaguely at his scarred face. "I didn't expect anyone from my family to be alive, much less to recognise me. But hill folk are sturdy folk. Some 60 later, I didn't expect my mother to still be alive. She had me young, too young. Barely 15 summers she had seen before she bore me. I was six when Rennes took me away."

"Your mother was 81 when you saw her next?" Geralt asked, his voice strangely strained, almost as if he felt for the poor woman going 60 years without seeing her first born son. Vesemir supposed that taking on his child surprise had given Geralt a new perspective on these matters.

"Yeah. And... Against all expectations, she recognised me. This frail dying woman, suffering from a terrible pneumonia at the time, recognised me the minute I stepped into her home. The same house I remember. She looked at me and her face instantly lit up. 'Eskel, my son. I knew you would come back'. The healer told me that every time someone came to visit she would utter the name Eskel first, but always be disappointed to find someone else. But this time, it was me."

Eskel paused, the memory clearly painful. Contrary to Geralt, Vesemir knew that eye contact would give Eskel the courage to finish his tale.

"Her hand came to rest on my cheek and she asked me how I got that scar. I told her I didn't want to tell the story, for it was a shameful one and she would be disappointed in her son. She said 'Eskel, no matter what you did, I am proud of the man you've become.' I didn't believe her, didn't want to believe her. And yet, she sounded so genuine. She died later that day, the tune she used to sing to me as a child on her lips. De old hen she cackled, she cackled... Until she cackled no more."

Eskel fell silent, the air around him heavy with emotion. Lambert, who was sat next to him, patted him on the shoulder in a display of male companionability. Eskel did not react but he did not pull away either. Vesemir chose this moment to speak up.

"Lambert, your father was a despicable man. When Rennes claimed you by the law of surprise, he tried to convince your mother to leave too. She wouldn't. She thought that losing a son would kill your father, nevermind losing his wife. Rennes tried to reason with her, but she was already too far manipulated by your father. She refused to leave, but hoped that you would get a better chance at life if Rennes took you away. Your father got what he deserved."

"Geralt, your mother was a sorceress. I would be lying if I said that she didn't understand the process of the Trials. However, it took me seven years to track her down. I claimed you by the law of Surprise when you were not even in her womb yet. For seven years she ran, protected you, refused to let you become one of us. Until destiny caught up with her in the form of Rennes, who threatened far worse would befall her son if Visenna refused to give you up. Two weeks later, you were at our doorstep because she would rather take that chance than have her son murdered before her eyes."

"Eskel, I don't think I ever saw a woman so enamoured with her child as your mother was with you. It wasn't her choice to give you away. In fact, it all happened one afternoon when she had gone to the market. It was the village chieftain who handed you over as a price for killing two griffins that were killing the cattle. I have to say that I was unaware of this until one year when I was travelling the Path myself and returned to that same village, only to have the chieftain recognise me and offer me food and shelter. Your mother instantly knew who I was. She screamed at me with the fury and despair of a woman who had lost everything. By then, you had already survived the trials. That knowledge was only a small comfort to an otherwise broken woman."

"I have done many things in my life, pups. I'm not proud of many of those things. I do hope you will find it in yourselves to forgive me."

And of course they forgave him, although Vesemir didn't deserve their forgiveness. But he had raised his pups well. He hoped that their mothers agreed.

[little-chattes]

Ok so I’ve done a complete re-read through and one thing that kept nagging at me was how little Gideon and Harrow’s relationship makes sense given its quite frankly abusive origins. Harrow spends her whole life making Gideon’s a living hell and Gideon just… forgives her. Total and complete forgiveness for an irredeemable girl.

At first I took the sudden shift in their relationship as lazy writing to rush along the end of the story, but that didn't make any sense either. Muir strikes me as an intensely purposeful writer. Then I remembered that Muir is also an intensely Catholic writer and it hit me. Muir isn’t writing a story about a healthy human relationship, oh no, she’s writing a story about Christ’s relationship with The Church… if Christ was a sword toting butch lesbian and The Church was a sardonic bone witch. Call it tender blasphemy. 

Now Gideon’s role as a Christ figure is fairly easy to parse out given that her dad is… God. But for the sake of self indulgence (I have to put my 15 year long flirtation with Christianity to use somehow) I’m going to go through all the parallels anyway. There are a LOT of them.

Let’s start at the very beginning (a very good place to start).

Miraculous Conception

Luke 1:34-38

34 But Mary said to the angel, “How will this be, since I [e]am a virgin?” 35 The angel answered and said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; for that reason also the [f]holy Child will be called the Son of God. 

Gideon is conceived by artificial means when one of God’s own servants (Mercy) delivers a sample of John’s genetic material to Wake, a ‘normal’ human woman who chooses to carry Gideon in her womb. Notably, the sample lives far beyond its point of expected viability, thus making the conception somewhat miraculous (“Only the sample was still active, no idea how considering it was twelve weeks after the fact” HTN 441). 

The Cuckold

Matthew 1:18-25

18 Now the birth of Jesus the [a]Messiah was as follows: when His mother Mary had been [b]betrothed to Joseph, before they came together she was found to be pregnant by the Holy Spirit. 19 And her husband Joseph, since he was a righteous man and did not want to disgrace her, planned to [c]send her away secretly. 

Gideon the First decides not to kill his lover, Wake, and releases her out the airlock (AND HE TOOK PITY ON ME! HE TOOK PITY ON ME! HE SAW ME AND HE TOOK PITY ON ME” from Harrow’s vision of Wake’s note, HTN 124) just as Joseph took pity on Mary, his betrothed, by deciding to divorce her quietly instead of making her infidelity public which would condemn her to death by public stoning (Deuteronomy 22:21). Gideon the First knew that Wake was pregnant and didn’t tell John because he thought the baby was his. Similarly, Joseph goes on to raise Jesus as his own son.

The Birth

Luke 2:7

And she gave birth to her firstborn son; and she wrapped Him in cloths, and laid Him in a [f]manger, because there was no [g]room for them in the inn.

 Neither baby Jesus nor baby Gideon were given a proper cradle, one being laid to rest in a manger where the animals ate and the other stuffed in a transplant bio-container (GTN 23). 

The Dead Children

16 When Herod realized that he had been outwitted by the Magi, he was furious, and he gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under, in accordance with the time he had learned from the Magi.

King Herod intends to kill the prophesied King of the Jews and instead of finding the specific baby, he just has a bunch of them slaughtered. However, Jesus escapes the slaughter of the innocents by Herod when his parents secret him away to Egypt.

 When the great aunts gas the nursery and kill the 200, Gideon is meant to die along with them but escapes her fate.

Now this event has a completely different biblical connotation for Harrow. 

Firstly, the murder of the 200 children represents Original Sin. In the bible, Adam and Eve disobeyed God in the Garden of Eden, and as their descendants, all of humankind is doomed to also bear the weight of that sin from the moment we are born until the day we die. This is a fact that is drilled into Christians as soon as we’re able to understand it, we are born wretched and unworthy sinners, and there’s nothing we can do ourselves to fix that. 

“I have tried to dismantle you, Gideon Nav! The Ninth House poisoned you, we trod you underfoot—I took you to this killing field as my slave—you refuse to die, and you pity me! Strike me down. You’ve won. I’ve lived my whole wretched life at your mercy, yours alone, and God knows I deserve to die at your hand. You are my only friend. I am undone without you.”

Harrow is a multitude, she is 200 children, the entire future of her house. Shes not just one human being,, she’s the whole damn church.

Naz/Nav

he went and lived in a town called Nazareth. So was fulfilled what was said through the prophets, that he would be called a Nazarene.

Although Gideon is not from the Ninth, she is given the Ninth name Nav when she arrives as a baby. Similarly, Jesus is known as Jesus of Nazareth, though that is not where he was born.

The Poor Bondservant

Jesus' role as a servant is emphasized many times in the bible. He was a carpenter's son born in a stable 

Philippians 2:5-8

Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus, who, being in the form of God, did not consider it robbery to be equal with God, but made Himself of no reputation, taking the form of a bondservant, and coming in the likeness of men. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross.

 Gideon is described as being made “a very small bondswoman” (GTN 24)

The Sword

Matthew 10:34

Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.

The Wretched Sinner

Harrow is wretched, self loathing, and cruel. 

She is in thrall of the enemy of god, a figure who was once gods most favoured warrior, cast into hell.

She is like the depiction of the sinner who loves the devil

It's important to note that Harrow isn’t a single person, she is a multitude, the entire future of her people condensed into one body. 

The Enemy of God

20 Then I saw an angel coming down from heaven, nholding in his hand the key to othe bottomless pit1 and a great chain. 2 And he seized pthe dragon, that ancient serpent, who is the devil and Satan, and qbound him for a thousand years, 3 and threw him into othe pit, and shut it and rsealed it over him, so that she might not deceive the nations any longer, until the thousand years were ended. After that he must be released for a little while.

Before the fall, Satan was described as a “guardian cherub” who resided in the garden with God (Ezekiel 28:14) 

(a funny aside, in the bible the devil is known as the great deceiver but in HTN Muir specifies that Alecto is incapable of lying)

A Life of Abuse 

Isaiah 53:3

"He was despised and rejected by mankind,

    a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.

Like one from whom people hide their faces

    he was despised, and we held him in low esteem”

They got up, drove him out of the town, and took him to the brow of the hill on which the town was built, in order to throw him off the cliff" (Luke 4:28–29).

Gideon lives a life of mockery and is abused by Harrow.

An Unlikely Savior

Despite the fact that Gideon does not fit the expected image of a Cavalier, Harrow chooses Gideon to be her sword and protector.

Despite the many openings Gideon has to make Harrow pay for the pain she caused her, she remains loyal to her

Trust

Harrow realizes that she cannot face the lyctor trials without Gideon, and places her trust in her

Christians are told they must place their trust in jesus in order to reach salvation

Purifying Water

Acts 2:38

Peter replied, "Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.

Harrow confesses her sins to Gideon and puts herself at her mercy

Gideon forgives Harrow totally and completely, she baptises her

One Flesh

Mark 10:8

and the two shall become one flesh; so they are no longer two, but one flesh.

“The imagery and symbolism of marriage is applied to Christ and the body of believers known as the church. The church is comprised of those who have trusted in Jesus Christ as their personal Savior and have received eternal life. Christ, the Bridegroom, has sacrificially and lovingly chosen the church to be His bride” (x)

Ephesians 5:25-26

25 gHusbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and hgave himself up for her, 26 that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by ithe washing of water jwith the word,

They take the vow of necro and cav, one flesh one end

Gideon’s forgiveness of Harrow is reaffirmed

Harrow risks her life to stay and fight with Gideon, even if it means her death and thus the destruction of her death. Her love for Gideon is now greater than her love for the Body.

The Sacrifice

John 19:34

Instead, one of the soldiers pierced Jesus’ side with a spear, bringing a sudden flow of blood and water.

They will look on the one they have pierced'" (John 19:36–37).

Gideon chooses to die for Harrow, death by piercing

and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.” In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.” For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.

In order to complete the lyctor process, Harrow both physically and spiritually consumes Gideon

Because of Gideon’s sacrifice, Harrow attains eternal life at the right hand of god

The Tomb

The Resurrection

1On the first day of the week, very early in the morning, the women came to the tomb, bringing the spices they had prepared. 2 They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, 3but when they entered, they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus

Harrow turns her body into a tomb for Gideon, a tomb fashioned after that on the Ninth

Resurrection on the Third Day

Thus it is written, and thus it was necessary for the Christ to suffer and to rise from the dead the third day, and that repentance and remission of sins should be preached in His name to all nations, beginning at Jerusalem. Luke 24:46-47 

“So many months had passed: and yet, at the same time, she had only lost Gideon Nav three days ago. It was the morning of the third day in a universe without her cavalier: it was the morning of the third day—and all the back of her brain could say, in exquisite agonies of amazement, was: She is dead. I will never see her again.” (HTN 374)

Just in case you missed this important piece of information, Muir repeats it three times.

Go, and tell them, then, that he that was dead is alive, and lives for evermore, and has the keys of death and the grave,"

[zenalios]

Untamed Seas; 4 - Enalios, β

Index (R18+)

Summary

Amphitrite, sea goddess, and daughter of Nereus, is less than willing to marry an Olympian, let alone Poseidon, the very god who overthrew her father. She does so nevertheless, in a desperate move to protect her sisters following Nereus’ absence.

The marriage is beneficial to them both: Poseidon gains legitimacy through a union with her, effectively solidifying his control over the seas, and Amphitrite guarantees her sisters' safety, along with all prestige due her status as queen.

The catch? She finds his domineering personality utterly insufferable, and he, the most fearsome god, resents being stuffed into an unwelcome marriage.

They have all eternity to make it work.

