#wrinkles & scars all tell stories

[r0semultiverse]

I can say with confidence that having a childhood crush on Tsunade from Naruto was a gateway into being down bad for the elderly for some 90s kids.

[doctorbeth]

A pair of elderly patients: Part 1 Poochie

Poochie the dog is owned by a family among you dear people. He is over 60 years old, about 7 or 8" tall, and very well loved. He's had repairs before to his shoulders, and he'd been wearing a red dress for years to try to protect his skin from further wear.

His person (his original person) wanted to keep him as close to original as possible, but also wanted to stabilize and reinforce him. Here are his original diagnosis photos, sent by another family member:

I'm showing larger versions in the hopes that you can see not only his holes, but the runs where his fabric is see through.

Poochie came to the hospital last month for wound repair and supplemental stuffing... just a touch to protect him on the inside. He wasn't getting a spa, he needed to stay as original as possible. And we were keeping old repairs where possible too. Rather, the treatment for Poochie was to stitch wounds, adding fabric under his runs to take the pressure of stitches, and patches where he had holes. Just enough to stabilize him. He wasn't going on adventures with toddlers anymore, but he wanted to feel safe watching over his family. Here's Poochie all better:

He's sort of like a kintsugi vase with its visible seams, or an older person, whose wrinkles and gray hairs tell their story. Poochie earned every scar and new seam, but he's huggable and lovable specifically for those patches and seams, which are reminders of all the adventures he's had. And now, he can be hugged again and share his memories (and make new ones) with his family in Washington.

[charliemwrites]

Hahahaha good morning I had the wildest dream last night so I’m going to inflict it on all of you:

(I’m not done with keeper/kept. Just had to get this out)

Warnings for obsessive/possessive behavior, unhealthy and semi-one sided relationship, not-quite-dark John price.

John Price who decides it time he has a wife. Not retiring, god no! He’s not done yet. But his home is lonely when he’s on leave; he’s getting sentimental as he gets “older”. So, he wants a wife.

In theory, it sounds like just what he wants. A pretty warm thing snoozing in his bed when he gets home at ass o’clock in the morning. Someone to fret over new scars and fresh bandages. Someone to fuss at him for “taste testing” meals and wrinkle their nose at his cigars.

In practice, it’s not so easy. If it was, he reckons he would have been married by now. Good thing he’s already got the perfect candidate picked out.

You own a small business in his town. Not fabulously wealthy, but comfortable and independent. Something to keep you busy while he’s away but you make your own hours so your schedule it flexible to see him when he has infrequent leave.

And he adores you, knows that you’ve got more than a little crush on him. You smile and blush and reciprocate his interest, have only refrained from perusing anything because you didn’t think he was serious. But oh, he is.

One day you say something particularly charming and he says, “marry me.”

He’s been dropping these little jokes for a while now and you always start laughing because it’s just the kind of dramatic humor you love. Today you say something different than your usual overdramatic “oh but it could never work, captain.”

Today you say, “if only.”

How pathetic is it that you’re holding a candle for a man you’ve never even gotten a coffee with? Your family laments that your can’t spend your whole life married to your job. That they want grandchildren and nieces/nephews, someone to tell embarrassing stories about you to on holidays. You used to roll your eyes, but the prospect doesn’t feel so obligatory anymore.

Anytime you imagine it, it’s John Price there. You’ve stopped trying to imagine it for your heart’s sake.

Except a week later he’s sweeping into your shop and dropping a kiss on your cheek. An unusual greeting, but maybe he’s in a good mood. His hand lingers on the small of your back while you show him the new product that just came in.

You live above your shop and one day he shows up at the door with a bottle of wine, telling you he could use some good company. You’re shocked and confused but he looks like an amalgamation of every heartthrob in a hallmark or romcom you’ve ever “ironically” enjoyed. You invite him in.

By mid morning, he’s had you in every room of your apartment. Ate you out slow and greedy on the counters. Bent you over the dining table. Bounced you on his cock on your couch. Fingered his cum out of you in the bathtub. And absolutely ruined you twice over in your own bed.

He even changes the sheets before the two of you pass out that final time. And when you finally do wake up, he’s taken the initiative to brew coffee and make breakfast. It’s like a dream.

He fucks you against the door before he leaves.

When he’s deployed again, he calls you every night. You don’t expect it the first time, but it’s a sweet gesture to show things aren’t ruined. You’re not expecting the second time either and have to call him back when you climb out of the shower. The third time you wait for it, but still startle a bit when his name pops up on the screen.

He calls you every night he can while he’s away. You don’t know what to make of it.

Then one day you come back from errands to see movers in the yard. You think it’s some kind of mistake until John meets you at your car.

“Fire in the next building over,” he explains. “Their insurance will cover all the damages but it’s not safe to stay in your place. Mine’s just up the road. Figured you could stay until it’s sorted out.”

You want to be annoyed, and you almost are. But the overwhelm of nearly losing everything - only to have all the stress already handled and the important, nerve wracking decisions smoothed over? You just take the good luck.

To thank John for his generosity (and to fill the void of not running the shop) you bustle around his too-big house. Cook meals, keep things tidy. Keep John company when he manages to snag you from your gratitude-induced work.

He spends hours fucking you nice and slow, whispering things you barely remember in your ear. That you’re perfect for him, so sweet like a little wife, that he’d come home to you for the rest of his life. You kiss him quiet and rock back against him when it starts sounding too tempting.

Eventually, the repairs on your shop/apartment are done. It feels like a rude awakening to a pleasant dream. Instead of moving your things back, John moves more things in. When you tell him that you appreciate his kindness, but you should probably get back to your own space, he gets an odd look. Asks what you mean when this is your space.

And the trap springs closed.

“John,” you half-laugh, shaking your head. “We’re not actually married you know?”

“Not last I checked.”

The marriage certificate gets framed in the bedroom you’ve been sharing for a month. You storm out and stay in a hotel. He lets you for three days before coming to retrieve you. When you try to be stubborn, he gives you an exasperated look (as if you’re the one being unreasonable) and politely asks that you not make a scene by forcing him to carry you of there.

For your own reputation, you comply, glowering out his car window the whole ride to his house. Try to give him the silent treatment which lasts about 30 minutes before he’s got you moaning and whining on his cock.

He drives you to the shop in the morning and picks you up at night. Anytime you try to put your little foot down, he just scoops you off them. The neighbors start cooing that he’s such a good man. You try not to scream.

When he’s finally deployed again, you try to move all your things back to your home. Except the movers apologetically tell you that they can’t trespass on John’s property.

Fine, you’ll do it yourself. Somehow.

You pack two suitcases and some of your cookware. Load it all up in a rental - because John sent your damn car into the shop - and trying to get comfortable in your own flat again.

Except it’s all wrong. The scent of smoke still lingers, it’s cold because the heating hasn’t been turned on yet this year. Half your things are gone and there’s no food in the fridge or pantries. You tough it out. Buy a ready-made meal and new bed linens and pillow. Sleep in a bed too cold even with the heat finally on.

When John calls, you don’t answer. He sends a text that simply reads “I love you.” You toss your phone across the room.

The next night, when he calls again and you don’t answer, he sends a “stay safe, love.” You spend twenty minutes with fingers poised over the keys. Chug a glass of wine and send back a neutral “you too, John”.

When he calls on the third night, you pick up, bark a sharp “knock it off” and hang up. Another text that he was so happy to hear your voice.

Another call, you pick up and demand “what are you doing?” He chuckles on the other end. “Calling my darling wife. I miss you.” You believe him. That’s the worst part.

When he gets back, you ride the long, long river of denial right up until he’s at your door, eyebrows arched. “Really, love,” he hums, “you didn’t have to come all the way over here just because you missed me.”

You want to hit him. You storm off to your bedroom instead. He wanders the house. You hear him clattering in the kitchen and wandering around the living room. When you hear the door close, you think he’s finally left and given all this up.

Twenty minutes later, he’s casually removing the door (sans hinges) and gathering you up. When you get back to his house, he carries you inside and fucks the tantrum right out of you in the shower, growling that you don’t smell like home anymore.

When you wake up from your three-orgasm induced nap, he’s washing the clothes you took to your old flat. On your left hand is a pretty diamond with “JP” carved into the band.

At the store, people start calling you “Mrs. Price”. The neighbors (John’s neighbors) invite you over as “the Prices”. You glare at him when he starts looking too smug about it.

When he’s set to deploy again, he sits you on the kitchen counter, caging you in with arms.

“Don’t make me come get you this time,” he warns, pressing kisses along your jaw. “This is gonna be a rough one. I just want to see you when I get home.”

It’s a warning that you know to heed. You don’t try to leave this time. When he calls, you answer, rattling off stupid details about your day. You’re shocked to hear him remember names and dates and tasks with everything else hes got going on. Promises he’ll deal with the creep at the post office when he gets home.

“And… you are coming home… right?” you ask.

“Nothing could keep me away, love.”

He doesn’t call for three days straight. You tell yourself the tightness in your chest is just anxiety over how the hell to handle his assets if he’s dead.

At 3am, the bed dips, a warm body pressing up against your back. You recognize John’s arms wrapping tight around your waist. You stir.

“Are you alright?” you ask.

“Perfect now, love.”

“Mm welcome home.”

“Good to be home, gorgeous.”

[starry-eyes-love]

You are real, and you are beautiful no matter what. Life isn't perfect, so don't think your physical imperfections are ugly. They're not. Scars, dimples, wrinkles, etc. are all beautiful. Means you lived life and have stories to tell. So tell your story baby, we only got one chance to do it.

[sarahs-library]

Forgotten: Part Two

Azriel wakes to find himself with everything he'd never allowed himself to wish for. Now, faced with the reality of all he thought he wanted, he must come to terms with his desires and the unexpected direction his life had taken.

Word count - 3564

A/N - Thank you all so much for reading the first part of my little story and for all the lovely comments and words of encouragement. I'm still learning how to post and interact on here, a few people asked to be added to a taglist which I've tried to create but I'm not sure if it actually works.

Part One ☪ Part Three

Forgotten Universe: Pretty Eyes

Azriel

Azriel was still under Madja’s knurled fingers as they palpated his temples, the soothing chill of her healing magic drifted over tender, swollen skin. Her copper eyes assessed his face closely and he schooled his features into a blank mask. His gaze drifted over the curve of her shoulder to meet Rhys as he lingered by the open doors of the balcony. The bland smile, the loose set of his shoulders, and the hands that hung casually in the pockets of his trousers irked Azriel. After so many years it wasn’t difficult to read this feigned nonchalance, the worry it masked beneath.

“A lingering effect of the head injury, exacerbated by the bloodsbane.” Madja’s fingers continued to probe as Azriel returned his attention to her. Thickness lingered on his tongue; left over from the medication she’d administered on her arrival to reign in his fever. His head felt clearer now, where his shadows had been silent before they sang again, murmuring of the almost imperceptible anxious shift of Rhys’ weight on the floorboards. Elsewhere the House of Wind was quiet and empty, Elain having fled into Rhys’ arms with a demand to be winnowed home without sparing a glance in his direction. Azriel had been left to stew in solitude until his brother had returned with the ancient healer tucked in his arms, greying spindrift hair windswept, her face lined with wrinkles and kind concern.

“Some amnesia isn’t uncommon with an injury like this,” Madja continued finally pulling her hands away from his face. “Though to ascertain its true extent you must tell us what you remember shadow-singer.” She retreated from him into the chair Elain had occupied earlier, righted by Rhys, and slowly lowered herself on creaking joints. Azriel balked a little under the attention as he tried to force himself to recollect. Pain brewed between his eyes. He remembered the visit to Hewn City, the scheming; the gifting of Nesta’s made blade to Eris. He remembered the solstice party, the disaster of his foray with Elain afterward, and his brother’s wrath. The ensuing weeks had been busy, his mornings occupied with training the Valkyries and concocting obstacle courses modeled after the Blood Rite qualifier. The afternoons and evenings spent keeping tabs on Eris and following up on the dead leads from whispers and fables of high-fae women bearing winged babes. Everything after was hazy, difficult to hold, and worsened the pain in his head if he tried to focus for too long.

“Feyre,” he said, and Rhys cocked an eyebrow, his face encouraging him to continue. “We were following leads on the delivery of winged babes.” The darkening of Rhys’ features filled Azriel with a sense of foreboding. “Feyre,” he continued, “is she…Is the babe...” He trailed off, unsure of how to broach the topic. Rhys’ features softened, understanding his brother had misinterpreted the emotion to be driven by his grief and loss and not for the male before him. Shoulders pulled forward in a rare display of vulnerability, scarred fingers clasping his knees for stability, Rhys struggled to recall a recent memory of seeing his brother so open, so vulnerable. He hadn’t seen him this lost since their youth in the war camps.

“Feyre,” Rhy drawled, fixing Azriel with what he hoped was an abating expression. “And the babe, we named him Nyx, they’re both well. Perfect.” Rhys watched his brother process the information, the small twitch of the corner of his mouth the only sign of his surprise. Watched as Azriel came to terms with the missing months in the timeline, Feyre still had half of her pregnancy to go during the solstice. How would he even begin to broach the missing years? “You don’t remember anything about the attack?” Rhys probed, Azriel bristled under the line of questioning.

“No.” His fingers danced over his injured abdomen and trailed the bandages before climbing up to rub over the empty feeling in his chest, worse than any wound he’d ever gotten. It left him feeling cold and empty. The glint of his rings caught his eye. The signet on his little finger embossed with the Night Court symbol, a gift from Rhys centuries ago declaring him part of his found family, rubbed against an unfamiliar band of gold.

Feyre

Feyre locked eyes with Nuala as she crouched over Nyx playing with his toys on the carpet. The shadow-wraith stepped silently over to them and greeted the young heir to the Night Court with a small smile, producing a plate of homemade biscuits warm from the oven and smelling of cinnamon. Nyx fixed her with his cerulean eyes and toothy smile, cheeks chubby from the lingering fat of youth. Reaching out to fist the crumbling treat in one hand he thanked her, proceeding to get more crumbs in the creases of his clothes than he did in his mouth. Feyre’s heart swelled.

“I’ll be back soon,” she reached out to stroke his midnight hair as his arms waved, one brandishing a small wooden figure and the other his half-eaten treat.

“Okay, mama.” His eyes were drawn to her briefly before he returned to his imaginary world, moving his wooden figure into position to conquer the high ground of his drawing table, covered in drying paint and charcoal pencils.

“You’ll behave for Nuala won’t you?” Nyx nodded eagerly in agreement and proceeded to clash the figurine in his hand against a triangle formation of his enemies with a sound of delight. Feyre rose, leaning close to thank the shadow-wraith on her way to the door. After taking an indulgent glance backward she stepped into the breach, winnowing to a familiar path on the outskirts of Velaris.

Well-manicured grass thick with morning dew poked through the paving stones Feyre stepped between on the way up to the front door. The lower level was in darkness, the windows blending into the dark stone and winding vines. The second level blazed, fae light seeping out of the floor-to-ceiling windows though Feyre saw no movement.

The dark wood of the door opened on a wind under her fist, poised to knock, and Feyre took the invitation to enter. The foyer offset the chill of the early morning air and she made a beeline towards the dark staircase. The open door allowed a beam of sunlight into the sitting area, dark with the curtains drawn, illuminating the comfortable leather chairs perched around the large fireplace.

Feyre eyed the portrait hanging above the mantle, a solstice gift to Azriel the year after his mating ceremony, her heart ached. Depicting the moment after the vows had been said and the food exchanged, hands clasped between them bound by thick dark ribbon, Feyre remembered agonizing for days over how to properly encapsulate onto the canvas the shared look of love and adoration. Feyre couldn’t imagine how you had coped over the last few days, in the last months of pregnancy sitting vigil at Azriel’s bedside wondering if he would wake up. Presumably elated to hear he had awake, only to find him in the arms of another woman, one with whom he shared such history.

Continuing up the stairs to the second floor Feyre followed the fae lights towards the front of the house. The door to the nursery was ajar and she stopped short of the threshold. Your back was to her, one hand tracing the soft carved wood of the bassinet Azriel had spent every spare moment painstakingly crafting. The scent of fresh paint hung in the air, leftover from a few weeks ago when the pair of you decorated the walls with murals of snow-capped mountains, lush forest greenery, and frolicking animals.

Suspended over the bassinet in a sea of miniature stars hung multicolored globes, each spinning on their invisible axis. The spiraling constellation, you’d called it a galaxy, held all the planets known to your people. Feyre wondered how many you’d seen in your trips across the stars as you reached up into the field of magic closest to you to trace your fingers over a small planet of russet brown cratered with darker swirls.

