#youre so bad at capitalism but youre only hurting your own

[daddyd0nt]

I don’t disagree with a lot of what you are saying and I feel your heart is in the right place. And unfortunately violence against AFAB people by AMAB people is common enough that we need to segregate first by sex. Even if you are intersex (I am technically intersex myself) you are in almost every case designated either AFAB or AMAB (medical intervention to correct this and make an intersex body fully resemble one sex is usually abusive and medically unnecessary but almost always the person will have the traits of one sex more than the other). I’m not at all against another split and normalizing 4 spaces or having more gender neutral options than sex specific ones but AFAB people need to have their own space to maintain safety. Again these spaces are not organic or natural, they are something we put in place because AMAB people proved they couldn’t be trusted in mixed spaces.

And it sucks like I genuinely know it sucks but there is no completely safe way to allow AMAB people into AFAB spaces. Even if it results in 1/1000000 AFAB people being attacked by the one bad AMAB apple in the bunch, any more than 0 women is unacceptable as a sacrifice to validate AMAB identity/feelings. I spend a fair amount of time institutionalized and having the general spaces be mixed is scary enough I would never feel safe in a high security psych ward if I had to let them give me drugs to sleep at night and I would be left in the room with somebody who could not only theoretically rape but possibly impregnate me. AMAB people have spent all of human culture making their penises into weapons, I’m not overreacting to feel like in that kind of situation an AMAB person is armed but I’m not, I don’t feel any better about a possibly criminally insane person sleeping next to me with a penis than a knife even if I’m confident that they won’t use it to hurt me the fact that the opportunity is there and I can’t defend myself or even hurt than as bad as they could hurt me is enough to make it totally unacceptable.

Also as a masc presenting/gnc AFAB person I’m terrified of the prospect of forcing trans men into AMAB spaces especially hospitals also and prisons AFAB trans people have a greater chance of being abused especially by AMAB people than AMAB trans people do. One of the biggest factors in my detransition was the face that I was regularly in and out of institutions and also involved in a fair amount of flying too close to the sun legally for a while so the threat of being locked up in an AMAB space due to my gender presentation was really real to me.

I agree that most of our problems are due to capitalism, but patriarchy exists even independently of capitalism just like racism and ableism do.

But honestly our hearts are in the same place I also want to see everybody succeed and feel good and spend the vast majority of the time looking for similarities and opportunities to bond with each other and fight together for common causes. I think trans and cis women can fight 99% of our fights together and love each other and genuinely be comrades. I’m absolutely in support of trans people creating their own trans-specific safe spaces that is wonderful I couldn’t be more behind wanting a safe and comfortable and validating space for all my wonderful trans siblings. But we cannot throw away something as material as the physical safety of AFAB bodies to validate something as nebulous as AMAB feelings. I’m really not coming from a place of hate or even dislike at all like I said I fully support the creation of safe and validating spaces for trans people but that can’t come at the expense of the safe spaces AFAB people have fought for.

"OP is a terf" is a thought-terminating cliche meant to keep you from questioning the status quo and keep you afraid of being labeled a heretic should you come to your own conclusions about anything.

[mercy-misrule]

mouthwashing spoilers, mentions of fictional sexual assault, discussion of fictional neglect and abuse of a disabled person, the many nuances of the patriarchy and capitalism

Let's have a chat about how Swansea and Daisuke failed Anya as crewmates!

Thank you everyone for your very lovely and thoughtful responses to my previous Mouthwashing meta pieces, here and here.

Let's have some more thoughts! Again, I'm examining the text from the perspective of a sexual assault survivor, a survivor of a life threatening accident, a domestic violence survivor and a person who grew up in poverty.

I love this game for giving me enough meat to sink my teeth into, for fodder for thought.

I've written about how supremely vulnerable Curly is, post-crash, the real true horror of being reliant for every aspect of your survival on an abusive person.

I'd like to look at another aspect now, the fatigue and isolation of the carer under a profit driven patriarchy!

Being a carer for someone who is entirely reliant on you is tough, is stressful and supremely isolating. The best and most dedicated carers in the world get burnt out, and not because they are bad people who don't truly want the best for the person in their charge.

You see it happen. Their friends and family disengage with them, not wanting to be asked to help, not wanting to confront the difficulty and reality of disability. They'll start to ask why the carer doesn't give their charge up into permanent care, they'll make snide comments about how much easier it would be if they weren't a carer....and if a carer cannot provide for their charge, and does get professional support or their person does go into care, they get met with judgement for 'not trying hard enough' or bewilderment that they might be upset.

The disabled are seen as a burden, and when anyone tries to challenge that, the system is set up both at a macro and micro level to fundamentally quash that challenge.

And at home carers? Over proportionally, they are women.

So look at what happens to Anya. Anya is a medical professional, yes. But there are many tasks that could be done in Curly's care that don't require specialised skills. Swansea or Daisuke could have stepped in at any minute and offered her help.

Instead, she asks Jimmy, the man who abused her, who is abusing Curly to help, because as awful as it is, he's literally the only other person interacting with Curly.

He's the only person who talks to Curly post crash. Anya doesn't say a word to him, only talks about him.

Anya is not a cruel person. She's not revenge driven or malicious. She actively does not want to hurt Curly, his pain is extremely distressing to her, and she is put in the position where she has to cause it, either by her own hands or Jimmy's by proxy, because she has no other help.

Swansea is very dismissive of Anya. He refers to her as our so-called nurse, that woman, and that rickety elbow of a woman. Swansea also shit talks Daisuke, and we know he has affection for Daisuke, but actions, or inaction speak louder than words.

This is a game where taking responsibility is a core theme, and Anya is forced to take sole responsibility, where she could have been supported and helped, if Swansea or Daisuke could have stepped up as her crewmates.

Daisuke is a grown ass man. Is he a young man? Yes. Is he a full grown adult capable of making his own decisions and responsible for his own actions? Yes.

So his choice, to actively ignore Curly and Anya, is just another decision.

The way this mirrors the way society isolates carers is such a good piece of storytelling to me. The way it causes Anya so much stress, the way it causes the quality of care she provides to Curly to degrade because she is the only person helping...it's a mirror of real life.

Is it because Anya is the nurse? Sure. Is it because she's the only woman? Maybe. Is it because both Daisuke and Swansea are mired in different versions of toxic masculinity? Absolutely.

Daisuke's indifference and pleasant disengagement, while being tolerated by everyone, handwaving away criticism is the prerogative of a rich young person, especially a rich young man. It'll all be alright! and no one expects anything of him. It's not the same thing, but there's that tinge of learned helplessness in there.

Swansea's unpleasant, grinding negativity, his self focus, the way everything is a burden to him...if you haven't had to work with a man like this, you're doing well in life. You never ever want to ask them anything because it's like being rubbed by angry sandpaper.

