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ariiadnes · 22 days ago

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╭ ㅤ ⿻ ･ I DESIRE THE THINGS THAT WILL DESTROY ME IN THE END ( part ii. )

THERE'S THIS SOMETHING INSIDE YOU THAT'S ROTTING AWAY & YOU FEEL IT ALL ALONG.

ଓ.° ・ shalom ･ rahu ･ dreya ･ uni. path to nowhere. quote cr : sylvia plath. haruki murakami. repost. ・・・ pt i.

❀⋆˚࿔ shalom

& THE WORLD HAS ALWAYS BEEN A CRUELTY, A COLDNESS AND WRATH ENVELOPED IN ONE'S EXISTENCE. ISN'T IT TERRIBLY LONELY, BEING THE HIGHEST OF THE HIGH? IN BIRTH, MEANT FOR GREATER THINGS, BUT IN DEATH, MEANT FOR THE FALL.

to survive brutality, shalom learns that one must become brutality themselves : play up the weakness and vulnerability in a granted madness, an abandon, return it tenfold, and emerge as the victor. such is the nature of one's life, a fated downfall, this belonging in the elites, and so she learns cruelty like it is a close friend, a lifeline, a becoming.

the strings that fall from her fingertips attach themselves to another, the control in her hands, this puppet show a never ending tragedy and game. lies and deceit are all she knows, all she is familiar with, and kindness is but a wary stranger. this is her survival, and you would be wise to understand that.

because you are the one at the end of those strings, after all. you and so many others, bound by these invisible ties : how they embed themselves, bury their claws into your limbs, your mind, and your heart. what a poor thing you are, she thinks, but there is a gentle smile on her face. she believes you should be pitied, so deeply and dearly so, but she feels little sympathy, and in truth, you are the one who pities her.

"you are more a tool than a person." you begin, and you cannot help but shiver at the feeling of her fingers tracing your skin. "you've told me that so many times before, but you never seem hurt, knowing that you exist only for someone's benefit, knowing that you can only live for someone else and not yourself."

she smiles. it is a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, but it is as cold and gentle as her touch. her fingers trace your jaw, then trail down your neck. how easy it would be for her to wrap her hand around, squeeze ever so gently, slowly and softly, until she stole your breath.

"does it make you sad, little lamb?" she hums in amusement. her fingers move once more, thumb grazing over your bottom lip as she leans forward the slightest bit. "do you feel sad for me, the one who controls your every action?"

another step forward, a closing distance between two people who were never meant to amount to anything more. another smile. it is genuine this time, almost gleeful in the most subtle of ways.

"don't forget who you are, little lamb. you are just as much of a tool as i am."

❀⋆˚࿔ rahu

BUT THERE HAS ALWAYS BEEN INNOCENCE LOST, HASN'T THERE? IN THE DEPTHS OF LOYALTY, THERE IS FATALITY, AND IN RIGHTEOUSNESS, THERE IS THE DESTRUCTION OF THE SOUL. IT IS WRETCHED, THIS DECAY, BUT CALL IT SACRIFICE, AND THEY'LL PROCLAIM IT AS SOMETHING HOLY.

the rising fool knows of sacrifice in the most horrid of ways : the loss of another, the sight of splattered crimson across the barrier that served as the one thing to separate her from life and death, and the path to self-destruction to an awakening that was never meant to be hers.

it is not a life to live, but it is hers, and it is nothing of a burden. not to her, never to her. this is what she chose, this is how she lives, and this is all that she is and will ever amount to be. in each waking breath, she fights and fights, the sword and shield, and even in the haze of amnesia, she cannot escape the hauntenings.

"you're safe. no one will ever hurt you, not when i'm by your side." she tells you, and you believe her. but beneath her eyes, there is fury, outrage, and when you look closer, you see a desperation in the desire to know that she is worth something, that she means something to someone.

you take one step closer, hand cupping her cheek as your thumb traces over her scar. it is a gentle touch -- careful, afraid, as if you could easily push her too far into the brink of fury, lose her in the madness of mania.

"i know you will." you answer, but she notices the way your voice wavers, and there's a shift in her expression, a lowering of her guard, the slightest baring of a rotting heart. "but i need to know, rahu--" you pause, feel the words on the tip of your tongue, "was it worth it? everything that you've become, everything that you gave up?"

she sees your grief, accepts it whole, yet she does not understand it entirely. she doesn't understand why you grieve for her, for her past, why you would torment yourself because of another's choice. but she looks at you, wonders if she mirrors that same look of loss that you can never hide from her.

she leans slightly into your touch, seeks the strange but welcome warmth you have always given her. she has always known her answer. it will never change, even in the knowing that she may succumb to the mania.

"it is." she responds, and she feels the way your hand begins to tremble. "it'll always be worth it. there's no other way."

❀⋆˚࿔ dreya

& THE DRIVE FOR DISCOVERY AND DIVINITY IS ALSO THE DRIVE TO DAMNATION ; IT WILL LEAD YOU ASTRAY, LOST LAMB. BE CAREFUL.

in the eternal nightmare, there is no peace to be found. such is the nature of nightmares : horrendous, harrowing, hideous. this landscape is not one you know, the constant shifting in the atmosphere unsettling, illusions past both frightening and disturbing. the dissea is filled with mania and corruption, and somewhere, there's a higher being, an entity, that is filled with a want for more. it'll consume, overtake, and it'll laugh in the face of good and evils, because it knows it has won.

it is too easy to get lost in this labyrinth. too easy to get lost in the haze of it all.

too easy to get lost in something that isn't yourself.

you see it : these flickers of memories, of confusion, of fascination, of the downward spiral in loss of identity and autonomy. you see how dreya's determination dwindles into something akin to desperation and doom, and you cannot reach her. not always. but there's something meant for the saving, and even if she may be gone, even if she isn't entirely there anymore, you have to try.

so you do. you follow the phantoms, try to make something out of nothing, because you can sense her. it's a chase, it's the long run -- and even when you think you've managed to allow her to regain herself, suddenly, it's over, and the cycle repeats again. but you never give up. you can't.

so you keep going. you keep going and going, until you find yourself face to face with her. you can see the corrosion in the figure before you. you can see the corruption, the fading of a brilliant mind, and in the fog of her eyes, you can see a distant memory of what was.

"you've come back." the words are soft, gentle-- and if you listen carefully, there's an uncertainty, almost. a questioning. "are you here to take me back home, my guide?" a kindness somewhere in the abyss.

you force a smile, and there is a devastation in the traces of it. because you'll try, you will, but you know that she can never go home. she's too far gone now, the mania infused in her being.

"yes, dreya." you tell her, and you cannot hide the sorrow in your voice. "it's time to go home."

❀⋆˚࿔ uni

BUT THE SUN CANNOT SURVIVE WITHOUT THE MOON, JUST AS THE DARK CANNOT THRIVE WITHOUT THE LIGHT, & IN THE DEPTHS OF REFLECTION SOUGHT, THERE IS SOMETHING SO LONELY LINING THE CRACKS OF MIRRORS RUINED.

there is something missing, something destroyed, something WRONG in this fragmented heart : desolate in frozen solitude, filled with a crying grief and semblance of betrayal. how it grows colder and colder and colder with every beat, every sickening pulse that fills her with a forsakening untold. even the sweetness that lingers on her tongue turns into some kind of poison anyway, but bitterness is all she knows, so she indulges in something that will slowly ruin her from the inside and out.

BUT IT'S ALL MADE OF POISON IN THE END, ISN'T IT? all made of something fake, something wanted and desired and yearned for, something born from superficiality. how fickle this all is, the wanting to mold yourself into someone made for the spotlight. there is too much deceit in this world, and seldom is there purity with exception of those she dares trust.

but you-- you, she does not understand. there is something so innocent about you, something she recognizes, and she cannot tell whether it breaks her heart or makes it beat all the more. you recognize her pain, her despair, and she is quick to blame your genuineness on something mocking, something feign. but it is very much real-- always has been, and somehow, it almost breaks her, the glass cracking slowly and surely, until the mirror shatters, until it reveals the sorrow beneath the surface.

she cannot do this. it will hurt all over again, and then she will be left alone, just as she has been for years too long.

"it's alright, uni." you murmur, and in the way you gently offer your hand, there is heartache. "i see you. it's alright."

no, she cannot do this, she thinks. this will hurt all over again-- but what if it doesn't? what if you see beyond the reflection? she stares at your hand, then your eyes, and in her gaze, there is a quiet hesitation, but a quiet relief.

slowly, she places her hand in yours, and how it trembles in the subtle of ways, but you hold it until it stops, until there's trust found in the little distance between your palms.

#path to nowhere #path to nowhere x reader #shalom x reader #rahu x reader #dreya x reader #uni x reader #ଓ.° : fic #ଓ.° : banner cr @ v6que #ଓ.° : path to nowhere

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sapphickocho · 1 year ago

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Thinking about how Uzui had to watch everyone he cared about die before him. First 3 of his siblings die during there fathers harsh shinobi training, then six he killed himself during a deathmatch where all of them were masked. Then Kyojuro died next, and the rest of the hashira except Sanemi and Giyuu during a battle he couldn't participate and help them in. Then of course Sanemi and Giyuu do die on the same year and four years later Tanjiro, someone he grew closer with also succumbs to death way too young.

Thats why Tengen's line of "Just how many lives do you think ive let slip through my fingers?" hits so hard because his life is just death. Everyone he loves is bound to die and he cant do anything about it.

So I made a little list of hcs on how he copes;

What uzui does at each of his friends graves;

Rengoku; He often has a picnic beside his grave, bringing along his wives and having a feast with all of kyojuros favorite foods, like sweet potatoes and bento boxes. He is the hashiras grave he visits the most and often talks to it and updates him on how life is going.

Shinobu: He brings the flashiest flowers he finds and brings them to her every year because it reminds him of both her and Kanae.

Muichiro: It is hard for him to visits his grave, especially when he sees it adorned with a picture of him and his twin brother when he was younger. But he makes sure to see it every year, and gives him a little gift, like a folded paper crane since he knew he like origami. He feels guilty that he didn't fight in the battle when muichiro, the youngest pillar, did.

Mitsuri: Like everyone else still alive, they visits her grave annually on her birthday and bring mochis to celebrate because it was her favorite food. However when everyone else dies, he makes sure to keep up the tradition with Nezuko.

Iguro Obanai: When he visits his grave he always teases him about how he's doing with Mitsuri in the afterlife. After that he sits down and talks about his snake Kaburamaru and updates him about his daily life.

Gyomei: He prays at his grave. Not that he particularly agrees with it or is religious, he just knows that Gyomei would appreciate it.

Sanemi: He visits both of the Shinazugawa brothers on the same day, since they are both buried next to each other. He tells him that he misses him because he knows Sanemi will be pissed by the sappiness and also because in truth, he does.

Giyuu: He usually sits down and talks for hours to him about how everyone is doing, whats going on and other mindless useless things. he knows that Giyuu doesn't like to talk so just like when he was alive, he can just sit and listen and enjoy the company.

Tanjiro: He always bows to Tanjiro's grave and thanks him, for saving his wives and being a friend for all those years. he tells him about Nezuko and Kanao and tells them that they all miss him very much.

Makio, Suma, Hinatsuru: When they all die before he does, he curses the gods for keeping him alive. He makes sure to have there graves next to his estate and sits next to there graves for hours until sundown. Sometime he even sleeps next to them.

I am not sure his wives dying before him is canon but Ive heard it from multiple people so I will assume so. Either way, Uzui's life is too tragic and I just cant get over it. He can never protect the people he loves the most. That man deserves a break from all the death and hug from all of his wives (+rengoku.) But it seems like Gotouge had different plans.