TW // Abuse - Verbal and Physical ; Abusive Relationship ; Forced Marriage

A sharp slap echoed through the kitchen.

“What were you thinking?!”

The Nereid held a hand to her smarting cheek as her mother continued to lecture her. Escaping Zeus had seemed like a great idea until her sisters had returned in hysterics, crying about how the new king of the gods took Erato away before everyone’s eyes. Amphitrite could not bring herself to look at them now since it actually was her fault for walking right into Zeus’s trap. But she hadn’t told them exactly why she had run from the Olympian. 

She had only confessed to offending Zeus, and to being the reason Erato was missing —at which Doris grew even more agitated since she had been led to understand that Zeus would not attend.  

“His attendance may have been pure coincidence altogether, how you even managed to offend him is beyond me,” Doris ranted at her and to her family and nobody else in particular, throwing up her hands as she spoke. “Gaia above, Nereus, just look at the sort of degenerate your daughter has become!” 

A tongue clicked at that.

“Doris,” Tethys, their grandmother, chided. “I’m sure there must be some reason behind it.” 

The titaness turned to Amphitrite, her algae veil gently floating along in the sea nymph’s direction. “Isn’t there, Phi?”

Amphitrite bowed her head to stare at the smooth pebbles lining the floor under her feet, “I—” 

She truly did not know what to say. Perhaps if it had been her grandmother alone who had asked, she might have told her the truth already: that Zeus asked her to marry Poseidon, her response being to run away. Her vision blurred. It was no use, her mother would not listen anyways. 

As if evidencing that fact, a sharp pain suddenly pulled at the back of her skull. Amphitrite yelped, clawing at the hands that had once nurtured her, this time begging for nothing but reprieve. “Give me back my daughter!” Doris seethed.

“Enough!” Tethys roared, rising to her feet, the force of her voice causing Doris to let go. Amphitrite landed on her hands and knees. At once, she scrambled out of her mother’s reach. 

Tethys snapped, “She is your daughter too.”

The Oceanid scoffed, “She’s not. She’s his daughter, not mine.” 

Amphitrite pressed the edge of her palm to her scalp in an attempt to ease the throbbing. Her first time hearing those words had been painful; after that she had simply learnt to accept the fact that her mother coped with grief through denial and anger, all of which she took out on her eldest daughter. It was futile to argue with Doris, anyways —there was no point trying to convince a lunatic who didn’t want to believe who was and who wasn’t her child.

At that moment, someone burst into the cave.

It was one of Tethys’s sons, Amnisos, who lived on Crete where Mt. Zas had been. “Yes, brother?” Doris snapped at the river god, ignoring the stare her own mother gave her. “Have you come to bring more ill-tidings to us now?” 

Amnisos was bent over at the hips, gasping for breath. 

“No,” He wheezed, “No, I brought Zeus himself.”

At once a mass of grey hair arose from its place in the corner. The progenitor of all rivers had been sitting quietly, listening and watching all as he always did. “Zeus has come for an apology?”

“I’m not sure.” Amnisos straightened himself. “But he did ask to speak with her before he returns Erato.”

Doris practically jumped for joy upon hearing the name. Now Amphitrite found herself being yanked from her place on the floor, and towards the entrance, the older nymph’s nails biting into her arm. 

“Then go already, you wretched thing!” Doris cried, throwing Amphitrite forward into her uncle’s arms, who then steadied her. 

Amphitrite nodded gratefully at him. As if I am not also your daughter, Amphitrite thought bitterly. Then again, it would be hypocritical to say that only Doris favoured Erato above all —so did Amphitrite herself, though she doubted Doris would ever let her near the child again.

“Amphitrite.” Her uncle nudged his head at the entrance he had come from. Amphitrite swallowed visibly. “Alright.”

Zeus was seated in a nearby glade she and her sisters had used to conjure up stories for their uncles and aunts. Her heart sank. “Oh, hello, Phi.” Amphitrite cringed at the strange look her uncle gave her —now that was valid cause for concern, she thought sardonically. Outside of family, only lovers used that name, of which Zeus was as of yet neither, and would never be the latter.

“Now, where was I…?” The god trailed off, then slapped his thigh as if he had only just remembered what he’d come here for. “Ah, yes!”

Such a sinister smile. Amphitrite turned away, wishing to see no more of it than she already had at last night’s party. “You. Marry. Poseidon. When?” Zeus dropped each word carefully, as though she were but a child incapable of understanding concepts beyond her years. She tightened her jaw, feeling the shame burn through her cheeks. Behind her, Amnisos sputtered.

Amphitrite grit her teeth. “If my father were here—" She began, only to find herself cut off by the king of the gods. “Yes, yes,” One hand waved dismissively at her; the other prodded at his ear, wriggling his pinky around the hole, and sniffing at the appendage after. Amphitrite wrinkled her nose in disgust. “If your father were here, he would give you a choice.”

“But!” Zeus exclaimed suddenly, leaning towards her as one would when speaking to a child, “Nereus isn’t here anymore, is he?” And whose fault is that?! The young goddess’ fingers curled and uncurled with sheer agony at the way Zeus so casually spoke of her father, his flippant expression causing even Amnisos to look indignant.

“Listen up, Am-phi-tri-te.”

Against her better judgement and folded arms, a heavy shudder tore through her body at the croaking voice that placed emphasis on each syllable of her name, so ominous it seemed to violate her very spirit and leave a crawling sensation behind on her skin. “There are fifty of you Nereids.” He pointed at her. 

“You are the oldest, but you’re not the prettiest.” 

Her breath halted. Subconsciously, her gaze flickered towards her uncle, where it was met with an equally dumbfounded countenance, if not more so. The Nereid twitched ever so slightly. After everything he’d spouted from his filthy mouth, she did not want to guess what he would say next. Zeus chortled. “Your sister Erato, on the other hand.” 

A hand stroked at his short white beard. “She’s very lovely —and so young too.”

“You bastard!” Amphitrite snarled, aggravated enough to lunge at Zeus the same way she had done the night before. Only this time, she was filled with murderous intent. She had moved no further than a step before a pair of arms wound themselves about her, “Amphitrite!” 

She faintly registered her uncle’s voice —it was him who held her back, but before she knew it, she had brought her foot down upon his. 

“Your Majesty!” His pained voice betrayed a cry of reproach.

Zeus waved his hand at the river god. “Shut up before I remove you from my council." 

“Maybe I should make it a point to attend her consummation.” Zeus added, a vicious smile growing again on his features. “Maybe my brother will even let me participate.” 

To add insult to injury, he slowly began to form a little circle with his left thumb and index finger, drawing a finger through—

“I’ll do it.”

Amphitrite choked out then. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling hot tears spill down her cheeks, blazing a trail of molten gold over her cheeks, her sobs hidden only because she had bit down on her lip to keep them in. Her uncle’s arms around her did nothing for the situation; in fact, it made things worse, now that there was one more person to witness her suffering. She flinched at the large hand that clamped down on her shoulder.

“Good.” Zeus said all too cheerfully. “It will be in a weeks’ time then. My wife and sisters will make preparations on your behalf.” The hand tightened briefly. “And I will be coming personally to fetch you, Phi.”

She collapsed to the ground after he left.

Not even the great river father could help her this time. Amphitrite was born of the sea, and now she would belong to the sea, only its depths were no longer on her side.

3 - Enalios, α ; 5 - Shadowed

[pfreadsandwrites]

不名誉・Ignominy・一 (1/3)

AO3 LINK AND AUTHOR’S NOTES 

ACCOMPANYING SPOTIFY PLAYLIST

warnings: description of suicide, depression, violence, death, angst, father-son relationships, one-shot, 7k words

i.father /ii. son (tba) /iii. legacy (tba)

不名誉（romaji: fumeiyo) - dishonour

Nothing is here. Not time, not space. Just the ghost of a father, waiting for the ghost of a son. What else would limbo be for?

親はなくても子は育つ

Even without parents, children grow up.

The flame is incessant.

It rustles and crackles, never wavering, the only thing of note, of light, in this eternal aphotic abyss. It’s comforting somehow, the warmth of the fire. Energising. Igniting his soul in a way that he doesn’t mind this place, wherever it is, however long he’s been here. Paradoxically, he doesn’t feel it.

A spark escapes, but he doesn’t make to evade it. His bleary eyes watch on hopelessly as it disappears back into the obsidian.

Perhaps it’s more accurate to say he doesn’t begrudge it.

Limbo, is it? Sakumo figured. Certainly not the afterlife, not all of it. Bleak as it was, it was too… empty, too inconsequential, even for someone like him, someone who died like he did. He shouldn’t have expected anything more. He didn’t deserve anything more. It was fitting that even transferring from the physical realm to the spiritual isn’t straightforward, not for him anyway. It’d been too bold of him to assume he’d at the very least get that, even if he did only assume it for a moment.

When he considered the notion of his own death - and he had considered it - afterlife hadn’t really come into it. It didn’t matter, he’d decided. As long as he ceased to exist on Earth, what awaited him here was an afterthought. And he’d be remiss if he lamented it now, not after what he’d done.

There’d been no other way.

(But if that were true, why is he bound here? He knows nothing has ever been that simple. Surely there’s something missing, something he needs to atone for beyond his death? Or maybe-

The thought is snatched away before it forms fully, engulfed by the greedy fire before him)

Yes - no other way.

It’s of little comfort though, because it just means that he was always supposed to be here too, regardless. Waiting. He knows why. Ending things like that - no, how dare he be cryptic - when he plunged the blade into his stomach, swiped it along smoothly and keeled over. When he groaned in pain, torment and inure. When he expelled his guts and with it, his anguish and his anger - and his sins and his virtues, in the hope that no one else would bear them, especially not the little boy. When the the little boy that, despite acting more like a man, wouldn’t understand that this was all for him, the little boy that looked too much like him and too much like her, the little boy that meant everything, had discovered his father’s corpse.

Yes - no other way.

Necessary - incumbent, horrific, as it was, he has to take responsibility. Even if it means staying and suffering here for all eternity. He won’t let thoughts of regret enter his mind, let alone admit it out loud.

Whether what he did was fair, whether what led up to it was fair, is inconsequential. Justice doesn’t come into it. It’s honour. It’s what a shinobi does, what a man does, what a father does. If he can’t do even that for his son, then that flame can grow and swallow him up now for all he cares.

He owed Kakashi that much then, and he owes him that much now.

So he knows he can only accept, and wait. Morbid as it is to wait for your own son here, of all places, it’s the best he can offer him. It’s all he’s ever been able to offer him. He closes his worn eyes. The smoke from the fire envelops him and for a moment, it’s too real. He reminds himself there’s no point in coughing.

(How can he still feel so tired?)

Less than a fortnight after his own birthday, the child is born. He takes as much as he brings.

It’s quick - it seems barely minutes have passed before his wife’s cries were replaced with the newborn’s. Kicking and crying, a typical protest at being dragged away from safety and into this wretched world.

He waits outside (a shinobi has no place at a birth, after all), mission-worn, resting his bruised forehead on his clasped fists whilst his eyes are screwed shut. He knows better than to expect a perfect outcome, even if her determination wouldn’t accept anything less. But still, his ears strain of their own accord for the slightest hint of her voice camouflaged by the baby’s.

“It’s a boy. A healthy, beautiful boy,” the nurse says kindly, breaking him out of his prayer. Her eyes avoid his, and he can’t help but read too much into the hesitance in her words. So he attempts to ready himself for the impossible, but she continues. “Hatake-san, your wife-“

His breath hitches.

“She’s a fighter.”

The scene is alien, when he finally meets his new family, hunching over her bedside. She holds the infant close against her breast, nursing him with an exhausted, but enduring glow on her weary features. The tenderness that she’d previously only ever shown him seems to define her whole being now. The skill, the nonchalance, with which she’s transformed so flawlessly from a woman, from his wife, into a mother leaves Sakumo unable to do anything but watch awkwardly. It’s too pure an image, too different from all the ones he’s grown accustomed to. Completely natural whilst somehow equally ethereal. He knows he’ll sully it the moment he interrupts.

Luckily, she does it for him. She’s always been stubborn. Dragging him back for his sake, like she always does.

“Your son,” she states matter-of-factly, before dissolving it with a giggle. “Come meet him.”

He nods. Her smiles always were infectious. So much so that they both forget that it’s a miracle she’s still here. His large, marred hand brushes over the baby’s tiny head, his soft, clean silver hair, silver just like his. This is the son of the White Fang. Cruelly ironic, the visceral reminder that this boy was his, even in all his innocence and all his father’s battle scars.

Father - yes, he was a father. How long will it be, until his son sees his father for what he is? How long will it be until he turned out the same way? Fatherhood - his head suddenly feels too heavy to hold up, to bear it, just like his son’s.