“Rhys told me what happened.” Feyre watched as you continued to agitate the floating sphere. You didn’t turn. She crept closer into the room, torn between giving you space and reaching out in comfort. She waited with bated breath to see if you would respond before continuing. “It’s the head injury, he doesn’t remember.”

“He had no idea who I was.” The hand that hung in the stars moved to cradle your abdomen. “He would’ve…” You trailed off. The posturing, the aggression, there was no doubt at that moment Azriel viewed you only as a threat, a stranger, someone who had invaded his home. That was not the male who had doted on you only a week before, hands cradling you gently as his lips brushed your soft skin singing low lullabies to your unborn babe.

“Elain was at the River House earlier,” Rhys had dropped her there with a rushed explanation before disappearing again. “She feels awful, she wanted to come and apologise.” Feyre wasn’t sure why she brought up Elain, as soon as the words were out of her mouth she realised she’d made a grave miscalculation.

“I don’t care what Elain wants right now Feyre.” The temperature in the room plummeted as you finally turned to look at her. For a moment the air in the room thinned and Feyre struggled against the pressure of the vacuum that forced her to exhale. As quickly as it came the atmosphere in the room returned to normal and she sucked in a shaky breath through her teeth.

“I know, I know. I didn’t mean it like that.” Feyre tried to keep her voice low and soothing, pinned under your gaze as she edged closer, reaching out to place an open palm on your arm. “Madja’s with him now, she says that all this is to be expected. When Rhys spoke to her earlier she said these things usually resolve themselves with time.” Your thumb traced gentle circles on your swollen belly.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a little short on that right now.” The anger in your tone was undermined by the tears threatening to spill. Realising there wasn’t anything she could say Feyre moved to pull your body against her own. Arms encircling you in a comforting embrace, she rubbed her fingers between your shoulder blades. You moved to hold her back, resting your face in the space where her neck met her shoulder as you let the tears fall. “What am I going to do?” Your voice was thin and watery, in the time Feyre had known you she’d never heard you speak with so little conviction.

“We’re going to figure this out.” She pulled away slightly and clasped your face between her hands, forcing you to meet her gaze. “I promise. You have all of us, you’re not alone in this. We’ll do everything we can for you, both of you.” Nodding you sniffed, pulling away. Feyre let you go as you turned your attention back out to the window, eying the gilded disc of the sun as it rose across the Valaris skyline.

“I’m heading to the House of Wind,” Feyre continued to observe you as you tracked the ascent. “Would you like to come?” You moved closer to the window. On the opposite side of the city you could see the grand mountain range and it’s carved residence. Through the morning mist blanketing the base a large, winged figure rose, angling to land on one of the balconies.

“I don’t think I can look at him right now.” Feyre acquiesced her desire to push you to come with her.

Azriel

After Madja had left Rhys with strict instructions regarding Azriel’s rehabilitation over the next couple of days, he’d supported his brother’s weight while they made slow progress to the bathroom. Azriel’s limbs felt stiff, uncharacteristically uncoordinated and he concentrated on remaining upright and shuffling one foot in front of the other.

Steam rose from the bath the House had prepared, swirling to meet the shadows that seeped down his arm as Azriel braced one hand on the edge of the tub. Using the other he edged the loose cotton trousers down over his thighs until they pooled at his feet. Fingers tugged at the cotton on his abdomen to find purchase, loosening and unwinding until the bandaging fell away to reveal an angry pink scar, jagged and stark against tanned skin.

“Want me to wash your back?” Rhys shot him a cheeky grin, but the mirth in his voice didn’t reach his eyes. Azriel appreciated the effort, this small attempt at normalcy. He shot his brother an obscene gesture before raising one leg to step into the tub, thigh muscles twitching as he shifted into the hot water. Using his arms to brace his weight he started to lower himself in, descending too quickly they struggled to hold him up causing a wave of bathwater to soak the floor. Azriel sunk under the warmth of the water, allowing it to soothe him.

“We’ll be in the dining room, come down when you’re ready.” His shadows had already informed him of Cassian and Nesta’s arrival, he assumed the rest of his family wouldn’t be far behind. Azriel nodded, avoiding Rhys’ gaze, pretending to study the shadows roiling over the water. In the mirror on the opposite wall, Azriel watched Rhys’ reflection as he opened his mouth as if to speak, no sound coming out as he considered, before closing it again and disappearing through the doorway.

Dressing had been an arduous process, though no longer stiff and painful his muscles had a weakness that he wasn’t used to. After struggling into the tight second skin of his fighting leathers he felt more himself. Finding truth-teller laid out in its holster on the dresser he strapped it to his thigh. His shadows, now a fuller cohort with the effects of the bloodbane leaving his system, were a thick tangle of moving darkness, sour and agitated in solidarity with their master.

Despite his interrogation, they hadn’t offered him any useful information, it caused Azriel great frustration when they took the stance of purposeful vagueness or outright ignored him. He sent them ahead down the corridor to scout out the dining room only to be turned around by a shield of impenetrable night. Whatever conversations were going on in that room, Rhys did not want him privy to them. His own family, keeping secrets. It left a bad taste in Azriel’s mouth, a sense of betrayal in his chest that sat next to the empty feeling he was growing accustomed to, a limb he didn’t know he had until it was missing.

Azriel reached the closed door, the thick night dissipating as he progressed, the sound from beyond the door returned but he heard no voices. Just the sound of breathing and the clink of porcelain as someone set a cup on a saucer. Rhys must have informed them of his impending arrival. He pushed the door open and took in his family.

Cassian, Nesta, Rhys, Feyre and Amren all sat at the table which had been used for family dinners before the River House was built. Their faces were carefully blank as he assessed them all. Mor was notably absent, information Azriel tucked away, either her efforts across the continent were still ongoing or some other manner of business had her attention. He hadn’t expected to see Elain, not after her spectacular display of anger, but he couldn’t help the feeling of unease and disappointment it left in his gut.

“Finally, the invalid graces us with his presence. Took you long enough,” Cassian sent him an easy grin, arms folded across his stomach as he lounged in his chair. Azriel scowled in response which only made his brother’s smile wider. This had always been Cassian’s modus operadi, an invitation to be provoked into a physical outlet if that’s what was needed, thinly veiled under jibes he rarely meant at heart. For a moment, Azriel considered taking up the unspoken offer, if only to delay what was undoubtedly going to be an uncomfortable conversation.    

“Azriel,” it was Feyre who spoke, offering him a small smile, “Why don’t you join us?” Azriel understood that it wasn’t an invitation and slid into the seat next to Amren. His eyes met Nesta’s who sat across from him. They’d reached a tentative understanding, perhaps it could be considered a friendship, in the months he could recall. He remembered her joy at receiving the solstice gift he’d gotten for her, the resulting rare display of physical affection.

Looking at her now, face resolute and stony with blazing anger behind her eyes, barely contained, he had the sense that something had damaged the dynamic between them. He purposely looked away, instead fixing his eyes on Rhys; then Feyre. He waited for someone to speak, break the almost oppressive silence. He half-expected it to be Cassian again, with some throwaway comment or badly timed joke, but it was Rhys who cleared his throat.

“Azriel, thank you for joining us.” Azriel raised an eyebrow at the formality but stayed silent. “There are some matters we need to discuss.”

“Clearly.” He trailed his eyes over his family again, they all seemed uncomfortable to be here, to be around him. As if they knew he was going to react badly to whatever they were going to say. Rhys let his remark go, seeming resolute to power ahead with the conversation.

“What you showed me of your recent memories,” he continued, eyes drifting to Feyre who gave him an encouraging smile. “Lead us to believe that the memory loss is more extensive than we originally feared. Azriel, what you showed me – it was more than five years ago.” Azriel barely seemed to move under the scrutiny of their gazes. He’d lost years of his life. In the grand scheme of his immortality it felt like nothing, but looking at his family and realising that they lived in a future he didn’t remember left him feeling sick.

Azriel tried to find some rational thought to hold onto as he spiralled. He fell back onto the only thing he could rely on, his role as the Night Court’s spymaster. “Was it the work of the Queens? The attack?”

“The debacle on the continent has been resolved, for the most part. It was only supposed to be a routine investigation, nothing too strenuous or time-consuming given your current…” Rhys paused. “Situation. You were gathering information on some remaining rebellious factions, we didn’t anticipate that you would meet that kind of resistance, that they would have the resources. We’re sorry Az, we never meant for any of this to happen.”

“And what exactly is my current situation, Rhysand? What do you have to apologise for?” Azriel’s voice was low and dangerous. Amren snorted at the display, reaching for her wine glass. He expected a scathing remark, but it never came as Rhys shot her a look, and in a rare moment of deference she adhered as he implored her to remain silent.

“The female that was in the house earlier-“

“The thief.” Azriel interrupted.

“No,” Feyre cut in before Rhys could continue. “Her name is Y/N, and she’s your mate Az. The situation,” Feyre seemed to find describing it as such distasteful, but she continued. “Is that she is pregnant, with your child. That’s why we’re sorry, if we knew how dangerous it would be we never would have asked you to go alone.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Three brothers for three sisters, that was what Azriel had always thought about, always dreamed. The cauldron blessing him with undeniable proof that, though not blood-related, he and his brothers were three equal parts in the eyes of fate. He’d wanted that, seeing how happy they were in their relationships filled him with bone-deep envy. Observing from the sidelines as Rhys and Feyre prepared for the new addition to their family with vigour, as Cassian and Nesta had danced around each other in slowly shrinking circles. The other halves of their souls. That should have been him and Elain, never mind the mockery of the bond Vanserra thought they had. Azriel knew it was a mistake, a sick joke that would all work out in the end because there was no other way it could be. Three brothers for three sisters.

He wanted it all. A house on the outskirts of the city, filled with the sweet scent of Elain’s baking and made beautiful by the flowers she cultivated in their gardens. Filled with sunlight and happiness, somewhere to retreat from the darkest corners of his life. He’d dreamed of that life in the secret hours of the dawn, of a future where the issues of Feyre’s pregnancy had been resolved and perhaps their home was filled with the noise of children.

Now he had awoken in a future where he had those things, a mate, an unborn babe on the way, only to find it wasn’t with whom he desired. Elain, whom he had woken in this world for, who had been so tender in his first moments of consciousness, who had kissed him back. Azriel couldn’t imagine choosing to build that life with anyone else.   

A/N - Phew! I know, the angst was real. I promise it will get better, but there's definitely a long way to go here! Part three is in the works, not sure when it will be finished but hopefully it won't be too long.

Tag list: @kalulakunundrum @impossibelle @we-were-beautiful @going-through-shit @mulansaucey @sv0430 @naturakaashi @amygdtjhddzvb @airstrip-0 @acourtofsmutandstarlight @myheartfollower @whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @valencia-rou @amysangel @furiousbooklover @phoenixgurl030 @imnotsiriusyouare @i-am-infinite

[90sbee]

Sometimes a saviour is a soldier afraid of peace

Levi Ackerman x Fem!Reader

4.4k words. Also on ao3.

He looks at her in quiet admiration.

He doesn’t deserve her. But again, he doesn’t really deserve anything. He already has gotten too much: spoiled by the sweet possibility of life when all his comrades have fallen, their bodies twisted, mangled by titans and enemies alike.

Levi hardly cries, but he wants to cry in that moment. She turns on the stove for him, and rummages through his cabinets. She finds two cups and a sob is trapped inside his throat.

He doesn’t fucking understand why she stays, why she puts up with his sorry ass but, damn it. Damn it if he at least doesn’t try.

The war is over, but the demons still haunt Levi. Luckily for him, the last member of his Squad seems focused on remaining by his side as they both face this new enemy: peace.

This was !!! My first fic written in English, actually. Also my first (and only time so far) writing for aot. Levi is such an angsty angel, and this story wouldn’t leave my head, so I had to end up writing it, ofc. This has been in the drafts for... months. Too many months already. And tbh I'm not a fan of how it came out. But. Posting it in case someone else can enjoy Levi finally getting some love and comfort, sjsjs.

Content: Use of 3rd person pronouns. No use of y/n. Mostly Levi's pov. Reader was part of his Squad. Post!Rumbling Levi. Written with the manga ending in mind. A lot of fluff, rude Levi even if he doesn't mean it (but reader knows he means no harm). Healing. Spooning (Levi as the little spoon btw. He deserves it).

Warnings: depressive thoughts, self confidence issues. Mentions of past violence (but nothing gruesome, it's all in passing). SFW. No beta reader we die like everybody in Aot here.

They always meet. Every single day, she leaves her little flat to find him near the fountain in the Marleyan park, eager to push his wheelchair and pass some time with him.

Levi doesn’t understand. When Onyankopon, or Falco, or Gabi let her take the wheelchair, he just ponders. He could understand why they would accompany him: because he is old? because they feel pity of him?… But her?

Nonetheless, every single afternoon, she comes to him. He doesn’t recall when this custom began. It’s like slowly, but surely, she started digging a place into his routine. She was part of his remaining squad, and he really didn’t see any point to her bubbling-self still being by his side.

Still, he appreciates her visits. She exchanges pleasantries with Gabi, already smiling. Why is she smiling?

“Hi, Captain,” she says. Should he feel mocked? He isn’t a captain anymore and the title feels too much, even if it’s comforting in some way. Levi doesn’t reply. He just nods, silently acknowledging her presence. “Is it okay if we go to the stalls for a while, Captain?” She inquires, as if it was the first time they did it, and not a weekly occurrence. His jaw tenses. He doesn’t understand, still. She surely pities him. She has to.

He agrees to her proposal, though.

“Sure,” he replies, barely any emotion on his face.

She smiles at him. For a moment, they look at each other. She sees that familiar scarred face, a grey eye gazing into her soul. He sees the older face of her remaining squad member, some wrinkles next to her eyes, her figure dressed in green. For some reason, he liked that colour on her.

He doesn’t share that with her, though.

“Let’s get going,” she adds, a little chuckle in her voice — he can hear it — as she starts pushing the wheelchair. They check out the little shops that are already so familiar. Sometimes she signals a piece of jewellery or clothes. She asks for his opinion, or points at a silly artwork, in hopes of making him laugh.

When the cold starts to set in, she stops them in front of a coffee shop.

“Wait here a second, Captain,” she tells him.

“Where would I go, anyway?” He wants to say, snarky, but he doesn’t really bother in opening his mouth. He stays silent still, perking his head up to see what’s she’s doing.

“Oi. coffee?” He complains.

She directs her gaze to him and chuckles, paying the vendor.

“I know you like tea but it’s time to broaden your horizons,” she explains. She comes up to him again, and hands him one of the cups. He sighs, but accepts the drink still.

“What is it this time?”

“Just chocolate. Hot chocolate,” she answers, already sipping hers.  She lets out a content sigh when the warmth of it starts to fill her belly.

“I don’t like chocolate,” Levi mutters under his breath. He is lying and she knows it.

“Tsk. That’s not true. Everybody likes chocolate.”

“… Fine,” he sips his drink and, admittedly, enjoys it. She hands him her drink so she can push the wheelchair again, and he takes it, guarding both cups on his lap, a familiar action for the two of them now.

“Where do we go?” She asks.

Levi shrugs. “As if I had a choice.”

She looks at him still, and when he can see her, barely from his peripheral vision, he sees a softer face. She’s waiting for his reply. He looks at her, looks at her lips. She isn’t smiling anymore. Levi sighs, suddenly feeling guilty.

He doesn’t understand still why she does this for him.

“Captain?” She says, just above a whisper, since there are people around them and they both just want to have a calm evening, without the risk of being recognised.

Levi nods before he even opens his mouth.

“The bridge.”

“Good,” she agrees as he sips from his drink again, guided by her. He does feel warmer. Levi inspects the people around him in silence, letting himself be carried, taken to a nicer place. “Hange would have like this,” he thinks. He looks down to suddenly realise he is clenching his fist, hard. “If you could even call it a hand…”

“We’re here, Captain,” she announces, letting his wheelchair rest next to a bench, overlooking the water. She takes a seat next to him, and Levi hands her the drink. He wonders if she noticed how tense he’s been feeling today.

“Be quick with that, brat, or it will get cold,” he warns, as if to pre-emptively shut down any words from her. He’s not sure he could handle it.

She just nods.

“It’s still warm,” she mentions after a moment.

The sunset is taking its place on the sky, a beautiful palette of oranges and pinks against a very flat horizon. A reminder of what was once lost.

“Good,” he says.

Levi looks at her. She is still looking forward, features illuminated by the falling sun, breeze caressing her face. There is something in his heart that aches, but he doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t dare to. Levi is old, too old, and too broken. And she only pities him.

He coughs to catch her attention, though.

“Hmh, yeah?” She immediately says.

“I heard the Scouts were going back to Paradis tomorrow,” he begins, the question lingering in the air. The small group was leaving first time in the morning.

“Yep.”