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ohnococo · 11 months ago

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Between Water and Wind | Satoru Gojo x F!Reader

“He’s not good for you, baby.” You don’t say anything to that, there’s no reason to. He knows you don’t need to be told that, he knows the same things everyone knows. That Sukuna cheats on you, that he barely tries to hide it, that he’d lose his mind if he knew that you did the same.

Sukuna isn't good for you, you know this, Gojo knows this. You can't leave him though, so instead you'll seek comfort in Gojo's arms in secret, even as he asks you to want better for yourself.

Warnings: angst, unhealthy relationship, cheating (both getting cheated on and cheating), Toxic!BF Sukuna, vaginal sex, crying, revenge sex, pining gojo

WC: 1.2k

Satoru Gojo can never stop running his mouth. You’ve loved it in the past, laughing at his antics, giving him the same back, but it’s the last thing you want right now.

“He’s not good for you, baby.”

You don’t say anything to that, there’s no reason to. He knows you don’t need to be told that, he knows the same things everyone knows. That Sukuna cheats on you, that he barely tries to hide it, that he’d lose his mind if he knew that you did the same. It’s different for you, though. You would have never done it if he hadn’t cheated on you first, and you didn’t do it. Not the first time he cheated at least, nor the second, but the third was the last straw for you. You’ve stopped counting at this point, because you know for every one you find out about - by going through his phone, or being told by a friend, or just knowing he’s lying about where he is and what he’s doing - that there must be more. Now you just take the heartbreak, knowing you’ll go where you always end up when he does it again:

In Satoru’s room, fucking all your worries away, if only for a moment.

“I am.” He looks up at you, pleading, before your pussy squeezing at his cock has him burying his face in your chest again, moans barely muffled for a moment before he’s back to begging you for more with those icy eyes. “I’ll be so good to you. So, so good.”

Sometimes he saves this for afterwards, when he’s made you cum until you’re almost convinced fucking him behind Sukuna’s back is an appropriate form of vengeance, even if he doesn’t know about it because he can’t. When he’s tracing patterns over your bare skin, almost pouting as he tells you all the reasons why you have to leave Sukuna. It makes it easier to snap out of that warm afterglow. The pit in your stomach that forms at the thought of trying to be without Sukuna helps push away that budding affection you try to ignore for Satoru.

Because it’s not easy. It’s far, far too complicated, and Satoru just can’t understand it. For him it’s obvious: Sukuna is a bad man. Sukuna hurts the people he cares about. Sukuna doesn’t even care that he’s doing it. So he hates him.

Unfortunately, the math doesn’t quite work out the same for you. You’d never felt as awful as Sukuna made you feel, but you’d also never felt as good, because when he loves he does it with his whole body. His whole soul. Like there’s no option other than being bound together forever because it would always be you. You didn’t think you could live a life where you didn’t get to bask under his glow when he happened to see fit.

Satoru almost makes you think you could, though. Especially like this, with his cock buried deep, because he’s got to fill you with as much of his love as you’ll let him, and this is the only time you let him. In secret, in the centre of his bed and on his lap, rocking your hips against him while he holds you close and pleads his case. He’s pleading your case too, really.

“He’s never gonna change… I’d never do that to you.”

You thought he understood what this was. That you couldn’t leave Sukuna. That you couldn’t even stand up to him. It was why you were sneaking around behind his back, seeking a hollow replica of strength to make up for how weak you were to him just as much as you were seeking comfort for what he kept doing to you.

The fact that Satoru let you seduce him time and again, knowing he was already yours from the day you met, wasn’t a revelation you could take. Not while he was thrusting up into you like that, wet mouth kissing and sucking on your breasts as he pleads and pleads until he’s breathless. He tells you every single time that he’s waiting for that moment, and would keep waiting for that moment, but you can’t let it come no matter how often he picks up the pieces Sukuna’s actions leave you in.

It makes you weaker, it makes you cry, and your tears are hot as they roll down your cheeks. You tilt your head back as you moan, hoping Satoru won’t notice and will assume your gentle trembling is just the orgasm that was steadily approaching as he fucks you tenderly. His perception is keen, though. Especially when it comes to this.

“See? He makes you cry.” He kisses at your tears as they reach your jawline, unable to unwrap his arms from you to wipe them away as he had so many times before. “You can’t love someone who makes you cry.”

He knows that’s not true. Unfortunately, so do you.

“I’ll never make you cry, I promise.”

He was already breaking that promise, but you can’t tell him that. You were hurting enough for the both of you, enough for Sukuna too because you know why he’s the way he is, even if Satoru won’t hear it. He won’t hear a lot of the things you tell him, or the things you tell yourself. He’s only listening for certain words from you: that you’ll leave Sukuna, that you want him instead, that you love...

You can’t even think it, much less say it, and you can’t hear anymore of his pleas while you were so close - so you tangle your hand in his soft hair and pull him into your crushing kiss. Deep enough to make his talking stop, deep enough to make your tears flow faster. It doesn’t matter right now though, with Satoru throbbing inside of you. He lets go of you for the first time since you’d entered his home, only to bring his hand between your bodies to slide skillful fingers at your bundle of nerves, and you’re breathing each other in as you let sounds instead of words convey your feelings.

It borders on too much, like it always does, body clenching, milking him dry, til you’re shaking and panting and able to push all of your worries aside for one brief moment with Satoru Gojo.

But all of the things that don’t matter right now will in due time. The confidence Satoru has in thinking he could pry Sukuna from under your skin if he tries hard enough. The glimpse of your heart that you give him even when you’ll have to hide it away again because it’s not his. The lies you tell Sukuna when you leave to see him, much more believable than the lies he tells you - if only because he wouldn’t even dream that you would do to him even half of what he’s done to you. And he’s right, in a way. He would lie, cheat, ruin you heart and soul, but he would never ever go and fall in love with anyone but you.

All of these things will catch up to you eventually, because Satoru Gojo can never stop running his mouth.

You know this, and it makes you scared for Satoru. It makes you scared for yourself.

#reminder minors and ageless blogs get blocked #my writing #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #reader insert

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moistvonlipwig · 27 days ago

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top 5 fav buffyverse characters and top 5 fav buffyverse ships!

ok this one's easy i am nothing if not practiced at yapping about the buffyverse!!

CHARACTERS:

Cordelia Chase my queen my cheerleader princess warrior my everything......truly one of my favorite characters of all time. I love her so much. And honestly, I wouldn't actually change much about her arc! I think the fact that she was denied a voice in S4 is criminal, but I like the idea of the possession storyline, and I truly love her ending and find it beautiful.

ANGEL I have no idea how you got here king I cannot imagine telling myself while I was watching BtVS for the first time that he would be my second favorite Buffyverse character but he is!!!!! He's such an interesting and layered and fun character and I think his arc is actually really good and underrated.

Spoike my horrible little guy <333 king of faking his accent and being committed to the bit!!! I don't think his arc is quite as good as Cordy's or Angel's -- I think "Seeing Red," while perfectly in-character, basically derailed both his and Buffy's arcs, and he REALLY needed to have more of a reckoning with Robin Wood and stop wearing Nikki's fucking coat -- but I think "Damage" does a pretty good job interrogating and problematizing his S7 arc and leaves him in a really good place character-wise. Overall, while I have criticisms of how his character was handled, I still generally like his story and I think he's one of the most purely entertaining characters in either show.

Charles Gunn you deserved SO much better ;_; can we get this guy an arc please!!! I love hearing J. August Richards talk about playing Gunn because there was clearly so much thought and care going into his performance and it's frustrating that after S2 it felt like the writers didn't know what to do with him. I personally think keeping vampire!Alonna around would've done wonders for his arc, but there's other directions they could've taken him as well, and unfortunately they just kind of pushed him to the background instead for a lot of S3 and even more in S4. Then in S5 you have this AMAZING setup where Gunn is now working at what he once called a "Mecca" for "evil white folks," he's now complicit in the system he once fought so hard against, and it could've been an utterly brilliant arc for him, and then instead. We get 5 separate episodes devoted to Angel & Spike having a pissing contest and then Gunn's realization of W&H being bad is spurred on NOT by anything having to do with his arc or history but because he signed a piece of paper that fridged Fred and he and all the other men were sad about it and Wesley fucking stabs him over it. NO THANKS. He still gets an incredible final episode despite all that, though, and I love that he's the only human left alive in the end (even if he might not have that long left once the credits roll).

Lilah Morgan. Does any more need to be said? She is iconic, she is a queen, she is the moment, and she will bury you alive next to her house so she can hear you screaming.

and SHIPS:

I mean, Cordelia said it best: there are no people like Angel and Cordelia!!!!! They are BUDDIES and they are so FUNNY together and fun to watch but also their relationship forms the narrative backbone and thematic core of Angel and they are bound together by the joint mission they chose which is also the very mission that ends up keeping them from ever actually getting together romantically and they make each other better and inspire each other and call each other out on their worst impulses and they both love Connor so so much and are the only people who remember him and would choose him over each other every time just as all parents should and in the end she puts him on the path to stand up to Wolfram & Hart in his very final act in the show. Also they both love cars and fancy clothes and money and judging people and neither of them can sing. I love them your honor. <333

Wesley/Lilah is sooo good. One of the few enemies-to-lovers m/f ships I've seen in fiction where the woman is the evil one, which makes it infinitely more interesting to me than your standard cookie-cutter m/f evil-guy-and-heroic-girl ship. The fact that despite Lilah being pretty much just evil and Wesley being so emotionally calcified they still loved each other is just. Gahh!!! He used his one chance to sneak into W&H's files to free her from her contract!!! And he failed!!! Because flames wouldn't be eternal if they actually consumed anything!!! Lilah should've been in S5 and I will never be over it I will be mad about it forever. At least I can take heart in the fact that Wesley's contract with W&H likely had a perpetuity clause as well so he is down there right now in hell with Lilah doing evil lawyer things forever 😌

I like Angel's relationship with Darla a lot, and it retroactively makes his relationship with Buffy much more interesting to me. As much as they claimed otherwise, they clearly did hold a lot of love for one another, and were hugely formative to each other's lives. It's rather remarkable to me that a character who barely appeared in Buffy and whose status as Angel's sire seemed unimportant in that show came back in Angel and was fleshed out to such a great extent that it really colors how I view Angel's entire character on both shows. Bringing Darla back was one of the smartest things Angel ever did, and their relationship deserves more love from fandom.

Oh, the epic highs and lows of Buffy/Spike...I have very complicated feelings about them as a ship, and ultimately my ideal endgame for them is that they end up as platonic buddies, but I can't deny that I do have a great fondness for a lot of their scenes together and I do think the arc of their relationship does a lot for Buffy's character. (Even if it also causes some problems for her character as well. 😬)

Okay in terms of characters who actually interacted significantly in the show it's probably Giles/Anya because their chemistry was weirdly off the charts but also I would just like to say that I think AtS would've been improved if Gunn had dated Harmony. They had a cute flirty moment in "Disharmony" and I think it could've been really interesting for both characters. Just saying.

#the massive ats bias in this answer lmao...i may yap a lot about btvs but ats still has my heart #well love is love and not fade away #loisfreakinglane #it's what you do afterwards that counts

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agattthaa · 2 months ago

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Promise?

Paring: Beckett Harrington/Eli (F!MC)

Word Count: 1.544

Summary: In the middle of what could be the end of everything, the only thing she could trust was Beckett.

I miss him so impossibly much, so I am posting this old thing.

The heavy door closed behind her back and she simply stood still while Beckett paced around the room, looking at the large bookcases searching for god knows what.

She didn't need to know him as well as she did to know that he was doing his best to hide what he was feeling and she didn't want to think about the fact that he was doing it for her.

He was always like that ever since she knew him. Always trying to hide anything negative that could ever come from him. Any defect, any weakness, any bad feeling.