As if she knows, she interrupts his internal doubt. “He looks just like you. If I were feeling just a bit pettier, I’d say it’s unfair,” she jokes. “Well, it’s not like it’s a bad thing.”

“No,” Sakumo dismisses quickly, and points to a mark next to the boy’s mouth. A black dot, placed so specifically it feels intentional. It’s easy to miss, but it’s there. Unwavering, unremovable. Just like her. “This is yours.”

Almost in agreement, the baby’s tiny fist clenches around his finger. His eyes widen, and she laughs. “Mm. And look - you’re his.”

He doesn’t say anything. He can’t say anything -  only marvel at how, for the second time, someone was just able to pull him away from himself and so close so simply and so impossibly.

He straightens his back.

“What do you think of the name Kakashi? You know, scarecrow to your crops?”

He grins. Strange how she always re-ignites his courage.“…It’s a good name.”

It’s dreamlike after that. The child grows quickly, and every day they both find new things to smile about, to love, about the baby and each other. Kakashi looks more and more like his father each day, and it exults his mother, even if she pretends otherwise. Each mission has Sakumo more reluctant to leave the sanctuary she created when she kisses him goodbye, but he returns quicker each time too. Their smiles are more motivation than he ever thought possible.

Nothing so idyllic would last so long, even if a child can convince you otherwise.

It isn’t long before her smiles disappear when she thinks his back is turned. When her colour disappears, her fingers tremble and she becomes lighter in his arms as Kakashi grows heavier in hers.  

Her infinite determination is only finite at delaying fate. Suddenly the always blunt, smart-mouthed woman is reticent, subdued. She’s never been good at apologising, but it’s all she seems to do now. To him, to Kakashi - even he, with his curious, intelligent eyes, seems to understand more for his age than he should. He becomes equally silent.

“Look after him, for the both of us, Sakumo. Watch him grow up. Please.” Of course he assuages her fears, even as his world falls apart, and as Kakashi takes his first steps a little ahead of them.

It’s earlier than normal, but by that point they come to expect it. His tiny feet tremble, and he thinks he might stumble, but he doesn’t let his parents see. He doesn’t cause more concern than he has to.

She takes her last breath before his first birthday.

Less than a fortnight after his father’s birthday, the child turns one. He takes as much as he brings.

The grooves around his eyes become deeper. The smoke feels real again. Sometimes he wishes he could choke on it.  

Still, he’s here. He’s waiting. Maybe he’s supposed to atone a little more before seeing her, too. The smile comes of its own accord, when he considers just what she’d say when she finds out he didn’t keep his promise quite like he was supposed to. Maybe she’ll forgive him, though not before scolding him. It makes the uncertainty of this vacuum more bearable, just barely.  Afterlife, when he does let himself ponder it, is one thing.

Her.

He’s not so proud to pretend that he has the nerve to face her without having something more to tell her about Kakashi anyway.

Would things have turned out differently, if she - He stops himself. He won’t make excuses. He still would have taken the mission, and he still would have failed it. He still wouldn’t regret failing it, either. And it still would have ruined the village, and ruined it for them in turn. He still would have had to resolve it, resolve it in that excruciating way. He has no right to put that burden on her absence.

It’s so foolish, devoid of foresight - but he never considered that he’d be the one raising a child alone. It’s cruel, when the realisation bites him. He’d never let himself ruminate on it, but the assumption had always been there. Underlying every farewell, every strike of his tanto, every homecoming.

He’d definitely die first.

That would have been easier, selfish as it sounds, but then, he’s never been destined for ease. Neither had she. But he can even accept that, if it means, somehow, in some twist of fate - it’s too sentimental, but he grants himself an allowance this time -  that Kakashi would have to bear a little less.

(Don’t get him wrong. He knows the fact that he’s here, that the fire is right there, waiting, to burn up his optimism incinerates that hope.)

The child catches on quickly.

Kakashi gives up crying for his mother, and soon gives up looking for her at all. It’s a response to that look Sakumo gives him, that maps his face involuntarily before the carefully chosen smile replaces it. It’s easier for them both if he pretends the last expression is the first.

Regardless, they manage, even if their home no longer feels like a home. There are sympathetic drop-ins on the poor widower and his baby, and again when the missions restart. Eventually he burns less food, Kakashi’s sleeping habits are less chaotic, and the house feels a little less empty. Soon, they’re affectionately thought of as the Hatake boys. You rarely see Sakumo without his pup.

The Hatake boys are nothing if not adaptable. Especially Kakashi. He grows quickly, too quickly.

He takes after his father, that’s what everyone says. And Sakumo lets himself believe it - the physical similarities are obvious, the boy is smart, precocious and he shows so much interest and talent for his pre-destined shinobi path that it’s mournful.

He knows he’s being idolised a little too much, but instead of quelling it, he succumbs to that wonder, that innocence in the boy’s eyes. God knows if this world has its way, it won’t be there much longer. And Kakashi’s in too much of a hurry to grow up, so he has to protect what little of it remains.  

It’s no wonder, though. He tries to shield him, from the praises, the adulations - hero, legend, genius - but it’s futile. Just as he’s about to explain that such words are tentative, that they might have a time limit, they both hear it again.

“Look! It’s the White Fang!”

“And his son! I bet he’ll be just as great.”

It’s forever chasing them. Kakashi’s not the kind of boy to ever outwardly hesitate, but he’s thoughtfully silent now.

He insists on wearing a mask by the time he’s four. It’s bizarre, but apparently ‘the quintessential shinobi wears a mask’.

(How the hell does he know the word quintessential?!)

But his logic is sound. Still, Sakumo can’t help but think it’s a response, cleverly disguised like the boy’s already learnt to disguise so much. Did he want to invite less comparison? So far, it hadn’t really helped. Or had Kakashi caught him glancing at the black dot near his mouth one time too many, that unforgettable, enduring reminder of her?

Regardless, he doesn’t fight back, even though it’s damn near impossible to find masked shirts for children and his homemade attempt makes Kakashi chortle in an unusually carefree outburst. He’s never been good at denying him anyway, just like he was never good at denying her. That’s another thing - the more he looks like him, the more Sakumo’s reminded of her.

He holds onto his hand after pestering him to take him to the training grounds, and to the academy entrance exam - flooring the invigilators, to Sakumo’s pride and horror - and back home again, tugging on his shirt, a familiar demand to hoist him on his back when witnesses are out of sight. He has that uncanny way of making him and only him feel needed, even if he’s too proud to say it. Just like her.

Kakashi’s independent, mature, self-sufficient - even a little arrogant. But it’s impossibly endearing, just like her. He’s blunt, too matter-of-fact and never understands why it’s a problem, no matter how many times he’s reprimanded, but it’s chalked up to his maturity and his talent rather than a personality defect. He’s too logical, and causes adults and children alike to scratch their heads in confusion and infuriation. It’s all too familiar. His mother’s influence is just as enduring in him as it ever had been, but it’s as subtle as that damn beauty mark.

The mask, too. How typical of her, how perfect it is, Sakumo thinks, when it finally dawns on him. It’s his way of revealing himself to others on his - and only his - terms. He controls how much you see of him, whilst he sees right into you.

The child catches on quickly.

The fire rustles again, but it’s remarkably hearth-like now. Cosy. Sakumo lets himself smile, and open his eyes again. There was an optimism, a warmth, in those days as well. It still hurt, but they managed, even enjoyed themselves. They made quite a team. Kakashi seemed more like a man than a boy, even when he was that young. It seemed natural to others, and Sakumo supposed it was, partly. But he tried so hard too.

Things had looked up for a while, as they so often do, when you hold so much promise. When you’re not a pariah. It all changed so quickly. He knew it would, from the moment he turned his back on his duty, even if he didn’t know what it would entail. But it never felt wrong either.

It felt hopeless instead. He’d have been a bastard either way. Better to be a bastard who made a mistake, whose softness led to a screw-up, than a heartless bastard who’d throw his friends away for bureaucracy, for a convenience. For something as constructed as a code of conduct.

Kakashi could recite every rule of Shinobi Conduct before he even entered the academy (Sakumo doesn’t even remember letting him learn) but had only stared up at him blankly when Sakumo tried to tell him he needn’t worry so much. His rigidity, his insistence on his black and white view of the world - though he always used words beyond his years, it was a stark reminder that he was still only a little boy. A little boy that didn’t understand he was a little boy was a difficult thing. A dangerous thing.

Still, he trusted that the boy, little as he was, would understand one day. That he wasn’t leaving him behind because he regretted it. But because it was hopeless, because he’d become unfit for his purpose, both as a shinobi and a father, whether it was right or not. Because though it hadn’t felt wrong, he still had to deal with the consequences. Maybe one day the land they were expected to throw away their lives for would be more forgiving. Maybe it’d take his death for them to start to see it.

(Did he die for honour, responsibility, cowardice or anger?)

The child raises himself.

He’s the talk of the town now that’s he entered the academy. A prodigy, they call him. He’s set to graduate and be a full-fledged shinobi within the year. Classmates and teachers alike fawn over him, though he’s somewhat aloof to it all, which only makes them flock closer.

(He’s too young!) Her disapproval seems to float from that world to this one. And he can’t disagree, even though there isn’t much he can do about it. It seems Kakashi’s born for it, that he’d have nothing if he didn’t have this. So he supports it, fully. Besides, Konoha needs all the talent it can find.

Even if it means depending on children.

His self-reliance is bittersweet, but Sakumo won’t deny that it makes it easier to leave. That even if he doesn’t come home, he can worry a little bit less.

Isn’t that what fatherhood is? From the moment it’s possible, to help him feel his independence, feel every risk whilst concealing your own fear, so that he knows he might bear every pressure of this wretched world, prepare him so that he won’t collapse under it and, if he’s lucky, become a man that others can rely on too? He knows he can’t protect him forever. And that there’ll be a day, sooner than he’ll expect (it always is), where he won’t be there at all, because he’ll be damned if he has to go to his own son’s funeral instead.

Still, he would have liked to protect the boy’s childhood just a little bit longer. But he’s always so insistent on giving away what little of it he has left. It’s hard not to be bitter - when he sees the children of civilian families running around without a care in the world. But that’s the point, he knows that. Someone has to sacrifice so they can even exist at all. To be the one to do that is an honour, in one way or another.

The missions are relentless. The boy knows that each goodbye might be his father’s last. He doesn’t have to explain it. Kakashi is always calm, always accepting, always mature, careful to give him a casual send-off. It’s curious though, the intense, hopeful stare Sakumo feels bore into his back as he walks away.

The missions go well. Sakumo cements himself again and again as a hero, the revered White Fang, and invites commendation wherever he goes. Kakashi works harder, bearing pride and pressure on his tiny shoulders to meet his aspirations.

The mission is a failure. Behind enemy lines, espionage and destruction. It’s doomed from its inception. Mistakes pile up, and eventually his comrades get themselves captured. All his training has taught him that it can’t be helped, that he must carry out his mission and toss them aside. But he can’t abide. It’s never been in him to turn his heart to stone, not completely, but it’s even more impossible now. When the little boy’s at home, waiting for his own special report. When he’s watching and analysing his every move. When he’s picked Sakumo as the model he puts all his energy into emulating. He has to learn it’s okay to break the rules sometimes, lest he learns that lesson himself the hard way.

So, thanks to Sakumo’s doing, no lives have been lost. They’re grateful, for now. But experience fills him with apprehension. The worst is yet to come. There’s just something in the way his heart palpitates without explanation, why the journey home is forebodingly silent.

He’s right. The consequences are dire. Not just for Konoha, but through the entire land.

He turns from the Leaf’s White Fang to a disgrace overnight.

How precarious it all is, being a hero, he thinks with a sardonic smile. How fickle they are.

The smiles and praise become glares and blame, from strangers and old friends alike. Save for a few, but it isn’t enough to influence the rest of them. The close-knit community, the idyllic home he’d risked his livelihood countless times to protect almost seems an illusion now. Maybe it’s naive of him, that he never realised that ‘home’ could be conditional. That all the good you’ve already done could be wiped away so easily by one mistake that there was no point trying to do good in the first place.

He only indulges the bitterness for a little while. It’s immature. A man should take responsibility for his actions, good and bad. He knows what he did, and he knows it directly led to more damage and destruction. He knows it’s his fault. He knows he ended up hurting the very thing he was supposed to protect, and he knows it was him who elected to take on that responsibility in the first place. He knows he has no right to self-pity.

But he also knows he doesn’t regret it - the action, not the situation. He knows that if he had the choice to go back, he’d do it again. He knows wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he knew he was the kind of man that could turn his back on his friends, no matter what he’s been taught. He knows he has to set an example.