If i seem like I'm being very harsh against Daisuke and Swansea, I am. I am purposefully pointing out their worse qualities, not just as people but as crew.

There is no unity within the crew, and the company prefers it that way. No one unionises after all, if they can't stand or trust one another. They force Curly, a chronic people pleaser to hold himself above them, which spirals his anxiety, which leads into him failing as a captain in a myriad of ways.

Daisuke is introduced too late and underprepared. The crew is automatically going to be against him, frustrated with him, and he has no incentive to work against that, apart from his own easy going nature.

Anya is under immense self pressure. She's failed to get into medical school 8 times. She's got no savings. And then she is in close quarters with her abuser, and the only person she tells about it believes her AND THEN does nothing, and seemingly then crashes the ship.

Swansea has that inbuilt, boiling pressure of a life lived like he feels he's supposed to. But he's supremely unhappy, lashes out at everyone. And not in the way that Jimmy does, but in this unpleasant background radiation way, where everyone is already under so much stress.

Jimmy was barely keeping himself together under Curly's command. Without it, he's a whirlwind of aggression, negativity, threats and delivered acts of violence. There was no unity with him, previously, and there certainly isn't any now.

Everyone is responsible for their own actions, and inaction. But the company set them up to fail before they set off, and then the social desertion of Anya dooms the crew.

Anya doesn't need to be rescued, no one needs to get revenge for her. What Anya needs is support, in the actual physical sense.

Swansea could talk to Curly, to distract him. Daisuke could be there to talk her through giving Curly his meds, keeping her panic at bay.

Literally the least they could do, it could have changed everything. If Jimmy was denied access to Curly, if there was a sense of solidarity between the crew, something, anything. If there was any trust at all.

But instead Daisuke gives into apathy, Swansea into secrecy, Anya into despair and Jimmy into a frothing frenzied need for control.

There is no win solution for the Tulpar crew. This is a hopeless crisis.

But if there had been a sense of community, of reciprocity, they'd have options. But it becomes the loudest voice in the room, Jimmy's voice, and just like that, the options disappear.

Being a carer takes community support. It's how carers are kept accountable too, because a disabled person who needs that level of care exists at the whim of the carer. A carer has to be supported to be supportive. Anya receives nothing.

[unforth]

Unpopular opinion: the heavy push toward anti-advertising on Tumblr does nothing to harm the advertisers you hate but is doing a huge amount of damage to small businesses who rely on reblogs to get the word out about their stuff.

[popponn]

here and there, about him.

summary: is he perfect? no, just like anyone else. but there will always be something about him. (aka a snippets of one of many, many things he will do for you.)

notes: missing lovesick bllk boys trope for a hot minute while doing other stuffs. short and light stuffs to scratch the itch. was about to isagi and nagi, but turns out self control is still a thing for me. warning: none, just minor swearing + fluffs capital f of smitten boys, chigiri is ready to fight for you. reader's gender unspecified.

characters: rin, chigiri, kaiser.

itoshi rin is very, very much very obvious in his favoritism to you. so obvious that both his teammates and his brother told him to tone it down a little bit. of course, rin only scoffs and tells them to mind their own business (actually he said it more as ’fuck off, cretins’, but details). but, really, no one could exactly blame them. this guy could be in an ongoing tirade about how person a is an utterly pathetic soggy wet trash, then you greet him with a smile and he turns into a cold, suave, rich boyfriend on a snowy winter day. drape his jacket on you, hold your hand, and ’let you hug him from behind while discreetly intertwining your finger with his’ type of stuff. it’s a bit disgusting, honestly. and no one wants to start commenting on how he immediately looks in your direction after scoring a goal. also if he buys something, the only one who has the slightest bit of hope of ever receiving anything is his brother here—and that chance is very miniscule on its own since none of them are you. put simply, it’s a bit infuriating, yet undeniably infuriatingly cute in its own way to watch. especially when there is a very high chance you will be the one and only romance this anti-social guy will ever have. everyone in the team supports the two of you, but by gods maybe please do something about him a little bit?

chigiri hyoma will never let anyone hurt you. it’s common knowledge already that he takes no shit from anyone and ever since he has seen you as ‘the one’, he pretty much already thinks of you as an inseparable part of his life already. so, in other words, that means you have gotten yourself a boyfriend who is ready to become a biting guard dog at a moment's notice. someone insults you? tries to physically harm you? oh, baby, hold your boyfriend back because he is also known to get angry real quick. save his reputation and hold himself back from spouting words that would make someone’s ancestors cry or, worse, from beating someone up. this is a speedster athlete trained by ego jinpachi himself—no one could escape unscathed from something like that. but hey, this is someone who naturally turns into a shoujo manga male lead with soft gazes and flowery smiles the moment you put a hand on his cheek. this is, in a way, just another way for him to protect and make sure of your comfort. also, he needs to have an outlet for the less soft part somewhere other than soccer.

michael kaiser is very reliable and observant, despite whatever persona or deflection he will give you even in the ‘official already’ part of your relationship. this guy has a high ego and puts on an air of someone high and mighty, beyond your league. but everyone all knows if you get to the part where he proudly lets you wear his clothes or makes sure you stay pressed to his side during walks, he is down bad. still, for his sake and maybe everyone else’s, let him take care of you and act casually about it. don’t point it out when he suddenly crouches down and ties your untied shoelaces, keep talking as if nothing happened when he puts a hand in the small of your back, and just act as if nothing happened when he gives someone a ferocious glare while making sure you cling unto his arm. don’t praise or, god forbid, swoon at those. it will only make him get flustered and lose his composure or, worse, get real annoying. he is indeed good at the whole act of service thing, surprisingly, but please do remember his attitude is indeed also in the ‘piece of shit’ category most of the time. just let the yellow and blue betta fish swim at his own pace and let what means to happen in the future, happen at its own time, including giving praises to him without him reacting like a lovesick brat.

[beeseverywhen]

I mean like. Not to bring the mood down but... you guys know that's because American media is everywhere right? Like the world is unable to avoid some version of American accent on a regular basis. Of course ppl find it easy to mimic. This is absolutely not restricted to ppl in the UK, its really common for ppl who learn English as a foreign language to have perfect 'American actor' accents (cause the reason everyone's so good at the American accent that's expected of them as actors is cause at large there's little distinction between regions in the 'Hollywood accent' that ends up on TV and films and stuff. You guys have massive regional differences in pronounceation, but what makes it on to TV (in 9/10 cases) is a very standardised version of American English.)

But yeah. It's not just actors lol. Most British ppl can speak in a passable american accent, as can loads and loads of people worldwide. I'm not saying this to be like 'you should feel guilty! 😡' but it does always stun me when Americans are unaware of the impact their country has worldwide on all versions of English (and even on use of native languages. Many countries are using English more and more over their native languages and dialects , and yeah, historical colonialism has had an impact there.)