Once he had told her that Katrina was a very positive person, always being optimistic in face of any difficulty, and that it was something that his parents deeply appreciated and complemented her about.

Either she was a saint or Becketts's family really was perfect, that she didn't know, what she did know was that he was about to create a hole in the ground considering how much he paced around those bookshelves.

Surely books were capable of teaching very important things, but Eli really doubted that he would find a “How to defeat a psychopath child murdered 101” in this small room, or anywhere really.

He turned around to look at her when she gave a tired sigh, more nervous than he had been the entire night, which only made her sigh deeper.

-You are going to make a hole in the ground, Beckett. Just sit down.

-I just need to find a book that can perhaps help us, Eli. Everything is alright.

She simply pointed towards the big armchair, looking at him, almost pleading.

-Please.

And he simply followed the instructions, as always, unable to deny any of her requests. She simply followed him, sitting down sideways on his legs and burying her head on the juncture between his neck and his shoulder, slowly breathing him in.

-We should be getting ready.

She took her head from it’s hiding place when she heard his voice, the sadness crept into her face until she saw the red tinting his cheeks.

-Do you not like it? Should I get up?

His only answer at that moment was to place his hand on the small of her back and pull her closer to him, making her give him a smirk and making his cheeks almost maroon.

Perhaps they should have changed before going there, her dress was not making her very comfortable while she was almost laying on his legs, her torso completely rested on his and her legs above the armchair’s arms. Still, the way he softly ran his fingers up and down her back gave her all the comfort she could ever need.

-I will never not like having you on my arms, Eli. I just believe one of those books are bound to help us. Even if there's just a magick that helps to calm you down a little, I know that I have actually done something good.

-There’s no need for any spells or anything of the sort. You are calming me down just fine. -He placed his hand on her cheek, making her rest her face into it almost like a cat, closing her eyes and completely leaning into his touch. -I don't think you understand how much you mean to me, Beckett.

-That's utter nonsense. If anything, it's more likely you are the one unaware.

-Then tell me.

-Eli…

She opened her eyes, honey golden meeting metal gray. She could see that he didn't want to talk about it, at least not now, because she could see his eyes apprehensivily looking towards the bookcases and into her eyes again. He leaned forward, kissing her on her small elevation on her nose a little under the middle point between her eyes.

-Do you not wish to talk about it when we come back? It'll be another reason to return.

She placed her hand on his face, rubbing her thumb against his cheeks and counting his freckles, maybe for the last time.

-I don't know if we'll have the opportunity to talk about this after now. -She placed her thumb over his lips when she noticed that he was about to interrupt her. -He is the most powerful attuned in the world. Capable of controlling life and death. It would be too optimistic of me to assume that we'd simply win that easily over him. That's why I have something to ask you.

She looked deeply into his eyes, her finger still on his lips, but she was no loger leaning against him. Now her back was perfectly aligned and straight. He simply nodded to her making her give him a sad smile.

-I will do my very best to kill that psycho and comeback. But if I'm unable to, I want you to grab Atlas and our friends and run.

He looked at her completely unsettled and shaked his head, taking her hand from his face and holding it on hers.

-Do you take me as such a weak man that I'll watch the woman I love dying and then ran away?

She wanted to cry. To melt on his arms. To run away from all of this. She wished to wake up from that nightmare. To wake up on her bed covered by her thinck blankets and by him while she listened Atlas very loud snores coming from Shreya's room.

But she couldn't.

She'd never know peace until that man was dead, and Zeph needed them. It was her fault he was taken and she would pay for it.

-No. I think you are the strongest and most resourceful besides Atlas and me. But there's one thing that you are more than the two of us. Logical, rational and the one more capable of keeping your feelings in check. Atlas isn't. If I die, that will break her. That's why I am asking you that. Because you are the one I love, the one I trust the most, the one who also has a sister that he loves. That's why I'm asking you to save my little sister, my only blood family who's alive, and the friends that we love so much. Please, Beckett. Please.

His eyes glistened with tears that he refused to let run. The ones that carried grief for the woman that was still breathing into his arms.

He kissed her face all around. Her forehead, her eyes, her temple, her cheeks and her lips before pulling apart to look into her eyes.

-You will survive, Eli Russel Sollaris. We will finish the year and my grades will be so much bigger than yours that you will loose you spot as favorite from all the professors. -She let out a wet laugh to that, clearly remembering his face when Professor Englund called her his favorite student in front of him. -Then we'll get our vacation and I'll get myself one of those tuneless cephphones so we can talk during the entire summer, because I cannot even stand the thought of spending a day on my life not hearing your voice. I will introduce you to my family and I also want to meet yours, because anyone important to you is also important to me. Then we will comeback to here, and I'll hold you hand and kiss you all the time and put curses to anyone that looks at you for too long. And I will sleep every single day with you on my arms and wake up to your kisses. Forever.

The tears streamed down her face, and he kissed every single one of them away while the smile on her lips came back to life. The first time it had happened ever since Zephyr had been taken.

-That sounded too much like a proposal for two people that are not even dating yet, Harrington.

He smirked at her, rubbing his thumb on her cheek.

-Funny you saying that, because a little bird told me that you called me your boyfriend in front of some students in Professor Kontos’ class.

-Would you say that little bird is about 1.63cm tall and insanely rich?

-I would say that that little bird said that you were almost green with jealousy and that the little bird was scared that you were going to throw a fireball at someone.

-Nonsense, I only do that to you.

He let out a loud laugh, hugging her closer to him and rubbing his nose against her cheek.

-You should know that you have no reason to be jealous. That I am completely yours. Your friend. Your boyfriend. Anything you want from me Eli. Anything.

She rested herself on him again, placing her head on his shoulder and sighing.

-Do you promise then?

His silence only lasted a couple seconds, but it felt like an eternity. The entire room felt cold as he sighed and rested his own head above hers.

-I promise you, Eli. I promise that… if it gets down to it, I'll comply to your wish.

She smiled to herself, knowing that he couldn't see it, and hugged him closer.

-I love you, nerd.

-And I love you a lot more, my sunlight.

And then, they parted towards an inescapable future.

#beckett harrington #i miss him #all the time #the elementalists #te #choices

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naivesilver · 2 months ago

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giving you full rein on the kid fic dialogue ask and suggesting maybe something from the toddler ask? you can pick a child and parent combo from anything you like ~

THIS WASN'T EVEN THE FINAL ASK BUT I AM SO LATE AAAAH sorry you know how much I love my babies thank you for encouraging me 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 I'm gonna be super predictable now!

Kid/Parent Dialogue Prompts

4. "With the rate uncles/aunts/grandparents/friends are buying stuff for you, you will be the most spoiled kid ever"

"Do you ever get the feeling that they're going to grow up as the most spoiled kids ever?"

Emma glances at August with her eyebrows raised, quietly puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

Technically, they should be getting coffee like the grown adults, friends-who-rarely-get-to-catch-up that they are, but since there is a distinct lack of free, unaccompanied time in both of their lives now, what they're actually doing is drinking their coffee at the outside tables of Granny's while their sister and daughter respectively entertain each other. Of course, it was clear within minutes that the girls had no intention of doing so - Apple is currently burying her hands in the potted plants, alone, while Cedar is nowhere to be seen, having long since wandered into the bowels of the diner.

That doesn't seem to bother August much, however, because he continues, undeterred: "You have possibly the largest extended family in town- how much stuff have people bought for your sister, Raven or Sparrow, and how long has it been since you've heard anyone saying no to them? Because I am related to considerably fewer people, and our house is still full of kids' stuff, and I know Belle has the same problem with Rosa and Gideon."

He...has a point, actually. Emma has long since matured past the point of being jealous, but that doesn't mean she's blind - children are protected and splurged on for in Storybrooke, especially children she knows. Apple is likely the best dressed little girl in town, and the way Henry tells it, Raven and Sparrow own just about every toy that makes noise. Nobody in her family will grow up wanting for attention, that's for sure.

Still, there's a difference between agreeing with August and telling him that out loud. "Come on, I'm sure it's not that bad-"

It's at that moment, as if summoned by her comment, that Cedar shows up on Granny's front step, like a little bushy haired apparition. The girl trots over to them with what looks like a cup of pudding, spoon included, in one hand and a small sandal in the other - she offers it to August with a miniature frown, shifting her weight off her bare foot. "Daddy, I los' m' shoe."

"Wow, a sentence I've never heard before," August deadpans, though he still lifts his daughter onto his knee with practiced ease, only gesturing to her other possession once he's done wrestling said shoe back in its place. "Where did you get that, kiddo?"

Cedar grins at him, the wide, gap-toothed smile of toddlers all over the world - there are already smears of chocolate around her mouth, which means she must have gotten more than a taste of her treat by now. "Grampa."

"Of course you did." He pats her back as she hops off his lap, then turns back to Emma with a look and a gesture that scream What did I tell you? for all to see.

For her part, Emma simply rolls her eyes. "Alright, you've made your point. Look, if it bothers you so much, why don't you tell everyone to stop buying her stuff?"

"Did your mother listen when you tried to do that?"

"Point taken." She mulls it over for a bit, watching the little figure bound away, then says, distractedly: "Does letting them be the most spoiled kids ever include allowing them to run with a spoon in their mouth?"

August follows her gaze, then stands up with a muffled curse and chases after his daughter before she falls on her face. Emma barely stifles her laughter, grateful that at least she's not still losing the argument - for a moment there, both father and child looked entirely too smug for her liking, which tends to be the only expression where they share an uncanny resemblance.

She just hopes Cedar will lose that trait as she grows up. She doesn't think she could bear it, if she had two Augusts to contend with.

#lizardthelizard #ask meme #fanfic #ouat #au: ever after storybrooke #august booth #emma swan #cedar wood #ever after high #eah #I missed them so much that's why I couldn't decide on a prompt for so long ajvajshsnsjdns

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mellowthemyth · 9 days ago

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Don’t mind me, I’m just speaking aloud because the depression is so loud in my head; It was always bound to return… I’m not near my pen and paper to just write and discard. I apologize to anyone who was led to believe that I was someone that I’m not. I’m even more remorseful to anyone who stops to read this because you shouldn’t have to empathize with this.

Recounting on my life, I continuously find myself pointing out how I’ve been a failure to so many in 29 years. Do I truly feel that? In some aspects... And I can’t deny that the failure feels worse than any of the good that the triumph brings. I used to believe that my shying away from the spotlight was because of my quiet nature, but now it just feels like it’s a way to run from the inevitable disappointment that I’ll be. I never did the college thing right; trying to be a people pleaser and really did none of it for myself, and ruined it all in a year’s time. I’ve been nothing exemplary when it comes to being a person to look up to as a brother. If it didn’t sound so harsh, I’d tell them to never pick up any attribute of me as a person. I genuinely think sometimes that, if possible, I’d give my life to someone else who was capable of living it better than I have. The only reprieve I find from it all is being buried in work, writing, and silence.

All I’ve been capable of is working to make sure bills are paid and doing the things that are needed of me. And if it weren’t for a person who calls me their best friend, I’d have probably died years ago. But, it’s even harder to fathom, because they saved me from it several years ago. So I’m just frozen in time…

Why have I guided my own life like this? Why am I incapable of making things better? Why have I become so unreliable to others? Why have I been deemed worthy to hold space in places that have seen better people reside in? They’d have been much more exceptional than I had been, in the same scenarios. If it exists, why have my purpose and I not yet aligned? I’ve, unsuccessfully, paired patience with stagnation, and that’s unfair to Who gave me such a virtue, as I’ve not done right by it.

Forgive me for speaking so much about myself. Only thanks I can give, internally, is that it was introspective and not out of vanity. It’s why I try to speak life and kindness into others, they deserve it and the grace far more than I do.