And an example he is. Kakashi’s quieter than usual, at first. He acts as if he doesn’t hear the angry muttering, he doesn’t notice that the missions are dwindling down, that the lines chiselled around his father’s eyes span further and that his clothes hang a little looser. That hurts most of all. That he’s suffering, but he refuses to dwell on it. It’s either for Sakumo’s sake or because that’s what a shinobi does. He doesn’t know which explanation is worse.

Everyone has their limits, most of all little boys. He should have expected this sooner. Kakashi doesn’t badger him to come to the training grounds like he used to, but Sakumo’s the one insisting this time. He still has to try. Even if it takes more from him than it ever has before. But he has to feel like he can still do something, anything. The range of which seems to decrease by the day. When the boy topples to the floor after a badly timed kick, he slaps away his father’s hand.

“Why?! Why did you do that? You went against orders, and everything went wrong! They all say these horrible things now! You’re not supposed to-” Kakashi stops himself, panting. His little body struggles to keep up with his rage and his words.

Strange, Sakumo thinks, as his dreary eyes meet the boy’s tearful ones. His reprimands match those of the adults he’s no doubt heard, but he’s never sounded more like the child he is. How can he understand? It must feel like a punishment, for all the pride and admiration he’s held for him until now. To have it snatched away like that. He can only apologise, but a father has no right to expect forgiveness from his son. Still, Kakashi lets him hold him close, just this once.

Then one day, it happens.

Cruelty is cruelty, no matter the source and no matter the recipient, and it isn’t long before the son bears the sins of the father. Kakashi does the best he can to take it in his stride, as usual, but when Sakumo asks if he can walk him to the academy, the sacred, persisting ritual comes to an end.

“I can go myself. Don’t worry,” he dismisses, gently enough, but he barely glances back before disappearing, before Sakumo even responds. It seemed so long ago, when he’d say the exact same words but he’d smile under his mask and grab his hand. Now he seems like an adult, resigned and reluctant. Hurt and tired. Bearing so much, for everyone else’s sake. For Sakumo’s sake

Whether it’s out of self-preservation, pity - or worst of all, an attempt to spare his father from the villagers’ scowls, it’s unacceptable. They all mean the same thing. Pretending he’s still needed, that his existence isn’t superfluous, is exhausting both of them. And he’s slipped one level further. Kakashi never mentions it, but he knows being Sakumo’s son is akin to damnation now.

He’s holding him back. Kakashi’s still the talk of the academy, but it’s opposite in nature now. There’s no more talk of his progress, of his graduation, of the illustrious road he was so sure to have ahead of him. It’s all snatched away in an instant. Kakashi has no future as long as Sakumo keeps breathing. What father can live with himself knowing that?

Everything is so difficult now. Standing takes all he has. He feels like a fraud for even doing that, for anything he says, anything he does. A soul-sucking, lacklustre performance. Every bodily function only spirals him down further into an abyss. He’s a ghost among the living. He’s always wondering why the hell he’s still here. He’s been able to convince himself, to a point, that he should still fight, he should still eat - but it’s undeniable now. He’s a burden.

And as burdensome as he is, the most important thing still remains.

He’ll do whatever he has to for his son. That much he can do.

Anything that Sakumo regrets is out of his control. He’s never been able to control anything where it counts. Not her death, not the mission, not sparing Kakashi from any pain. He’s even failing at his own modest goal - to ensure that the boy has the tools to bear anything and everything he might have to. So he can’t say he regrets this. What he regrets is far beyond anything he can express. This is the only thing he can do now.

Kakashi rejects his offer to accompany him before he even makes it. But he hangs on for a second, long enough for Sakumo to whisper one sentence.

“I love you, kiddo. I’m sorry.”

The little boy stops - silently studying his father’s expression. But he doesn’t have the same energy he used to either, to draw any real conclusions from it, to have the patience for his father’s random lamentations.“What are you sorry for? I’m fine. See you.”

It’s surprisingly easy to put things in order. The note is succinct, but it’ll do what it’s supposed to. Lift the sins that stick unfairly to Kakashi’s scrawny back, if nothing else. His possessions have dwindled, his paperwork is minimal, the deeds on the house are finalised. He’s determined to leave this world with as little fuss as he deserves, as he can manage. It’s the least he can do.

Then, Sakumo kneels, and takes out his tanto. The tanto that’d accompanied him as long as he could remember. Something he inherited from his father when he became a genin. Something he’d give to Kakashi as a graduation gift.

Who says a gift can’t be posthumous? It’s the same blade that’s going to wash away his and its sins. It’s ready for a reset with new honour, a new owner.

He inhales. He closes his eyes. He plunges the blade into his gut. It sinks in smoothly. The pain starts, spreading slowly and surely through his body like electricity. He exhales. He glides it along. It moves easily. Everything empties and he is exalted. His body, his being, his soul. His sins. His virtues. His love, his hate. His joy and his rage. His life and his death. He’s gone now, fading away into the whiteness. The warrior’s body is meek, inconsequential as it falls unceremoniously on its side.

And just like that, the boy is pure once again. He’s his own, as he should be. He’s no longer just the son of the hero-turned-pariah (maybe it was better to have never been a hero at all?), but Kakashi. Kakashi the prodigy. Kakashi the genius. Kakashi who he trusts will understand all this one day. That his father isn’t so wrong in what he did, but he knows he still has to do this, he still has to make up for it. They’re all just victims of circumstance. That he’s sorry, and that he loves him more than anything, but the last thing he needs is a father like him. He’s already doing so well. And he’ll do better now. After all, he’s never needed him.

The child raised himself.

The fire’s rustling becomes louder as the flames grow larger. A welcome distraction, Sakumo chuckles to himself. It’s almost as if he’s not supposed to concentrate on his mistakes and shortcomings.

(Or maybe the embers somehow know he doesn’t really want to)

Everything had seemed so urgent back then. Hasty. Not like now, where he’s neither here nor there, there’s no past and no future.

It must have seemed cruel, on the surface, he admits that. And his justifications probably seemed like excuses, like cowardice. He has the clarity to see that now. But it didn’t make them feel any less true, not at the time.

It was the best thing for Kakashi, how could it not have been? Not only that - he pauses, before he finally lets himself admit it. It was a relief. He was just so tired.

(But he’s still tired now. It’s just more bearable.)

Did any of it work? Or had it all been in vain? As much as he held out hope that when Kakashi did come here - and he would - he’d have been older, lived a long life of love. Where the village respected him, praised him, honoured him. Maybe with a family too.

(…Could any of that have happened if he’d stayed alive?

No. The answer has to be no.)

Or had he ended up too similar to his father?

Regardless, he knows why he’s here now. No matter how it turned out after, he did what he did. And he has to take responsibility for it. It’s all so much more demanding than he thought it would be. He chose death to take responsibility, and now he has to do the same for his death.

But then again, a father has no right to expect forgiveness from his son.

Especially not one like him.

The flame settles down. It’s calmer now, like its wish has been granted, like it’s satisfied.

It won’t be long now.

And as usual, he’s right. Soon, he hears footsteps. They’re measured, relaxed, but emphatic.

“That you, Kakashi?” Sakumo affirms, but he doesn’t know why. He already knows. Just like Kakashi doesn’t seem surprised to see him, or even be here at all.

“So this is where you’ve been,” Kakashi answers just as superfluously.

The deep voice should have thrown him, it should have been unfamiliar, but everything seems to make sense. Everything is natural. Everything is easy.

He’s a man now. Another superfluous statement, one Sakumo doesn’t voice. But here he is. He’s grown, a different person from the one Sakumo knew. But it still seems like he knows him, like he never really stopped knowing him. As if time has been the obstacle between them. He looks more like him now, even though he’s still wearing that damn mask. It’s amusing, the way his stubbornness appears to have persisted for no reason at all. It’s typical. There’s a scar across his eye. There’s a story there, as there always is. He carries himself with a rare combination of decorum and drudgery. Subtle acquiescence, controlled to his core.

“Will you tell me your story?”

He knows it’s only a pale substitute for not laying witness to it himself, but Kakashi seems happy to oblige. He agrees, joining him at the fireside. It rustles in approval.

“Yeah. But it’s a long one. I want to tell you everything.”

Sakumo agrees.

Kakashi’s smile is so relaxed, so wide that it’s visible - that he may as well be that same little boy again. It’s even a little bit contagious. “So, Dad…”

The conversation flows like water. Kakashi is unrestrained, serene, even as the terrible stories come out of him. Though they’re not all terrible. Some have Sakumo hanging his head in shame, others have him laughing out loud with a freedom he hasn’t had in years. Some are ridiculous. Some are stupid. He talks as if they’re not - as if they’re just that, stories. Happenstance.

But still, the terrible ones are the most memorable ones. It’s shocking, how much he’s been through. How many times he’s been failed, how many times he’s failed. How he’d been through more before puberty than most had been through by their deaths. The boy was always destined for that, though. He’d graduated not long after Sakumo died, and was promoted again within a year after. It’s only a few years after that that he makes jounin, the same rank as his father. Most everyone important to him is gone by then too. He’s made a name for himself as a legend, as a hero, even as the disgrace’s son. And he’s made sure to pass on all the lessons he’s learnt.

He doesn’t expect sympathy, or pity. He’s long made peace with it - well, to the extent he can. He’s just never had anyone to tell this to, without judgement. With ease. Where it’s streamed out of him without thought. Where he’s not using his pain as a warning for others, to try and protect others. Just the kind of acknowledgement you want from your father.

Gone is his cocky demeanour - Sakumo knew it would probably have to some day, but he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to go through so much to learn that lesson. Instead, there’s a humility about him, an ease. If she were here, she’d say Kakashi’s even more like him, and scoff at the injustice.

It’s like he’s happy to be here. Sakumo doesn’t know if it’s just the situation. Kakashi doesn’t seem like he’s ever done this before - but then, how could he? It’s the comfort you can only have with a father, and Sakumo’s grateful that he’s still considered one. But he can’t help but wonder if Kakashi’s smiling because he’s happier to be dead.

He acts older than he is, sometimes. He always did, but it has more weight now that he’s grown. Sakumo points it out, but Kakashi just chuckles.

“This job ages you. I feel older than I am.”

He can’t argue with that.

Soon, the conversation turns to other things. Philosophies, mutual experiences, women. He’s a little more subdued on that last one. He hesitates now, he’s more cryptic. There does seem to be one, Sakumo figures that much, though Kakashi’s reluctant to call it that. He isn’t as open out there as he is here. It’s no wonder. Everything that’s meant anything has been snatched away regardless of his will. Still, it seems that she’s a source of infuriation and confusion. She’s stubborn, but endlessly kind. She sees through Kakashi’s reluctant attempts at distance, and he’s drawn to her, whether he likes it or not. He shows absolutely no regret for being dead, but the only clue of it is when he talks about her. Sakumo lets it end there.

Eventually, they both have to acknowledge it. How miserable their lives have been, how they’ve died so young. A cursed pair. The burden of the suicide hangs over them both, their stories and their fates, like a cloud, in this strange place that has no sky.

“You did the best you could. You knew what the consequences would be, but you chose your friends anyway,” Kakashi says first. He’s only stating facts, but they’re heavy on his tongue. His gaze is locked on the fire ahead, and his voice takes on a gruff timber, one that ensures Sakumo of the depth of his words. He pauses.  “And I understand you. I’m proud to be your son now.”

Sakumo’s eyes widen.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

It’s all he can say. After everything, it’s too much, too difficult to accept. It took hearing it to actually realise it, for the weight he’s carried on his shoulders for so long to begin to dissipate. It’s not entirely dissimilar to the first time Kakashi had wrapped his tiny fist so fiercely and as-a-matter-of-factly around his finger all those years ago. Where his confidence and courage promptly returned. He never knew he needed it so badly, that it would be more freeing than his death was -  forgiveness - even if he was never going to ask for it.

It’s a miracle, but somehow, it’s happened. He’ll never admit it has anything to do with him, but Kakashi’s grown. He’s grown well. He’s learnt everything he hoped he would, and he’s more than he could have ever hoped. It wasn’t easy. Life had put him through the wringer to say the least - that much was obvious before Kakashi even joined him at the fire. But he did it. He managed.

A father’s most important and most horrible duty is to leave their children to the wilderness - was that how the old adage went? He can’t remember. But they have to, because he won’t be there forever, because the world will eat them alive if they don’t. You offer up your only son up to the world, in the hopes it won’t chew him up and spit it out, and that he might come out better for it.  It’s as much of a horror as it is an honour. He didn’t mean to leave him that viscerally, and he’s still so sorry - but he can’t deny that for the first time in God knows how long, he feels lucky. He doesn’t deserve Kakashi’s forgiveness, for him to grow up to be the man he is, but here he is.

Still, Kakashi’s a little too eager to come here. It’s the most wrenching thing about this, that he seems too comfortable, that he seems to have been waiting for his death. It’s the only thing he can’t accept, as a father. He doesn’t want to accept that his son’s life has been that miserable, with so little to show for it. Even if he seems satisfied to be here.