Levi blinks, expecting her to say more, but she doesn’t. He doesn’t want to ask. It feels… too much. He feels too exposed doing that, lower lip trembling.

“Are you going?” He finally dares to ask.

She turns back to him again, and looks at him with the sweetest gaze. Levi doesn’t miss how she looks at his lips first.

“I’m not.”

“Why?”

“I don’t have anything there,” she replies, matter-of-factly. Levi wants to hit his head against something, still uncertain about what that means. Does that mean that she has something here? Someone?

She must notice his doubts, so she lowers her gaze. “I mean. You know I lost my family during my first years as a Scout. And knowing that we tried to stop Eren… All the military forces in the island won’t be very happy to see me. Or any of us. I’ve done my part. I do not want more fighting.”

“… Right”. That still doesn’t answer his question, but it is enough to satisfy his curiosity without seeming to eager. He sips his drink again: it’s getting colder.

“You didn’t want to go, Captain?” There it was again, that fucking title that felt like a joke. He chuckles, not looking at her anymore but rather at the sunset.

“Why do you still call me like that?” He spits back.

“Captain?”

“Yeah,” His tone is unintentionally rude, but he can’t help it, not even around her.

“Well… It’s a sign of respect, don’t you think?”

Levi chuckles, amused.

“I never took you for a polite person.” He doesn’t want to look at her still. She hasn’t added anything, said anything else. What is she thinking of?

She looks at him. There’s a warmth in her belly which has nothing to do with the chocolate anymore. She knows: Her Captain has been way more vulnerable and open since the Rumbling. The little gestures that he could so easily hide before are now an open book. Or at least she feels that way, since she was always one to look at him.

It was so easy to just… stare at him. Admire him in every sense of the word, even now. When they were both soldiers they would fight alongside each other, against innumerable dangers. He was barely visible in the spectrum: always so fast, always so precise. A ray of dark hair and strong limbs, destroying everything to provide peace, to provide protection.

There was no point in denying how she felt about him… Except, maybe, to him.

“I don’t think I would like going back to Paradis,” she finally adds, finishing her drink. He seems to reflect on that idea for a moment, before nodding. He wants to ask why but he doesn’t dare to. “I’m just… comfortable here,” she finishes with a sigh. “This is okay.”

“That’s good,” he says, barely a spark of enthusiasm in his voice, but enough for her to notice.

She looks up at him again. And he feels tiny and scared suddenly, because she looks at him with wonder and care. Levi doesn’t mean to, but he ends up letting his drink fall from his hands, whether due to his nervousness or the state of his hand after the war.

“Shit,” he spits, upset.

“Sh, it’s alright, Captain.” In a second she is picking up the cup, handing him a handkerchief to dry his hands. She walks a few steps to throw both cups into a trashcan and is again, by his side. Such a quick interaction so as to ease his shame, he could notice it. “Are you alright?”

Levi still doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why she still treats him with such respect, why she seems to care so much for him. But he wants to find out, somehow. He barely nods, but she notices it.

“Good,” she says, while taking the handkerchief back. She is about to put it into her bag again when she feels a hand grabbing hers.

Levi.

He doesn’t even say anything. He doesn’t know how. She seems to understand, though, squeezing his hand, softly. Levi quickly lets her hand go, his cheeks going red. She gets behind the wheelchair again, as the sun is about to disappear, and Levi can hear her chuckling.

“Let’s get you home, Captain.”

He stays quiet, unsure if he could even say something useful.

There’s so much he doesn’t know how to say. How to do.

While she is pushing his chair he notices it again. A slight tremor in her right hand. “My wrist seems to ache lately… Must be from holding the blades for so many years,” she had explained in passing a couple weeks ago. He realises that it’s probably taking a strain on her to push him every fucking day.

“Oi,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Stop pushing me. I can handle it,” he explains, tone serious.

“Oh, no,” her hand is trembling still. “It’s fine, it’s no bother for me, Captain.”

“… It’s an order,” he commands after a moment. She stops in her tracks and he can hear a gentle laugh coming from behind him.

“It had been a while since that, huh.” Confidently, she places one of her hands on his shoulder, gently tapping it. Levi smiles. Barely curving his lips, but he does. He is about to be brave, hold her hand on his shoulder when she removes it from him. “Shit,” he thinks. “Too slow… Too slow? Slow for what? Tsk.”

Despite his missing fingers, he can still push his wheelchair quite properly. It also helps that he can see his street far ahead. She walks comfortably besides him, a silence and gentle ghost as his most devoted companion.

Yeah. There’s definitely something aching in his chest. He had been noticing the past days, feeling getting more painful as they both approach his place. And it has nothing to do with his faulty joints or damaged body or excessive age.

When they reach his door, she asks for his key. Levi gives it to her, his hand lingering for a second too long, reflecting on the brief touch of hands as she grabs it to unlock the door.

He is tired.

And he feels incredibly silly when he realises he doesn’t want her to leave.

“There we go, Captain. I help you in?” she suggests with a bright smile, opening the door.

“… Yes.”

She steps inside and pushes the chair into his living room, almost getting it next to his couch.

“That’s enough” he decides, in a semblance of independency he still wants to maintain.

She nods. “Okay… I guess… I’ll get going, Captain.”

Levi lifts up his gaze. He wants to ask… He wants to know… He savours her image for a moment, her tired expression and the way her dress now looks clumsy and wrinkled but he doesn’t care. Before, before everything had ended up like this he would remind every single cadet to iron their uniforms, all the outfits presentable, so as to look like respectable soldiers and honourable bodies if the occasion arose. Now she can have the privilege of looking messy. Of not worrying about death so often.

“No,” he mutters.

“Huh?” she inquires, taking a step forward.

“Shit,” Levi thinks. “I… I want tea,” he makes up a quick lie.

“Oh, sure. Yes, Captain.” She leaves her bag on the couch and goes into the kitchen, getting a kettle full of water.

He looks at her in quiet admiration.

He doesn’t deserve her. But again, he doesn’t really deserve anything. He already has gotten too much: spoiled by the sweet possibility of life when all his comrades have fallen, their bodies twisted, mangled by titans and enemies alike.

Levi hardly cries, but he wants to cry in that moment. She turns on the stove for him, and rummages through his cabinets. She finds two cups and a sob is trapped inside his throat.

He doesn’t fucking understand why she stays, why she puts up with his sorry ass but, damn it. Damn it if he at least doesn’t try.

He stands up. His body still holds that ability, though his legs get tired rather quickly. He can still walk, so he does until he reaches the kitchen. She is still deciding on the teas when she sees him.

“Oh, no, Captain, please, just don’t…”

He interrupts her, grabs her waist carelessly and pushes her towards the couch, barely moving her.

“Let me handle it myself.”

“Levi…” She whispers, their faces inches apart.

“Go. Sit,” he mumbles, biting his lips and sending his eyes lower, so as to avoid her face.

“Are you sure?” She inquires a moment after, still close to him. He notices she has a hand on his waist as well, a protective aid making sure he stays on two feet.

“Yes,” he says, more commanding this time. He grabs that hand of hers and pushes her away gently now.

She nods, understandingly.

“I’ll be in the living room,” she adds.

Levi nods at her, making sure she finally gets that ass of hers in the couch. He is now faced with his kitchen. Most of the cups and teas, everything has been moved lower, so as to accommodate to his wheelchair. Slowly, he kneels, searching for a specific flavour for her. When he finally finds the peppermint and rose one, he mentally cheers. He stands up again, slowly, as if to show confidence, making sure from his peripheral view that she isn’t coming to his aid.

She isn’t. He catches her averting her eyes, though. A confirmation that she has been staring.

He decides to stare as well. Supporting himself on his weakened legs, he waits for the kettle to boil, while looking at her. It’s as if she could notice that, because her head doesn’t move, still fixated on an indescriptible point in his living room.

“Oi, what you looking at?” He says, a bit more light-hearted.

A smile forms on her lips before she even turns her head towards him. She doesn’t answer. Just keeps smiling at him.

“Fuck,” he thinks when he realises he has also slightly curved his lips.

Quickly he turns towards the stove, the kettle already boiling. Levi carefully fills the cups with water, letting the leaves rest. He lifts his gaze up to her for a second but it is already enough for her to notice.

“Need help with the cups?” Her, always so worried, so in tune with his needs. No need for words.

“Of fucking course.”

Still, the only answer he gives her is a polite nod. She stands up, approaching him.

“I’ll handle it, Captain. Just take a seat.”

He lets out a sigh, taking himself to the couch and plopping himself there.

“It’s hard,” Levi thinks as he sees her come back to the living room, two cups in her hands. He accepts the drink, his gaze not leaving her features. “I… I can’t.”

He knows he can’t accept kindness: he doesn’t know how to. Still, he tenses his jaw and forces himself to sip the tea as she takes a seat next to him.

“Peppermint, huh?” She hums mostly to herself.

 “… Yeah,” comes out of his mouth, unsure, less braver than expected. Is he insecure? Has he made a mistake?

“Good choice” She declares and he breathes again, realising that he had been holding his breath. “Bet you already knew that, right?” She adds, cocking her head.

Levi looks at her again. He has been avoiding her eyes but he hadn’t been trained as a soldier to back down in times of peace.

“I did,” he says, his tone firm, a very weak attempt at showing confidence still. “It’s the one you would always ask for when we would have meetings with the Scouts.”

“It’s good tea.” Her tone seems softer now.

Levi hums, too deep inside his mind to notice it.

She wonders. Wonders if he has ever realized that the only reason she would wander through the headquarters late at night was just to be found and reprimanded by him, the way she would be easily entertained by Levi’s stern face. Wondered if Hange had ever told him about the time she had fallen asleep in their office and woke up, mumbling his name, much to Hange’s delight, though they had promised to keep it a secret.

He looks down at his legs, at his carpeted floor.

He wonders if she had ever noticed the way he would mindlessly lick his lips after looking at her, the boring uniform suddenly a beautiful outfit, making her stand out. Wonders if it was too late to tell her that, yes, after Hange and her had found him, and stitched him up, that he had heard every single word she had uttered near his heart, softly pressing her timid hands on his chest. There hadn’t been time then to discuss anything or even think if it had meant anything else than old scouts being protective of each other, but now…

They finish their teas in silence. It isn’t uncomfortable, rather the opposite, despite the fact that Levi has started nervously tapping his feet against the floor. It is dark outside already, the light from the lamps flowing into Levi’s house, a dog barking a few blocks away.

She stands up, makes sure to wash her cup in the sink and put it away before returning to him.

“Captain?” She mutters. No need for more words.

Levi hands her the cup with slow movements, as if trying to prolong that insignificant action for as long as possible. And when she is already about to head into the kitchen, little plate and teacup in her hand, he decides to be brave. No more lying to himself, no more being a coward. Too many people have died, have bleed, have sacrificed the little they had for a selected group of survivors to be able to live. To enjoy the remaining Earth. For the little ones that survived to be able to find some meaning. Something worth all the pain.

Basking in the fear serves no one. In fact, makes all the death meaningless.

So, Levi looks up at her and grabs her hand, even if he is scared still. Trembling fingers dancing on hers until they secure her hand softly in his. He feels warm even if he doesn’t know what to say, how to convey what he feels. Such a shadow of the man he was. So stupid now.

Levi just wants her to say.

She gasps at the contact but quickly composes herself. A shy smile showing up on her face. They stay like that for a moment, neither daring to break the silence.

“Levi?” She asks after a moment, moving closer to his face, as if asking for permission.

He can only look at her lips in reply.

She shortens the distance between them and kisses him on his lips. It isn’t a big kiss, too flashy or provocative: just a tender contact between two broken people. As soon as he has processed what was going on, she has already moved forward, pressing a kiss on the tip of his nose.

And then, even higher, another kiss on his forehead, her lips remaining close to his face. Levi can’t say anything. Barely reacting. But when she looks at his eyes, she is greeted by the sweet glimmer of tears in them.

Levi. Happy, at last.

And as if reading his mind, she utters: “Do you want me to stay, Levi?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

She complies. In the quiet, late hours of the night, Levi wakes up, his body feeling too rested already. It was a habit hard to break, he wouldn’t sleep much anyway. He sighs still, feeling her body pressing against his, holding him from behind. She has one hand on his shoulder, the other keeping him safe and secured, hugging his waist close. He dares to smile and grab that hand across his belly with both of his hands, so as to make sure that it is real: he is being held. There is someone else with him. Levi isn’t alone. Someone is taking care of him. Someone he’s been devoted to for so many years.

He wants to nuzzle up closer, hide in her chest or neck and feel more.

But he doesn’t dare to. He can’t allow himself to do that yet. 

So he stays awake in silence, hearing the soothing and steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

Levi still doesn’t understand, though.

He doesn’t want to think of why she has chosen him, how he got this privilege so late in his life, when all hope seems to be lost and the thought of a partner didn’t cross his mind at all. He also doesn’t know what to do with this gift, this blessing. Why? How? He is such a crippled shadow of what he used to be. Slow, so consumed by roughness and violence and so useless now.

He has always had something to fight for: his life, his friends, his Squad, Erwin, Hange. Yet since the Rumbling he has just… fallen behind. He is just existing and it seems like his body has finally caught up to his age: no longer agile and strong, but a weakened man, finally leaving the survival mode that has characterised every single aspect of his life. He doesn’t have any goals or dreams now. Everything had been slowly trampled down like the titans destroying all land and all life.

He shivers, remembering that day and holds her hand tighter.

Once he had completed the promise made to Erwin, his last order, he had nothing more. No more commands. No more slaying titans.

Just existing.

He doesn’t want that. He has been a fighter, a rebel, a monster his whole life. He only knew of endurance and compliance with the spirit of life, of resistance. He doesn’t know of anything else: the calmness, the quietness, the routine walks and just reading books and sitting on his porch… That is not him. That isn’t life. Being able to choose things for himself, devour life gently and enjoy it instead of painfully trying to keep it close, to grip it between calloused fingers… Peace isn’t familiar.

He has nothing to devote himself to, nothing to prove or fight for.

“Yeah,” he thinks. “Everything is… meaningless… Or it was.”

He closes his eyes, relinquishing himself in the warm body against his.

Some things… Some things have meaning still.

Her.

The way she would scrunch her nose when laughing or buy him drinks or attempt to make him laugh or wear that damn stupid wrinkled dress and — “Fuck. I know her so much by now…”

She had been a Scout too. She had fought and devoted her heart and did everything a Scout had to do. She had fulfilled her duty in the same way he did. She has survived and she doesn’t regret a single thing. Not even this life.

She is at peace.

He wants to sob.

He doesn’t understand peace. Sure, it was his goal, what he always dreamed of, but, damn it. Levi had never thought he would actually get to see something resembling it. Unlike her. She understood what it was: she has accepted peace with open arms and a smile that — fuck, somehow— has been shining on her face throughout the years. Despite so much pain and death…  She still allows herself to fucking live in peace. She forgave herself for the death, for the pain and crimes and let go.

He isn’t sure if he can do the same.

Peace is foreign, strange even. An oddity. And he isn’t stupid, he knows that time would run up someday and that things would turn against them for a second time.

But, still, the promise of the rest of his life in peace lingers.

He could have it.

He fucking could.

Levi reflects on those thoughts for a moment, silent still.

He thinks he can get to an agreement. Maybe, when she wakes up in the morning, he can try to spill his soul to her a little. Try to understand how she handles this life, how she can get up in the mornings after killing so much, and just have tea with him.

But for now, in the quietness of the night, as the old warrior he was, he does the only thing he knows: he promises to dedicate his heart once more.

He finally has a reason, a purpose, something worth protecting again.

Levi lifts his hand, crossing it on his chest the way all Scouts would do. But he doesn’t press it on his heart, but rather, moves it to hold her hand, the one resting on his shoulder. He squeezes it gently, suddenly feeling too overwhelmed by her. By the silent love she had been proclaiming to him all these years and that he couldn’t reciprocate before.

Yes. Now it is the time.

Levi would dedicate his heart once more.

To her and only her.

That may have been the cheesiest ending ever written but !!!! He deserves it, I know. Also someone stop me before I write for Hange, the feelings got to me indeed. Dividers by @/cafekitsune @/saradika and @/vase-of-lilies

[gravidwithlore]

Building a Home part 1

word count: 7,500

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“Tell me again, why do we need a guide to get through the Wandering Woods?” Jiyan drawled as he picked at his nails. Rhiannon sighed in exasperation.

“Because, the woods are scary and dangerous?” She snarked.

“Yeah, but I mean, the three of us could totally handle whatever spooky whats-its and scary whose-its the forest can throw at us! Between your super cool sword skills, my charming smile, and Melian's druid nature powers, we don't need some lame village guide to tell us to keep on the path.”

Rhi snorted. “What was that middle one?”

“Your super cool sword skills.”