#mí #No I’m not dead yet #But it’s calling to me honestly

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galvanizedfriend · 10 days ago

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hiii friend!!

how are you? how is Christmas time treating you? this is the time of the year when your profile picture reaches its peek 😋😋

Anyway!!! I know the answer is probably going to be no, mostly because it adds unnecessary trauma/drama to the already complicated plot, BUT!

since Damon is (finally) dead, which means Klaus can't kill him and create a domino effect, is there any chance for the latter to find out about what Damon did to Caroline?🥹

Due Bill is coming up, I assume Caroline is going to deal with her past, so maybe she'll talk about how Damon was the reason why she was basically forced to go back to learn/use magic?? (or at least, I think he was, im not sure if I remember correctly)

ALSO, SINCE BONNIE IS GOING TO SHOW UP, PLEASE MAKE ENZO AND ANY OF THE ORIGINAL BROTHERS INTERACT 🙏🏻🙏🏻 I'LL DO ANYTHING YOU WANT, BUT PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASEEEE MAKE IT HAPPEN😭😭

love u, have a good day, and sorry for constantly flowing your inbox 🙏🏻

Hi, friend! 👋

I'm doing great! More than great! 😂 I have loads of work and a lot ot stuff to deal with but my team has just won two major championships, so I've never been better 😂 I spent a month with my head buried in the send with so much anxiety but for once in my life it paid off! That's the thing about being into sports, when your team sucks, it ruins your life, but when it does well, I can't even remember ever being unhappy before 😂

But anyway! About Damon. I mean, now that he' s dead, Caroline would totally tell Klaus, I just don't think there will be much room for that conversation to happen within the story. Klaus can't cause an incident by murdering him now, but it's still something that's bound to cause major disruption because he will be mad at the whole thing anyway, so I feel like it would distract from what is currently happening in the story. Klaus is not someone who would simply let something like that go. Damon might be dead, but Stefan and Elena are not. 😬

And yeah, you're correct. Damon's abuse was the reason Caroline decided to go back to practing magic.

As for Bonnie, her parts aren't fully planned yet! 😂 I know what I need her to do, but the scenes are more open, so Enzo could always make a cameo!

And you didn't ask, but just wanted to say that I am writing (slowly, slowly...) and I'm about halfway through Chapter 6. I'm trying to have at least two chapters done so I can have quicker updates between them, and hopefully at least one of them will be out this year.

Thanks for your message, friend! Hope you have a great weekend and a lovely winter time!!!

#yokan answers #rosedforbes

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sallowedground · 1 month ago

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𝖘𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖙 𝖘𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖆.

introducing my dearest hogwarts legacy oc, savina lovett. lover of the macabre, refuter of death, all around oddity. i'll pop some random info under the cut for anyone interested. please ignore the state of my blog i'm still getting set up lmao.

savina was adapted from an old concept i wanted to play with involving a pair of twins with a bit of a lake mungo vibe, some foreboding horror, rage & grief. very i feel like something bad is going to happen to me. i feel like something bad has happened. it hasn't reached me yet, but it's on its way.

some quick facts:

♰ her name comes from saint savina, patron saint of prisoners, ensuring they received the proper burial after their executions. her family are all named after saints, including her twin sister severa — who is not meant to be any sort of reference to snape, i just liked how their names sounded together. ♰ savina is { was } incredibly close with her twin sister, naturally. a year before severa was set to begin her classes at hogwarts, she disappeared. after exhaustive searches proved fruitless, her parents buried an empty coffin. savina has not accepted her sister's death. ♰ her father is a squib, but a noted scholar in the muggle world; when savina showed no magical abilities as a child, it was assumed that she was a squib as well. she's very close to her father, though her relationship with her mother is quite strained. ♰ she is, of course, a slytherin, with an unmatched intuition and perception; despite the belief that slytherins tend to be more traditional, she believes that nothing can be achieved within the bounds of conformation. ♰ she's a little weirdo. loves the macabre and strange. collects oddities. keeps a journal filled with skeletal / anatomical sketches she's done of various magical and non magical creatures etc. will tell you weird facts or say strange and sometimes unsettling things. we love odd girls in this house ♰ her patronus is a wolf { i have my own symbolism for this i am shoving aside any legit hp lore on this for funsies } & she eventually becomes a wolf animagus { heard that the process of becoming an animagus was incredibly difficult and basically said please try to tell me it's impossible again } ♰ she has dyscalculia and hates arithmancy with every single bone in her body. ♰ i didn't know much about sebastian's circumstances before starting the game, so her having a twin who is also in a ... ✨concerning predicament✨ wasn't an intentional mirror, but i kept it because i liked the trauma bonding and moderately codependent toxicity it burgeoned lol.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy oc #hl oc #hl #hl mc #my art #art.#let's see if the image quality didn't get trashed shall we?#pls be nice to me i wanted to ramble SOOOOO much about her #i havent done art in years so im hoping this helps get me back into the swing of things

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goldeneyedgirl · 4 months ago

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I would sell my body and soul for more of that demon Jasper fic :)))

Ask and ye shall receive, Anon. Also, I'm no longer accepting intangible essences in this economy because I'm pretty sure selling your body and soul will be the cost of a studio apartment soon.

I have a very specific vibe I want for the follow up, and right now, it's just not quite hitting it correctly, so this is a very early drafted scene. The 'Meet the Cullens' scene might pop up at Ficmas if I can get it right. I just need Jasper to be the right balance of 'I was imprisoned for long enough to be disorientated by the modern world', 'PTSD, my only friend', 'I am haunted by my demon self that wears my skin', and 'I have hope for the future.' And I cannot wait to do more world building with what Maria has done, and what Alice has learnt.

It's a short piece but I hope you enjoy!

The worst part is that he has to sleep.

He has to dream.

Neither he nor Alice know if that is because he needs to heal, or if that’s the burden of being changed. Alice promises to research it for him, but right now he doesn’t care. He resents it, yes, that his body demands something as base as rest. But of all the pieces that he’s been left with, sleep is the least of his problems.

(What does he dream of? Torture and torment. The flaying of skin. Burns that furiously eat right down to the bone. Words carved and muttered, read from books written and bound in old skin reeking of all the death and hands that have touched it. He dreams of complete hopelessness, of grief and betrayal and rage. And when he wakes up, it’s still in the back of his mind, always nagging at him.)

Sometimes it takes him hours to remind himself that he’s free. That he could walk out the front door and Alice wouldn’t stop him. Or rather, she’d run after him to make sure he was okay, that he had clothing and shoes and he didn’t need to eat. And she’d make him promise that he knew he could come home again.

(It wouldn’t be the first time. He hates that she doesn’t sleep. He hates that she hunts and butchers for him. He hates that when he looks at her, such a beautiful girl, he knows he could offer her anything, promise her anything, and she’d follow him anywhere. He could crush her heart in his hand, and she’d still smile at him and ask him if he was okay.)

“Jasper, can I ask you something?”

He tenses up when she says that; he’s been waiting for it. The price of all she’s done for him; the first aid, the housing, hunting and butchering, clothing, digging him out of that church. She’s just like the others, despite her promises.

“What?” His voice is cold and harsh, and he’s already preparing for the words that come next. Already planning on leaving her in pieces on the floor and let her put herself back together.

“I think we need to start working on your wings.” For a moment, the words make no sense to him because they aren’t what he expects. And then he’s taken by how gentle her words sound. How the worry skitters all over her. She’s actually concerned about him.

He hasn’t transformed back right, he’s known that for a while; his shoulder blades jut out unnaturally and he cannot get them to flatten. He’s gotten use to it - the mattress on his bed is soft enough that it’s not uncomfortable, and most of the clothing Alice has acquired for him are loose enough not to matter. He hadn’t given it much thought - his body has felt foreign to him for so long that another thing is nothing.

The idea that she’s been worrying is confusing.

He’s never been this close to someone in this form without being able to kill them. And yet Alice is so calm, as if every single instinct isn’t telling her to run.

She smells sweet, like he’s buried his face in flowers, with the sharp tang of something akin to ink. It’s nice in a way that he hasn’t had in a while. Alice really is extraordinarily pretty, her eyes are the most intense shade of warm gold with eyelashes that fan gently against her cheek when she blinks, and her pretty pink lips that twist into a frown as she examines his wings.

It’s a mystery to him why she bothers with the likes of him. From what she’s mentioned about her former coven, he assumes that she could be living in luxury. Be married to some bookish vampire gentleman who opens doors for her and…

He’s feeling warm and he’s not sure why, as her fingers trace the sinew of his right wing carefully. She’s wearing an old t-shirt knotted at the waist that leaves one shoulder completely bare, and the tiniest pants he’s ever seen on a woman. Practical for hunting, he’s certain, but nothing that he’s used to at all.

The jokes she made when she found him echo in his mind and he wonders if she was truly willing or if she was just nervous; she’s made no other allusions to… physical intimacies since that night. In fact, she’s been extraordinarily kind but kept her distance as he’s recovered. Not once has she crossed the threshold of his room; she launders the clothing, and brings back the flesh and blood of animals for him to consume, and generally leaves him be unless he seeks her out.

This cannot be all she wants from him - a grudging housemate. He doesn’t understand, not at all. He wants the truth.

The stitches are slow, as Alice carefully lines up each tear precisely, and this is a terrible intimacy. He flexes his fingers, trying to resist grasping her hips as she works, almost like a muscle memory. He does wonder if she’d even allow him to put his hands on her like this. When he looks like a demon, the worst of the monsters. But she hasn’t flinched away from him yet.

“Are you doing okay?” Her voice is soft, a warm puff against his face with that honeyed scent of her venom.

“Yes.” His voice is short, clipped, and she doesn’t speak again. Just keeps sewing. The pain is negligible to what he’s experienced in the past, and he reminds himself of that.

Finally (too soon) Alice pulls away. “Okay, that’s the first round done,” she says. He doesn’t even bother to look at her handiwork as he lets the transformation fade, so that he can at least meet her gaze.

“We’re going to have to break the humerus to reset your shoulder blades correctly,” she says. “It’ll hurt.”

The words are simple and he wants to scoff, but he knows. The wings are sensitive, and the bones dense. Breaking them in a special pain he’s lived through once.

He grunts in acknowledgement as he shrugs back into his hoodie.

“Let me know what you want to do.” She sets aside the sewing kit and for a moment he wants to. He wants to ask her to sit with him and talk about nothing - about her old coven, about what the closest town is like, about places she’s been. He wants something simple, something easy. He wants to bury his face against her, and breathe in flowers and ink and the sharp, toxic honey of her venom. He wants…

Alice smiles at him sadly one last time before she slips away, giving him the space she expects he wants.

#asks #anon #my fic: demon jasper #my fics: add to fic tag #jasper hale #alice cullen #jalice #jasper: gettin' whiplash from his emotions #alice just treating him like a wounded wolverine at this point #a lot of space and a lot of softness

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farfromstrange · 2 years ago

Text

Butterfly Effect | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Masterlist

Chapter Seven: Butterfly Effect (Epilogue)

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Barista!Reader

Summary: The morning after you and Michael reunited marks the start of something new, but not without having a proper conversation about what happened and what you both want out of life. Or, you both come to an agreement after dancing around each other for so long and you finally find your way together, all thanks to the Butterfly Effect.

Warnings: Slight angst, SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, fluff, hurt/comfort, happy ending

Word Count: 6k

A/n: The people have decided, so I’m posting it now. This marks the end of this miniseries. It was an honor to write this for you and I am so glad you enjoyed it. Writing for Mikey has become one of my favorite things to do, so while this might be the end of this miniseries, this story is far from over...

Read All Other Parts Here...

Over time, Michael got used to his bed being empty in the morning. He grew accustomed to loneliness. Waking up in someone else’s bed and not alone, at that, is not something he planned to happen. A lot of things that happened hadn’t been his plan to actually happen.