But in the last few decades things have progressed way way faster and that, is thanks to the impact of anglo/american/ect lead capitalism. I'm in no way dismissing the impact the UK has on this, but in recent years, its the US that is largely pushing that train .While the UK and several English speaking commonwealth countries are very involved in this kind of capitalist imperialism, there's a reason that more and more people are speaking American English. Not one of the many UK dialects, not Australian English, or NZ English. Across the world more and more people are increasingly speaking in the same standardised american dialect that's in so much of the media you export. Hollywood based media, with that standardised accent/ dialect and the standardised 'normal american life', has a stranglehold on the world and I just find it crazy that a lot of you guys don't even know.

It's stupid stuff like. So many countries are importing american cars and are widening their roads/ changing town planning to account for it (this is less of a thing in the UK but I see it more and more when I travel). Its the food becoming avaliable everywhere. Its the influence that for profit healthcare has even on countries with socialised health systems. Its houses being built to account for American style appliances. Fashion trends. Worldwide, everything is slowly evolving to be closer and closer to this 'American standard' which honestly? I really don't think actually represents the lives of real American people either. You've been turned in to products, the system has taken an unrealistic snapshot of 'American life' and it's being sold to you all day in day out, but it's also being sold to the rest of us. It's being pushed on us all.

Kids in the UK go through phases of talking only in American accents. Anyone born later than the 90s is carrying round 2 sets of spelling and vocab, cause we're all so used to the American way, that you barely know which one you're using half of the time. In the UK we have always had really strong regional accents yeah, and dialects differ between areas that seem tiny to you guys, I know. But like. Those dialects are being lost cause all UK accents are evolving to become closer to this standardised american and yeah not great, but at least we share a language! US American society is largely rooted in the same foundations as UK society, largely we have the same flaws! But oh my god. What about the rest of the world.

It's global. This impact continues to be seen, steamrollering ahead, in places that had completely different starting points. UK culture isn't that dissimilar to that of the US, so we aren't losing nearly as much as cultures that had something completely different. So much is being lost.

Languages and dialects and everything else is just being wallpapered over so we all meet the same ideal of the 'American life' and it's not even real! It's just a product based on how ppl were actually living in the US, manipulated until it's the most marketable mould. You guys are victims of it as well but like. It's based on your culture so you don't lose as much if you conform to it. Just like how in the UK, if we conform, we lose more than US, but nowhere near as much as countries that had languages, dialects and cultures that were so so different to UK/US culture. The less like the US, your starting point, the more there is to lose.

And look. I said it to start with. I'm not having a go. That's not what this is. But you guys really need to be aware, you need to make an effort to understand the impact that this plastic Hollywood american culture is having on the rest of the world. You need to actively look for it, and make an effort to not pay in to it. Because when Americans see other cultures represented in media and say its not relatable, when you guys go on holiday and make no effort to learn local customs, and try and pay in dollars and spend your time abroad like you're still in America, when you see cultural differences and immediately argue that the American way is better and of course everyone should have giant cars and never dry laundry outdoors and live in American style homes, without any kind of critical thought. Just 'this is how we do it so why wouldn't everyone else do it this way. This is the only way. The American way is obviously best.' When you guys do that you are individually feeding in to this absolute bulldozing of cultures (including American ones!) to allow for better marketability.

It isn't any one individual American citizens fault that things are the way they are, and you guys are victims of the same system, but you need to have some self awareness when it comes to the fact that as individuals you are unknowingly, helping driving this forwards and as individuals, there are things you can do to limit your personal impact (and no arguing that you have no culture is not it!!! Being all self deprecating doesn't do shit. Take some responsibility and accept that individual Americans didn't create this system, but currently, individual Americans really are doing their bit to keep promoting it, to keep pushing it on the rest of the world.

And I've already rambled for an age so I'll stop here but I just want to make clear as an ending note here, that this really isn't about piling on Americans and being all 'boo it's all America's fault. They should apologise. Their culture isn't worth anything.' Not at all this is the opposite of that. The fact that millions of Americans have been convinced you have no culture, all while a mimicry of American culture is plastered on to the rest of the world, and while you as individuals are encouraged to help that happen, often without even realising what you're doing; is a crime. You've been wronged, as have we all.

And America is not the problem. The problem is imperialism and it didn't start with you guys. It started in Europe, and Europeans, particularly British ppl, have a responsibility to push back and be self aware, take some fucking responsibility and not inadvertently keep feeding in to that system, just as you guys do. The US didn't start the fire, imperialist capitalism is a fire that started burning long before the United States was even considered, but its on all of us, to do what we can to not feed that fire. And right now? You guys are the face of it.

This idea of what America is, is the face of imperialistic capitalism, and that means that even if you don't mean to, you guys are feeding that fire more so than the rest of us. You're responsible for spreading it, more so than the rest of us. And if you don't step up and take responsibility, accept that you're gonna get it wrong sometimes and you need to try to do better; if we don't all do that. There will be nothing left. They'll paper over it all, the lives of real Americans just as much as those in Scotland and India and the Netherlands, and 100 other cultures, that are at risk, thanks to this fire, that's currently, largely coming from America.

So yeah. It's absolutely not just on you guys and ppl who act like there's no racism or wealth divide in Europe or anywhere else for that matter are complete idiots, however, this Americanisation of the world (and I hesitate to call it that. Because its not a representation of real American lives. Its simply wearing an American face.) Its real. It's happening.

And we don't tell you about it to make you feel guilty (those of us who aren't dicks at least) ,we are telling you. We are kicking up a fuss. Because it isn't fair. It's not right and while individual Americans ignore that and refuse to take responsibility where they can (small apples. We aren't asking for you to call a violent revolution in our names. Just take some time to learn about the rest of the world. Stop assuming America is always right and examine your biases. When you find them. Stop personally pushing them.) , while that is happening, as individuals, you are contributing to this. It's not even altruism. This system is hurting Americans too. It's hurting us all. All we ask is that you do what you can to not personally contribute, and keep an open mind, be aware. That's all any of us can do.

when a british actor does an american accent everyone’s like “i didn’t even know they were british until they were on colbert.” but when americans do a british accent everyone’s like “they’re supposed to be from east cocksford but their glottal e’s are north dicksford. shameful.”

[loggiepj]

To Love A Lannister

chapter 17 | chapter 18

A door softly creaked behind you, the eerie sound making you turn from where you were sitting only to look at the intruder.

Queen Daenerys had typical Valyrian features of silver-gold hair, purple eyes and pale skin. Anyone would be a fool to deny of her beauty. Aside from her slender like figure, what stood out the most was the tough exterior she possessed from her gaze.

One thing was for certain. Your sister looked more Targaryen than you could ever be.

"How's your wound?" Queen Daenerys asked. Missandei was standing behind her with head bowed down.