“No, the other one.”

“Melian's druid nature powers.”

“Yeah,” She rolled her eyes at Jiyan’s antics. “And if Melian of all people says we need a guide, then we're getting a guide, whether your cocky ass likes it or not.”

“Fine.” He huffed and poutily crossed his arms. “But don't come crying to me when-” Jiyan trailed off as he noticed Melian approaching them with an absolute mountain of a man. “You know what Rhi? You're so right, we absolutely need a guide.”

“Oh? Really? I was actually just starting to think you might have a point Ji! I should probably go let them know their services aren't needed anymore.” Rhiannon smirked at her companion.

“No, no! Rhiannon, you were absolutely so correct, we're in desperate need of this man’s services, we can't make it in the woods alone!” Jiyan hastily objected.

Before Rhiannon could tease him some more, Melian approached them and introduced them to Brone, a giant of a man. His face held the gaunt scarred look of someone who's seen (and caused) their fair share of trouble, with a perpetual looking 5 o'clock shadow to match, but the faint wrinkles and streaks of gray in his long greasy hair told a story of survival throughout all the struggle. Brone towered above them, as he grunted in begrudging acknowledgement to Rhi and Jiyan’s greetings, hand remaining tightly clutched tight on the hilt of his sword instead of meeting Jiyans handshake.

Immediately bored of the talk of the logistics of their temporary partnership and preparations for their journey, Jiyan tried to give Brone a very unsubtle once over. He was a bit dismayed by just how much his cloak managed to cover him, leaving no clues as to exactly what he was, ahem, packing. But from the size of the man's hands, Jiyan had a feeling he would not be disappointed. And oh, how Jiyan loved a challenge.

Rhiannon and Brone took off to inspect their wagon to ensure it was safe for their passage, despite her assurance it was perfectly fine. As Brone had said, in that deep gravelly voice of his, “I've heard that before.” Once they were alone, Jiyan playfully nudged Melian with his elbow.

“So, where did you find this absolute dilf Mel?” He winked.

“The tavern, where the shopkeep said he'd be.” They responded straight-faced. “And how do you know he has any children?”

“Well I don't know!” Jiyan said, a little shocked that Melian even knew what a dilf was. “Being a dilf isn't just about having kids, it's, like, a vibe. Trust me, I know a dilf when I see one!”

“And this sellsword I have found in a dirty village tavern, to take us through the Wandering Woods, gives off the vibes that he has children?” Anyone else would think Melian naive, more accustomed to being surrounded by nature than by other people, but Ji had known them long enough to catch the slight uptick of the corners of their lips and know that in their own unknowable way, Melian was teasing the shit out of him.

“Yeah. In, like, a sad and grungy sort of way, yeah.”

“And you are… attracted? …To the sad grungy dilf?” Jiyan didn't miss the faint tone of judgment in their voice.

“Mark my words Melian, I'm going to climb that man like a tree.”

-----------------------------------

Three days later, Jiyan was exhausted. The Wandering Woods had proved dangerous, not just for the wild peoples and monsters that could attack at any moment, but also for the difficult terrain and half overgrown path. He was definitely grateful Brone was with them, and not just for the grumpy eye candy. His sword, and crossbow, had come in handy more than once, whether it was shooting an attacker going straight for Rhiannon or hacking away vines that had blocked their path.

He was a skilled guide, despite having seen some combat, Brone had managed to steer them away from even more battles by sneaking around on less traveled pathways. It may have made their journey a bit longer, but everyone was grateful for it. One might think that their group would feel a bit closer to each other, but Brone still regarded them with distanced suspicion. Sure, he shared their campfire for dinner, but he slept separately from the group, often insisting on taking watch through most of the night, as if he didn't trust them capable of sharing the duty. Or to not stab him in his sleep. Always wrapped in that giant cloak, as if he didnt even trust them to know he had a body under there, in case they might know where his vital organs would be. Even that day, all day, he was grumpier than normal, eyebrows constantly furrowed in annoyance, snapping at Jiyan (even if he did deserve it most of the time), and terse with Rhiannon and Melian. Considering the man looked like the encyclopedic definition of someone who would lure them out into the woods with the promise of safety and security, then rob them and leave them for dead, the whole act felt a little rich if you asked Jiyan. Who definitely wasn't more than a little bitter that all of attempts at just simply flirting with Brone had gone completely, brutally, rebuffed.

At least that day had been quiet, at least where getting attacked was concerned. As they chose a spot to set up camp for the night, Brone grunted that they had just passed the thick of it, two more days and they would be at the next village. When Rhiannon had mentioned inheriting an old family farm and her desire to leave the adventuring life behind, Jiyan had been skeptical to say the least. But after the past few days, he was starting to see the appeal of settling down into a farm life. Well, maybe not settling, but he was definitely more open to the idea. As he thought about embracing the peace and serenity of life on a farm, Jiyan went to take care of the horses while Melian and Rhiannon started making dinner. He was just about to unhitch the horses, when he heard Brone's voice just on the other side of the wagon.

“-thought I had another week.” Brone muttered. Jiyan ducked down behind the horses and tried to be as quiet as possible. “Look, I just need two more days, alright? Just two more days and-” One of the horses softly whinied and dug their hoof into the dirt, Jiyan fought all of his instincts to shush it so he could listen. “Just one last job, and I'm yours, okay? Please, just two more days, I beg of you.”

Jiyan couldn't hear whoever Brone was talking to, but he sounded scared. He didn't even know Brone could be scared, let alone sound scared. It sounded like he'd made a deal with something, and now he'd gotten in over his head trying to keep his end of the bargain. Eyes wide, Jiyan snuck back to the campfire where his partners sat, blissfully unaware of what had just transpired.

“Guys, I think we're in danger.” He loudly whispered to them.

“What? What is it? Where's Brone?” Rhiannon practically shouted at the top of her gods-damned lungs as she stood, already unsheathing her rapier.

“Shush!” Ji desperately motioned her to sit back down. “I think Brone's who we're in danger from!”

“What, why would you think this?” Melian looked at him wide eyed and startled.

“I heard him talking to somebody behind the wagon, he was saying something about ‘one last job’ and ‘I just need 2 more days.'” Jiyan did a pretty fine impression of Brone's deep gravelly voice if you asked him, but Rhi's subtle eye roll seemed to disagree.

“Did you see who he was talking to?” She asked.

“No, I was safely hidden behind the horses, I didn't even hear them speak. I think he's going to, like, sacrifice us or something!” He whisper-shouted again.

“Look,” Melian put out their hands to motion them both to stay put. “We do not have all the facts, nor do we know exactly what we're up against. For now, just act as normal and stay with each other. Do not react yet.” Rhiannon and Jiyan looked at each other and nodded, ready to heed Melian’s word when they heard a loud slap against the side of the wagon.

“Fuck.” Brone growled, as one of his arms leaned against the side of the wagon facing them, the other clutching his stomach. Jiyan did not waste his first opportunity to catch a fleeting glimpse of what lay under that cloak, as it parted in front of them. Honestly, he was a little surprised, he hadn't expected Brone to be so… round… and… so soft looking under that leather armor. And he was dripping? Jiyan gasped as he realized a small pool had formed by Brone’s feet, his hand clutching at his stomach. Whatever he was talking to must have stabbed him, mortally wounding him, betrayed him for failing to follow their commands, now he’s bleeding out, bemoaning ever making that dark deal in the first place!

“He's in labor!” Melian gasps, as they leap up and rush towards him. Oh. OH. Yeah, that made a lot more sense actually.

Even lost in the throes of a contraction, oh gods a contraction, Brone still instinctively flinched away when Melian tried to put a comforting hand on their back. Jiyan's heart broke a little just watching it. Here he was afraid Brone was about to betray them all while they were asleep and vulnerable, yet the whole time Brone had been the most vulnerable one in the entire forest! Mel respectfully withdrew their hands, hovering in case of a sudden collapse. After a moment it seemed like the contraction ebbed away, as Brone looked up to find them all circled around him, wide eyed and staring.

“Fuck.” He groaned for the second, but probably not the last, time that night.

“You're in labor.” Melian stated, tone more purposefully neutral than usual.

“Yeah, I can bloody fucking tell.” Brone spat, and then he straightened up and sighed. “Look, we're already past the most dangerous bits of the forest, and you lot are already a lot stronger than most folks I take through here. Less than two days out, jus’ leave me here, and finish the journey. You don't even half to pay me the second half of the coin.”

“Let us get you to sit by the fire. Rhiannon, get extra buckets of water, and Jiyan, find some extra blankets. It is going to be a long night.” Melian replied.

“Didn't you just hear what I bloody fucking said?” Brone seethed, like a tomcat trapped in a corner.

“Yes. And I have decided to ignore it.” Mel calmly explained as they began to guide him towards the campfire.

“Why? You don't owe me shit!” He shouted, as if he wasn't the one being ridiculous here.

“I am trained in the arts of healing and midwifery, and it would go against my sacred duties to leave you here to birth your child alone, even if we were not in one of the most dangerous locations in the land.” Even Brone could sense the anger lurking in Melian’s usually unphased disposition, and his shoulders sagged as he relented and accepted his fate. He let Mel and Rhi help him sit as comfortably as he could by the fire, while Jiyan panicked and rushed to find the blankets.

“Here,” They reached for the ladle in the cooking pot and brought a ladle-full of softly steaming stew towards his mouth. “Eat something. You shall need to keep up your strength.” Brone glared at them as he reluctantly took a sip of the stew. Then another. Then another, as Melain watched him, until the ladle was empty.

“How far apart are the contractions?” Mel asked gently.

“I dunno, ‘bout 10 minutes I think.” He growled. They hummed in response.

“And why are you guiding groups through the Wandering Woods so close to your due date? Why are you anywhere near the Wandering Woods at all while carrying such precious cargo?” Mel’s anger returned, a rare display. Rhi decided it might be a good time to go get those buckets of water they'd requested earlier.

“I needed to save up for the kid didn't I?” Brone's jaw tensed, and he couldn't quite seem to meet Melian's eyes. “Not like anyone would hire me fer much else. Safer than staying with the mercenary companies anyway.”

“And what exactly, was your plan here?” Melian narrowed their eyes. Brone sighed.

“I thought I had more time, I thought I could do one last job, get a bit more coin before the kid came, then fuck off to some remote little cottage where I could raise them in fucking peace.”

“And where is this ‘remote little cottage’ located?”

“I, uh,” Brone shifted uncomfortably. “I hadn't quite gotten there yet.” Melian could see the quickly growing tidal wave shame and guilt swelling in his eyes, so they took a deep breath, and chose mercy. If his estimate was correct, his next contraction would be coming soon anyways, and it wouldn't do to add to his stress when he still had such a long way to go. Just then Jiyan came rushing back, arms full of blankets, shirts, pants, just about any and every piece of fabric he could find.

“Alright, I'm ready to catch this baby!” He cried, spreading his arms under all the fabric and squatting down in front of Brone. “You've got this Papa Bear!”

“What the fuck are y- augh!” The contraction hit Brone mid-protest, his eyes squeezing shut in surprise and pain, gritting his teeth while his body held him in a vice grip.

“Go on, push! You're going to meet your little one so soon!” Ji encouraged him, proud tears welling up in his eyes. Usually Rhiannon was the one to roll her eyes at his hijinks, but just this once Melian took the mantle as they put an arm out to stop his dramatics.

“Brone, do not push. Jiyan, do not give advice you are far from qualified to give.”

“What?” He gaped like a fish. “His water broke, isn't it time to push?”

“No, Jiyan.” Melian sighed. “Birth doesn't work like it does in the plays.”

“What are you talking about Mel? They can't all be wrong!”

“Jiyan.” Mel said after staring at Jiyan in disbelief for a moment. “If a play were to accurately depict a full and complete birth experience, the play would be several days long. It is simply shortened to water breaking and the baby being born immediately after to save time and heighten drama.”

“Wait, what do you mean days long? Do you mean he's going to be in labor for several more days?!” His jaw dropped as his eyes went comically wide.

“No, his child will likely be born before the dawn arrives. But, he has been in labor for the past several days, whether he had acknowledged it or not.” Mel gave a pointed look in Brone's direction, who was focused more on the intensity of the contraction without the cushion of his waters, than on educating Jiyan on the reality of childbirth.

“So this whole time Brone’s been in labor? Even through all the attacks, and hacking away at vines, and shit? Holy crap, he's even stronger than I th-”

“Would you please shut the fuck up.” Brone growled as the contraction ebbed away. “Is he going to be this annoying, the whole time?”

“You need to breathe.” Melian ignored his grumpy outburst.

“I need to wot?”

“Breathe. You are holding in your breath too much, and it is making the contraction more painful. Next contraction, try breathing like this.” They demonstrated the proper breathing technique for him.

“That's stupid. I'm not bloody doing that.” He frowned.

“Then you will regret it.” Melian stated plainly.

“Is that a fucking threat?” Anger flashed through Brone’s eyes, thinly veiling the relief of re-entering familiar social territory.

“No, I am simply stating the facts.” They replied, refusing to take Brone’s bait to rise to his anger.

“Don't knock it ‘til you try it, Papa Bear, that's what I always say!” Jiyan interjected in an attempt to be helpful. Brone rolled his eyes.

“Look, if you won't leave,” He pointed a finger at Melian. “can we at least send him on his way?” He jabbed his thumb in Jiyan’s direction.

“No.”

“Ugh, fine.”

“Now, have some more soup. You will need it.”

Eventually Rhiannon returned with the extra water, which Melian then set to boil. When Brone’s contraction returned, his face scrunched up again as he braced himself for the pain. At a simple reminder from Melian to breathe, he reluctantly relented, as Jiyan ‘helpfully’ exaggerated the breathing technique Mel had showed them earlier. When the contraction ended, Jiyans supportive thumbs up and big smile was met with an exasperated eye roll, but Ji would swear he was making progress with breaking down the emotional walls of the laboring man. Even if he did look like he was going to bite Jiyan’s hand off when he tried to help Brone out of his cloak and leather armor so he could be more comfortable. After a few more contractions, and making sure everyone had gotten some dinner, Melian approached Brone again.

“I'm going to have to check you at some point you know.” They said, glancing down.

“Wha-?! Like the bloody fuck you will!” Brone objected, hackles raised again.

“Uh, check what?” Jiyan asked while Rhiannon buried her face in her hands.

“His dilation, to see how far his cervix has opened to allow his child to pass into the birth canal once active labor begins.”

“Absolutely not!” Brone cheeks started to turn a deep shade of pink.

“Look, my guy,” Rhiannon interjected. “Did you plan on just giving birth into your pants?”

“... No.” He eventually muttered, refusing to meet any of their eyes as the pink of his cheeks continued to spread.

“Good. I will try to make it as unobtrusive as possible.” Mel knelt down in front of them. Brone rolled his eyes, but complied and started to take off his boots and pants, only pausing to breath through a contraction in the middle of it.

“How do you want me?” He finally asked, the blush blooming across his cheeks now completely unhideable.

“However you will feel most comfortable.”

Brone snorted but complied, not necessarily by getting comfortable but by just spreading his legs apart and refusing to look in Mel’s direction. True to their word, Melian tried their best to be as unobtrusive as possible, gently narrating what they were about to do as if they were talking to a spooked horse. Even so, Brone flinched when he felt their fingers inside, his body rigid and tense. Jiyan thought it would be the perfect time to step in to ask some questions and sate his curious mind.

“Sooooooooo... do you know who your ‘baby daddy’ is?” He asked, innocently and with no ulterior motives at all. “Asking for a friend.” He winked.

“Why the bloody fucking hell do you wanna know?” Brone glared at him. Ji shrugged.

“Just curious… Does your ‘baby daddy’ know they're your baby daddy?” Brone snorted.

“Bloke was so sozzed he didn't even realize I don't even ‘ave a cock, so I think it's safe to say, no, he don't know he’s my ‘baby daddy.’”

“Cool, cool, cool.” Jiyan nodded, mentally taking notes. “Good to know.”

“5 centimeters.” Mel rose, their diagnostic completed.

“And is that good? Is that bad?” Ji asked.

“It is neither, it simply means that his cervix has opened 5 out of the 10 centimeters it needs to in order to be fully dilated.”

“Oooooh. Way to go! Halfway there Papa Bear!” Jiyan cheered.

“Brone, you should take off your armor. It's already constricting your breathing, and it will continue to be a detriment during the course of your birth.”

“First my bloody pants, then my bloody fucking armor…” Brone grumbled as he complied and started to uncomfortably shift to unbuckle himself from his chest armor. He couldn't resist the sigh of relief that escaped him as the tight pressure on his chest released, then immediately became red in the face again as he realized there were two very large very prominent wet patches that had soaked through his dark gray top underneath the armor.