Your breathing is soft and steady, your face squished against his shoulder as you sleep. You look like an angel. Nothing can touch you here, it seems. You’re entirely peaceful.

He blinks awake slowly. The memories from the night before come flooding him, your limbs intertwined with his, your lips everywhere, your cunt wrapped around his cock, the way you tasted on his tongue, and he shivers. It wasn’t a dream.

He reaches out, his fingers hesitant before they bury in your soft locks. Your hair is all over the place, but it makes you look even more human, more fragile, and a lot more beautiful because he knows he gets to see you be yourself without people around. He’s in your bed, no one else. You let him make love to you, not any other man. You chose him. You chose not to run, you chose to stay. All of the things he did that should have scared you away, you said ‘fuck it’ and chose him anyway. If that isn’t a grand display of your devotion, he’s not sure what is. It’s almost suffocating how much you seem to care.

He truly didn’t think he would end up in your bed when he made his way to your apartment the day before, it hadn’t been his plan, not at all, but he is endlessly grateful for getting another chance with you. He hardly had any hopes when he asked you for help.

You know the truth now, you’re bound to him, and he would do anything in his power to keep you safe. Now that you crossed this line, he has to keep you safe somehow. He can’t have the past repeating itself, which is precisely what scares him as he looks at your sleeping form in his arms, so innocent and peaceful.

You stir eventually, his fingers still massaging your scalp. Your head moves to his chest and you let out a small, subconscious sigh. He chuckles softly and holds you closer, making sure the blanket continues to cover your naked frame. It’s cold inside, even with the heater on. Maybe he should take a look at your apartment and find a better solution because you could get sick. He doesn’t want you catching your death when the cold of winter arrives.

Why he’s making plans for the future already, he doesn’t know.

“Morning,” you murmur sleepily.

Michael looks down at you. “Hey,” he says with a soft smile.

You squint, rubbing your eyes. He can see the brain cells in your head coming back to life, and it’s an almost hilarious sight.

He strokes another strand of hair out of your face. “How’d ya sleep?”

“Good,” you say.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah. How about you?” you return the question, not just out of courtesy but because you’re actually interested.

He didn’t tell you about the nightmares, but with his past it wasn’t hard to figure he gets them.

The tip of his index finger strokes over the bridge of your nose, soothing your nerves. “Better than I have in a long time,” the admission sounds almost content coming from him.

You smile. “I’m glad.”

His hands have not once left your body throughout the night. He’s held you close every passing second, and he still refuses to let you go. You can see the hidden fear in his eyes, the fear of the unknown, of the unspoken, and his soul is still conflicted. He carries years of excruciating pain inside, that is not something one night can make go away, but you made sure to tell him that he isn’t alone.

Michael is used to being alone. Hearing from you that he isn’t, that his struggles aren’t just his to face anymore, is a lot to get used to. He has to change his mindset. He has to open himself up to you, be naked and vulnerable. It’s almost terrifying. You’re such a good person and he saw how much the truth hurt you, the little twinkle of fear in your eyes yesterday, and the fear of losing you settles into his chest like a heavy pile of bricks. He can’t shake them off. He thinks losing you now might be easier than later, but he wouldn’t be able to survive either way. His head is a mess and he hates that his thoughts don’t make sense.

You look at him with your doe eyes, watching his forehead wrinkle. The storm he’s trying to hide from you displays in the brown of his irises. Reaching out, you cup his cheek.

“Mikey,” you say softly, “look at me.”

He hesitantly turns his head toward you.

“Tell me what’s on your mind. Don’t shut me out.”

He sighs. “I can’t tell ya,” he admits, “‘cause I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand everything all the time.”

“I know, it’s just… I don’t know.”

You change your position to look at him face-to-face. Without another word, he turns onto his side too, meeting your eyes. You can see the tears glistening in his own, but there is a promise hidden in there. He’s giving you all of his attention, his eyes searching your face for any signs of resentment, and he looks so helpless with the sun shining through the curtains and onto his face, you can’t help but cradle his face in your hands. It’s a silent vow that you’re there, that you meant what you said the day before. You’re not going anywhere.

“I gave myself to you,” you say, “You gave yourself to me in return. You showed me who you truly are. You took a big step last night. It doesn’t matter if we crossed a line or not. What you showed me is not something to take lightly and I am so proud of you for finally asking for what you need.”

You’re proud of him. Michael shudders. He barely hears anyone say that to him anymore. Usually, people aren’t proud of him. He can’t remember the last time he did something worthy to pride himself with.

You continue, your voice a gentle song to serenade him, “I told you how I feel, that I don’t care about your family, I only care about you. I don’t need them, only you. I can tell you’re in pain, Michael, and I want nothing more than to help you,” you say. “That’s all I want. I would never judge you or send you away, you’re too important for that. I just need to know… are you even ready for this? Because I don’t want to get hurt. I’ve been hurt so many times in the past, I don’t think I could take another heartbreak without shattering the person I’ve worked so hard to become.” Your voice cracks.

Michael’s eyebrows furrow almost in agony when he sees you like this. You’re a vulnerable person, even though you barely show it to anyone. You have a past just like everyone else. You’re human. You fought hard to get to where you are and he’s a hurricane, he only knows how to cause chaos, and that could take your sunshine away. But you’re important to him. He needs your light to shine through the clouds and make his life a little easier. He needs your sun for the rain to stop so that he can grow a rainbow. You’re normal, he’s said that before, and normal is what he needs.

He should have claimed it before. He shouldn’t have been so conflicted, thinking about what could have been or should have been. He’s not pulling you into a war he’s planning to fight in. You’re a breath of fresh air. You have enchanted him inside and out, with your kind nature and your wicked body, and he couldn’t let you go even if he tried. He tried, but it didn’t work, and now he’s in the same bed as you. Destiny has funny ways of bringing together what belongs together.

You blink through your tears. “You’re different from everyone else. I understand, but there is so much you have yet to teach me about you, and if you tell me you can’t do this, if this was just a one-night thing for you, I need to know so I can move on,” you sound insistent. “People have been walking all over me ever since I can remember, and I don’t want to be just another means to an end. I–“

He cuts you off with a kiss. His lips brush yours ever so gently and the words die on your tongue.

“You’re none of tha’,” he whispers as if anyone could hear him, even in the solace of your bedroom. “Yer no rebound or means to an end. Yer not a one-night stand. I came here because of ya, because I needed you. I don’t understand why, but yer the only person I can count on, and that makes me feel less alone. And I’ve been alone for so long,” he says.

The tear makes its way down his cheeks and meets your hand where it lies tangled with his now on the mattress.

“I don’t remember what it’s like to have someone care fer me anymore,” your name sounds like a sad ballad tumbling from his plump lips. “It’s been a while, and even before tha’ I wasn’t… there was a point where I was just filled with self-pity, and after going away, it got bad again–“

His eyes are closed. Talking about it hurts, but he’s talking. That counts for something.

“I pushed ya away ‘cause I lost the woman I loved before and… and I don’t want ya to get caught in the crossfire just ‘cause ya accept me,” he says. “My life is dangerous, even when I’m not workin’ for my family. I’m dangerous. I forgot what it’s like to live, to breathe, to show someone I care because I… I don’t think I know how ta care the way ya deserve, and you deserve only the best. I don’t know if I’m good, if I can even be that fer ya.”

With every word coming from him, your heart breaks a little more. If you didn’t know better, you would say he’s trying to push you away or end whatever it is that you had all over again, but you know better.

His feelings are all over the place, and so are his words, but weirdly enough, it makes sense to you. You know how to translate the language he speaks without trying. You feel so deeply for him, you can feel his pain in your soul. His memories are yours, just without the detailed pictures, and he has been through so much, he doesn’t deserve to suffer anymore.

You sniffle, your tears matching his. His eyes are closed now. “It’s exhausting,” he admits, “tryin’ to be better, but no matter what you do, yer playin’ a losin’ game. That’s what it feels like, fightin’ for Anna, fightin’ to be better. Constantly, I–“

When a wave of choked-up sobs breaks over him, you scoot closer to hold him. Your arms wrap around his neck and pull him as close as you possibly can, your forehead pressing against his.

Michael exhales, the breath getting stuck in his throat. “I feel like I’m losin’ her…”

“I know,” you say, stroking your fingers through his unruly hair.

“I love my family, I have to admit, they’ve always been there fer me, but right now… I don’t want ta be Michael Kinsella anymore,” he says, “I just wanna be Michael.”

He just wants to be Michael, period. Not a Kinsella, just himself, no crime, no bloodshed, no chaos. He wants what every good father would want. It’s something he deserves, there is no denying that.

After what he went through, the sacrifices he made, and what he lost, he deserves to be just Michael for a while. You can’t choose your family, you can’t choose whether or not you love them, but you can start a new life and break free from an endless cycle if that’s what you want. He hasn’t realized yet that this is what he deserves, but you won’t let him go on this journey alone, you’re more than convinced now. He needs someone, and it just happened to become you that he can hold on to.

His eyes open slowly to meet yours. “What if the mistakes I made… what if all of the fuck up’s made me unworthy?”

You offer a small smile, your eyes filled with endless devotion. You shake your head. “That’s not true,” you tell him, your voice barely above a whisper.

“But what if they did? What if I’m unworthy of a second chance?”

“We all make mistakes, Mikey. What matters is that you’re willing to fight for your daughter now. That dedication is what makes you worthy. I mean, what if you look beyond Michael Kinsella, beyond your last name? Who are you then?”

He contemplates. You can see the wheels in his head turning. Then, he opens his mouth to quietly answer, “I don’t know,” he says.

“And that’s okay,” you say. “You can just figure that out as you go. But you know what you want, right? That’s all that matters.”

“I… I want my daughter back. And I want… I want…”

“Yes?”

His body shudders when he sighs. “You,” he blurts. “I want you.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. For a moment you wonder if you misheard him, but then he says it again together with the softest version of your name and a gentle, “love,” and you know he means it.

“I want you too,” you say.

“You do?” His eyes fill with hope.

“Yeah. You don’t have to be alone anymore, Mikey. If you’re willing to try, I’m willing to try. You bewitched me, body and soul, and I don’t think I could let you go even if I tried.”

“I want nothin’ more than ta try,” he says. “But I’m scared…”

“Of what?”

“Not being enough.”

“You’re enough for me.”

“But what if I can’t be?”

“That won’t happen.”

A sad chuckle escapes him. “How are ya always so positive, always know what to say?”

“I don’t know,” you say, “I guess it’s just one of my many charms.”

“Please–“ his voice cracks and he grabs your face tightly with his hands.

You nuzzle your nose against his, your bodies molding together like candle wax. “Please what?” you ask.

“Please don’t leave me,” he says.

Ouch. If the thin ice on a river in early winter could have a sound, it would be his voice. You only have to take one step for it to crack, and then he’s broken.

You wrap your hand around his wrist, keeping his hands where they are. He can feel your pulse, your soft breathing, and he sees the determination in your eyes when you force him to look at you.

“I’m not going to leave you,” you say.

There is a fine line between using ‘will’ and the ‘going to’ future. With ‘will’ there is a chance you don’t know or don’t believe it might happen, but you chose your words wisely and they mean what you wanted them to mean – you are not going to leave him. It’s not your plan and even if it means manipulating the future, moving mountains, or messing with destiny, you are going to make sure you don’t ever have to leave. As long as Michael tries, too, but looking at him you can tell he is attached to you and he wants to be better because there is something he is fighting for, he is just getting too weak to see the whole picture. Now you’re here though and you are strong enough to keep hope for both of you, but especially for him and his broken soul.

“I know it feels like you’re losing,” you continue, “but I’m here now and I am not going to let you fall. I promise you, Michael. If you want me to stay and if you’re willing to let me in, I’m not going anywhere.”