Forcing out a weak smile her way while massaging your arm, you shrugged. "Pain's barely there anymore, Your Grace."

"Please," she said as she chuckled, moving inside the room then taking a seat beside you on the bed. "You're my sister. . . My only family left. Call me Dany."

"You're my Queen," you declared, the word causing a bitter taste in your mouth. Cersei would always be your Queen. And you'd bleed for her a thousand times if you had to. It sparked a dilemma inside your heart.

"You don't have to prove your loyalty to me," Daenarys said as she stood abruptly, heading towards the window where she could see your dragon Nymeros towering over her children. It was apparent that Nymeros was older and more massive than the Queen's two smallest dragons combined. "We're Targaryen by blood. And the right rulers of the Seven Kingdom. I'm sure nothing could persuade you from that," she paused, "well, not unless you're still devoted to her."

Your gazes met and hers sported a questioning curiosity. You knew she was referring to Cersei and your love affair. Upon knowing Tyrion as her hand when you arrived at Dragonstone just two weeks ago, you believed Daenerys knew more about you than you knew about her. Varys was even one of her counselors. There wasn't a single thing Varys didn't know.

"I'm sure you have heard about what happened in the Capital upon their return," she went on, walking past you as she headed back to the door.

Of course, you had. It was chaos.

Cersei had taken over the throne. It turned out that after her father's death, King Tommen had gone mentally incapable to rule the Kingdom, rendering him bed ridden and mute. You pitied the boy so much but who wouldn't go crazy if your own wife would leave you just like that.

But you couldn't blame Margaery either when she went ballistic upon finding out her grandmother Lady Olenna was assassinated by Ser Jaime himself. It appeared that the Lannisters had finally found out she was the culprit behind late King Joffrey's murder.

They had also taken captive those from Dorne who attempted to execute Princess Myrcella, including Oberyn and your guardian father.

If you had to be honest, you felt a bit hurt that Cersei was now ruling with the support of Prince Doran, your real father, by her side, considering what he did and did not do to claim you as his child.

"People like them have no heart to rule Westeros," Daenerys continued, bringing you back to the present. "It will never change. . . All we have now is each other."

~~~

"I thought I'd never get to see you again," you said, greeting Tyrion as he climbed down a boat along the shores of Dragonstone. There were a group of men following his stead, and a couple of others still on their boats.

"I still have luck on my side, My Lady," he replied, looking at the sky where anyone could see four dragons flying around the castle. "It's a nice addition to the group, you know. If I had known sooner you're more than just a viper from the South, I would have served you well."

A forced cough made you look at the strangers. There was a different kind of aura coming from the burly man with a beard looking at you as if you knew each other.

"Excuse my bad manners, Lady Y/n, this is Jon Snow—"

"King Jon Snow," another man with thin white hair corrected, stepping beside Jon. "He's King in the North now."

"Right." Tyrion could only sigh. "This is Ser Davos, Jon's advisor."

"I thought the Seven Kingdoms only have one ruler," you said, earning a curious look from Jon. "I don't think my sister will appreciate such title."

"We have business to discuss with Queen Daenerys," Jon answered, walking past you, "about the things happening right now in the North. Titles will have no meaning if we're all dead."

You looked at Tyrion in confusion as he shrugged his shoulders. He urged for you to follow them as they headed towards the castle, where you could see from a distance Queen Daenerys looking down below at all of you. "The North is currently at war against the Night King."

"And we need more men," Jon added, his voice sounding urgent, "and we need more dragonglass and forge them into weapons."

"Dragonglass are known to be effective against the White Walkers," Tyrion explained by your side as you walked together. "They had been mining back and forth for months now."

"So it's true then, what they say about the White Walkers?" you asked.

Jon gave one look at you before he nodded, "Either you have dragonglass or Valyrian steel, we have no chance against them."

"What about the dragons?"

Jon bit back his mouth before he turned, walking away from you. Ser Davos gave a small bow before he went after Jon.

Tyrion sighed beside you. "He's still convincing the Queen to fight alongside him."

"What's stopping Dany?"

"Cersei."

You turned to look at him.

He went on. "Queen Daenerys will only fight with Jon if they both bent the knee in her favor. Both Jon and Cersei."

You knew then Jon would have to fight alone because there was no chance Cersei would do such a thing.

~~~

After what seemed like a lifetime discussing about the plans on the war against the White Walkers and how to convince Cersei to give up the Iron Throne, you surrendered to the darkness of the night outside the castle, facing the lonely shores of Dragonstone.

You had visited Nymeros half an hour ago. The dragon was happy it was finally where he belonged yet you could tell he was uneasy for the fight that was about to come.

"You look so much like your mother if you only had silver hair." The alluring accent made you alert and look behind you. It was none other than the Red woman herself, Melisandre. She was wearing her red cloak, a hood over her head as her eyes pierced right through you.

"What are you doing here?" was the first thing that came into your mind. The last time you remembered, she was serving Stannis Baratheon, who died during one of the battles in the North.

"Serving the true heir to the throne," she replied, wrapping her arms around her body as the cold breeze from the sea blew towards the both of you.

"My sister have four dragons to her side," you said, chuckling lightly. "I barely think she needs a dedicated follower of the Lord of the Light too."

"I wasn't talking about her," Melisandre replied, now looking at the dark horizon before you.

Her firm response made you stare at the woman. There was no chance she knew about your parentage.

"You were there," you began, slowly remembering, "you were there at the boar hunt Joffrey had planned, at the ambush."

"I was there to protect you," she answered, "as I have sworn since the day you were born."

"What?"

"If I weren't there when Stannis' soldiers attacked you, that arrow would have lunged straight to your heart."

"But you distracted me—"

"Did I really?" Mellisandre looked at you with a smirk on her face before she turned away.

You swallowed nervously. "When you say since the day I was born. . ."

"Yes, I was there when Rhaella gave birth to you," she said. "You were so tiny then, yet your cries were as fierce as a dragon's. Rhaella made me swear to look after you and I did. All these years."

There was a brief silence of you trying to understand what she was telling you. No, she could just be lying to you. She was a witch after all.

"It was me who set Nymeros free from his chains in the cave when you were still young," she went on, "if he'd still be chained, he wouldn't be able to save you from drowning. Or that time you were held hostage by a band of thieves from Braavos, where you mysteriously succeeded in escaping not knowing your captors were already unalived."

"Why? What are you to my mother? Why do you owe her that much to save a child you barely knew?"