“Wow, you must've been hot under there too!” Jiyan said, before Brone could cover himself in his embarrassment.

“It is not sweat, Jiyan, it's milk.” Mel explained, before Rhiannon could stop them, as Brone’s face grew even more red. “The tightness of the leather armor likely applied enough pressure on his breasts to force a higher expression of milk than would have occurred naturally so close to giving birth.”

“Oh, so his armor was, like, milking him?” Jiyan asked. Brone ran a hand down his beet red face.

“You lot sure we can't leave him back in the thick of the woods? It's not too late.” He growled. Rhiannon smiled and shook her head.

“No can do. With our luck, he'd end up more powerful than ever, and still end up back here to annoy the hell out of us.” She teased.

“Yes. He is unnaturally canny at stumbling into lucky situations. There's no telling what horrors he would unleash from within those woods.” Mel pondered.

“Aw, you guys! I love you too!” Jiyan drawled, his hands over his chest as if he was overcome with emotion.

“Alright, change of subject before his ego gets too big to handle.” Rhiannon laughed. Melian nodded in earnest agreement.

The night passed on, with Brone’s contractions slowly getting closer and closer together, as he kept refusing Jiyan’s requests to feel the baby kick. Melian encouraged them all to try and get a little shut eye, but no one was very successful at it, least of all Brone himself. At some point Melian had convinced him to walk around a bit, reluctantly letting Rhiannon and Mel support him whenever a contraction hit as they slowly shuffled around the campsite, Jiyan playing some gentle calming melodies on his lyre.

Melian had tried to reassure Brone to move however his body wanted to move, whatever helped to relieve the discomfort, since he still tensed and seemed to be trying to squeeze in on himself, to lock himself in place whenever a contraction grabbed him. At first he had shaken his head, as if Melian's suggestions were absolutely ridiculous, but eventually he started to loosen up, swaying his hips just a little as he began to give into his body's demands. It was while he was leaning against the side of the wagon, groaning and swaying his hips through a particularly rough contraction, that Jiyan and Rhi were helping support him so Mel could have a rest before the ‘big event,’ that he spoke.

“This feels stupid.” He said, panting from the exertion his own body was putting him through. “This probably looks bloody stupid as hell, doesn't it.”

“Stupidly hot, Papa Bear.” Jiyan winked at him before Rhiannon could respond in the way a person with some semblance of common sense and self-preservation would have responded. Brone growled, getting increasingly overstimulated from everything his own body was putting him through already and annoyed with Jiyan's ‘teasing.’

“Why the fuck do you keep calling me that?” He snapped.

“Why do I keep calling you Papa Bear? I mean look at you.” Jiyan ignored Rhi’s warning look. “You're a giant bear of a man, and well, the baby's not born yet, but you're already a papa in my heart!”

Brone's response to his encouragement and complement was underwhelming. He'd expected at least some indignation and confusion, but instead was met with soft cursing and a scrunched face.

“...Something’s… different.” He ground out after a moment.

“Mel!” Rhiannon called out, unable to hide the rising edge of concern in her voice. Melian, who was supposed to be resting, but decidedly was not resting, was at Brone’s side in a heartbeat. A quick check later and they looked into his eyes.

“Do you feel like you need to push?”

The terrified whimper seemed to come from somewhere else, because never in a million gazillion years could that sound have come from Brone of all people. But come from Brone it did, to match the wide eyed look of terror that briefly took over his face.

“See, even your baby knows you're meant to be a Papa Bear!” Jiyan smiled. Brone’s face shifted back towards a comfortable annoyed eyeroll and the sound that escaped his throat sounded less like a terrified whimper and more like his classic disgruntled groan.

“Quit joking Ji, and help get him into the cart.” Rhiannon commanded, her voice terse as if she were shouting out directions during a fight. Together they guided him towards the back of the wagon, which Mel had been preparing to be a makeshift birthing center, lamenting that they wouldn't have the usual soothing pools and hanging ropes that would have, supposedly, helped Brone feel more comfortable. At the back of the cart another contraction squeezed him in its vice grip, harder than it ever had before.

“Push if you feel the urge to push, do not fight your body Brone.” Mel said, softly but sternly.

“But-” Was all he could gasp out, barely more than a grunt.

“Your baby will not be born in one push, I assure you.”

It must have been Melian's tone, or perhaps their apparent expertise in the situation at hand, but by some miracle Brone trusted them, and bore down into a hard squat. Teeth clenched together, brows so furrowed together they almost became one, gripping the top step of the wagon, he pushed, and pushed hard. The contraction released him with a gasp, Mel's hand applying pressure on his lower back keeping him from falling backwards.

“I felt- I felt it… move down.” He whispered, both in wonder and in fear. “Fuck, it feels so heavy now.” He groaned and clutched at the low hanging base of his belly.

“Where do you feel most comfortable? Here, in this position, or within the wagon?” Mel prompted, as focused as they ever are when in their role as healer.

“Wagon, definitely inside the wagon.” Brone panted, still out of breath from the contraction and awkwardly climbing the steps into the wagon, slowly, with their legs spread wide, as if ready to squat and push again at a moment's notice. Or perhaps he was simply unable to with his baby’s head already spreading him wide from within his birth canal. The trio helped him get as comfortable as possible, his back resting against a built-in bench near the front of the wagon.

“Why inside the wagon? It's so cramped with all of us in here.” Jiyan complained.

“Safer in the wagon, covered on three sides, can see any threats coming from the fo- augh!” Brone’s head fell back as the contraction hit without warning, Melian reminding him to listen to his body, to push, to breathe. Jiyan and Rhiannon instinctively offered their hands for support, their offer hesitantly taken at the contractions peak.

“Jiyan-” Rhiannon started to warn but was cut off by a melodic voice, Melian’s voice echoing through their heads. Keep distracting him, Jiyan. He looked to his friend, preparing the supplies they needed, and gave them a brief short nod. Then, just for a little bit of fun, as a treat, turned and poked his tongue out at Rhiannon.

“Keep pushing, Papa Bear!” He made it his own little game to try and find all the different ways he could encourage Brone to push. Winning quite a few confused reactions from the rest of the wagon. It didn't take very long until Brone was plastered with sweat, hair sticking to his face, the wet sheen making it more apparent how red his face was getting with the grueling effort of bearing down through the contractions. To everyone's surprise, he even let Rhiannon put his hair into a loose bun, only flinching twice. Having his hair out of his face and off the back of his neck was even more of a relief than he thought it would be, judging from the brief moment his body untensed once she'd finished.

Jiyan continued to hold his hand through the contractions, while Rhiannon clasped his other forearm and dabbed at his forehead with a damp rag. Considering the size of him, and the man’s almost supernatural strength proven over the last few days, Ji thought he was holding his own pretty well, with his thin manicured musician's fingers tightly gripping Brone’s scarred meaty hands in response. Until during a particularly rough contraction, when Jiyan briefly felt a painful twinge run through the back of his hand, he wasn't able to catch the soft hiss of pain before the traitorous air escaped his mouth. He felt Brone’s grip release despite him being caught in the throes of a contraction, and was supposed to be putting his full concentration into pushing his baby out to meet the world. Ji felt a ball of guilt start to form in the pit of his stomach, as he realized Brone was spending his much needed baby-pushing energy on holding his strength back. He knew any encouragement to do otherwise would just be met with grumpy stubbornness, but Jiyan didn't know how to let Brone know it was okay to let go, even if it would hurt him temporarily in the process.

“Brone, you're starting to overheat. Would you feel cooler if you took your tunic off?” Mel asked, to the rescue as usual. Brone looked at them, panting and red in the face from the contraction that had just ended, eyes full of pain and uncertain emotions, but paused only a moment before giving one quick nod. Together, they all got him out of his sweat drenched tunic, quickly, before his next contraction hit. He sighed in relief again, as the cool night air hit his skin, hairy chest and the happy trail from his popped out navel down the swell of his belly now on full display. As he glanced down, Ji could see his breasts already beginning to release droplets of milk on their own, as if they knew they wouldn't have long before his baby would be feeding at his chest.

“Nice tits Papa Bear.” Jiyan leered, just as the contraction hit and quickly ramped up. Without enough time to react with a growl or with an eyeroll, Ji felt the full force of Brone’s strength, taking a note out of Mel’s quick birthing lessons and breathing through the pain searing across his hand as Brone himself screamed from behind clenched teeth, his lips curled into a snarl. He could even see Rhi wince a bit on the other side of him.

“Fuck… off…” Brone growled as the pain began to ebb away.

“Hey, I'm just sayin’, that's one lucky baby.” He winked as the pain of the next contraction quickly flowed back through Brone's body, earning himself more searing pain radiating from his hand, squeezed so tightly he could barely grip back. Brone growled in annoyance at the end of it, but with a couple more well-timed over the top inappropriate comments about how hot he looked pushing out his big beautiful baby, Brone seemed to get the message. That Jiyan, and by extension Rhiannon and even Melian, could handle whatever he could dish out if it meant it would help him. And just in time too.

“F- fuck! Something- something's wrong, it burns.” He groaned, head rolling back as tears pricked at the corner of his eyes.

“It is called the Ring of Fire, painful, but completely natural. It means your child will soon be here.” Melian explained. But Brone shook his head, too overcome by pain and exhaustion to listen.

“I can't- I can't bloody do this!” He sobbed helplessly, his head still lolling side to side.

“Give me your hand.” Mel gently commanded.

“I can't. I can't do it.” Brone whined, too consumed by pain to hear them.

“Brone, please give- … thank you Jiyan.” Melian said, as Jiyan held out the hand still clutched in Brone's to them. They guided the pairs hands down between Brone’s legs. Jiyan hesitated and tried to let go but Brone’s hand was still white knuckled and refusing to unclasp, barely aware of anything besides the pain wracking his body. Mel gently brushed both of their knuckles along something that felt slimy, and a little sticky, and hairy?

“Is that?” Brone’s eyes shot open, wonder and amazement momentarily overcoming the pain and panic.

“That is indeed the top of your child’s head.” They smiled.

“I was just gonna say ew, Mel,” Jiyan momentarily glared at them. “But nevermind, that's your baby’s head! Let's go Papa Bear!” He cheered. A new energy surged through Brone, his jaw tensed in determination as he steeled himself for the next contraction.

“You've got this Brone.” Rhiannon clasped his forearm in preparation and gave him a quick supportive nod. “Just a few more pushes to go.”

“Help hold his thighs back further, it will help him spread further.” Melian commanded, and Rhi and Ji were quick to comply as they watched the stomach muscles across Brone’s belly begin to tighten again. Chin pressed down into his tits, Brone shouted as if charging into battle as he bore down with all his strength into his biggest push so far. It felt like forever before the contraction subsided, Brone, red faced from the effort let his head lay back on the bench for a moment.

“Good, keep pushing! Just like that!” Melian encouraged. Now too focused on putting all his energy into pushing instead of words, they only received a brief nod in response from Brone. But as long as he was responding, that was enough for Mel. It was only a few more big pushes like that before Melian stopped him.

“Brone.” They made sure to get his attention as the most recent contraction ended. “The next contraction do not push. Don't push again until I say so.”

“Wot?!” Brone snapped up and stared at them wide eyed and panicked. “Is the baby-?” He trailed off, as if he couldn't handle finishing the sentence, finishing the thought. Jiyan and Rhiannon’s wide eyed stares mirrored him.

“No, the baby will be perfectly fine. You need to give your vagina a chance to stretch, or you will tear.” Mel said sternly.

“Who gives a shit?” Brone groaned.

“I do.” Melian snapped. Well as much as Melian of all people could snap. “And you should as well. I only have so much healing magic and I do not have the tools or supplies out here to stitch you up if I need to.” Ji shivered, as he thought about how painful it must be, to get stitches in your coochie. Brone rolled his eyes in exhausted annoyance.

“Fine.” He grunted as the next contraction quickly started. It was obvious that without pushing that pain wore down on him more quickly, sobbing whines escaping his throat as he uncomfortably writhed on the wagon floor, still clasping tightly to Jiyan and Rhiannon.

“Fuck, this- this is worse. This is so much worse.” He shakily moaned in the brief break between contractions, each one practically one on top of the other, as if his body was getting just as impatient as he was.

“I know. Just hold on to Rhiannon and Jiyan, let them support you through it. Just two more okay?” Mel laid a cooling hand on Brone’s sweat soaked belly, feeling the muscles twitch and constrict as the next contraction started. Brone huffed out an annoyed groan in response as he gripped both of their hands tighter than ever before, preparing for another tidal wave of pain without the relief of pushing. After what felt like an eternity that one ended, and a microsecond later the next one took over the exhausted man's battered body and overwhelmed mind.

“FUCK!” He screamed to the heavens, as he threw his head back, back arched as if the pain was so great it was forcing his body off of the ground as the most intense contraction yet peaked, and peaked, and kept hitting new peaks of endless pain for the poor man to endure. Jiyan, realizing Brone was too far gone to pay attention to him, briefly whimpered through his own pain, as if Brone was so overwhelmed he was subconsciously transferring some of his own into him. He yelped as he heard a muffled crack! coming from his own hand, and his personal pain increased tenfold. Panicked and his cheeks puffed out, having miraculously, and in a feat on uncharacteristic strength, stopped himself pre-scream, Jiyan looked to Melian for help.

Later. They said sympathetically, telepathically, as Melian could on occasion use their gifts to do. I do not know how much healing magics I will have left once this is over. Jiyan could see concern in their eyes, not just for him and his hand, but for the fate of Brone and his baby. Things have gone smoothly enough so far, but I do not know yet what may go wrong. Jiyan, biting his lip to continue to contain his scream, nodded. A broken hand could be reset, if something went wrong with Brone or his baby then… he didn't want to think about that. He coaxed Brone, in his discombobulated state, to take his other hand. No use causing it further damage. Especially if he might need to get a splint instead of healing magic once this was all said and done.

“Alright Brone, on this next one, push.” Melian commanded.

“Thank fuck. Finally.” He groaned, as Rhiannon reached out again and pulled back his thigh on her side, and Melian leaned forward and pushed back the thigh on Ji’s side. The relief was short lived as the next contraction gripped him, but he grit his teeth and used all his strength to bear down, determined to meet his child before the dawn's light.

“You are doing good, Brone. The baby is making good progress.” Mel encouraged him after a few more contractions. Brone's frustrated growl seemed to disagree. He seemed to get more antsy and frustrated as the contractions wore on, despite everyone's assurances that he was doing a good job.

“Fuck this.” He eventually snarled at them, letting go of his death grip on their hands and kicking away their support on his thighs. He then grabbed his thighs himself and pulled back as far as he physically could, as if trying to curl in on himself, then pushed. Ji could see the veins throbbing in his forehead, as Brone pushed so hard no noise escaped his mouth, his teeth clenched so hard it looked like they might break.

“I see the nose, you are doing well.” Melian encouraged again.

“No offense Mel, I don't think he's listening at the moment.” Jiyan said, now awkwardly sitting there while he watched Brone, so lost in labor that the only thing he was capable of listening to was the overwhelming instinct to bear down and give birth.

“Yes, I know Jiyan, but the soothing tone of encouragement never hurts does it?” They raised an eyebrow at him while they monitored the baby's progress. Ji shrugged.

“Hell yeah, let's fucking go Papa Bear!” He hollered, pumping his fist in the air. Not the one that was broken of course, the other one. Duh. He watched as Brone continued to push and push, following in the time honored tradition, passed down from generation to generation, followed as long as such a thing as creatures and people have existed, by listening solely to the instincts so deeply encoded into his being to spread his legs and give birth. Ignoring everyone and everything else, just solely focused on what his body commanded him to do in order to safely push his baby out. If Melian told Brone to stop just then, Ji didn't think he'd be able to. If he could even hear them in the first place. Suddenly relief flashed across Brone’s body and he momentarily untensed.

“The head is out! Wait one moment, let me check the babe’s neck.” Melian said, as they quickly made sure the baby wouldn't choke on the umbilical cord. “Alright, you're good to push. All that's left is the shoulders and I can safely pull them out.”

It didn't even seem like Brone was paying attention to them at that point, but even so he readjusted and prepared to push again. It only took two more powerful determined teeth gritting pushes, before he suddenly collapsed as relief flooded through his body. Gasping for air as if he'd been sprinting the entire length of the Wandering Woods, Brone closed his eyes for a moment as the sweet sweet high of relief raced through his veins. After a moment of silence, everyone expectantly looked at Melian, still moving down between Brone’s legs. One more beat of increasingly concerned silence, then the loud sharp cry of a newborn infant deafened them in the confines of the wagon.

Brone immediately held his arms out in wide-eyed wonder, eyes already wet, not from the pain anymore, but from joy and pride. Melian smiled fondly at him as they quickly but gently put the baby into a soft towel, then reverently placed them in their father's arms, umbilical cord still attached.