He sniffles, tasting the salt of his tears on his tongue. “Thank you,” he breathes, and he allows himself to melt into your arms, his forehead still pressed against yours as you build a sanctuary around your intertwined bodies.

“Anything for you, darling.”

You stay like this for a while. His breathing slows down eventually and the tears subside, and you calm yourself down. Silence settles in. It’s comfortable. The sun disappears outside and you can hear the faintest sound of thunder in the distance. Chances are it’s going to rain soon.

“I have another question,” you dare to open your mouth to ask what has been burning in your chest.

Michael opens his reddened eyes. “Ask away,” he says.

“Are you working for your brother’s wife because you need a job or because of, you know–“ you motion to nothing in particular.

He gets what you mean and shakes his head. “I needed a stable job to show the courts I’m tryin’ to be better.”

“To get Anna back?”

“Yeah.”

“I never expected anything less from you.”

“But it’s washin’ cars. Doesn’t feel like it’s enough.”

You nod. You get the idea and you get his worries. They’re not without reason. You think about work, the café, and your lovely colleagues. You think about Sarah and how she struggled to get a job after moving. There are a lot of stories mixed in the Butterfly Effect, and everyone carries somewhat of a burden, but the café saved them. It continues to change people’s lives.

“The butterfly effect refers to the compounding impact of small changes,” you blurt out.

Understandably, Michael frowns at the randomness of your words.

“As a consequence, it is nearly impossible to make accurate predictions for the future or to identify the precise cause of an inexplicable change. Long periods of stability are followed by sudden declines and vice versa,” you say.

He leans back. “Okay?”

“I’m sorry, that was random.”

He wants to kiss you so badly right now. How can one person be so adorable yet so beautiful at the same time?

“Care to elaborate?” he asks.

“I was kind of trying to get somewhere. I’m a romantic, you know? I believe in the good. I know people. I see a lot and I understand a lot. I believe in the divine and in hope and destiny and the supernatural. I’m a writer. Everyone has a different perception of life, obviously–“ You pause to wrap yourself tighter in your blanket.

“One day,” you continue, “I went to the library and there was this reading of a book and I heard the author read one paragraph. She said, “In the flutter of a butterfly’s wings, a gentle breeze stirs, carrying with it the possibility of change. It dances across our path, whispering, ‘What if?’ And at that moment, lives are altered, destinies redirected, and the extraordinary is born from the ordinary. Embrace the delicate chaos, for within the fragile wings of a butterfly lies the power to transform the world.” And it struck me, so I bought the book and I read it twice in one night. After that, I packed my things and quit my job, and I decided I wanted to find my path. I wanted to write. I wanted to live for myself. I left what I knew behind, and it led me to the café, it led me here, and now… now I’m here. With you.”

Michael hums.

“My point is, the butterfly effect is real,” you say. “Doesn’t matter if it’s a single sip of coffee that makes your whole week, smoking a cigarette and dooming yourself for the next decade, a butterfly flapping its wings in the jungle somewhere and causing a tornado in Texas, or hearing a paragraph from a coming-of-age book in your mid-twenties and realizing that you’re stuck and need to get out, which leads you onto an unexpected path. The butterfly effect is real and your life can change drastically in only a millisecond, and that makes it almost impossible to predict the future.”

He knows how the butterfly effect works, but there is something about the way you describe him that strikes him to his core. It allows him a deeper understanding of not only your thoughts but the world of your feelings as well. You’re a complex character, but you have a good heart, and the way you describe yourself puts him in a state of awe whenever he looks at you.

“There’s a reason the café is so popular. And we’re understaffed.”

He tilts his head. Words fail him, but he shows you that he’s attentive and that he listens to everything you have to say.

“You can learn how to make our drinks in a few days. I did, too.” You’re getting closer to your intention. “And we’re in desperate need of new staff.”

“I–“ Michael looks at the ceiling. Did you just offer him a job? “I‘ve been to prison. I have priors,” he says. “You know that it’s not tha’ easy.”

After his attorney told him that chances are slim to get his daughter back and getting a job with his name and history seemed like an impossibility, he turned to Amanda because at least with her, he knew he could get a job. But even then he found himself sabotaged and benched for a whole different reason. No matter what he does, it’s never enough.

You catch another of his tears when it escapes the corner of his left eye. “That’s the thing, we don’t care about that. I have this colleague, his name is Oliver. He’s been to prison,” you say. “I admit, they convicted him for vehicular manslaughter because he was drunk one night after a party when he freshly turned 18 and just got his driver’s license, and the judge thought giving a teenager twenty-five too life would be a little too excessive, but he still spent years in prison just like you. As harsh as our boss can be, she believes in second chances, so she gave him the job. Without second-guessing her decision. He’s been working at the café ever since we opened our doors, and that’s been a while. You- you were still in prison then, I think.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re just sayin’ tha’ to make me feel better.”

“Look at me and tell me I’m lying.”

He looks at you, but he already knows you’re telling the truth. Your expression is stern yet gentle. “Why?” Michael whispers.

“Why what?” you ask.

“Why do ya want to help me?”

“I told you, I care about you and I’m willing to try if you are.”

He takes your hand. Gently, he presses a kiss to your knuckles. His tears wet your skin, but you allow him to let it out.

Silence settles back in as he struggles for the right words to say. Your finger strokes his wet cheeks until he’s stopped crying, but it takes him a while before he speaks again.

“Amanda, that’s her name,” he mutters.

“What?” you ask.

“My brother’s wife, who I work for. We’ve been through a lot of shit together.”

“And?”

“Nothin’, it’s just that it’s hard to separate myself from tha’.”

You nod. “I get that. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I just thought–”

“Yer not wrong,” Michael cuts you off with a gentle finger to your lips. “And I think… being in prison changed a lot, but then I met you and I– well, ya keep talkin’ about the butterfly effect and I think yer mine.”

You meet his eyes.

“My family sabotaged this job. I wanted to work with the books, but Amanda benched me ta washin’ cars because they’re tryin’ to get me to give up and work for them again,” he states.

You press a kiss to his finger before making some space for you to talk. “Are you thinking about it?” you ask.

He doesn’t blame you for still being a little weary. He’s given you a lot of insight in such a short amount of time, it’s draining, but you deserve it, and yet there is still so much you have to learn.

“I’m thinkin’ about it, but I won’t do it.”

“Do you really want to continue washing cars and be unhappy?”

He thinks about the question for a moment. “Ya make me happy,” his voice sounds like a fragile exhale. “And I don’t know how to thank ya for tryin’, I just… I need ta learn how to write an application again.”

“If that’s the only problem,” you say, stroking your thumb along the jawline hidden under his beard.

“What?”

“I can help you.”

“You would do tha’?” he asks. “Fer me?”

You only smile at him before bringing your lips to his. “Always,” you say, and then you finally kiss him again.

Michael was starving for your lips. Feeling you kiss him harder this time makes him dizzy and he wraps his arms around your waist; you’re his rock, a stable constant to hold onto so he won’t get lost in the tide. Your lips are his salvation. He could drown in you and still be alive. You make the world spin a little slower.

Before you, existing felt like sitting on a carousel without controls and he kept getting sicker with every passing moment, but you make the chaos dissipate and you slow down the endless back and forth – you breathe fresh air into his lungs.

“You know,” you pull away to look at him with a playful grin playing on your face, “I’m actually one of the best when it comes to filling out application forms. It’s a talent I’ve been told I possess.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. I’m really good at it. Almost as good as I am at quitting the jobs I apply for, but–”

Laughter tumbles from his lips. You just in with a soft giggle, not wanting to overshadow the clear sound of his laugh. He sounds like an angel.

“It’s true,” you chuckle, “I have a long history of quitting jobs.”

“Mhm.” He buries his face in your neck.

“I tend to struggle with commitment, you know? And I’ve lost myself many times before because I wasn’t sure what I wanted, then I found the café, I made friends and I settled down. You could say I’m a restless person, but with you–” You take a deep breath as your fingers thread through his hair. “I know what I want,” you finish.

Michael lifts his head from your neck, his eyes meeting yours. He reaches up to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face.

"I understand tha' feeling," he says softly. "I've spent so much of my life feelin' like there was somethin' missing. But being with ya, it's like everythin' falls into place. After eight years, I... Ya showed me how to breathe again.”

You smirk. “That’s a lot of credit.”

“I may not understand it now, but I’m tryin’.” The genuine hope in his eyes makes the butterflies in your stomach dance wildly.

“You want to be just Michael, right?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Well, I liked you from the moment you stepped foot into the café, so I’ve liked you ever since you were just Michael who ordered a boring double espresso, but you didn’t say no to trying something new, and that’s when I saw who you really are. What I’m saying is, it works,” you say. “And I care about you so deeply, that’s all that matters to me.”

His eyes switch to your lips again. An answer to your gentle admission never follows; Michael presses his lips to yours in a heated embrace and he pulls you on top of him. Everything else fades away. At that moment, it’s just the two of you.

Your bodies entwine as if he's a magnet, still, and you're the missing piece, and you find yourself willingly succumbing to the pull as you did the night before. The world around you ceases to exist. Every touch, every caress, ignites a fire within.

He nibbles at your bottom lip, forcing his tongue inside your mouth. You push back into the kiss, throwing your hair over your shoulder to get it out of the way. His hands rest on your hips, gliding over every inch of bare skin he can reach under the blanket. You’re still naked from the night before, allowing him to explore you with his hands and his mouth, eager as he is.

"I wanna be the man ya deserve," he pants into the kiss. His hands slip lower, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass.

Your heat bumps against his hardening cock and you gasp. Your hips start their own rhythm. His tip brushes against your clit, caressing the throbbing nub, your body still sore from the night before, but his grabby hands have you yearning for him in only a few seconds and you want nothing more than to be close to him. Closer.

He grabs your breast, his large hand setting an almost comforting rhythm as he plays with the flesh, tweaking your nipples and pulling at them. You’re his toy to use and you have absolutely no problem with that.

A soft smile spreads across your face as you reach out to cup his cheek. "You already are enough," you whisper. "In my eyes, you're perfect just the way you are. Flaws and all. You’re more than enough for me, Michael, please believe that.”

With each passing moment, you can feel the walls he's built around himself crumbling, allowing you to see the true essence of who he is. And in return, you offer him the same vulnerability and acceptance.

You reach between your connecting bodies, grabbing a hold of his cock. He hisses, which quickly turns into a low groan when you coat him in your wetness and line him up with your entrance. You swallow him just right, your walls hugging him like you were made just for him, and he slides in easily. He bucks his hips, bottoming out, and you lower your weight down on his lap entirely.

You both pause, your lips ghosting over each other as you moan air into each other’s lungs.

With every touch, every whispered word, you create a whole new world for just you two, where the past becomes a distant memory and there is a future ahead with possibilities that seem sheerly endless. It’s the definition of hope for something new, and you’re that for him. You embody everything he needs and more.

Grinding on him, your clit rubs against his pelvis, and his cock continuously pushes down on your G-spot. The head of his cock, ever so sensitive, reacts every time he does, and his cock throbs inside of you. From top to bottom, he’s on fire. The heat of your skin feels like velvety lava under his fingers. He moves from your ass over your thighs to your hips and then up to your throat. One of his hands wraps around your neck while the other pushes you into him by the back of your head, and he kisses you with all his might.

Your moans bounce off the walls in the bedroom. His fingers start rubbing your clit gently, his tongue fighting with yours for dominance, and as the rain begins to fall outside and platters against your window in a soothing rhythm, you come undone around him. He follows right after you, his cum coating your hot walls and trickling down his shaft back down your thighs, onto his own, and staining the sheets. You’re a sticky mess of cum and sweat, but you find solace in each other’s lips and it’s all either of you can focus on. Only you exist, your hands and your bodies, and the sizzling air between you, and that’s more than enough.