Melisandre only went silent, avoiding your gaze.

~~~

"Let me convince her," you said, seeing defeat from your sister and Jon's faces when they came back from the Capital with no good news. Cersei didn't waver. She was stubborn, face stoic as what Ser Davos had observed when she watched a White Walker Jon had captured from the North just to convince everyone in Westeros that death was real.

Daenerys even lost one of her dragons for that quest, yet Cersei was still merciless and selfish.

Daenerys scoffed. "You think she'd bend the knee just because you did? I thought you know her enough."

"I know she'd never bend the knee, but she'd fight alongside with you if she knew what we're facing against—"

"She had enough of that evidence running straight to her face yet it still didn't scare her," Ser Davos butted in.

"Cersei, however less of expression her face shows, is mighty convinced the sea surrounding the Capital will keep the White Walkers away," Varys chimed in. "Unless they have figured out ways to swim or fly."

"Which they can now that they have one of my children," Daenerys hissed.

"I know Cersei since I was a child," Jon interrupted. "She has no heart—"

"You're wrong," you said, defending Cersei. You were whipped, but you knew the Lannister woman better than anyone in the room did. "You don't know her better than I do. She cares enough even when she doesn't show it—"

"Maybe to you," Tyrion said. "But what about now when you're no longer a good fuck to her?"

You glared at Tyrion, knowing he had a point. You didn't exactly leave Cersei in good terms.

"You always knew what she was but you loved her anyway," Tyrion added, sighing in defeat.

"At least, let me try," you pleaded, now facing Daenerys. She was hesitant to let you go. She hadn't even let you go with them. Maybe she did care about you. Or maybe she didn't trust you enough to be loyal to her and go back.

"Bring Nymeros with you," Daenerys said, as she walked away from the counselors. You nodded eagerly amidst the complaints from others, not wasting another second to leave the room.

~~~

"Did you forget what I said I'd do when I see you step your foot in the Capital?" Cersei's cold voice echoed through the entire hall. "You are looking for death if you think I'd help you and your usurper of a sister's cause."

You knew you should be scared. Tyrion had been right all along. You were immediately captured the moment Nymeros left you as soon as you landed on the shores of the Red Keep, near the Blackwater gates.

But even when the Queen's guards poked you with their spears as they forced you to kneel before her, before Cersei herself, you couldn't find it in yourself to be terrified of her.

For almost two months of not seeing her, all you wanted to do was kiss the woman, hug her, touch her and more. Cersei looked much fiercer and tougher than she was the last time you saw her. She had changed yet beauty still incomparable. Her golden hair was adorned with the most elegant looking crown with the Lannister's sigil.

Aside from Nymeros, she was truly the only beautiful thing you had ever witnessed in your life.

But of course, Cersei never cared about you. You were just a good lay, as Tyrion had said.

"My Queen," you bowed down your head, "I plead for you to take mercy. We need more men to fight in the North. We cannot defeat the White Walkers without your help—"

"And what? After the war, you all would seek the throne? When my men are already depleted, you'd take advantage over us? Do you think me of a fool, Lady Y/n?"

You met her gaze, and she was gritting her teeth, anger seething.

"I will never bend the knee," Cersei said with finality in her tone. You exhaled heavily. If you could just talk to her alone, you'd make her understand.

You were about to retort but she held her hand, stopping you. "We will deal with what it's left when you fight against the White Walkers."

Your eyes never wandered as you stared right through her, waiting if she'd also break like you did. However when Prince Doran entered the hall, his eyes on you, you looked away.

"Y/n Martell," Doran called, now standing beside the Queen. "Finally on your knees ready to commit to your crimes?"

"For what? For being your daughter?" you snide back.

Doran went silent for a moment before he walked slowly towards you, unsheathing his sword from his belt. "She was never born. You're no daughter of mine. You're an impostor."

"She is mine to execute," Cersei said, standing up from her seat.

Doran shook his head, facing the Lannister woman. "I chose to serve you, Your Grace. But when one of my people had betrayed me, they will only answer to me alone."

Then he looked back at you. "I've loved Rhaella with all my life but she also chose to betray me in the end. I married her even, convinced the Citadel to annul their marriage beforehand," the statement made everyone in the hall whisper, "yet when I told her to go to Dorne to finally be with me, she chose to stay with the Mad King."

"Are you not sure she was not referring to stay away from you?"

Doran glared at you before he raised his sword ready to hit, but a blade went through his chest, making him gulp in his own blood.