“This one has been born male.” Melian informed them. Brone held his newborn child and smiled. A big smile, one that would have looked so foreign and out of place on his face just hours ago, a smile so pure and full of joy. A smile that made him look 10 years younger, a smile they somehow all knew he hadn't smiled since he was a small child himself.

“So, you're the wee little thing that almost split my cunt open.” Brone sniffled and laughed proudly, in this pure blissful moment, unashamed of letting his tears of joy fall freely down his face. His baby still cried, likely upset over being forcibly ejected from its warm comfy home, but started to settle down in his father's arms, clenched little hands clumsy moving up as if reaching towards his voice.

Jiyan put his non-broken hand over his heart, practically on the verge of tears himself. Even Rhiannon, the usually stoic warrior of their little group, sniffled and wiped a tear from their eye.

“What’s their name?” She whispered, as if she was afraid she'd ruin the sanctity of the moment.

“Wulf. My little boy’s name is Wulf.”

------------------------------------

“At least it was a clean break.”

Jiyan breathed a sigh of relief as Melian’s healing magic flooded through his hand, mending the fracture, gods, weaving back together the damaged tendons in their hand and fingers.

“Wait a moment before trying to move it, let the magic do its work.” They told him, before they turned to Rhiannon’s less injured, but still extremely bruised arm. After Melian had helped deliver the placenta, then coached Rhi on massaging Brone’s belly to help his uterus contract back towards its normal size, while they cleaned up both baby and father; the trio had left the pair to get some quality one-on-one time alone in the wagon. Back by the campfire, now down to its embers, Melian had finally asked to take a look at Jiyan’s hand.

As the first light of dawn began to peek through the forest, Ji couldn't help but smile as he thought about the events of the night, of the past few days even, of the new happy little family resting in the wagon, grateful that both of them had Melian’s official stamp of good health.

“Hey Mel.” Melian hummed in response, only looking curiously at Jiyan once they were sure their magic had taken hold on Rhiannon’s arm.

“Told you I knew a dilf when I see one.”

Part 2

[mistysblueboxstuff]

i wish i could explain just how much i love painting people

it makes you really actually look at them and see how beautiful they are

the way their eyes reflect the light (my favourite thing is painting those little highlights in the eyes, it makes them feel so much more alive instantly)

all the little and not so little wrinkles telling a story of their life on this earth

those little scars they might have gotten as a kid doing dumb kid things

their smirks and their little and big smiles with all their perfect imperfections

the way the light gets caught in their eyelashes

that little highlight on the tip of their nose

all the little asymmetries

sometimes you get to stare at their eyes for a long while and you get a feeling like you can see behind them

sometimes you can see something wistful in their eyes, sometimes it's mischief, sometimes it's something else, but there's always something even when you can't tell what it is

and hair. i love painting hair. i love the way it catches the light and i love all the little wayward strands, they're my favourite to paint

and i could talk about the hands for hours but i think we can all agree that hands are beautiful anyway

i mostly paint people i don't know, but for a little bit, while I'm painting them, i feel like i get to know them a little. idk if that makes sense. and idk if that's weird xD but people can be magical and i love them

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Congratulations on hitting over 5k followers, you deserve them all and so much more! I got so excited when I realised you're taking requests for short drabbles so I was thinking along the lines of a meet the parents sort of situation with Captain MacTavish. Maybe they're both on the same team or whatever and are now engaged but Soap still hasn't had the time to officially introduce her to the family so he does so when they're both on leave and she's just the complete opposite to him but they just fit (like a puzzle piece) and the family notices and absolutely adores it. Bonus Points if Soap is just completely whipped (cause he totally would be)

—I Can See It In Your Eyes

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [It's finally time to meet the family.] ❞

Blue eyes watch silently as you speak to his father, an easy and honest smile on your lips. John blinks at the ring on your finger as you move your hand in a display of the story you were telling—the OP in Brazil, John thinks he overheard minutes earlier—a matching band to his that had been there only a single month now. You both only ever wore them on leave, otherwise, they were stuck to the chain of your dog tags; hidden away until they could be brought back to life once more. 

Truthfully, this had been a long time coming. 

“She’s lively,” his mother comments, and John hums, bringing the beer in his hand up to his lips for a tiny sip from where he rests against the far wall. “Your father likes her, no doubt. Never seen him smile that much at any of the ones from the younger years.”

“Those weren’t serious,” John scoffs, scar over his eye pulling as he spares his Mum a glance through a smirk. “If they were, it’d be different, eh?”

“No,” the woman grabs at his ear, pulling it as he flinches and hides a snap of his teeth at her. “A mother can tell. They weren’t good for you—didn’t make you watch ‘em like that, least.”

A reddish sheen comes to the Scot’s cheeks, avoiding the digging smugness of his matriarch as he shifts his legs.

“Stop doin’ that, Woman,” John grumbles. 

“You’re doin’ it to yourself, ya little devil.” Growling, the mighty Captain out in the field is brought low easily by his mum’s own intelligence—but it wasn’t a secret. Everyone in the family could see how he looked at you, how when you spoke, his head snapped over to hear the sound of your voice like it was a call from sea and he a vessel lost to the curtain of mist. 

Even now, amid a conversation, those blue eyes couldn’t help but move back as you and his aging father bent over in laughter—a small flicker on John’s lips that usually held a cold smirk or nothing at all. 

His mum hums to him, watching you.

“I like ‘er.” 

“Good, else this might have been awkward.” He pushes out casually, one arm going to cross his chest to rest on his shirt collar. “There’s always eloping, aye?” 

Before his mother can grab at his ear again, you call out, and, like the dog he is, John’s head swivels and his expression settles down easily. 

“John, come and tell your part from Brazil! I only have my half, and I always forget the piece from—”

“From the time I catch the HVT on to the time the spider bit my fuckin’ arse, yeah, Bonnie, I know.” He smirks, waltzing over to the chair you sit in, and firmly moves you over with a grab at your arm. You hum in confusion, but it’s not long before John takes your seat and drags you atop his lap. Blinking quickly, you humph and look down at him with a raised brow. 

“We’re at your parents’, John,” your face is heated, voice hushed as you slap at his arm. “What are you doing?”

“Holdin’ my future wife, Dearie, isn’t it obvious?” The man’s lips twitch. “Ah, it’s fine. Settle back and let me speak now, eh?” 

You fake glare, rolling your eyes, but your legs shift nonetheless to a more comfortable position as John’s mum and dad share a soft look with one another. They really couldn’t have asked for a better match—you evened out his hard slyness, the wrinkles on his forehead, and the age that lies under John’s beard. And in turn, you seemed to beam and be about as easy a person to get along with as any. 

Even from the rare letters that the two would get, they had known you were something special because you’d been mentioned in the first place. John rarely told of his work, even less so about people. 

As John gets on with his side of the humorous and mostly dumbed-down tale of one of your shared operations together, they see you watch him; take in every word. The smile that peels your lips as you shake your head and say, ‘I never tripped, MacTavish, get that out of your head. You made that up—he made that up.’

“I didn’t,” John huffs, glaring at you. “You went down and got covered head t’ foot in mud, then I told you to get your arse in gear and ya cursed at me like a sailor.”

“Bullshit,” you raise your brows, pointing into his face. “You’re losing it!”

“Oh, we’ve been past that bend a long time ago, Bonnie, c’mon now.” 

The parents watch on, smiling.

[elizabethwritesmen]

The Devil Wears Lace

chapter 9 : November 3, 2024

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x reader

summary: it’s the next morning and simon shows you a new side of himself. you let out some secrets too, and it seems a happy ending is in store.

warnings: dirty dirty smut, unmasked simon, degradation and praise, choking, all the usual stuff, emotional vulnerability, size kink if you squint, oral f receiving, that should be all let me know if i missed any!

a/n: this is the final chapter. I want to thank all of you for reading and for any love you’ve shown my story!

series masterlist

November 3, 2024

The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed, face falling as I looked around the room for Simon. Had he left?

I stood up, padding my way to the doorway and out into the hall, searching every room and getting discouraged. That is, until the smell of something cooking hit my nose.

I frowned, heading for the kitchen and pausing dead in my tracks in the doorway, eyes going wide and jaw going slack.

“Simon?” I called, voice meek.

His back was to me as he was facing the stove, working away at whatever he was making. He was wearing new clothes, but that wasn’t what shocked me.

There, on the dining room table, laid his mask.

All I could see from where I stood was the back of his head, his dirty blonde hair disheveled and a little wet. I could smell him, the scent of pine soap filling the air. My breath caught in my throat as he began to turn around, and on instinct, I closed my eyes, squeezing them tight.

“What’re you doing?” he chuckled.

“Giving you privacy to put it back on,” I explained, slapping my hands over my face for extra emphasis.

“Do you want me to put it back on?”

“Don’t you want to? So I won’t see you?”

He sighed, and I could feel his footsteps approaching me. His big hands closed around my wrists, pulling my hands away from my face and leaving me with closed eyes.

“Do you really think I’d walk around your kitchen without it on if I cared about you seeing me?”

“Guess not,” I shrugged, opening one eye and then the other. He was staring down at me, and I gaped.

He was handsome, more so than I could’ve ever imagined and I was suddenly thankful he wore a mask everywhere because his face was positively sinful. He had a scar on his eyebrow and one by his eye, and his nose was a bit crooked. I could tell he had been through it but that only added to how beautiful he was. His eyes were even prettier this way, too, framed by his perfect features and boring into me, a bit pinched together from the stress of me seeing him for the first time. I smoothed those wrinkles out with my fingers, my eyes greedy for everything they could get.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” he asked me, rough as usual but with a note of something new. Fear.

“Sometimes, words just aren’t enough,” I responded, and he gasped slightly. “You’re perfect, if that’s what you wanna know.” I ran my hands through his hair, cupping the back of his neck. “And your secret is safe with me.”

He groaned, leaning down and kissing me once, twice, then three times, each one deeper than the last. I hummed into it, savoring the feeling of his face against mine. A second later, he pulled away, walking back over to the stove and continuing cooking. I walked with him, leaning up against the counter and watching him flip the bacon. There was a pan full of scrambled eggs on the back burner, and a plate of toast beside him. I frowned.

“Where’d you get all this stuff from?” I asked him, knowing for sure I did not have any of it the night before.

“I woke up early and went to base to grab some soap and a change of clothes. I stopped at the grocery store on the way back to get you some things, you didn’t have very much in here.”

“Simon,” I sighed, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he shrugged.

“I’ll pay you back.”

“No,” he adamantly shook his head, “You’re a waitress going to one of the most expensive colleges in the world. You’re not paying me back anything. I’ve got your groceries from now on, and whatever else you need.”

“No, I can’t let you-“

“The military pays well and I don’t spend it on anything. I want to spend it on you. Let me.”

I just stared at the intense look in his eyes for a second before nodding slowly, reluctantly agreeing to what he was asking. And I kept staring, eyes roaming his face as he finished up cooking. It didn’t take long for them to wander down the rest of him, lingering on the expanse of his shoulders and of his hips, his arms, his legs. He was so built, a wall of muscle standing right there in my kitchen making me breakfast. They made their way back to his face, wanting to soak it in some more and memorize it because I wasn’t sure if showing me was a one time thing or if he was gonna be unmasked every time we were alone. He had a smirk on his lips and I knew he could see what I was doing, mapping him out, but I didn’t care. I just kept going, focusing in on the sharp plane of his jaw and how it contracted with the soft brush of his hair. Fuck, he really was handsome like I’d said, and the more I looked at him the more I realized it was true. Just looking at him had me turned on and I wished there was an off button because I wasn’t sure he’d wanna go again.

“You’re staring,” he grunted as he turned the stove off and made two plates of food.

“Can’t help it,” my response was simple.

“Can’t help it, huh?” he set the food aside and walked over to me, arms on either side of me, trapping me between him and the counter as I gazed up at him.

“You look good,” I explained myself, shy and meek under him, unable to express exactly what I wanted but hoping he’d give into me.

He just looked at me for a second, eyes trailing down my face, then my neck and chest, and coming back up to rest on mine.

“You look good,” he repeated the words back to me and I giggled, easing up and winding my arms around his neck to press a kiss to his cheek. It felt nice, his stubble against me, warm and right.

He didn’t even let me pull back, turning and taking my lips in his own in the most all consuming kiss I’d ever had. I hummed into his mouth as he picked me up and set me on the counter, pulling me to the edge so I could wrap my legs around him. I held on tight to him as he kept going, and I felt like I was on an entirely new wave of arousal now that he was unmasked. Not that the mask wasn’t sexy in its own way, but this was the real Simon and he wanted me like I wanted him.

“Simon,” I broke away to speak, but he paid no attention, mouth moving from my cheek, to my jaw, to my neck and drawing a hum out of me before I came back to my senses, “Simon!” I repeated and he stopped, standing straight to look at me. “Does…” I couldn’t phrase it. Of course I couldn’t. Such a bumbling idiot. “You showed me your face and I - I was just wondering, does this - Well, what does it mean - I mean it doesn’t have to -“ He silenced me with one more kiss, cutting me off right there.

“It means you’re stuck with me.”

A smile broke out across my face, I couldn’t think of a better fate.

“You wanna be stuck with me, too?”

“Why’d you think I’m buying your groceries?”

I giggled one more time and he groaned, head falling back into the crook of my neck.

Between kisses, he mumbled “Y’so - fuckin’ - cute -“ and after that last word I felt a sharp bite and gasped, mewling as he used his tongue to soothe it over.

He tugged at the hem of my T shirt, pulling it over my head gently and tossing it aside, barely taking a second to look at me before dropping to his knees. He spread my legs wide in front of him, pulling my thong to the side to expose me. “You want me, baby? Want my mouth on this pretty little cunt?” I nodded, biting my lip to keep from moaning at his words and he chuckled darkly, “Use your words, princess.”

At that, I couldn’t stifle my moan, “Please, need your mouth Simon, need whatever you’ll give me.”

“Such a slut,” he mused.

“Just for you,” I hummed and that was all it took for him to dive in, tongue everywhere, lapping at my entrance while his exposed nose nudged at my clit. I couldn’t help but rut against him and he used one arm to keep my hips still, taking me to a whole new level of pleasure because he wouldn’t let me fight it. A loud moan ripped through me as he slipped one finger in, then added another one quickly, going a little slower than he had the night before and letting his tongue do most of the work.

“Gonna come apart for me already, baby?” he smirked. Cocky bastard. “Never takes you long, huh, always ready to cum all over me.”

I moaned again, staring down at him as my walls fluttered and I felt it building. He was right. I was gonna cum, and it was quick and I couldn’t even be embarrassed because I don’t think anyone could resist with him.

I was almost there, clenched tight around his fingers when he pulled out and pulled away, leaving me cold in his absence.

“What’re you doing? Please come back. Where are you going?”

“Relax,” he sighed, grabbing me and lifting me, giving me no choice but to wrap my legs around him. He carried me to the bedroom, laying me down on the bed and settling on top of me.

He leaned back, reaching for the bottom of his own shirt and began to tug, and my throat went dry. My body stopped working for a second, just waiting.

He ripped it off, tossing it aside and letting me take him in. “Am I gonna have to remind you to breathe every time we do this?” he chuckled and my eyes snapped to his, my cheeks turning red because he was right again.

“You might,” I sheepishly answered and he smiled.

He stood up off the bed and took his pants and boxers off, kicking them to the side as well and fuck if he wasn’t the most perfect person I’d ever seen. He had scars everywhere, like the ones on his face, but even they couldn’t manage to flaw him, everything about him was just too good. Too strong.

I whimpered as he climbed on top of me, lining himself up instantly, “Tell me what you want, princess,” he breathed out.

“Mm please Simon need you inside of me please fuck just-“ He full on laughed at my desperation and my feeble attempts to buck my hips into him, settling me down and pressing inside slowly, just like he had the night before. And this time, it took me just as long to adjust, but once I had he set a pace and I was fucked in more ways than one.

“You look perfect like this, taking my cock so good,” he groaned and I threw my head back into the pillows, exposing my throat for him to leave kisses and bites and whatever else he wanted. My hands fisted in his hair, pulling him to me and kissing him then just staring up in his eyes. He was pounding me for all it was worth, not giving me a second of reprieve but I didn’t want it. I couldn’t help but notice how gentle he was with me, though, even when he was fucking me into oblivion, and it made an even more dangerous thought creep into the back of my mind. I loved him. And I knew it beyond certainty. Maybe I had for a while. He had to know it too, why else would I have come all this way for him?

My eyes on his got watery as he leaned in and kissed me and I almost screamed as he hit the perfect spot in me, then absolutely screamed as he did it again and again.