While Michael showers, you retreat to the kitchen to make some coffee. You invested in an expensive coffee machine for personal use after your first paycheck rolled in and you don’t regret the decision. Pouring some hazelnut syrup into the mug, you pour the coffee over it, and add the hot milk and the foam you stirred. It’s the most basic drink you’ve made him so far, but the taste of hazelnuts reminds you of the color of his eyes and it’s your favorite drink in the mornings when you have a day off.

He enters the kitchen to the sound of your gentle humming and the scent of freshly brewed coffee. You don’t notice him at first, his feet barely making a sound on the usually so creaky floorboards. He wraps his arms around your waist from behind and you jump a little; it has been a while since you spent the morning with someone else.

Michael plants a soft kiss on your shoulder, holding you a little closer. You lean back against him. “You have impeccable timing,” you murmur.

“I smelled coffee,” he says.

You chuckle, reaching back to run your fingers through his wet hair. “Did you now?”

“Yes.”

“What are you, a bloodhound for coffee?”

He presses another kiss to your shoulder, then your neck before twirling you around and planting one right on your lips. “Only fer yours.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to cheat on my coffee.”

“I’d never,” Michael says. His brown eyes travel over your face, his hand reaching out to trace your features. He can’t believe he’s here, that you’re here, and that you’re both together like this. Touching you still feels like a fever dream. “Your coffee is the only coffee fer me, love.”

You lean into his touch. “Is that a metaphor?” you question.

He chuckles, the sound reverberating in his chest and warming your heart. “Maybe,” he says.

“Then maybe I should write a book about the history of coffee.”

“I’m afraid that already exists.”

“How do you know?”

He glides a finger down your nose. “I’ve been around.”

“Okay, but does it have metaphors?” you challenge.

With a chuckle, he shakes his head and gives your lips another chaste kiss. “Ya think anyone’s gonna read tha’?” he retorts, although his tone is teasing.

You laugh. "I could add some steamy romance, maybe that would work."

Michael feigns shock, his hand resting over his heart. "Oh, so ya want ta turn coffee into a scandalous novel?" he says. “That’s naughty, pet.”

“You seriously are underestimating the sensuality of a good cup of coffee,” you say.

He raises his eyebrows almost up to his hairline. "I need some proof for tha’ or I can’t believe ya.”

“Aw,” you take his hand and dunk his index finger into the foam on his hazelnut coffee. Your eyes never leave his when you move the digit to your mouth and promptly, without warning, suck on it.

His brain fails to conduct a viable thought. Your tongue swirls around the tip of his finger almost as if it’s the head of his cock, and his heart stops beating. You look up at him through hooded eyes – the look on your face isn’t helping the blood from rushing between his legs and straight to his cock.

You release his finger with a loud ‘pop’. “It’s an ongoing investigation,” you purr.

Fuck. The air between you crackles with electricity.

“Hazelnut,” he whispers.

You guide the mug to his mouth with a knowing smirk. He takes a sip, the taste exploding on his tongue almost instantly. You are a cruel seductress, he has to give you that.

“Reminds me of your eyes,” you whisper.

“Does it now?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it tastes grand.”

“Thank you, I made it with extra love today.”

“You always give your everythin’.”

You shrug. “That’s just who I am.”

Your eyes meet. The desire from before is still there, but the sweetness of your voice and the gentle flow of the words passed between you flick a switch.

"Ya give so effortlessly," he says, "with a heart that's overflowin' with kindness." His voice is filled with reverence then, "I'm grateful to be on the receiving end of tha’ kindness, and that ya trust me with your heart. I’ll watch over it like a hawk.”

With a soft smile, you lean in and press your lips against his forehead. "I'm so glad you chose to get coffee that day, Mikey," you say. “And I’m glad you chose to come back.”

He wraps his arms around you, burying his nose in your hair. "Thank you."

“For what?”

“Everythin’,” he says.

As the rain continues to fall outside, he holds you close. You watch the raindrops pearl off your kitchen window, your fingers drawing circles on his lower back. The silence between you is comfortable. The unspoken words that hang between you find their way into the world through touch, and he grips you a little tighter when his thoughts threaten to ruin the moment.

In your arms, Michael finds shelter from the storm. It rained the first day he met you and it’s raining now, which isn’t unusual for Dublin, but to him, it means so much more than he could describe.

The rain becomes a silent promise – even the smallest, unrelated events can lead to big changes, but the butterfly effect doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing anymore. The butterfly effect can change your life for the better, and it can bring light back into your life when you least expect it, showing you that there is still beauty in pain and there will be a rainbow after the rain.

You are the butterfly that flapped its wings, but instead of causing chaos, you mended it, and you turned what he thought his life would be like all the way upside down. That means more to him than words ever could.

In your embrace, he finds his sanctuary, and together you would pick up the pen and rewrite the pages of your story with a better ending fitting for the both of you.

To Be Continued…

Tagging: @bellaxgiornata @loveroftoomanyfandoms @acharliecoxedfan @lina-mar @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella smut #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella #kin amc #charlie cox #reader insert #butterfly effect #coffee shop au

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ask-codeearasure · 3 months ago

Text

The Outer Realms --- Chapter 6

<-[Previous Chapter]

[Next Chapter]->

—-----

Chapter Six:

Conversations

—----

“I am constantly trying to communicate something incommunicable, to explain something inexplicable, to tell about something I only feel in my bones and which can only be experienced in those bones. Basically it is nothing other than this fear we have so often talked about, but fear spread to everything, fear of the greatest as of the smallest, fear, paralyzing fear of pronouncing a word, although this fear may not only be fear but also a longing for something greater than all that is fearful.”

― Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

—-

There were many things that Ink could admit to himself. Many. Many he didn’t like to acknowledge but had to in order to keep up his work that was his survival. Many that he had no problems with. But this… This was a problem to the highest degree. A degree he’d say he feared if fear was an emotion he had no choice but to have. But he didn’t have emotions quite like everyone else. He didn’t have emotions, not without his paints.

Ink had to admit this when he finally found Error. His Error.

“The creators are a dying species.” Ink said sitting down next to Error.

“I figured. It's about time.” Error huffed. The portal he used to watch Undernovella from was nothing but static. “It tore itself apart before anything got good.”

“Someone that looked a lot like you showed up and,..” Ink shook his head, he didn’t see the logic of anything anymore. “My paints are running dry. I can’t… feel much of anything anymore without risking draining the rest of them.”

Error rolled his eyelights. “It was bound to happen. How many anomalies tore themselves apart over the years… It wasn’t like they stood a chance against themselves. It’s why I’ve stopped to watch instead.”

“I just don’t know why…” Ink mumbled, “Every creation was so different and fascinating, then many creators abandoned them, then the AUs became repetitive or strange copies of those first ones, and then they just… stopped. I've been trying to keep Dream from noticing because with so little AUs—”

“Nightmare would have an easier time finding him?” Error huffed.

“Mmhm…” Ink solemnly nodded, then pulled his knees to his chest. “Got any idea why the creators did all this?”

Error shook his head, “Nah, but I do have a small theory.”

“What's that?”

“Infighting.” Error said simply, “They've been arguing with each other, fighting for control over the AUs, so the initial creator would be attacked, chased out, and those who take control think they can do a better job only to find they're already doing a sucky job.”

“That is so… illogical though.” Ink stated, burying his head into his knees.

“It’s foolish, all of this was destined to be destroyed one way or another.” Error laid down onto the ground, “You, me, everything here, even Dream and Nightmare themselves are destined to all fail in everything we did. Destruction and nothingness are inevitable.”

“There has to be a way to get everything back to the way it was before…” Ink said. “But… I can’t–”

“You're gonna drive yourself crazy thinking about it.” Error said bluntly, “In the state you’re in now, you either take what's left of those paints you have left and make it worse, or you will yourself to act without them. Either way, squidhead, it's a lose-lose situation..”

Ink shook his head. He knew Error was right. He didn’t have much else left. He looked at his scarf and read many of the things he wrote down. Warnings for himself, travel diaries, list of people’s names, fun activities, definitions of words. Why emotions were important. Why he had to fight for the creators. “I don’t want to become a husk.”

“And I’d rather not die.” Error sat up, “But it’s not like we have a choice in the matter.”

“Why would the creators do this?” Ink asked.

“Hell if I know.” Error shrugged, “It’s not like you can convince them. It’s not like we can stop them. It could be a dominance thing, or a power trip, who knows.”

There was a long silence between the destroyer and painter, only for Ink to suddenly ask, “What is it like?”

“Hm?”

“Having emotions. What is it like having it, naturally?”

Error seemed surprised by the question, he thought about it as he stared into what used to be Undernovella, “It depends. Sometimes I envy you, wishing I didn’t feel anything. Other times, it can be euphoric. Heaven.” he turned to Ink, “The best way I can put it for you is, it can be painful, like every bone being broken for no reason. Other times, it can be those days where you are able to just lay down on the softest bed you can think of. Every joint relaxing and resting. No pain. Just comfort.”

Ink nodded, “That sounds complicated… Wonderful, but complicated.”

“It is.”

“Do you think the creators know what they're doing?” Ink asked.

Error hummed in thought for a second before nodding, “Yes and no.”

“So there could be a chance they’re hurting each other?”

“I wouldn't call it a chance, Ink, they've been doing it since day one,” Error stated in a fit of manic giggling.

Ink gave him a blank look. “But none of this makes sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every single AU has the exact same message,” Ink stated, “Every single one opposes genocide and murder. And yet… Yet the creators did all of this.” he gestured to the space around them, “They are destroying everything, hurting themselves and each other. Why?”

Ink looked to Error for an answer but the glitch didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.

The creators were killing off their own species, destroying each other the same way the player did in every single genocide route, every other neutral route, as they were the ones with the worst outcomes for each AU. Horrortale, Dusttale, and Something New, they all showed the destruction they caused. But the creators had learned nothing. Even Error’s story was not something that was generally processed as it was supposed to, but it was understood that it was tragic and destructive nonetheless.

“Every universe holds the same morals, but the creators themselves never learned from them.” Ink held his head and curled up and mumbled, “I’m going to die, and there is nothing I can do…”

Error glared. Not at Ink, but at the pain his friend had to carry. He was tempted to reach out to Ink, knowing that the artist, in his possible last moments, would appreciate the gesture, but he knew neither of them could handle such a thing. Not now. Error put a hand to his scarf and just fidgeted with it.

He knew Ink loved the creators, admired them. But they didn’t give a shit. They never did.

—-------------------------

Dream had been walking through the multiverse for an unknown amount of time. Only after he had had his breakdown had he realized Undyne could have heard everything, given she placed cameras all over the Underground and he had the camera pin on him.

What could be done was nothing. He felt himself weakening, perhaps rotting more and more as he was becoming delirious. He could barely stay walking. But of course he’d trip and fall to the ground.

He laid there and felt his consciousness start fleeting. Coming in and out of consciousness he could see a purple blur, smokey and calming. He caught the faint smell of apples and lavender.

–

Dream jolted up, panting, clutching his chest as if trying to grab at his soul. He looked around to see a rather sparkling room. There was a wall of glass to his left where he could see countless galaxies and stars. It was almost a comforting sight. The room had several glowing grassy plants, there was a table with medical equipment, several golden arrows and glowing gold apples and bags filled with some sort of glittering substance. He looked at his arm finding an IV drip that had the same substance coming down from the IV bag.

The bed he was on was beyond comfortable, he would stay there forever if he could.

He was about to rip the IV out of himself but before he could after sitting up there was a loud shhhhkt! sound.

“Ah! You’re awake, I was worried you were going to stay dormant for a while longer!” said the stranger.