Before he can even voice it, a light emerges, starting at Kakashi’s core and soon engulfing his entire being. The fire beside them stills for a moment, but then it sizzles with a vengeance. He turns to his father in shock, looking for an explanation in the wordless way a child does.

Sakumo provides it immediately. He’s not sure, but he wants it to be true. “My guess is… It’s too soon for you. There must be something you still have to do.”

He doesn’t offer any explanation as to what, but it has to be true. He should get more than he has. He can’t be so happy to come here. They both could’t have been in such a hurry to die. It’s too tragic, too terrible. A son shouldn’t be lonelier than his father.

Kakashi ruminates on it, and he suddenly looks like the young man he is. Not a tired war veteran. It’s even more obvious how untimely this all is.

But it hasn’t been meaningless.

“I’m grateful we had a chance to talk. Thank you forgiving me. Now I can move on, and finally see your mother again,” he continues.  I’m proud of you too, Sakumo thinks, just like he thought so many times during the boy’s childhood, and countless times during this strange meeting. But he has no right to say it. Still, Kakashi looks at him with those same wide eyes from all those years ago, heeding his words with the same awe.

The harsh, green glow rips Kakashi away from this world and back. Just like his birth. Sakumo smiles and stands, the stretch alighting and aching through his soul - it feels physical, even though he’s no longer corporeal. Tall, encouraged, proud and determined.

(It’s been so long since he last stood.)

It won’t be long now. He has his own exit now.

The fire suddenly quickens, expanding, expanding, expanding, fighting for its last breath, its rustling turning into a desperate roar, sparks flying out past the wood - until at long last, its energy dwindles. It hisses in protest.

Instead, there’s a new warmth. Somewhere, somewhere far away yet somewhere so close. An amused, feminine hum of his name travels through his being and invigorates his soul. He smiles.

The flame flickers out.

親はなくても子は育つ

Even without parents, children grow up.

[laguera25]

An Open Letter to Richard Z. Kruspe on the Occasion of His 54th Birthday

When I was born, ten weeks prematurely and weighing a scant two-and-a-half pounds, the doctors told my parents not to bother naming me, as I would likely die very quickly, and even if I were to survive, I would likely be blind and helpless and profoundly retarded, unaware of, and unable to engage with, the world around me. Best to leave me be and let nature take its course. A few days of benign neglect, and it would all be over. If they were fortunate, there would be other, better children.

Fortunately for me, my parents gave the double-fingered salute to that bit of medical advice and took me home to do the best they could with very little money and no one to guide them through the strange and terrible country of life with a disabled child. I survived because my very country grandmother chucked out the baby formula that I wasn't digesting and fed me the cow's milk the doctors so solemnly swore would kill me.

There was so many milestones I missed, and of which my parents were deprived. I didn't sit up by myself until I was two. I never walked, never ran, though there are a few faded photos of me gamely pulling myself upright on chairs and the edges of coffee tables, trying to do what my brain said I ought, but my body too weak and miswired too obey. No play with other children, who were stronger and more rambunctious and would have bowled me over in all innocence. And as I grew older, no first dates or driving tests or prom dresses. No thought of an independent life.

What there was was endless rounds of physical and occupational therapy. Hours and hours on a brown vinyl mat, trying to lift my leg or raise my ass off the ground or make my hand write the words in my head. Hours and hours putting change into a slot or trying to tie shoelaces or forcing my hands into uncomfortable plastic splints for a chance at a fraction of more bodily control. While my school friends were out playing in the sun, I was inside beneath fluorescent lights, learning to button my shirt and comb my hair and brush my teeth. To hold a pencil. No time for joy, for peace, for figuring out who I was beyond this collection of aches and pains and deficiencies, just the endless tedium of learning to "be normal" and less of an imposition on the world around me.

And I did go to school. Despite the doctors' dire predictions, I was neither blind nor idiot. I was perfectly aware of the world around me, and smart. So much so that when I was nine, the school ordered an intelligence test. The score was so high that they thought it an error and made me take it again in front of witnesses. When the same score came back the second time, they wanted to move me two years ahead, but my mother, afraid it would both isolate me further and give me airs, refused. So, I stayed, face in the mat and hands in splints, learning advanced history and English, yet forced to put blocks into holes and put colored rings on a stick.

And so I lived this strange paradox for my entire childhood, the genius child that my mother crowed about to all her friends and anyone who would listen, and terrible burden who still had the coordination of a toddler, and who had ruined her dreams of ribbons and curls. When I was nine, she was convinced I could be made "normal"--or closer to it--any road, with a surgery. And so, the surgeons detached the muscles and ligaments in my legs from the bones and stretched them in an effort to relieve the spasticity. The surgeons were doing a kindness to relieve pain; by then, the muscles were so tight that when I was stood on my feet and held up, my feet rolled onto the instep and my knees pointed at each other. It was a measure of dignity.

To my mother, it was supposed to be a miracle, the cure that gave her the daughter she deserved.

I woke up screaming. The muscles and ligaments were unhappy with their new positions and weren't afraid to register their protest about this new state of affairs. They tried to administer morphine, but the levels needed to control the pain were dangerously high for a child, and so I was left to ride it out. I screamed and screamed and screamed. For thirteen hours.

My mother. who was so sure she had found her miracle, was taken into another room by an exhausted surgeon who had done the best he could, and told that at most, I might be able to walk across the room on a walker and take myself to the toilet. She screamed, too, then, at this man who had been on his feet for nine hours, trying to undo the mistakes of the hands that had formed me from the dust of the ground, and who would try to make me laugh every day when he came to check my progress. She called him a liar and a bastard and a son of a bitch, and family lore has it that she would have hit him had my father not intervened.

They tried to tell her. Kindly and patiently and incessantly, but she would not listen. God had told her I would be cured, and dammit, I would be. The day they cut my casts off and sent me home, they told her not to push me too hard, that my muscles needed time to adjust and build endurance. She said she understood, but when we got home, she ordered me to walk uphill to the house. I tried, I truly did, but it wasn't long before I hit muscle fatigue and started to cry. I want to stop, wanted my wheelchair.

And my mother, this woman who had once told the doctors who would have let me die to go fuck themselves, picked up a stick and started to beat me. "Be normal! Be normal!" Screaming and sobbing and flailing with this stick, and me screaming and begging and trying to stay upright. I don't know how long she would've kept going, but eventually, my stepfather appeared, wrested the stick away and threatened to beat her with it, and carried me into the house.

Here I must give my mother a sliver of credit even if I will carry the memory of that beating for the rest of my days. She was right, after a fashion. I did do more than walk across the room with a walker and take myself to the toilet. For a while, I even graduated to forearm crutches and quad canes, which might not sound like much, but when you were expected to do nothing, that's like climbing Everest in your underpants. My wheelchair gathered dust for years, but soon I had to choose between the demands of my education and the demands of my body. The latter simply lacked the energy to fuel both my mind and my muscles to the best of my their abilities, and since school was the only area of life in which I had ever excelled, there was no choice at all. Back into the chair I went. By the time I graduated high school, I could no longer use crutches, and by my third year at uni, even the walker was too much. These days, I cannot move myself without help, and arthritis has set in. I made my choice, and now I pay its price.

I tell you all of this to illustrate that whatever the fool doctors might have said as they clucked and tutted over my incubator, I was keenly aware of the world. Of everything I was missing while my mother insisted I just bootstrap myself out of my disability and be normal. Of her seething resentment of all that I was not. Of her wish that I was someone else.

There were two bands that got me through, kept me sane and kept me moving when all I wanted to do was just lie down and not get up. The first was Metallica, whom I discovered at thirteen, and who told me it was all right to be angry about my circumstances, to kick and scream and argue with God and call him a rotten bastard--as long as I kept living, kept getting up in the morning and trying to inch down the road. I didn't have to swallow my anger for fear of upsetting God and hurting my mother's chances of getting into heaven(my mother believes that I am a test she must pass in order to get into heaven; therefore, my suffering is irrelevant and should never be questioned, lest it anger Him. Don't ask; I don't get it.)

If Metallica was the band that gave me permission to be angry as long as I kept trying, it was Rammstein that told me it was okay to want more from life than an endless regimen of therapy and prayer and gratitude to a God that had, or so it seemed to me, sent me into the world with a ramshackle body and precious little armor or defense against the assholery of my fellow human beings and yet still expected me to praise His holy name allelu. To want joy and friends and human contact. To have a libido and ogle whatever flipped my switches. To, in short, be human, and more than just a symbol of all my mother's broken hopes.

I discovered the band through a book, believe it not. I found a copy of Tom Reynolds' <i>Touch Me, I'm Sick</i> in a Barnes and Noble I had gone into to browse and hide from a cataclysmic thunderstorm, and in it, he began to talk about a band called Rammstein and a song called "Heirate Mich." The more I read, the more gloriously improbable it all seemed, and the harder I laughed. By the time I got to the line, "As the music pounds like a collapsing factory...", there were tears streaming down my face, and I was having trouble breathing. The saleslady must've worried I was having a stroke.

And so it was that I found the key to everything that would come after. From the book to my creaking dial-up Internet(don't laugh, it was what I could afford as a broke-ass cripple on the government dole) to the CD shop, where I blew my food budget on Rammstein CDs and lived on Hamburger Helper for weeks. This is a terrible dietary choice, by the way, but at least I had Rammstein music in my ears all day, every day. A few weeks later, I put another dent in my food budget buying all the DVDs. Ah, the vigor and stupidity of youth. If I tried that foolery now, I'd be semiconscious on the floor in a day and a half. Back then, I had a more stalwart constitution.

I knew by the second song I heard that Rammstein was going to be special to me. My German, which consisted of a year of study in high school and a disastrous two years in college, was pretty poor, but thanks to snooping around Internet forums and squinting at grainy videos, I knew much of your catalogue dealt with taboo subjects. I didn't care. For all its dark subject matter, the music made me want to dance. It made me feel something other than apathy and a persistent wish for this whole mess to be over and my soul to be recycled into a body that didn't make me want to scream until I was too tired to do anything but sleep.

And I did dance. Constantly. Seldom in public because dancing in a wheelchair often looks like the Devil is trying to stick his finger up your ass, but often at home, just shimmying away until the chair developed some alarming creaks and the bolts needed adjustment. Rammstein made me happy. It made me curious. It made me want to see just how much was out there.

And, if I am honest, it made me want to see those silver MC Hammer pants for myself. The combination of those pants and the diaper rash cream in your hair was a striking look for you, if I may say so, though perhaps not so grand as the black spikes and the lion pants you wore with such swaggering panache on the Reise, Reise tour. Alas, this was not to be, as I suppose you had wearied of slathering ass cream for infants in your hair. I can't blame you, though I suppose it must've been a sad day, indeed, for the ointment companies. Still, those Hammer pants and their Reynolds Wrap, space-age splendor will always hold a special place in my heart.

Stymied in my hope to witness for myself the wonders of those Hammer pants--and those lion pants as well, as it turned out, oh, unhappy hour, long may they reign in the storage closet--I nonetheless wanted to see a Rammstein show. Not much chance of that, the morose American fans assured me. The band hadn't come here since they foolishly took the American commitment to freedom of expression at face value and Till and Flake landed in the Puritan pokey for playing Loose the Dachshund into the Badger Burrow in front of delighted fans. Besides, the band's management had scant interest in repeating that little experiment.

Even so, I held out hope. I hung out on message boards and kept me ear to the ground. You can imagine my delight when the MSG show was announced. I wasn't so foolish as to think I could attend, mind you; New York might as well have been the moon for someone who cannot safely fly, but it was fun to indulge in a bit of wistful what-if? What if I could find a way to get there that wouldn't give me a lethal clot? What if I could score tickets? What if I could afford a hotel in Manhattan where the rats and roaches wouldn't kill me in my sleep or carry me off to be devoured in the sewer system? These were all very big ifs for someone who lived in the boonies and was only supposed to spend money on medical expenses and basic bills. Besides, MSG was going to sell out before I could gimp my way to the phone.

Knowing all of this, I took to my blog to whine and moan and feel sorry for myself. It wasn't fair, I whinged to the ether. I had wanted to see Rammstein for so long, but it just wasn't possible. It was too expensive and too far and too haaaaard. And woe is me.

And then...

And then...

And then a bossy German lady dropped a punk alarm in my inbox.

I don't remember now how or why she came to my blog. Maybe she was drawn by an unconventional perspective on life and fandom and moving through the world, or maybe she just wanted to snortle at my friend and I's discussions of your sartorial splendor and the ridiculous dramas going on in the Rammstein fandom at the time. Either way, she'd been been watching my sulking and stropping for a few days, until she'd reached her limit and this woman, who had never said an unkind word to me in years, called me a coward. Just straight up said that I could either find my spine, stop pissing and moaning, and try my hardest to see Rammstein in New York, or I could keep being a coward and making excuses. But make my choice and stop sniveling because she was tired of hearing about it.