"Bring Y/n to the dungeons," the Queen announced when Doran's body hit the floor with a loud thud. Jamie stood behind Doran, holding a bloody sword. The guards dragged your frozen limb, your eyes still on the bloody figure of the man you thought who'd accept you as his own.

~~~

"The Queen has requested me to escort Y/n to her council room," Qyburn announced to the soldiers guarding you outside your cell in the dungeon not half an hour later from the incident.

When you and Qyburn headed through empty corridors of the castle, you attempted to untie the rope around your wrists. Qyburn helped you when you both have arrived at the door and you were still unsuccessful of untying it yourself.

Cersei was alone, staring out the windows with her hand on the railing, when you entered the room. Qyburn then closed the door, leaving you two.

The air had suddenly gone heavy. The Queen turned her head to finally look at you.

When it was only the two of you, there was an unspoken tension. You swallowed nervously, ready to speak yet Cersei's eyes on you didn't waver.

And as if on instinct, she moved forward towards you as you met her halfway, her arms welcoming you as you embraced her back so tightly. Breathing everything that was her, you tightened your hug around the woman, afraid that if you'd let her go, it would be the last time.

Cersei's hands fisted around your tunic, unbelievable strength coming from the Lannister woman. Then you pulled away as you cupped her face, pulling her close as you pressed your lips against hers.

And it was carnal. The hunger you had for each other was incomparable. Her hands held your head against hers, pulling you closer and closer.

She was devouring you like she had been deprived from sustenance. You pushed the woman against the wall as you returned the same force she showed, tongues dancing against each other, short breaths, gasps, sighs, and moans managed to come out from the little moments your lips would pull away from each other before reconnecting.

And then you could taste it. The bitter taste of Cersei's tears made you pull away, cupping her face gently as the woman only tried to chase after your mouth.

Leaning your forehead against hers, your thumbs wiped the offending liquid before meeting her lips in a slow soft kiss.

"I miss you," Cersei croaked, misery evident in her voice.

Giving her a weak smile, you nodded back. "There's not a day when I didn't think of you, Cersei. Even my dreams were filled with the thoughts of you."

"Why?"

You slowly pulled away as you met her cold hard gaze, her eyes carrying a look of disdain.

"Why did you not come back?"

"I couldn't —"

But then Cersei was already pushing you away as she walked towards her desk, licking her lips with the taste from you. "You didn't even send me a raven."

"Dany—"

Her mocking laughter stopped you. "Dany? You've barely even known her and you're already calling her Dany—"

"She's my sister," you answered, moving towards her.

"Well, I'm your . . . ," she stammered, hesitant. "I'm your . . ."

You could see the dilemma on her face and you pulled her closer. "You're still my Queen. You're my other half, the one I love."

Cersei bit her lower lip to stop herself from sobbing. Then she shook her head as she pushed you away again, turning to look at the window.

"It doesn't matter," she replied, exhaling a heavy breath. "Your love doesn't matter. Your feelings don't matter."

There was a pause of silence before you ended it.

"Then why are we here? Why did you allow me to come?"

The Lannister woman scoffed. "Not to help my enemies collaborate in my destruction. Jon Snow has now chosen to serve her. You have already submitted to her, and now you're making me too—"

"I want you to help us. To help the realm—"

"But eventually, you want everyone to bend the knee to her."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I think she will make the world a better place."

"You think she will not be like her father, the Mad King?"

"She has trusted advisors who would check her worst impulses instead of feeding them."

"Mm, my traitor of a brother. Fine," she walked away, "serve her. Choose her. What you said are true. I don't care about checking my worst impulses. I don't care about making the world a better place. Hang the world. That thing they dragged here, I know what it is, I know what it means. And when it came at me, I didn't think about the world. Not at all."

She stopped, her hand on her stomach. Then she looked at you and she still looked as lost as she was.

You heard Nymeros roar from a distance, growing impatient wondering where you were and why you had not come back.

"Ever wondered why your dragon did not attack me that day you left Dorne?" she asked. You stared at her in confusion. "It was because a part of you is already living inside of me."

And your eyes instinctively went to the hand on her stomach. You slowly approached her, your shaking hands caressing her lower stomach.

"It's . . ." You stopped, memories of Jaime's threats swimming in your head.

The sight made Cersei sad, her hand cupping your face. "I have not been with anyone other than you. I swear on my mother's deathbed. If the dragon had sensed it, then you should know it's true. It's yours, Y/n."

"It's mine?" you asked again, voice almost crying from happiness. The smile on your face hurt. She nodded back, pressing her forehead against yours. Your arms slithered around her, hers around your back, her head buried in your neck as you hugged each other.

"Then you know that I must leave," you said, making the woman lose her control, pull away and sob in front of you, shaking her head. "For you and our baby, Cersei—"

"No, Y/n, I want you here! With me! With us!"

"Death is upon us if we won't take action," you reasoned with her, hands cupping around her face. "I won't let that happen."

"You can't do anything to stop them," Cersei spat back. "They had even defeated one of her dragons—"

"We have three against one—"

"If the dragons can't stop them, if Dothraki and Unsullied and Northmen can't stop them, how will our armies make a difference?" she hissed, tears rolling down her face as you failed to stop her from crying. "This isn't about noble houses anymore, this is about the living and the dead! And I intend to stay amongst the living."

"Cersei—"

"Let the Stark boy and his new queen defend the North. We stay here where we've always been, where we belong."

"I made a promise to my sister—"

"Our child will rule Westeros. Doran admitted his marriage to your mother Rhaella. I made Qyburn consult with the Citadel Maesters and it's true what Doran said. Rhaella's marriage to the Mad King was annuled before she bore Daenerys. This makes you the rightful heir—"

"Our child will never be born if the dead come south," you said.

Shaking her head, Cersei stood her ground. "Let the monsters kill each other. And while they battle in the North, we take back the lands that belong to us, that your sister took."

"And then what?"

"And then we rule."

"When the fighting in the North is over, someone wins. You understand that, don't you? If the dead win, they march south and kill us all—"

"If the living win, and we've betrayed them, they march south and kill us all! They already want to kill us all. Most of them will die in the North."

You slowly pulled away, knowing there wasn't a single thing that would change the Lannister woman's mind. She was set to be selfish. But you'd do anything for her, for your child.

Cersei sighed as she made her way to her desk, leaning against the wood. You made your way to the door, planning your escape, knowing your visit was a failure. "Leave through the tunnels down the Kitchen's Keep. It will lead you straight to a trail beside the Blackwater Rush. The soldiers won't see you there."

You turned to look at the woman, who was already staring at you. Eyes spoke more what words couldn't. "I hate that you still choose to betray me."

"I love you," you said, "and I'm doing this for the both of you."

When you were about to close the door, you heard shuffling behind before the woman engulfed you in an embrace, hugging your back, her arms around your stomach.

"Cersei—"

"Come back to me alive," she whispered. "Promise me you'll come back alive and I will give that sister of yours thousands of my men to fight alongside you."

A smile crept into your face as you turned around and hugged the woman back. "I promise. You're my home, Cersei. You'll always be my home."

The clutch Cersei had on your back tightened as she buried her face deeper into your chest.

Author's note: I truly appreciate your continued support in reading my stories. You can help me create more stories by supporting my writing thru this link.

[strawberrystepmom]

gojo x f!reader. gojo and reader are in an semi-established relationship although he is referred to as boyfriend in this. cw: food, tantanmen is a spicy ramen soup. hurt/comfort if you squint, bad day lamentations, and one of my personal favorite gojo facts: man hates spicy food. i also hc him as a picky eater so here we go.

wc 1.5k | divider by cafekitsune

“I want tantanmen.”

Satoru’s bottom lip begins sticking out as soon as he hears the first letter of his most dreaded of your post-stressful day cravings leave your mouth.  