“Shh, I’ve got you, baby,” he whispered in my ear, holding me close, the whole situation becoming even more intimate than it already was.

“Gonna cum, Simon,” I mumbled, hips thrusting up to match his and he groaned.

“Let it go for me baby, come on,” his hips lost their rhythm and I knew he was close. That thought was enough to send me straight over the edge, groaning and toes curling as I thrashed against the bed, him holding me steady the whole time. Once we were both satisfied and had come down, he pulled slowly out of me and got up, pulling me up with him and bringing me to the bathroom. He sat me on the counter and took his time helping me clean up, then gave me a sweet kiss on the lips. “Got you all marked up,” he hummed, admiring his handiwork for a second and I laughed.

“Yeah, ‘least you don’t have to worry about anyone else approaching me. You have ‘em at least ten reasons not to.”

“Wasn’t worried in the first place, you know who you wanna be with and it ain’t them.”

I gazed at him, going dumb for him yet again, and he smiled, giving me one more kiss.

“Simon,” I started, my voice taking on a more serious tone and that teary eyed feeling from before taking back over. There was a new level of vulnerability in my voice and he furrowed his brows, waiting patiently for what I had to say. “You ruined me.”

His eyes widened a bit and I grew more and more anxious with every second that passed, not knowing how he felt, or if he was okay with what I said. He probably didn’t. He probably didn’t even care. I felt like I was gonna hyperventilate by the time he finally responded.

“You ruined me, too.”

[h0t-p1nk-ch33tah-pr1nt]

Can u like..... imagine touching your f/os face, like really think abt it for me.

Do they have high cheek bones? The kind that kinda jut out, or have round cheeks? Do they have acne scars? Moles? Eyebags? Or even crystals, bandages, or are they even human?

What's their nose like? What do their lips look like? Do they have dimples? Smile lines even, do they have crows feet? Is their skin not human at all? Green, Grey, metal skin against your fingertips.

What do their eyes look like? Wide? Almond? How would you describe their eyes? Do they have a eye color some people don't notice? Are their lashes red, or dark? Or even blonde? Do they have wrinkles? Or is their skin smooth?

Hell, do they have one eye or three? Horns? Are their ears pointy? Do they have a underbite? Do glasses adorn their face? Do they have a Prosthetic? Like a glass eye or false teeth?

Their face tells a story, just like yours, all the little details are like lines to a map, and it's so beautiful.

think about your f/o's face <3

Proshippers dni

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

tags: merman! gojo x human f!reader, sadness, angst, people growing, signs of aging, topics of death, satoru calling reader his ‘star’ and reader referring to him as ‘moon’, reader has a house by the coast that was her grandmother’s, sad Satoru, I hc’d that in this au mermen can visit every seven years but due to Satoru’s cold features he can visit every year. readers daughter is named kairi (meaning: majestic sea, or song/melody in other cultures).

a/n: guys I don’t like this 😕

You tried to tell your daughter that true love exists. even if the marriage with her father no longer worked out, you swore to gift it through stories, paintings, and artifacts; all related to that white haired individual. the ‘man’ you’ve known for years.

“Every seven years, mermaids return to this coast,” you remember telling your child, now 7, “but some return sooner than most.”

You hold the small bundle of joy between your arms, a white blanket wrapped around her body with embroided seashells along the edges. “she’s three months old, Satoru.”

“she’s so small,” he marvels, in awe as his brows furrow. “they’re that small?”

“they’re smaller before they’re born,” you smile. “but they’re adorable nontheless.” at your side, your acquaintance slightly sighs, turning to you.

“you think ours would’ve looked like that?” there’s a small pang to your heart, feeling as if you’ve betrayed him.

“Satoru,”

“I wasn’t...” he exhales then turns to the sea, “you know what I mean, star.” your heart aches at the name, a bittersweet name he gifted you early on in your relationship.

“are you gonna...?”

“she’ll know about you, some bits when she’s young. But once she’s older... I’ll leave her to decide. I’ll write it all down for her.” at your words, Satoru lets a moment pass, hesitantly bringing up an item in his hands.

“I brought you something,” he says, “I didn’t know... even if it was the last time I’d see you,” there’s almost a pained expression to his voice, eyes avoiding yours as he looks down at your daughter. then, to the ring on your left.

“can I give it to her?” there’s a slow nod.

“of course. she’s a piece of you.”

He returns again when she’s three, awestruck at her growth. you let him carry her, of course you trust him with your life. he treats her with the upmost care as he swims, having her sit on the plain of his back. your daughter giggles. this time, he gifts her a shell shaped like a whistle that actually makes a noise while he gifts you a pair of pearlescent earrings.

On your daughter’s 7th birthday, you notice a scar upon his cheekbone. while your daughter plays along the shore, you turn to cup his cheek. An act of affection you’ve long missed. “you’re still the same as ever,” you whisper, not paying mind to his scar though he makes it well aware how much he hates it.

“you shouldn’t be touching another man,” he almost bitterly reminds you, “you have a husband. I don’t think he’d like you touching someone else.”

“ex-husband,” you correct softly, embarrassment in your cheeks. “we didn’t work out.” there’s a sadness and glimmer to his eyes as he turns to your daughter, watching and overlook so as she won’t slip from a nearby rock. the waves today are calmer than most days.

Your daughter stops visiting him after that. You don’t really know how it happens; if she either grew up too soon or she lost interest, but you write. you paint. for him or her, you mask it as a personal hobby (which it was), you suddenly feel the need to prove something.

Years pass and you’ve grown a few wrinkles along your eyes. body not quite as before, worried he might miss today.

you see satoru’s white head from the distance. It takes him far longer to approach you. you think he might consider you a stranger until he’s close enough for you to call, “moon!” a love name you’ve blessed him by; in honor of the pale skin of his features.

“you’ve grown,” there’s a slight sadness behind his eyes and voice, knowing well that this means another era for you. a reminder that you’re not forever, “but you’re still as beautiful as ever. come here, star.” his arms feel like home. they always have. you’d like to think this is what heaven should be like. the soft, tender kiss against your lips reminds you that maybe there is something to look forward to.

a few years later, you return. a headscarf adorning your top, loose clothing around your figure as this time, you lay low by the rocks. It’s too difficult to climb.

“the doctors think I’ll be okay,” you smile, bony hand clasped with his muscular one. you can tell he’s holding back a sob as he glances at every feature life has thrown at you, as subtle as he tries you can still feel it.

“you’re dying.” he points.

“I still have time,”

“but not enough.” a silence passes between the both of you. you tell him of your daughter.

“I told kairi about you.” you tell him, “I wrote everything down so she’ll know.”

“I don’t think she ever wants to see me.”

“Of course she does,” you gently squeeze his hand, “just give her time, she’s...” you struggle with your words, “grieving.”

“I can’t loose you,” his voice breaks, and you’re afraid to meet his eyes. “I’ve barely had you, it’s not fair.”

“Satoru,” your voice cracks, but remains soft, “I’ve been lucky to have known you...”

“No,” he grits his teeth, “don’t speak in past terms. you’re not dead, star.”

“I promise this won’t be the last time you see me.” you squeeze his hand with what strength you have left, “I’ve moved here, to the house by the coast.” you speak, “I’ll see you everyday if I have to, I won’t go, Satoru.” it takes a lot of reassurance that night for Satoru to be at peace, even though there is no complete peace in knowing the love of your life is dying and you can’t do anything about it, he’s with you every minute he can take. Satoru stays for months, expanding his visit along the waters as it’s nearing winter.

“You should go,” you tell him, “you’ll die if you stay in these cold waters. I’ll be fine.”

There is such reluctance in that conversation from him. His eyes and body betray him, unable to leave you. “No,”

“Satoru, you’ll die.”

“I don’t want you to die.”

“I won’t,” you tell him, “I’ve made it past the time doctors said I’d...” you nod, “I’ll be fine Satoru. It’s just 4 months. I’ll actually die if you don’t go though. Please, go. For your own health.” There’s hurt and hesitance in his eyes, longing and self betrayal in the way he kisses you, though he’s so in love with you by the way he holds you and whispers sweet nothings to your ear. the last thing he does is press a kiss to your forehead before he turns, leaving.

It rains for the first time in 20 years on the beach 26 days later. your daughter sobs that day, looking ahead from the hospital view as she stares out into the ocean.

she doesn’t have the guts to see him (satoru) that year. not daring to step a foot in the sand for a whole entire year. she reads your journals a few months after your death, learning of a man that saved you from another, saving your life. he’s become your rock, she can read. and you write about him in ways that you’ve never expressed about her father. it is then that she realizes that you loved him, or he loved you. likely both sides loved, but she still doesn’t visit the sea.

it is only when she turns 21 that she decides to finally meet the man again. fresh out of a heartbreak, she realizes how excruciatingly painful it is to lose someone you love, reflecting and opting that it is only fair she gives you the news. but she decides to do more.

Satoru recognizes her almost instantly, she looks so much like you in your youth. kairi is almost afraid, holding on to the bag tightly over her shoulder.

She didn’t think her soul could break ever the more when she tells him the news. In front of her, she sees a man who truly loved. who if given the chance to be human, would’ve kissed the ground you walked on, loved you more than her own father. her heart breaks, seeing how someone who held so much love for you had, resulting in the greatest tragedy she’s seen in her 21 years of life.

“She wanted me to give you this,” it’s a waterproof heart necklace with a picture of you on one side and the other is a picture the both of you took. Satoru holds the necklace as if it’s made of glass.

for the remainder of the day, she talks to you as if you would have wanted. showing him a photo album of your life, reflecting on her best memories of you. it is only then when Satoru cries when you pull up a video of you on your birthday.

your daughter learns that Satoru loves videos.

“I remember when you were barely born, you were this small.” he makes a motion with his hands, “you were... so beautiful, your mother loved you.” there’s a sense of sadness yet pride to his words.

“I know she loved you too,” kairi speaks, moments later as she wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “she always told me about you when I was little. always pained this beach, even you at times.” your daughter chuckles, “sometimes, even when I was little, I wondered what it’d be like to have you as my dad. the both of you really loved one another. more than my dad.”

and there, there is a piece inside your daughters heart and Satoru’s that slightly mends. the two of them bond their love over you, keeping your memory alive as they meet every year to remember you. both souls uniting, thinking of a life where things would have been possible.

[tobecatherine]

Nightmare Comfort

Part 2

Okay ya'll, it's been a very long time since I've found a character that has made me want to write like this. Once I got to romancing Gale in the second act I was hooked. I've read so many good stories lately that I decided last night to write and see what comes out. Please keep in mind I am still only in act 2 of the game so I don't know the ending. So some details may not be accurate.

I will warn you, it's a little depressing to start but apparently it's something my brain needed to get out. I would probably label this as sad, mixed with fluff and if enough people want me to continue, there could be a spicy second part.

To set the scene, picture this: It's been a few months since you returned to Waterdeep with Gale after the end of your travels. Ever since slowing down your mind has been racked with guilt, feeling like you don't deserve comfort you start to push Gale away.

Please be kind:

First person

Gale/Reader

Word Count: 2332

Nightmares had, in some way, always had a hold on you. But once returning to Waterdeep with Gale, they seemed to have gotten worse. It started with small, repeated dreams of the battles you fought together that pushed you to do things that normally would have been out of character for you. Haunted by lives you couldn’t save, the people you had failed. They would slip into your dreams every few weeks, reminding you of where you had been. It didn’t matter how many you did save, in your mind, only the ones you failed mattered deep down.

When you would wake, for just a moment, you would think you were back there, in the heat of battle. But as your body regained its senses and you’d open your eyes, you’d see Gale’s slumbering face, listening to his soft breathing. Just having him so close would bring you back to reality. It made you glad that you didn’t move much in your sleep. The shame you felt over this, you couldn’t tell him. You knew he’d listen but you also knew he would want to fix it but in your own way, you felt like this is what you deserved. So you let the dead haunt your dreams, doing your best to hide your growing exhaustion.

As the nightmares became more frequent, it felt almost like it was becoming a ritual to wake up and just take in Gale’s sleeping face. You would spend hours just gazing and scanning every wrinkle, dimple, freckle and scar he had. The thought crossed your mind that if you did this long enough you could memorize the slope of his nose and the curve of his cupid's bow and maybe, just maybe, the picture perfect image of him in your mind could chase away the bad dreams. 

Tonight's nightmare was especially bad. You stood there, the day you thought you had lost Gale forever. The moments replaying in your mind as you watched him die, shedding tears over his body because you weren’t sure he could be brought back. While your party had found a way to revive the love of your life, the feelings of mourning were still all too real. When you awoke, you felt tears on your face and when you opened your eyes the comfort you sought wasn’t there.

Panic arose in your chest as you sat up quickly to see where he could be. Your eyes scanned the room, coming upon the open doors that lead to the balcony. There, in the pale moonlight, you could see Gale standing shirtless, leaning slightly against the door frame, his back to you as he gazed upon the stars. While you couldn’t see his face, his body language and the energy you felt from him, you could tell something was wrong.

Quietly you removed the blanket that covered you on the bed you shared. The air was warm on this night so you had gone to sleep with nothing on other than one of Gale’s tunics. Slowly you raised yourself off the bed, walking slowly up behind the tall striking man in front of you. As you reached him you wrapped your arms around his waist, your hands gently placed on his belly, leaning forward just enough to rest your forehead against his back. In automatic fashion Gale’s big hands rested over yours as a long sigh left his lungs.

You could feel the guilt in your throat coming up like bile, wanting nothing more than to tell him everything you had been feeling but you still couldn’t bear drowning him in your issues. You need to be strong, perfect, beautiful, all the things he tells you you are every day. If you couldn’t do that then you failed him too. So instead you pressed close into his back, tightening your arms around him, worried that at any minute he could just drift away into a cloud of smoke.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” He asked, ever so softly. So softly that you almost missed it but you had felt that familiar rumble from his chest as he spoke.

“You knew?” You asked. A lump in your throat forming as you try not to speak louder than a whisper. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I wanted you to come to me… I… I knew something was wrong but I could tell that you wanted to handle it yourself so I didn’t push. You are beautiful beyond comparison but you are also stubborn and bullheaded. But the longer this has gone on My Love, your nightmares aren’t as silent as you think they are. It breaks my heart to see you struggling like this and I can’t just sit back and wait anymore,” He said, turning around to face you, still holding your hands. “I’m starting to think you don’t trust me.”

Gently he raises each of your hands to his lips, leaving small kisses along your knuckles before placing each one so you're holding him around his neck.. The hair on his face tickling your skin almost made you smile but you found yourself still looking at the floor, your heart at your feet. With another sigh, Gale laid one hand against your waist, keeping you close to him. The other carefully raises your head by the chin to look at him. Gale’s eyes look longingly into yours as his hand cups your cheek. 

For a moment you relax, tilting your face into his palm, feeling your body relax for just a moment. The heat from his hand felt comforting against your skin. 

“I’m sorry, none of this is your fault. You have done so much for me. I didn’t want to add another burden to your plate.” you say, lip quivering. “I must look pathetic… I am pathetic.” 

You watch as Gale’s brows furrow and the corners of his mouth point downward. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip to calm its quiver. His eyes search yours for understanding, recognition. “Where is the strong brave Druid that I fell in love with on the road?”

You can feel your gut clench, you didn’t have an answer, he was right, this wasn’t you. “I’m afraid I lost her,” You replied, your fingers twisting curls with the hair on the back of his neck. You were sure Gale was going to end this, ask you to leave because you weren’t the girl he fell in love with anymore. Tears flowed freely down your cheeks now. It felt like a dam had burst behind your eyes.

At the sight of this, Gale wrapped both arms around you, with one smooth motion he lifted you into his arms, carrying you back to bed. You were sure he would just lay you there and walk away but instead he sat on the bed, resting you carefully on his lap, cradling you in his arms.

“Every day you tell me how you love me, you reassure me about the choices we’ve made. Why won’t you let me do the same for you?” He asked softly. “You can’t keep bottling up all these feelings. I  don’t understand why you insist on suffering in silence but if that’s what you need then…. I want you to cry for as long as you need to and I will hold you for as long as you need me to.”

With his words, suddenly a flood of emotion burst forth. Pressed against his chest you let yourself sob, groan, and scream. Muffling yourself against his skin, you let out the rage and anxiety that pent up for the last few weeks. He was right, you shouldn’t have bottled this up, the heat in your chest made you feel like you were in the throat of a dragon.

It took a few minutes but you soon realized Gale was whispering in your ear. Straining your ears to hear the soft words he spoke. Between your sobs and frustration, you could hear him say, “I love you.” “my heart has never ached more for anyone than it does for you.” “I will be here for you always, you just have to let me in.”

For the first time you could admit the truth. “I’m scared,” You said, finally regaining control of your breathing.