At first, I was stunned. Of all the things I had ever been called, a coward was not one of them. Then I was mad. How DARE she call me a coward when she had no idea how much pain I was in most of the time or how difficult it was to move around a world that had never been designed for me and been but grudgingly retrofitted by handymen who thought that grab bars fixed everything!

So I stewed and pouted for a few hours, but the longer I thought about it, the more I realized she was right. I hadn't tried very hard to research my options. I hadn't checked hotels or called the venue or gotten my finances in order. I had claimed Rammstein was so important and meaningful to me, but I hadn't shown it. I had assumed defeat before I'd even started the charge up the the hill and wallowed in self-pity. Sure, maybe I was right and I wouldn't be able to go, but I'd never know if I didn't square up and try.

Before I proceed, a word about the tried-and-true deutscher Fuss zum Arsch(not another aside in a letter full of them, I hear you cry as your eyes begin to glaze. I know, Mr. Kruspe, believe me, but if you speak to the world through your guitar strings, I speak through my keystrokes, and so I beg your patience. We're almost there.). If a German you have gotten to know puts their foot up your ass and calls you on your bullshit, they are not doing it to be a prick, and it's not done with the intent to create hard feelings or demolish your self-esteem. It's harsh, man, is it harsh when you're used to American doublespeak and soft-pedaling, but they're doing it because they see something in you and are trying to stop you from making a dumbass or a jackwagon of yourself. They're doing it because they want to keep being your friend.

So.

Punk alarm duly dropped and head dislodged from ass, I started making phone calls. To the banks do get my money in order. To bean counters to make sure I would have access to it. To Amtrak to discuss their booking options. I went to disability websites and forums to discuss precautions to take in case my health or my equipment gave out on the road. The best hospital for the broke-ass should I get mown down by a taxi while trying to cross the road. Emergency numbers and insurance forms and blah blah blah. A raft of bureaucracy and safeguards and double-checking, all for a concert I might not get tickets for.

But I did, because for once, my disability worked in my favor. MSG sold out in twenty-five minutes, but that venue, bless its heart, doesn't put disabled seating up for general sale. You have to call the disabled patron assistance line, and they don't release unsold disabled seats for general sale until three days before a show. So I called the magic line, and a very amiable fellow talked me through the process. Two weeks later, the tickets were in my mailbox.

I am not ashamed to tell you that when I opened the envelope and held the tickets in my hand, I screamed like a debutante that sat on an upturned spoon. It was really happening.

And yes, my German friend gave me a giant "I told you so!" But she was right, and she'd earned it. Besides, she was happy for me, too.

So I did it. I got on a train(where I soon learned that accessible or not, I couldn't use the toilet because the train swayed too much for me to keep my balance), and I went without eating, drinking, or urinating for twenty-two hours(I do not recommend this to anyone, by the by. It hurt, and it was dangerous)to get to New York. And when I got there, I stood in Penn Station and simply stared because I was somewhere I never thought I'd be. It was simultaneously everything I thought it would be and nothing like I'd expected.

There were still obstacles, of course. There always are when you have two hands and four wheels and see the world through asses and elbows. Clutching my luggage while my trusty and ever-present companion pushed me over the cracked sidewalk with one hand and dragged the rest of the luggage behind him. Finding out that the "accessible" hotel room was, in fact, not all that accessible and wrenching my knee every time I used the toilet. Being accosted by my first sidewalk screamer within ten minutes of being in the city. Meeting my first hustler.

Freezing my ass off outside the venue for four hours before the show and called not fan enough by other fans because I didn't do it for fourteen, because hey, if you were really a fan, you'd risk pneumonia to see the show, even if it would kill you. Being shunted and shuffled to four different doors by event staff because no one could agree on where the disabled fans were supposed to enter. Being let into the building to warm up by an MSG employee, only to be booted out by event staff three minutes later. Whee! Aren't the logistics of being disabled fun?

But Mr. Kruspe, it was all worth it. I've never felt an energy like that before. Whatever snitty elitism some of the fans might have been nursing outside, inside MSG, we were all fans, all people who had waited and wished for this for a very long time. The primal roar from the crowd when the band began to break through the wall raised the hairs on my nape, and you'd better believe that I joined them with all of my energy.

From the first note, I forgot my pain. It was still there, mind, waiting for me, black-toothed and patient as the grave, but I was beyond it, in a state of suspended euphoria. No pain, just joy. I watched everything as best I could despite my near-sightedmess and my rather distant seat. I soaked it all in--the music and the unapologetic bombast, and the pageantry of the fire. It was all so starkly, darkly beautiful, and according to my companion, who has all the sentimentality of pavement, when he looked over at me during "Ich Will", I was "radiant." He, who had known me for thirteen years by then, said he'd never seen me like that before, and that he would never forget it.

It was not without price. These things never are. There was another train journey and another twenty-two hours without access to a toilet, and by the time I got home, I was so strung out from lack of food, water, and sleep(because trufax, it is hard to sleep when your bladder is trying to pop out of your skin from the pressure)that I cried like a toddler on the drive home. And then I went home, peed forever, drank, ate, and collapsed for seventeen hours.

But it was worth it. It was so worth it that on the band's next go-round, I took a cross-country roadtrip to Vegas, during which I peed much more often, thank God, but I also fought ants and roaches in a hotel room in Texas and stayed in a room so gross I slept in my clothes and threw them out when I got home. But it, too, was worth it, just as it was worth it to get in the car and drive to Florida and Atlanta on the next tour after that.

I told you ALL of these things, Mr. Kruspe, to tell you this. I saw your interview in that documentary about depression in 2010. I heard you say you felt worthless unless you were creating.

I don't know what you're worth to anyone else, but to me, you are priceless, and always will be. Without you, there would be no Rammstein, and for me, there would have been no reason to try, to spread my wings and take a run at that hill. Without you, I might have given up, might have let my mother win, and maybe now, I'd be sitting in some care home, stewing in my own yellowing stink and getting a bath once a week and a monthly outing and rotting from the inside out. Without you, I might never have taken the chance, never pushed myself.

But you were, and are, and because of that, I did. Because of that, I saw New York, and moved, however briefly, among that anonymous throng. Because of that, I met the sidewalk doomsayer and the exasperated hustler. Because of that, I tried New York Pizza(and yes, I saw a rat, but he minded his business, and I minded mine). Because of you, I heard a Cajun patois in Louisiana and watched out the window of the car as the Texas plains unwound around us. Because of you, I saw the night sky on the outskirts of Vegas and was escorted back to the Strip after the show by two Native dudes who walked far out of their way and called me little sister. These are gifts I got from you because you were, and are, and they have sustained me ever since. They sustain me now that my world has been reduced to the four walls of my house as I ride out the pandemic in a country that believes people like me are an acceptable sacrifice.

I know this won't change things for you, won't quiet that awful voice in your head. Depression doesn't work like that, and even if it did, I am just a stranger you will never meet. But maybe it will give you something to hang on to, something to think about on the bad days. Christ knows you kept my head above the water when all I wanted to do was let it go under.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Kruspe. May it bring you joy and all that you need.

Guera

[cutesuki--bakugou]

Watch

a/n: I 1000000% know that unless you’ve read my fic The Dragon Kings Treasure, this is going to be TOTALLY out of context and you will likely have literally no idea about what’s going on or their history. I’ll be posting this little snippet in my AO3 post at the end of the story if you feel like you’d rather read the full thing first before you read this. There’s some spoilers in this, so if you’ve been planning on reading TDKT and haven’t yet, I’d suggest doing that first for context

Main Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Koge Naegi (OC) (Fantasy AU)

Story Rating: Explicit

Genre: Fluff / Romance / Domestic / Fantasy AU

Story Warnings: Sex (vaginal), hand job, inhuman extremities (yes, dick) and mutations (dragon), size difference, rough sex, dirty talk, name calling, breeding (sorta), stomach bulge, Bakugou’s insecure, Koge’s horny

Words: 5,110

Written for the @bnhabookclub​​ ‘s members bingo event!

Crossed off: Mirror Sex

Bingo Masterlist

Art in banner by me

“I am actually going to kill you, Koge.” 

“Just do it gently, okay?” 

Bakugou grumbled at the completely unbothered response from his lover, glowering at her through a mirror. Laying on his stomach, sprawled out on their bed, the young Lord found himself beyond agitated with himself and with his wife, but not for any regular old reason. No, the problem was something that no one could have ever predicted, and it was something that couldn’t be stopped, either. Reversing the process was also out of the question, so he was condemned to adjust himself to the changes of his body, both internal and external. But, compliance didn’t correlate to happiness in this situation, especially not when paired with the pain and frustrations that came with the changes. 

It didn’t help that his wife was more that ecstatic about his newfound dragon extremities. The thick, dark red tail that protruded from the base of his hips and horns perched atop his head were the current bane of his existence, as the past few months of them growing into place were like putting him through daily torture. The changes to his hands and the horns, he had gotten used to long ago, but the currently swaying scaled appendage that protruded from his hips had been the most difficult to accept. It was large and cumbersome, always knocking things over, hitting people, or even causing him to trip over his own feet. Even now, as it knocked annoyingly against his own legs, he wished that he could just cut the damn thing off. Why did it even have to grow in the first place? 

Well, he knew why. 

His wife. The absolute love of his life and mother to his son, the woman he had chosen to be always by his side and Queen of his land. She was the reason this had happened to him, or, at least, a large percentage of it. The rest was his own bloodline, his family and heritage, but this wasn’t exactly something he had expected to happen. His wife, being a dragon halfling, had always sported her dragon features when in her human form, and had the presence, scents, and mannerisms of one at all times. Sure, she could fit in with humans, outside of her inability to register their words if they weren’t dragonborn of some kind, but in the end, she was a dragon. That fact is what prompted these changes in him that he couldn’t control. 

It all went back to his bloodline. His family had always had dragon blood, but the last that had dragon features, that he could remember, was his great grandfather. Since then, each royal child born didn’t have physical dragon features, nor could they change into a dragon. All they had was the magic. Until now. Just being with his wife had prompted a change within him, starting out small at first with the ability to purr and his senses more enhanced than they had already been. Then came the changes to his hands, red scales coating the top and down along his wrist and half of his forearm, with thicker skin along his palms and long claws. This change was quick, only a few days of inability to use his hands or take care of the horrible itch that came with it on his own, though Koge was more than willing to help him with that. In truth, Bakugou didn’t think he could have gotten through any of the changes without her help. She knew how to soothe the pain of his horns growing in and massaged his back and tail as it grew over many weeks. 

Now, there was no pain. All that was left was to adjust. New clothes, new sleeping positions, new feelings beneath the now sensitive skin of his fingers and palms. The new smells, sounds, and urges, they all required a huge adjustment, but the tail. The tail was the worst of them all. 

“Why a fucking tail?” Bakugou whined into the sheets, turning his face into the soft plush fabric to keep his glare off the swaying appendage. “The horns are fine. The hands suck. But a fucking tail?! Koge, I hate it.”

“It did grow in quite big in the end, but it’s really pretty-” 

“-Don’t call it pretty-!”

“-And handsome. Rugged. Who knew you had such strong dragon blood that it would come out looking like this!” Scooting her petite body closer, Koge’s fingers traced lightly down his spine, purring sweetly when she breached the hump of his tail. “I love it. I can’t wait until you get more control over it so I can cuddle in it.” 

“Tch, and what the fuck is wrong with my arms, huh?!” 

“You can’t tell, Katsuki, but your tail is way warmer than your arms.” 

In agitation of her argument, his tail swished about roughly, making Koge giggle softly as pillows were knocked from the bed. To avoid getting hit, Koge flopped down to lay up against his side, wiggling and nudging herself beneath his arm until he was forced onto his side, hugging her to him tightly in an attempted punishment. Nuzzling his face into her hair, he felt instantly calmed by the sweet sounds of her purr, which radiated through his mind like a million bees, making his heart and stomach flutter. Then, within no time, his own deep rumbling began, his purr completely swallowing hers in intensity. 

“Ooh see, you can’t be that mad if you start purring so easily.” Koge nuzzled her face up against his neck, her tail falling to rest over his legs, intertwining with his as he calmed. Holding her body in closer, Bakugou scoffed quietly, lifting his head so he could see her face. 

“You use that against me. Because I can’t help it.” 

“Why can’t you help it?” Koge nuzzled her nose against his tenderly, smiling at the sight of his reptilian pupils dilating in pleasurable response to her affections. “You can’t hide your mushy feelings from me, now. Of course I might take advantage of that sometimes.” 