The bane of his existence - spicy food. It overwhelms his senses, a fact you’re well aware of, making it a rarity that you would even ask. That’s how he knows today has been capital-R rough for you and although he wants to help make your difficult day better, there’s hesitation in his step and he stops you on the train platform to put his hands on your shoulders. His grip is just firm enough to bring you comfort and you glance up at him looking so dejected he almost thinks better of his next question. Consideration - something he is not always the best at doing - be damned, he cannot stop himself before the words slip out.  

“Are you sure you don’t want something else instead?”

Hurt flashes across your face and you don’t bother to hide it. Every single one of your boyfriend’s whims is surrendered to no matter how ridiculous it is, trips and meals and sex positions and a million other tiny things you do to make him happy despite his insistence he doesn’t need them. Sure, it’s unfair for you to expect the same in return given you do it with no expectation of reciprocation but for once it would be nice to not have your choices questioned.

“You told me I could get anything I wanted and it was your treat. Are you changing your mind?”  

You raise a brow, slacken your jaw, and harden your gaze that is pointed upward in his direction. 

“I’ve had a rough day, Satoru. All I need is something so spicy it makes me cry.”

The tears threatening to fall from your lash line aren’t fake or for “getting your own way” purposes, you genuinely feel like you’re on the brink of tears and have all day. A scolding from Yaga, a disagreement regarding curriculum with Utahime via intense text message exchange, blatant disrespect from your students that they have yet to apologize - every bad moment piled up into something heavy to carry that weighs down on your chest. Thankfully, Satoru knows you well enough to be able to tell that you are being honest about the way you feel and arguing is futile.

“Fine,” he agrees with a loud exhale. “But on the way home we’re going to stop and get something edible to people who aren’t crazy, okay?”

Reaching for his hand, you nod and snuggle into his arm. Lacing your fingers between his, the stress visibly melts from you and a minuscule part of him feels bad for putting up an argument to your wishes at all. Is this really how he’s going to act when you are so undeniably sweet to him when you want to be? How many of his whims do you give into without having to think about it at all? Sighing, he leans toward you and kisses the top of your head, crowding you closer against his body. 

“You’re not going to make me try it this time?”

“No. I only did that once and besides, their menu is big. You are bound to find something you like if you just look.”

Giggling, you cling to his side and shrug playfully. The distinct shine of tears in your eyes has dissipated and your smile seems warmer than earlier, making him feel slightly less guilty for his blunder. 

Guilt isn’t something that he really dwells on often, as impermanent as the rest of his emotions tend to be, but it’s different when it’s you. Keeping you happy is just about the only thing he hasn’t been perfect at on the first attempt yet he keeps trying and figuring it out a little more every day. He figures you out a little more every day, honestly. It’s what keeps him coming back.

“But I like eating the same thing as you.” Satoru pouts again and you roll your eyes, squeezing your arm that is wrapped around his bicep. “I know but sometimes it doesn’t hurt either of us to try something new or different from the other.”

He hums his disbelief and the two of you walk alongside one another toward the gate.

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

Ordering your spicy soup with a smile at the front counter while your boyfriend situates the table the two of you will be sitting at, you check over your shoulder once before leaning in the direction of the young woman taking your order.

“I have a really weird request.”

She nods politely and you take a deep breath, knowing how rude it is to ask for changes to menu items when there are so many. Despite the impoliteness, you feel obligated to give him a little break while taking into consideration the one he has given you tonight.

“So the tantanmen…is there any way I could get just the broth and noodles without anything else?” The young woman blinks at you unenthusiastically and you straighten your shoulders, putting on your most winning smile. “How about a child’s serving with less spice? Is that something you could do?”

Wordlessly, she glances over your shoulder at the table your over six and a half feet tall man sits at in search of a child that could possibly need this kind of accommodation for their food. She spots none, only your boyfriend who is grinning down at his phone and laughing to himself.

“It’s for him. He doesn’t do spice very well, I know that’s ridiculous but we always order the same thing and I understand if you can’t do it. I just had to ask.”

She hums and presses the buttons on the screen in front of her, turning it to show you. One order of soup, extra spicy for you. One order of soup, just broth and no spice for Gojo. Gratefully, you bow your head and she plays it off with a smile. Even she can’t be terribly annoyed at a couple that clearly has figured out one another’s whims and she instructs you to go and sit at your table to await your order.

Sliding in next to him on the same side of the booth, as always, you grin and he puts his phone down immediately to wrap his arm around your shoulder. 

“What’d you order me?”

You shrug playfully and he gasps.

“You know I’ll simply go on hunger strike if you got me something spicy…” he trails off and you laugh, reaching up to tug on his earlobe the way you always do when he’s running his mouth. “You’ll just have to see what surprise I have in store.”

The two of you chit chat for a few minutes but the soup comes more quickly than you expected. Satoru’s face lights up when his eyes glance down at a bowl full of silky broth, pulling apart his chopsticks delightedly. It’s the same thing you have, just a little different and exactly how he likes it.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have!”

Laughing, you shake your head and follow his lead, glancing down into your own steaming bowl of relief. Opening your chopsticks, breaking them apart, giving thanks for the meal, they’re all as natural as breathing at this point and you smile at him again as he glances down into your bowl.

The broth of your soup is as red as anything he has ever seen.

“That looks like the fire of Hell,” he scoffs, scooping broth into his mouth and swallowing quickly. 

You take a sip from your spoon and sigh in relief, shoulders relaxing into a natural position instead of curved forward sadly. Despite his earlier protests, there’s nothing he’d rather do than sit here and watch you eat your troubles away, pinkies of both of your free hands touching below the table. 

“It just might be.”

The spice makes you sniffle and he’s quick to pick up a napkin, dabbing at the tip of your nose to make sure no dribbles have occurred. This is another habit he has picked up after all this time watching you challenge yourself to meals he wouldn’t touch if he had to. Wiping your nose and cheeks and making sure you drink water.

“Thank you for treating me.”

Leaning over your bowl, you slurp a mouthful of noodles and chew it thoughtfully. He watches your mouth and jaw move, reaching up to cup your face but stopping himself from kissing you with your mouth full. It wouldn’t be the first time but that damned spicy broth is all over your lips and he won’t take the risk as badly as he wants to.

“Thanks for letting me, you freak of nature.”

Giggling, you shrug and lean into his touch.

“It takes one to know one.”

No argument from him.

[lullinglily]

If requests are still open, could I possibly have a Messmer x f! Tarnished? The Tarnished being Messmer wife/consort who did not accompany him on the crusade since those really aren't the romantic destinations you usually take your loved ones. The wife dies in the Shattering and comes back as a Tarnished, with no real plan to go murderhobo on Messmer, but still thinking being a Lord/Elden Lord doesn't sound too bad. How would Messmer react to *that* kind of news?

pairing: messmer the impaler x wife!tarnished!reader (hurt/comfort)

notes: i love super specific asks like this because they give me sooo much to think about. also whoops i wrote too much and have to make a second post.

( part 2 )

pre-shattering; incandescent

Your marriage to the Impaler, while brief, had been a great source of pride for him. To think that he could be worthy of such a love was beyond baffling, and yet it was no dream. Truly, you had actually loved him — and he, you. 

He loathed to part from you, but pride drew him onwards. He wished not only to make his mother proud, but to spark further adoration from you as well. So, while he did dislike leaving you behind, he seemed rather excited about it too. Often the both of you would stay up until the wee hours of the morning to discuss his departure and the grandeur that would be sure to follow it. 

He held you close on the dawn he was to leave, only in the privacy of your shared bedchambers could Messmer display such a gentle act. The more reserved send off was for the prying eyes of Marika’s citizens, the way he kneeled to grab your hand in his and press soft kisses there made it known his adoration, for better or for worse. We’ll get to that later.