“What are you scared of, my sweet?” Gale asked, now rocking the two of you back and forth.

“Of everything.” You said, taking deep long breaths now as you come down from the all too embarrassing tear filled journey you just took in Gales arms. Moving ever so slightly you rest your head on his shoulder, wishing your nose wasn’t now stuffy so you could breathe in his scent.

Softly you let your lips kiss the soft skin of his neck, admitting to yourself that this really had gone for too long. So, you started to let it all go.. There in Gale’s arms you tell him your whole story. You admit that before the whole venture started you had been alone for quite some time. It has made you view sharing things with others a burden because who could you trust when you were mostly alone. You spoke about those you failed and how they haunt your dreams but the biggest fear of all, was the fear of waking up and realizing Gale had only been a dream the whole time.

At the mention of himself, Gale chuckled. “You aren’t going to lose me. The road we traveled was a rough one, and even with everything I know, I would trade all the stars in the sky, all the air in my lungs, even all my books just to spend every last moment I live with you.”

Your eyebrows raise as he mentions his book collection. “You’re really serious,” you said, lifting your head to look at him with surprise. You search his face for anything other than the serious look he now wore.

“I don’t joke about my book collection sweetheart,” he said, gently placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I don’t deserve you, I feel like all I’ve done is trick you.”

This time Gale placed his lips against yours. Slow and soft, his hand moving to rest on the back of your head, his fingers running through your hair. You’ve known Gale was one who showed his love more than he spoke about it, but he was good at both nonetheless. You could feel the pure emotion he put forth in his kiss. He took his time kissing each section of your face, wanting you to feel as loved and precious as he viewed you. When his lips found yours again it was like your heart was suddenly being filled with more love for this wizard than you ever thought possible.

Once your lungs ached for air you finally pulled away from his lips. Gathering your composer you finally explained the rest of your insecurities, you finally explained your fear of losing him and how it felt to feel your heart break into a million tiny pieces from the uncertainties of his survival that day.

“Every day I get with you feels like a dream… and when I sleep… the nightmares are my reality. Everything has just felt too good to be true. I’m sorry Gale… I know this side of me isn’t what you signed up for,” you tell him, your eyes meeting his.

Gale leaned forward, kissing your forehead for a long moment before pulling back and resting his own against yours so you could share each other's breath. “My love, when I asked you to marry me, I meant it. There is no one in this world or in the heavens that I have loved so fully and who has made me feel like just being me is good enough. I want to stay beside you, no matter what life brings. Be that nightmares, blissful dreams, fights, love making, every moment I get to spend with you makes me feel like the luckiest man alive.”

“I have never loved someone the way I love you,” you say in return. “That’s why it scares me so much. Now that all of that is behind us, it’s like my mind won’t just let me be. We’ve been through so much, we’ve shared so much. What if I ruin this?”

“I won’t let you,” he said simply. “I will just have to remind you how loved and cherished you are.” With that Gale tilted his head and caught your lips in another kiss. Gentle and sweet. You could feel love move through him, making your heart skip. “I have an idea that might help… maybe not right away but with time I think we can change the way your mind has tried to trick you.”

“I’d do just about anything to make this end and get to just live… here with you,” You say softly.

Sitting up straighter Gale smiled down at you in his arms. “Good, I love you… we’ll do this in two parts. First, every morning, I want you to tell me five things that make you happy. It doesn’t matter what they are or why they make you happy. You just need to remind yourself that there are plenty of things that bring you joy. Then second, I want you to tell me something we could do together that would make you feel better.”

Your cheeks flush from the first thought that crossed your mind when he said this. A small smile creeping onto your lips as your teeth start to lightly chew on your bottom lip. “Like making love under the stars like we used to?” You mumbled. Sex felt like it should be the farthest thing from your mind, but the stolen nights the two of you shared on the road were some of the most comforting and happy moments you remember having in your whole life. 

With a smirk and a chuckle Gale nodded. “That my love, I can provide.”

[dimichuu]

I want to see a movie in an old folks home that takes place years in the future.

A short film maybe, mainly focused on one scene. A room full of people with piercings and tattoos that have long since wrinkled. The gathering of people is for an event akin to a gsa.

The first thing you hear is laughter as these people are telling funny stories about their experience with queerness. One of them says something like, “God I must’ve changed my pronouns a hundred times till I figured it out.” Another person lightheartedly jokes back that, “At least you knew something was up. I didn’t find out I was a lesbian until I was married with four kids.”

And the mood changes and maybe it gets more somber. Things like, “It took my parents fifty years to accept me. They found out I had a kid of my own and wanted to be there for him.” And there is a scene where they stop and think about all who they have lost through the journey.

And they talk about how so often there was a pressure to be pretty. That a gay guy became so wrapped up in beauty standards and how for the longest time he tried to hide his aging. Or that a trans woman didn’t think that she could transition until she was thin enough. And then they all take a look at each others bodies, weathered by age and they laugh at how ridiculous worrying about that seemed in hindsight.

Then they show their scars and they laugh some more as they recount how happy they are that they unlike some of their friends were able to have lived this long.

-

Queer people don’t exactly have elders. We have some but there are so few that it can be hard to imagine growing old. There is so much stress with being queer and I think people just need a reminder that it all will pass with time. You will not die when you’re thirty. You have your whole life ahead of you but you just need to see it.

I don’t know. Maybe something like this would help people see this. I think it would help me.

[cripplecharacters]

hi there!! i love this blog and it's helped a lot in my self acceptance pursuit and drive to properly differentiate my characters.

i have an oc with facial scars that are left over from his first design and would like some pointers for redesigning to properly implement this facial difference. he has a scar over the bridge of his nose and one on his lip, both are from accidents related to his story, but i recognize these specific locations (and way to drawing) are overdone and not well implemented.

he does not hide his scars as he has a lot of love for himself, just not a lot of social confidence. so i'd like some help giving him a more realistic facial difference/scarring. thank you in advance! here's a pic of him for reference

Hi!

First of all, I always appreciate a fat, self loving disabled character! Very nice to see. Great drawing too, I love the flowers!

My main advice for making those scars more realistic would be by starting to think how your character moves his face (or moved it while his scars were forming and healing). The thing with scars is that they rarely grow linear, because everything around them moves. And the human face moves a ton.

For a scar on the mouth, it would probably end up following a similar pattern to aging wrinkles. That's how you can think of them here; healing scars are kind of speedrunning the same process. If your character smiles a lot they will form differently than if they frown. If his mouth opens a lot when he talks it will be stretched more than if it doesn't. I know that this is hyperspecific, but it's an interesting thing to consider I think. So, if for example he is someone who smiles a lot and smiles big - his mouth scar would be stretched horizontally on his lips to accommodate that motion, and the whole scar would follow a pattern that's closer to the nostril-corner of the mouth wrinkle rather than a straight line. And if he does the opposite, it will be tighter and more vertical.

In terms of the mouth, it is somewhat possible that he would have problem fully moving his mouth where the scar is formed. Either because of the scar itself or because of the injury affecting some nerves here. It could give him a somewhat lopsided smile (kinda what I have lol) where it's easier to move the half without the scar. But I don't think it would affect his speech or things like that.

For a nose scar, more or less the same stuff applies. If he smiles a lot or wrinkles his nose, the scar will be more stretched, especially on the sides. If he furrows his eyebrows, the scar would be more "wavy" there as well from the motion happening over and over. (Apologies, I don't have the best sight and can't tell if this is the case or not? If the scar is too low for that then ignore this lol.)

Another suggestion here: if he has a scar on his nose, then the rest of the structure felt it as well. If it was done with something sharp; soft and potentially hard tissue would be missing here and there. The area around the scar would be more "tightened", i. e. skin would be tightening around the scar because the tissue that used to be there would be lost or too damaged (or infected. But that's more complicated) to keep. I have scars like this myself, although not on my face. The scar is bumpy and sticks out, but the whole area they're in is depressed when compared to the rest of the skin. In my case this comes with nerve damage (I have no sensation around my scars, nor can I move muscles there voluntarily) but I'm not sure if that's universal.

If it was blunt trauma, his nose would probably have a different shape - presumably asymmetric, maybe bent to the side from the impact. Possibly indented. Depends on where the hit came from, really. But it's unlikely that only the skin would be affected. Potentially even some sort of skull fracture, if we're talking major force.

A few more things; if this is a result of an accident, it's not very common (although can absolutely happen!) that a scar will be this thin and flat (aka a flat-line scar). Those are generally a result of careful surgery. For an accident it's possible that it would be a hypertrophic, keloid, or contracted one as mentioned earlier. I'll say that atrophic scarring would be rather strange here but all other types are fair game. Your choice here, really.

Of course you don't have to implement everything I said here; just treat these as suggestions. As I said a lot of it will depend on other factors, so tailor it to your character!

I hope that this helped a bit!!

Mod Sasza

[lineli225]

Shigaraki Tomura, Izuku Midoriya, and their past selves in Horikoshi's other works, an Analysis.

How their archetypes can be traced back all the way to Hori's oldest works!

Today I finally felt with the energy to write this analysis I've been cooking in my head for some months!

I'll be pulling apart the core elements of each of Hori's past work's protagonist duo and how they are essential to everything Hero Academia has became

It will be long.

First things first, let's start with Horikoshi's first work ever!

1. Tenko One Shot.

This tale tells us the story of two main characters, Hana and obviously, Tenko!

Hana is a woman aspiring to be a samurai, she is hopeful and stubborn, but is shunned down by most and ridiculed by other samurais for being, well, a woman wanting to be something only men can be.

But just like Izuku, she is VERY stubborn, and won't give up her dreams at all.

( You can read the full thing here btw! https://imgur.com/a/v7oBkfx )

Our second protagonist, and main tittle of the story, is a little boy called Tenko, who she meets when he literally attacked her lol

Like Tomura, he has the power to decay anything he touches, and is in seek of revenge, his goal is to destroy all swords after his mother was cruelly killed by a samurai.

Despite all the hatred the feels, he is still a kid, suffering and crying in seek of relief for his grief.

He is known as a vandal, and is being wanted dead or alive by the authorities for interfering in battles.

Hana, gentle and caring, notices the pain in Tenko and takes him with her, to take care of him, after all, he is just a child.

But after being found by an official, believes she has the chance to be recognized as a samurai if she give Tenko to the authorities, and well- it obviously goes terribly wrong- as she is attacked by them instead.

Suddenly realizing how cruel they truly are, she takes her own sword and fight them to defend Tenko, making Tenko also realize, swords can be used to protect and save.

In the end, they end up to saving each other, Hana saving Tenko's heart, making him realize his hatred will never lead anywhere, and lift the weight of his chest by winning a friend, and Tenko making Hana realize war is more than what she thought.

Tenko obviously, is literally Tomura's first prototype, the decay power, the white hair, the hatred, guilt and grieve are all there.

But what if I told you Hana is also, pretty similar to Izuku? Both have a dream that is deemed impossible to reach, due to something they lack, and are a joke to most people, but despite it all they never give up, and manage to reach their goals. They are also strong but gentle and caring ( ngl Izuku might even be more soft than Hana ajhdka)

2. Oumagadoki Zoo

This one, guess what, also have a female protagonist, yes also called Hana.

Aoi Hana is a bubbly, awkward and stubborn girl with her head in the clouds, but teased by everyone, known as "good for nothing" and useless.

She then decides to get a job during summer break, to prove she is more than capable of helping.

As an animal lover, she gets a job at the local Zoo as a cleaner, but she discover that the Zoon principal is a literal bunny person.

Shiina, the other protagonist of the story, is a man-child dude, he was cursed as a kid for being mean to a bunny, turned into a rabbit until he learned to be kind and help animals. Much like Tomura, he is short tempered, a gremlin, a little bitch!

He created the zoo to try to break the curse, and now counts with Hana's help to do so. The zoo, by the way, is also full of cursed half human half animal people!

The manga was canceled, so Hori had to rush the end, it has only 5 volumes, but I believe it would end with Hana finally breaking Shiina's curse.

Well, the similarities to Tomura? Once again through the roof, he is literally Tomura without depression (and scars and wrinkles)! He is a brat, selfish, intelligent and powerful, but incredibly dumb, he even refers to the other zoo people as "comrades" the exact same word Tomura refers the League of Villains as! They even sit down the same, careless way! Bad posture kings 🦐

Now, I think you noticed that Hana's story is also familiar? Yes! IZUKU

Both are deemed useless, are clumsy and awkward, and have pretty much low self esteem, but are kind, gentle and loving, and have an altruistic heart!

Just like in Tenko, Hana is key to saving Shiina's heart, and both learn a lot with each other, as Shiina sees the worth in Hana, and Hana sees the kindness in Shiina, evolving each other to the better.

3. Shinka Rhapsody One shot

This one is pretty much lost media, very few people know about it, but i found a thread about it

(thread here https://twitter.com/HeroFletch/status/1273054822162456578 )

It is literally MHA but the quirks work in a different way

This time the first protag is the man and the girl is the second, but it doesn't matter lol

The story happens in a world similar to the one of the raise of quirks in MHA, criminal rate is all time up.

The protagonist Magari/Masashi(idk) is, again, a guy with strong personality, seeking for revenge and power, as his family was murdered by a serial killer

He got a power similar to Kirishima's, but oh boy his face and personality is just Tomura all over again, Hori's favorite OC

And guess what??? Ohh he also has a female companion helping him???? YES HE DOES!

Her name is Aoi, yes, like Aoi Hana from the zoo one, yes guess what, yes, bubbly awkward, yes.

She is an aspiring detective and has the habit of asking people if they like Katsudon, her favorite food.

Wait... Katsudon? As favorite food... Where I saw this before-

4. Boku no Hero One shot.

here if u wanna read https://yesmangas1.com/manga/boku-no-hero-ym23733/one-shot#1

This one is a break to the pattern, no Shigaraki look alike, no Aoi Hana, but, someone who is pretty similar to her in personality:

Jack Midoriya

Jack Midoriya is a quirkless man in a super society, his job is to sell support items, but he is too awkward, clumsy and stubborn, causing more problems than helping, he has an impossible dream of becoming a hero, so he tries to become the first quirkless hero! (it goes wrong)

There is a girl in this story too, i guess she is this Izuku's Uraraka, they are both literally the same in personality, so i guess hori Split Hana in two for this one.

5. Barrage or Sensei no Bulge

(the second tittle is so funny lmao)

This time hori completly threw everything out and said: fuck the pattern, fuck Hana, fuck Tenko wanabe!

It has literally nothing to do with anything he did previously. Astro, can be similar to Izuku, but hmmm not fit the mold, so i'll just skip lmao, it also was canceled, ending in 2 volumes anyways.

SUMMARY AND CONCLUSION

So far, we can conclude a very recurrent pattern in every work Horikoshi publicized (except barrage lolz)

Protagonist 1:

Is a gentle, caring, stubborn, clumsy and awkward person, they have a heart of a hero, but are often seen as weak, useless, and stupid for dreaming too high. They can be strong when they want to, but feminine and loving too, they are altruistic, loyal, and focused. Their role in the story is to find their own self worth, as well as help the 2nd protagonist break free from a torment.

Protag 2:

A selfish, childish, mean and also stubborn boy, who's heart is filled with hatred, hurt and grief, they are cursed somehow, and besides having a rough exterior, deep inside they are still just a child who seeks relief. Their role in the story, is to after Protag 1 advances, open up and allow themselves to be saved in heart and mind.

Of course, due to the past series length of few pages to only a few volumes, they open up to each other and befriend rather quickly, but MHA is well- 40 volumes long by now, ofc course P.2 will give much more trouble to open up, it's not that easy to cure someone's bitterness and guilt!

Which leads to Horikoshi's last work, My Hero Academia.

The story of protagonist 1 incarnated as a mix of every character Hori wrote before as Izuku Midoriya, a quirkless boy who feels useless, but has a big dream, a kind heart and the desire to save.

And also the story of MHA's society's biggest victim, a childish man who has been hurt in every possible way, by every person he dared to trust, be it his own family or his "sensei", Tomura Shigaraki is nothing but a child at heart, crying onto his puppy, waiting for the one who will save him.

This is undeniable, I was already sure with everything I've read in MHA that Tomura is getting saved, Izuku yelled it himself, and the narrative is walking towards that.

But after analyzing Hori's part works, and see how wholesome and hopeful his stories are, how he desires to transmit the message that everyone deserves a second chance, i have no doubt.

Tomura is DESTINED to be not only saved, redeemed or live, but to have a happy ending and finally have a friend to trust.

As every story so far ended with the kind one befriending and becoming a pillar to the hurt one.

Izuku and Tomura are more than the heart of My hero Academia, but also the heart of everything Horikoshi wants to tell to the world.

They are fated to end the same way every time, in every universe.

BESTIES ARC IS COMING.