“I can’t help it for obvious fucking reasons.” Bakugou’s snarl and growl of his voice didn’t match his touch or change in the pitch of his purr, spurred on by Koge letting her leg rest over his hips so she could be closer to him. “I love your stupid ass, of course I’m going to start up if you do.” 

“It’s so cute!” She placed a soft kiss on his lips, though found herself trapped for more than just a few moments as he refused to let her pull away, his hand even slipping up her back to rest against the back of her head. “Mm… I didn’t expect your dragon blood to make you so… affectionate.” 

“The fuck does that mean?” With a growl against her lips, Bakugou rolled them over so she was beneath him, taking both of her arms to pin them up above her head, fingers lacing with hers tenderly. “I’m not any more affectionate than I was, dumbass.” Squeezing his hips playfully with her knees, Koge’s smile grew sly. 

“I just expected you to become more aggressive and territorial. But instead you’re super sweet, purring, and cuddly. Just like a little pup.” 

“Excuse me?!” Bakugou’s purr was cut short with his rush of agitation, his voice booming through their large chambers as Koge laughed. “I’m not a fucking whelp! You take that back!” 

“What are you gonna do about it, pup?” Koge couldn’t resist a grin at the flushing of his cheeks, baring her fangs to him playfully. “Gonna whine and spew a little fire out of your nose? Or are you gonna put me in my place?” 

With a frustrated growl, Bakugou could only glare down at her for a moment before pulling away, sitting up turning to sit on the edge of the bed, once again facing the mirror. “Oh fuck off! You know I can’t!” 

Frowning as guilt began to creep up on her, Koge sat up as well, placing her hand gingerly on his back. “Ah Katsuki, I’m sorry. I… I’ve just been feeling a little frisky lately, especially since that… new change happened. I’m… It’s a bit hard for me to control myself.” 

“Tch… It’s fine.” Bakugou’s glare was once again locked on his own reflection, though the center of his focus was his hips. There was another change to his body, one that he had been doing everything he could to hide from her until recently and had continually hoped that it would just vanish. It happened at the worst time, too, as Koge had just gotten to where she was comfortable making love to him again after further recovering from her trauma as a slave. They had almost gotten back to normal, and then his bloodline had to make the biggest dick move ever. Quite literally, in fact. 

His manhood had changed to further match his outward extremities. It wasn’t all that extreme, but it was enough to not only make him horrifically self-conscious about it, but fear that he would never properly have sex again. It had grown, in length and girth, with mostly human characteristics, outside of scales at the base that wrapped back around his hips to his tail, a series of ridges along the sides, and a more angled tip. The foreskin he had always sported did little to hide the changes, even when completely flaccid, though hiding it at all was impossible at this point. 

With heightened senses and urges, Bakugou found himself craving Koge’s attention, affection, and body more frequently than he had before. They had gotten used to it when his dick was normal, but for a few weeks, now, he had to suffer through the urges without being able to satisfy himself in any way. At first, he came up with excuses as to why he didn’t want to or couldn’t, mostly concerning the pain of his tail - which wasn’t completely a lie - just so that he could avoid the situation all together. But much to his dismay, Koge was quite clever, and she picked up on his odd behavior quickly. 

“Your dick changed, didn’t it?” She had cornered him one morning when she had tried to come onto him right before he got into the bath. “Let me see it!” 

He had let her, of course, but that only made things worse for him. She wasn’t put off by the changes in the slightest, nor was she concerned that it would be an issue. But he was, and he couldn’t quite get the fear out of his head. Of course, he knew that he would have to come to terms with it eventually and try to do something with this change, even if that jump was going to be difficult. Each time Koge offered to work with him or try anything, he’d back out, leaving him with a very painful experience of having to let his raging boner settle on its own. He couldn’t quite find it within himself to masturbate to get rid of the buildup or his urges, as even the feeling and pleasures were different and way more intense than what he was used to. Out of everything, his dick was the last thing he expected to change, and it had oddly taken the biggest mental toll on him. 

His erections were impossible to hide. Any touch that wasn’t his clothing or taking a piss felt like white hot lightning sparking through his body. Sitting or laying were made even more awkward when paired with his tail. He couldn’t properly make love to his wife. He couldn’t pleasure himself. He had to learn how to not walk awkwardly. Any clothes that could accommodate his tail still couldn’t handle his new manhood. 

He was different from head to toe, and that bothered him more than he was willing to say out loud. In the end, he didn’t need to say anything. Koge could see it all, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating for her, too. She wanted to help him adjust, more than anything, but it was impossible if he continually blocked himself off like this. Even now, he was trying to hide his obvious boner with his arms, and the discomfort on his expression was worrisome. He may be too reluctant to do something about it himself, but Koge knew that eventually, she’d have to show him that it was okay. By ‘eventually’, she knew that it would have to be now, while the subject was brought to the front and they had no chance of being interrupted. 

“Katsuki,” Koge purred near his ear softly, resting her body against his back while her arms came to rest over his broad shoulders. “Let me try-” 

“-Koge-” 

“- Just a little. You can’t keep going like this. We can’t keep going like this. Sooner or later, you have to let me face the dragon dick. If you just let me try, you’ll see that it’ll be okay.” 

Bakugou glowered at his lover out of the corner of his eye, still hunched over his own body in reluctance and worry. “You haven’t seen it erect yet, Koge. It’s… You can’t take it.” 

“You underestimate me a little, I think.” Koge nuzzled her nose against his cheek, giving him a firm kiss on the flushed skin. “I’m not human, remember? And your body is reacting to me. I’ll show you that I can take it just fine. Please?” 

“I’ll feel like shit if it doesn’t work out…” 

“Or you’ll continue to feel like shit if you never try. Right?” 

“Tch… You’re right.” 

Scooting off the bed, Koge stood in front of him, holding both of her hands out towards him. “Well? Let me help you, Katsuki. I promise it will feel good for both of us.” Although he wanted to take her hands immediately, Bakugou still hesitated, glancing over her body before catching her gentle gaze. Just looking at her like this, clad in nothing but a white sleeping gown, so flushed and unexpecting, had him immediately struggling not to snatch her off her feet and pin her onto the bed beneath him. The thought had his manhood straining, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to take this type of painful tension any longer. He needed to get past this, so he shifted himself to sit up, taking both of her hands tenderly in acceptance of her help. 

Smiling, Koge stepped in closer to stand between his legs, letting her hands slide up his arms with a slow and gentle touch that had goosebumps prickling along his skin. As she caressed the sides of his neck, his hands took hold of her petite hips, scooting himself closer to the edge of the bed to be able to pull her body flush against him. It was so incredibly difficult to hold himself back, the feeling of her body beneath his hands and the scent of her arousal completely overwhelming him, but the tender kisses she placed on his lips helped keep him grounded. Her purr soothed him, almost to the point that he felt as if he were floating, not noticing her hands slip down between their bodies until they sneaked beneath his pants to grip the source of his problems. 

At first, the hiss that escaped from between his teeth was from the chill of her hands, until her fingers traced along the prominent ridges, each little bump feeling as if she were stroking his tip. Or, what he remembered stimulation to his tip feeling like when he still had a normal dick. Then, the hiss grew into a deep growl, his entire body stiffening and his hands slipping around to grip her backside as she stroked him with both hands, up and down the aching shaft while avoiding the tip. “Mm, fuck- Yeah, tighter. That’s it-!” 

“My hands can’t even wrap around it all the way, Katsuki. And you’re dribbling so much cum already. It’s so warm.” Taking half a step back, Koge shifted his pants down out of the way to free him completely, keeping a little space between them so she could see her work. She wasn’t the only one watching, Bakugou’s eyes locked on the way her hands moved, displacing the slowly flowing precum with each firm stroke up and down his shaft. With the liquid acting as a lubricant, Koge was able to increase her speed, stroking all the way from the base to right before the tip. Before long, Bakugou’s entire body was trembling, his face shoved into her shoulder as he struggled to control his urges to pant and moan. 

“Stop teasing me, Koge!” 

“If I go there, you’ll cum really quick.” 

“Do it!” 

The growling demand made Koge bite her bottom lip, stroking from the base all the way back up to the tip, which immediately forced a trembling moan from his lips as he pulled her body back in closer. He was throbbing in her hands by now, each new stroke across his sensitive tip sending him further into an uncontrollable ecstasy. Within no time, what Koge had warned came to fruition, with Bakugou cumming after a few teasing strokes of her thumb around his tip. The petite woman didn’t expect it, of course, nor did she expect Bakugou to tug her body back up against him while rutting his hips forward so his cock stroked against the silk of her gown and soft form of her stomach. Within seconds, the front of the gown was drenched with his cum, the load much larger than either of them could have really expected. It stuck fast to Koge’s skin, hot and thick, coating her fingers and soaking through the thin fabric of her gown to dribble down her stomach. 

Panting as he came down from his high, Bakugou kept his face shoved into her shoulder, his entire body tingling with the weight of his release. “Fuck… That’s so much more than before…” 

“If you mean cum, then yeah, that’s a lot.” Koge moved back from him a bit, prompting Bakugou to sit up himself and observe the damage. One hand still lightly stroking up and down his still hard shaft, Koge brought the other to her lips, licking the cum from her fingers. “Mm, yummy. You even taste better, Katsuki.” 

“That’s a weird thing to notice.” Bakugou glowered up at his lover as she took another step back, first wiping her hands on her already ruined shift before pulling her arms inside and out through the neck opening. With it being so oversized, and with the added weight of the liquid that soaked it, it fell around her feet, leaving her bare. Just like nearly every time he saw her like this, Bakugou felt a lump grow in his throat, the glow of her pale skin in the dim light bringing on the urge to just touch and squeeze. Though, even as the chance presented itself to him with her crawling up onto his lap, he felt frozen, the nerves of still not being able to do this properly creeping back up on him. “Koge-” 

“Shh,” Holding onto his shoulders for support and facing him, Koge straddled his lap, knees firmly dug into the mattress. Not quite sitting down onto him yet, the halfling arched her backside out, turning her head a bit to look over her shoulder at the mirror behind them. “Look, Katsuki. See how wet you make me? How badly my body wants you?” 

Tearing his eyes off her collarbone area to look over her shoulder as well, the fire in Bakugou’s chest grew hotter from the view she presented to him, having to clench his teeth together to keep him from acting out. Dripping with her essence, Koge’s pussy was incredibly enticing, puffy, and pink with the need for the attention she had been denied all this time. Even still, she was so incredibly small compared to him, and her petite body just didn’t seem like it would be able to take him comfortably. “Koge… It won’t-” 

“It will,” Shifting her hips up, Koge let his cock rest between her legs, lowering herself down just enough to be able to grind against him. “I want your cock inside me so badly, Katsuki.” Cupping his cheeks, Koge kept her lips close to his, moaning softly with the stimulation to her clit. “Please let me. I’m begging you. Can’t you feel how hot my body is for you?” 

Gripping onto her hips tightly, Bakugou lightly dug his claws into her skin in frustration, which only prompted more vigorous efforts from his wife. Of course he wanted this. He wanted to fill her up to the brim and fuck her until she was an absolute mess. And he could. She wanted it. Then, with a teasing swipe of her cunt along his tip, she broke his restraint, and all he wanted was to be inside her. With a low growl, he reached up and took a fist full of her hair into his grip at the base of her head, firm enough to make her gasp and stop the rolling of her hips. 

“Fine.” Bakugou growled against her jawline, keeping her head firmly pulled back to keep her submissive and in place. “But you’d better be able to take it.” With that, his other hand guided her hips up and back, his tip slipping inside of her with ease. Immediately, a sharp gasp erupted from her throat, both of her hands moving back to clutch onto his shoulders while it took every ounce of Bakugou’s self-control not to slam her down all the way. Instead, he urged her down inch by inch, her chest heaving and body trembling as she took him in. By the time he was completely sheathed inside her, Koge was already nothing more than a panting mess, eyes rolled back, and nails dug into his skin. “Look at you. Fucking ruined already.” 

The sound of his voice helped pull her back, biting down onto her bottom lip when he released her hair and catching his gaze. “I-I can take it, though. See? I just… Mm, it feels so good, I can’t… I can’t move.” Koge looked back over her shoulder again to see them, her cheeks flushing bright red at how huge he looked stretching her out like this. 

Smirking, Bakugou pressed his lips against her temple, his eyes on their reflection as well. “Let me help you.” Finding that they were sufficiently lubricated, both from her and from his still present cum, Bakugou was easily able to pull her hips up and back down again, using his strength to make her bounce on his cock. The moans that escaped from her lips were like none he had heard before, the pure ecstasy drowning out all rational thought she may have had left. Within no time, she had taken over the rhythm, slamming her hips down onto him from tip to base with only the pleasure driving her forward. 