They were very tall and had on a silky orange cloak, having the hood up.The cloak itself – rather the fabric of it had galaxies and stars in them, moving constantly like the very window that looked out into space itself. They looked to be the Papyrus of this AU. With the light blue scarf tied to his arm it was easy to tell he lost his Sans.

“You feeling alright, kiddo?” the stranger asked.

“Um… yeah…” Dream nodded, “I…” he couldn’t find his words.

“Look just relax, I already know about your situation.'' The stranger said with a small smile, “Your name is Dream, you were shot with a venom coated bullet, and because of that, you need positivity to survive because your aura and life is what give stories and universes positive emotions. The moment you die, we all do.”

“How did you know?” Dream asked. He was just a little bit creeped out, but figured the stranger had good intentions.

The stranger frowned, “Izanagi told me. He was the one with the mask and kimono that was there that day. You don’t have to worry about your job, the source of the arrows that are giving off the positive energy is going around doing your job for you. I’ll go get you something to eat.”

“I uh–”

“My name? I’m sure you can guess, but my friends call me Occultatum.”

Occultatum…

That man was something, that's for sure.

He didn’t return to the glowing room for a short while, when he did he had an entire breakfast platter with him, with orange juice to wash it all down. He put the platter on a hovering table for Dream. “Take your time, I don’t want you getting sick.”

“Thank you…” Dream mumbled, “I… I don’t know what else to say.”

Occultatum smiled, “Then don’t say anything.”

Dream had to admit the man was a wonderful cook. The eggs, bacon, pancakes, and even the hashbrowns were all cooked to perfection. However, Dream knew that feeling that he was getting from Occult.

Nostalgia.

Occult wasn’t here, mentally. No. He was looking at Dream, the same way every single Papyrus outcode saw him.

As a Sans.

He wasn't Sans though. Not really. Not even to a small degree. The only thing he and every Sans in the multiverse shared was a similar appearance. But he could also feel a bit of regret and understanding. Occult knew what he was seeing wasn’t something real. When he finished, Occult teleported the dishes somewhere else and moved the table. “Alright, now I have to do a bit of a check up on you.”

Dream got a bit worried. “I’m sorry, I can’t stay here–”

“Yes, you can.” Occult insisted.

“I can't.”

“...” Occult glanced at him in a deadpanned fashion. He went over to the table with all the arrows and strange apples, “We have everything under control for you. You can stay here long enough to heal up. After all, the only thing that can take on the job of the guardian of positivity is another being of positivity… relatively speaking, that is.”

Occult started breaking the arrows into little pieces, then crushed them up in a mortar and pestle. Dream leaned to the side to get a better view at what his host was doing. He had sensed a source of concentrated positivity once he woke up, but didn’t think it would be tied to leftover remnants of his arrows. Or… were those his arrows? He didn’t think anyone would collect them- not when the only person they could hurt was Nightmare. The apples were the most suspicious part, unless they were ordinary yellow apples. Careful not to tug on the IV, Dream scooted to the side of the bed closest to the table. He could swing his legs over the edge, but the bed itself was still too comfy for him to consider getting off just yet. “May I ask what those apples are for?”

“They’re pure positive desires collected from humans from another AU.” Occultatum said, “The person currently substituting for you was the one who donated them. He’s the one helping keep you alive.” he tossed one gently to Dream, “He also gave us the arrows. Apparently, Izanagi and his little friend group stole as many of his arrows as they could to make those weapons to attack that brother of yours.”

Dream stared down at the apple in his hands, but no part of him desired to take a bite. He hadn’t eaten an apple in centuries- not since the incident, and not since he was freed from his stone prison. But still, he could feel the positivity beaming from the apples, both on the table and the one he was holding. They were so similar to the ones he remembered, but also not at all. And if he were to go off what Occultatum was telling him, these were created by someone similar to himself, positivity powers and all. Maybe this was good. Perhaps he wouldn’t be alone in supporting the multiverse from this point onward. Maybe he’d have help in getting his brother back- but this sounded too good to be true, almost wishful thinking. If there was someone else like him out there, why didn’t they show up earlier? How were they faring on their own? Was Nightmare hunting them down too, and Dream was too occupied to realize they existed? Could he meet them?

“What’s with that look?” Occult asked, smirking, “Curious about him?”

Dream nodded cautiously.

“His name is Dream Morabito, he’s not much of a guardian like yourself,” Occult shrugged, “He’s more like… someone that helps people process things in their sleep. His job relies on it, not giving the multiverse a consistent source of happiness. Nightmare DeVille, his… rival of some sort, I guess, does the same thing, but with nightmares and negative desires.”

“So he just… collects desires…?”

“He eats them.” Occult stated, “His AU is literally starving him and DeVille, something about a law there, Morabito has been collecting from other worlds–”

“Why haven’t I seen him before? Why haven’t I heard about him before this?”

Occult gave him an odd look, “Well we’re in the outermost realms, you’re from the inner circle, of course you wouldn’t hear anything about him, or any of us. I mean, how are you going to hear about an AU where a Sans lives in a military state with Ice Magic and guns? Where in the Multiverse are you going to hear about an AU where Monsters live in space for so long our blood coagulates and glows purple?” he snickered, “I mean don’t be ridiculous, the innermost realms are all more alike. The further out you go, the less alike they are.”

Dream let his body flop against the pillows to his left, going over this new information with a kind of shock he didn’t think he’d experience again, the basic ‘huh’ kind of shock. He fiddled with the apple’s stem, then slowly breathed in and let it out the same way. So, there are outermost realms and innermost realms. He is most familiar with the innermost, and the outermost are farther away. It was so simple a concept, but how come he was learning this information only now? Considering his ties to Ink, whose role is to help creators with all their creations and even directed Dream to a few once or twice, did he keep this information to himself? Why? Dream was certain he could have given the outermost realms the same aid he did the innermost ones. “Does Ink know about this?”

Occult shook his head, “I have no idea who that is.”

“You don’t?” Dream asked. He couldn’t sense any sign that the man was lying. “Do you know anyone with a paint brush and likes helping people make universes?” Okay, maybe not the best wording, but he hoped Occultatum knew what he was referring to. Ink used to talk a lot about his work, before he started closing himself off. Dream’s concern for him grew with each passing day he was gone.

Occult genuinely thought before grimacing, “Sort of, we call him Sketch. He’s an emotionless creature. I don’t even think the word monster applies to him in any way. He can use potions to feel emotions, but even then he actively refuses to take them. He stays at Asylumtale, though. And even then, he’s far too busy keeping Digital Klezmir from destroying AUs, but there's little else I know because… well…”

Hate wasn’t a strong enough word. He continued working on the arrows and medicine, crushing the arrows to dust almost violently. Before that moment, it was instantly obvious to Dream that whoever this Sketch person is, Occultatum loathed him.

“Onto a different subject,” Occult with an eerie calmness, “You need to rest. If I let you leave, I’ll never hear the end of it from Doctor Toriel. She’d probably lock me back in the asylum just to make sure I’m not stupid enough to let you go.” he grumbled under his breath a “Stars knows she did that when I left Cy home alone for an entire day…”

Dream didn’t dare ask who Cy was. There was a knock on the large door to the room.

Occult used magic to open it only for a wave of negativity to practically explode off of him. It was Izanagi, who was holding a bundle of scrolls, and looked like he was ready to run as far away at the drop of a hat.

A long silence between the two followed.

Izanagi was almost shaking as he spoke, “Ohayō gozaimasu, Occultatum-Senpai, Dream-sama.” he fiddled with the scrolls, “I… um… I have those scrolls I mentioned, and um… I um… I bought food…. Not-... um…”

He left them. The door shutting.

Occult glared at the door.

If Occult simply loathed Sketch, he absolutely detested Izanagi’s very existence at least twelve times over. Dream flinched at how intensely hostile Occultatum’s emotional state became in that moment, and how it only continued to intensify as each second ticked by after seeing that other skeleton.

Dream subconsciously squeezed the apple in his grasp, inching further towards the border of the bed. “Are you okay? You’re distressed…”

Occult glanced at Dream before sighing, “Never. Not with that guy around… But a deal is a deal.” He got out a cellphone and quickly typed into it, before saying, “By the way, we’re trying to find a way to figure out where the signal to your little camera is going.”

“Oh,” Dream mumbled, “That goes to an Underswap timeline.”

“They friends of yours?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” Occult sighed, “I’m going to make sure that waste of space doesn’t destroy anything. Toriel should be here in a bit. If you want to go in there, the IV drip can be rolled around, just… don’t tear it out or else you want to be forced back into this room violently – Toriel doesn’t have much patience.”

Occult hurried out of the room. The door opened and shut very quickly. Through the door and walls he could hear yelling. The most Dream could pick up was “You better not pull anything.” and “One fuck up and I’ll toss you into the blackhole!”.

Dream sat there with the apple, the negativity was able to be felt from the two monsters but the IV drip seemed to numb it, now that he thought about it. Like a constant sort of listless, soft positivity, like a heavy blanket wrapped around him, shielding his body from harsh winds. The apple itself was like a hot coal in such a situation.

For the first time in weeks, he finally had a semblance of comfort, a fragile sense of peace. But now that he had it, he couldn’t help but think of his friends. Ink was still missing in action, last he could check. He knew Carrot, Blueberry, Undyne, and Edge more than likely hated to see him go, and were apprehensive for the next time he showed up. Dream sighed, placed the apple on the closest side table, and tucked himself into bed again, laying back so he could stare at the galaxies shining through the transparent ceiling. There was no doubt this… Outertale? Outerswap? Was an impressively beautiful reality, but at the same time, was nothing like the usual space-themed AUs he was used to visiting, and Dream realized he was obsessed with the sight. For a few minutes, he’s okay with this.

When he shut his eyes, Dream picked up on the dripping of his IV, the cybernetic buzzing of the technology and lighting, and the near-silent swaying of the plants near the foot of his bed. As much as he wanted to believe Occultatum that he didn’t need to do anything but rest while in his care, Dream wasn’t used to not doing anything. There was always something that needed attention, even things that didn’t include Nightmare or Killer, or any mode of danger whatsoever.

Dream sat up again, taking in his new surroundings again. It was in no way dull, and the trinkets on the shelves against the wall piqued his interest. He carefully slipped out of bed, minding the IV and the baggy clothing he found himself in, and made his way to the shelf at his left, ignoring the dizziness and slight nausea his body’s movement caused.

He damn near tripped on the sleeves of the pajamas he was in as he limped over to the shelf. He found many different trinkets there. The closest one was a crystal ball that showed a universe inside of it, constantly spinning ever so gently. Sadly though, the center of the universe was a big black dot, a black hole slowly eating everything that dared to come near it. Putting it back, he found a small picture of Occultatum and a Sans that was probably from the same AU as him – his brother. They were in front of a small building holding a small plaque that was hard to read because of the slight glare, but Dream could catch the words Celestial Guard on it with a messy signature that started with the letter ‘U’; could have been signed by Undyne. It must’ve been the day this Sans was able to join the Royal Guard.

There was a small pain in Dream’s soul. He related deeply to Occultatum’s grief.

He sighed, moving over to the desk with all the apples and arrows. He still found it hard to believe that there was another version of himself— or a close equivalent to one. He picked up an arrow to admire its design. The arrows themselves weren’t made of pure light or energy, rather completely solidified positivity compounded into a physical magic form, like his own. Even the feathers that were at the end of the arrows themselves were made the same way, just softened to keep the arrows flying straight and true. A part of him distantly wondered if he could do that same ‘venom’ thing that this Dream Morabito could do. Would it make his job of getting his brother back easier? What if he tricked Nightmare into eating one of these Positive Desire Apples? He wasn't sure if that would work.

In fact, he doubted it.

He doubted it so much.

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