Resting back on his hands to keep them supported, Bakugou couldn’t get his eyes off their reflection, just seeing her body bounce and the way his cock vanished inside her hypnotizing him completely. She could take him, and the feeling of being one with her again like this was beyond what he would consider to be euphoria. Though, it was when she began to grind her hips that he nearly lost his control, tearing his eyes away from the mirror to look down at her. Leaning back with her hands supported on his knees, Koge rolled her hips with just as much effort as she had been before, though her eyes were locked on her stomach. 

“F-fuck-!” Overwhelmed with the pleasure, tears began to roll down her brightly flushed cheeks, though they were of little consequence. “Fuck! It’s so good! Your cock is so good! So deep inside me! You can…- ah! You can see it!” Sure enough, with each passing roll of her hips, a bulge was visible in her lower abdomen, instantly bringing a deep growl of satisfaction from Bakugou’s chest. 

“Yeah? You like seeing that while you fuck yourself on my cock, Koge?” One arm still behind him for support, his other hand came up to grip her hip, urging her to be more aggressive. “How I fill up that slutty fucking pussy?” 

“Yes!” Koge’s voice squeaked and trembled, struggling to keep up the momentum against the pleasure. “I love it!” 

“Well here, let me give you a better view.” Simultaneously standing up and scooping her body up off his cock, Bakugou made his way over to the mirror, turning her so that her back was pressed against his torso while supporting and spreading open her legs. Puzzled, Koge could only stare at their reflections, watching his cock twitch and her essence leak from her cunt that was aching for his return. With this view, she could truly see the size of him compared to her, making her feel suddenly so small and vulnerable, yet she wanted his cock back inside her more than anything in that moment. 

“K-Katsuki-!” 

“What, baby? You want it back inside you?” 

“Please!” Koge flexed her feet and toes impatiently, sniffling against her stuffed-up nose that came along with the tears. “Please, Katsuki! Put it back inside- a-ah!!” Clenching her eyes shut tightly, Koge leaned her head back against his shoulder at the feeling of his tip slipping back inside her, though her reaction was cut short by Bakugou’s deep and demanding growl in her ear. 

“Lift your head up and watch, you horny bitch. I want you to watch how my cock stretches out that tight little cunt.” 

Taking in trembling breaths, Koge weakly lifted her head, teary gaze locked back on their reflections. She watched as demanded, gasping and hiccupping as each inch vanished inside her, until he had filled her up to the base. In this position, the bulge in her lower abdomen was even more visible, though she didn’t have much time to take it all in before he started to thrust his hips up into her. A squeal escaped her parted lips with the first rough thrust, sending more pleasured tears cascading down her cheeks as he fucked her. With him in control, it felt like a completely different experience, her mind no longer having to focus on attempting to move. 

Now, all she had was him, fucking her relentlessly while she rested secure against his chest. The visual of them only made her hotter, able to see the way his cock ravaged her, his large hands supporting her legs, her breasts bouncing with the movement, and even his expression. That is what she loved to watch the most, how his expression was contorted with the pleasure and he was absolutely lost in it. Though, his eyes were on the reflection as well, and they eventually caught hers staring at his face. 

Bakugou felt himself immediately overwhelmed with the state of her ruined body, limp in his grip and completely drunk with pleasure. He wanted to destroy her more, to sink his teeth and claws into her silky flesh until she was marked head to toe by him. And yet, he wanted to hold and caress her, just to feel her tender touch along his burning skin. He wanted all of her and more. “What, Koge? Is it too much for you?”

“N-no-!”

“No?”

“No! I-I love it! I love it! Fuck-!” Koge leaned her head back, eyes rolling up as Bakugou adjusted the position to slam even harder into her. “Yes! I-I haven’t stopped cumming since you put it inside me-! I can’t think!”

“You’re such a good girl. You want my cum, baby?”

“Yes! Yes, I want it! Please fill me up! Breed me! I’m begging you!” 

Something animalistic snapped inside Bakugou with her plea, and without a second thought, he turned and shoved her face down into the bed, keeping her hips up in his firm grip as he fucked her mercilessly. Koge’s voice once again peaked, clutching onto the sheets as she moaned and cried into them. The new aggression and dominance he was displaying had her entire body screaming to have his cum inside her, the urge to mate with him so strong that she couldn’t ignore it. All she could sense was him, from his scent to the taste his cum had left on her lips, and without him she knew she would surely go insane. 

“Such an obedient little mate,” Bakugou’s grunts and moans began to mix with a deep growl, sending prickling goosebumps across Koge’s flushed and sweaty skin. “I’ll fill you up, slut. I’ll make sure you get what you’re begging for.”

Within the next few moments, Bakugou’s thrusts became erratic as he shifted his body closer to hover over her, digging himself in as deep as he could as he released inside her. With each rough buck of his hips into hers, Koge could feel the hot, thick liquid fill her, struggling to find room beside the large presence of his cock. Still, she couldn’t move or say a word, her entire body twitching and pulsing with the remnants of her final orgasm, squeezing his cock and forcing a sharp hiss from his behind his teeth. 

“That’s it, baby. Take it all in.” Taking hold of her ass in his hands, Bakugou spread her open, smirking in satisfaction at the sight of his cum leaking from her cunt around his cock. Slowly, he began to pull out, giving a deep purr at the mess his cum made with his exit, dribbling from her and onto the bed. “Fuck. Your cunt’s too small for all that cum, Koge.” 

Panting as she tried to recover some feeling in her limbs, Koge weakly reached down between her legs, using her petite fingers to stroke along her cum stained pussy, pushing them inside her and spreading herself open. “C’mon, Katsuki… Don’t let it all drip out. I told you to breed me.”

“You think I’m done with you?” Grabbing her by the arms, Bakugou pulled her upper body back against his, one of his hands caressing her neck while he kissed her flushed cheek tenderly. “My pretty mate… I’ll make sure you’re bred properly.”

Smiling, Koge placed her hand on his cheek, guiding his lips down to hers. “Mm… you’d better. Now shove that big cock back inside me. And make sure to use your teeth this time. Don’t be gentle with me.”

“Only if you beg.”

[doyelikehaggis]

10 Favourite Female Characters From 10 Different Fandoms

(List your 10 favorite female characters from 10 fandoms, then tag 10 people)

Thank you so much for the tag @a-lil-bi-furious !! ❤️

1. Malia Tate from Teen Wolf

Starting off strong — literally, she has the strength of, like, a bear and the temper of one! My angry girl!! I just loved her from the very first second we were introduced to her after turning back. She went through so much, and it clearly had a big impact on her, and we got to see her grow through most of it (but not all of it because the writers suck a bit) and work to become a pack member instead of the lone coyote she had gotten used to being. Also, she insanely pretty and cute so she’s allowed to growl at people every so often!

2. Liv Parker from The Vampire Diaries

My angry and extra sassy girl — witch edition! There’s just something about her that I love. I really understand Tyler; she could insult me and blast me across a room with magic and I would fall in love with her. But we know that a lot of her mean-girl attitude comes from her family issues, and it’s more of a defense mechanism than anything. So, it was nice to see a softer side of her around both Luke and Tyler — and Jo, on occasion. She knew she was the “weaker” twin and as much as the thought of dying scared her, she still stood strong and tried to find a way to save Luke from having to live with that guilt by finding another way — just as she saved Tyler from triggering his curse by killing someone (who was already dying because of him) for him. And then in the end, knowing she was going to die anyway, she saved him again. She deserved a way better ending and more of a chance to grow since we definitely were not done with her story, so I will be forever bitter but I love and appreciate the time we had her for!

3. Hope Mikaelson from Legacies

Is it cheating if they’re from the same universe but not the same show? I just love this little Tribrid so much. She’s gone through a lot her entire life — literally, she had people trying to kill her before she was even born. She lost her mum, and then her dad, and her uncle. Not to mention the, uh, killing a bunch of people in between and also finding out your first boyfriend helped kidnapped your mum in a plot to kill her and you (that he didn’t know about, given, but still). And having virtually no friends at school. But she still tried to be so strong all the time, to a point where she really should let more people in it and see that soft, vulnerable part that’s still in there. Her anger is justified, and sometimes out of her control due to her family, and I wish they’d let her get real help for it. She shouldn’t have to be the “hero” or the “saviour” all the time and I wish they would just cut her a break, let her rest, and have a moment of happiness that doesn’t end with her feeling like she didn’t deserve it.

4. Wanda Maximoff from MCU

(First of all, you don’t know how painful it was having to wade through a bunch of Pietro gifs in the process of finding this one.) The version of Wanda in the MCU is very... complex. Obviously there’s a lot of issues With the character, but if I’m focusing solely on who she is in the MCU, then I love her so much. And she definitely has some issues in her life. She starts off as the bad guy, angry and seeking “justice” (and revenge) for what happened to her parents, and in the same movie, we see her realize that the side she was working for wasn’t any better. We see her character develop quite a bit in just her first movie, and then over the course of the next ones, we see more sides to her; her guilt over hurting innocent people through a quickly-made decision, her compassion for Vision and for those other people, her grief over losing Pietro and Vision. And she herself is so powerful! She tries to live with the pain she’s endured but it takes over without her control, because both her grief and her magic are all-consuming. And I add this because I still refuse WandaVision’s change to the timeline: she went through all of this before she was eighteen. She’s so young, and in pain, but she still tries so hard to push through because other people need her, and she doesn’t want them to suffer like she has. Also, I just think it’s pretty when she does those little hand movements to possess people and her eyes turn red.

5. Nymphadora Tonks from Harry Potter

She deserved the absolute world. Her death was unnecessary, and I hate it, because she should have gotten to live the rest of her life raising her son, happy with her husband, and just generally being alive. She was so full of life and joy, and she tried to be the source of those things in the middle of a literal war when everyone was at their lowest and felt hopeless or angry. Also would’ve loved more scenes of her and her favourite cousin, Sirius, because they would be chaotic and they both deserved that. ALSO also, she’s very pretty, can change her appearance and chose to have pink/purple hair and dresses like how tiny me wanted to dress, so I immediately fell in love, of course.

6. Kara Danvers from Supergirl

She’s just so kind and compassionate despite everything the world has put her through — but she’s also angry deep down, and she’s hurt and in pain, and some of my favourite moments of hers are when she’s allowed to express that. When she’s allowed to really just lose it and lash out at the people who hurt her because she pushes it down for so long so that she can help everyone else that it finally just explodes.

7. Jody Jackson from The Dumping Ground

TW: mentions of different forms of child abuse. This girl deserves the whole world but I promise you that the world does not deserve her. The same can be said for pretty much all of the characters in The Dumping Ground, to be honest, but god she has just been through so much. Neglected by her mum from a very young age, abused physically and verbally by her and (presumably) both of her brothers, and it’s implied she’s abused sexually by one of her brothers as well. Of course when we first meet her she is angry and terrified. She still is because the trauma developed and was never fully dealt with, so she still carries it all around in her mouth and fists, until one little thing happens to make her lash out. And she knows she has a problem — she is terrified of becoming her brother, and sometimes her mum, and all she wants is to not hurt the people she loves. Because she loves so much, it’s just hard for her to know how to show it sometimes because sometimes all she can remember is how her family “loved” her. But she’s grown so much since she went into care and she’s getting help at last, and I just have so much hope for her happiness in the next series to come.

8. Annie Marks from Good Girls

She’s short, fiesty, will make jokes at the worst possible time, won’t stop calling a literal gang leader who has threatened her life on more than one occasion “gang friend”, was incredibly supportive and accepting of her son when he came out as trans, will punch someone when necessary (probably also when not), has a semi-friendly co-parenting thing going on with her ex, and is just all around adorably ridiculous.

9. Casey McDonald from Life With Derek

Ignoring Derek in the gif — Casey usually does, too. Casey is a perfectionist, and frankly, sometimes quite annoying about it and some other things, and yes, she definitey initiates a lot of the arguments between her and Derek. And that is why I love her. She is in no way perfect, and her striving to be comes from anxiety and insecurities that are partially the result of the instability in her life. I love how, no matter how much she may despise Derek, when there’s a real problem, she tries to help. She cares about the people in her life, and I can’t wait for her to return to as a mum of four!

10. Ashley Garcia from The Expanding Universe of Ashley Garcia

Someone give the world TO her, please?? It’s a shame this fandom is so small because she deserves so much love and appreciation. She’s a literal genius but lacks... a lot of social skills at the start of the show. But she learns from her friends, and gets to experience new things, including having a crush for the time (and the second!) and she’s just generally living life as a fairly normal teenager. While still being an absolute genius. I just love this smiley little dork so much!

Tagging: @pad-foots @donnas-troia @childofsquidward @multifandomlover121 @superarrowverse @dance-is-life27 to participate if you want to, but as always, no pressure! And anyone who wants to do this but wasn’t tagged — you have been now! Go do it!