Contact with your beloved Lord, at first, had not been too difficult. You sent a letter, around four nights would pass, and you’d receive a letter back. He’d always respond asking how you had been faring in his absence, if there was anything you required from him while he was away, a gift perhaps? He’d go on to regale you with the tales of his crusade, each letter containing more and more gruesome details. You’d express your worry for him with each response, and soon enough such details had been cut from his future communications.

Dear Messmer had lost quite some favor as his war stretched on, and thus it became more troublesome to send your letters to him. Most had a disdain for your husband, refusing to send your letters to him, and you’d have to turn to Marika instead. She had sent them in a timely manner the first two times, but by the third letter she had become less concerned with the war and more focused on what her people thought of it —  of her son.

It was around this time communication between you and Messmer had begun to taper out. Letters could still be sent and received, however the process became rather lengthy and the Queen took little pity on you. 

You had begged for an audience with your mother-in-law, but none would be granted to the wife of a warmonger. Your time at Leyndell Castle officially came to an end once Marika denounced your beloved’s efforts. Having you there tarnished the royal family’s reputation, and you were relocated to a quaint village in Altus, outside of the capital’s walls. 

It was during this time you began to reflect on the Queen and her order, her Order bathed in unsullied gold and blessed with eternal fruitfulness. How could she, the Mother Eternal, act so coldly towards her most loyal son just to save her own skin? What fickleness was this? What cruelty? How could a god behold such human traits? Perhaps her order wasn’t as perfect as you once thought. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what you’d tell Messmer; that is if you ever got to speak to him again. The thought alone crushed you, and you receded into the kind escape of sleep.

Life outside of the Erdtree’s succor granted naught but hardship. Known only as the Impaler’s consort, you were a disgrace upon the Erdtree faithful, and were left well alone. An outcast in your village you would remain, it seemed, for all eternity. 

Years passed in isolation before you had heard tell of the new crowned prince of Leyndell’s assassination, and the subsequent shattering of the great Elden Ring. Never before had you known such destruction, such chaos, such humanity. Of course Marika of all people could create such a scene. 

You had just finished packing away your darling Lord’s letters when a group of marauders — no doubt General Radahn’s men — had begun to raid your village. 

You helped where you could, directing attention away from families and ushering the elderly along into the welcoming arms of those who could guide them to safety. Such arms did not belong to you. How could you leave without those yellowed letters, each promise of return penned on them dulled and decayed? You simply could not leave behind the cloying words of your Lord husband, ever-departed and shunned by all but you. Unfortunately for you, a sword through the back would be the only reward for your kindness. You fell almost willingly, certain that this blow would deliver you unto a gentler realm; one in which you may encounter your lost husband. 

A shuddering sigh escaped your lips as you begged to be returned to him; praying that he may gather you up from where you lay, trampled and left by those you had shared your exile with.

post-shattering; tarnished

Of course, in her typical fashion, Queen Marika had different plans

It’s undetermined how quickly Tarnished are revived, let’s say you are returned to the Lands about a hundred years after the events of the Shattering

Quite a lot of time has passed, and not a shred of your former identity lingers in a single scroll. Not even your letters had survived, most certainly reduced to ashes in the fire that consumed your past domicile. And, while saddening that the future Messmer had promised for the both of you would never come to pass, you were almost thankful for this lack of notoriety. Your time as an outcast had taught you well enough the dangers of being associated with that wonderful husband of yours. And so, for now, you would keep secret your relationship to him.

You joined the Roundtable Hold and were quickly educated on the new version of the Lands you inhabited. So too, did you learn that the title of ‘Elden Lord’ had yet to be claimed. While not particularly taken with the idea of assuming the title, you were intrigued in what power it would bring should you take the throne. Surely an order would be established much like Marika’s own, but with your intentions used to mend the ring instead of hers. Perhaps what you disliked in Marika you could remedy, foolish and human as you are. You were hesitant to inform anyone of your possible interest in the role however, and continued on as normal. Why cause such a stir in dynamics among your new friends? 

Eventually, either by coercion or of your own accord, you wound up in the Land of Shadows. Almost the instant you had looked out upon the Gravesite Plain you already knew where you were, where he was. And as you explored it came increasingly apparent that he was still alive somehow.

You decided you would have to go find out yourself, and with the motivation to find your long lost husband stirring in your chest you set out on the perilous journey alone.

It was actually a lot easier for you to get to Messmer than you had initially thought. You’d been detained by the Fire Knights of course, but some recognized you despite your condition. They quarreled over if you were truly their Lord’s cherished consort or some vain imposter, and in the end they escorted you to Messmer and had him decide himself.

His serpents recognized you almost immediately. Your scent, while somehow different, still sung with an underlying hint of familiar sweetness. One of them wrapped itself around your forearm while the other watched on in awe. 

Messmer sends his Fire Knights away and takes you in from afar. It’s eerily silent in his chamber for a few moments, the only sound the contended hiss of his serpent companions. He rose from his chamber and stalked over to you, bending down to observe your altered form. While you looked the same as you had back then, you were significantly shorter and bereft of the light you were once drenched in. An odd little Tarnished you were, a princess trapped in the frame of a lowlife. It hardly mattered, you were his all the same.

He kneeled down to take your hand in his, hesitating to kiss it for fear that he would lose you, as if the action was responsible for separating the both of you all those years ago. He settles for a scalding embrace instead. 

He’s suspiciously quiet. You’d have thought he’d have much to say considering the time apart, but all he could think about was his mother. Why had she stripped you of your grace? Why hadn’t she kept contact with him? Perhaps was held you up all that time had been doing the same to his mother? If that were true, would that mean she is in danger? He wanted to ask you these questions, ask you to tell him what had transpired in his absence but the truth is he was afraid of your answer. 

He silently drew you a bath, offering you the privacy to strip yourself of your armor and, with his back still turned, ordered his knights to take the plates for polishing. He suddenly felt so very sorry for you; it was a grand shame that you should ever have to bear the weight of armor or know the handle of a weapon. He feels as though he had failed you by leaving you behind.

You recounted to him what happened before you became a Tarnished. While he knew that the people’s opinion of him and his crusade were low, he hadn’t expected for you to be mistreated because of your relation to him. His heart had simply shattered when he learned that you should be dead; long gone and hidden under the earth. 

You left out some bits of the story for his sake, specifically the parts about Marika. Perhaps now was not the time.

He’d let his eyes wander over your lightless form once more, likening it some sick joke.

“Worry not, my lovely. We shall fix thee.”

Your stay at the Shadow Keep lengthens. The both of you are quiet in each other’s presence, not sure of what to say, but there is warmth there regardless. No one speaks her name. No one dares to ask a question about what had happened in the other’s absence. You found yourself unable to question the hordes of dead bodies that littered the perimeter of Castle Ensis, and he refused to question his mother’s callousness towards you. 

Most of the time neither of you say anything at all. You had breakfast together, he sat in his chamber with you on his lap until he needed to get up and attend to something, in which you would trail behind him. Once night fell you’d both hold each other in his bedchambers and pretend to be asleep, and then the day would be over and it would be the exact same come morning. 

You didn’t dislike it, but after a week you told him of your fondness towards the prospect of becoming a ‘Lord.’ You didn’t tell him Lord of what or who, just that you liked the idea. And, in typical Messmer fashion, he worried over the thought of being abandoned yet again. 

He offered you the position of lord for one of his forts, but “Fort Reprimand” had a sort of sinister title you just didn’t feel comfortable sharing. 

He didn’t outright tell you how much it hurt him to think about you leaving. He had just gotten you back, how could he let you go again? 

His desperation became tangible. He became much more clingy and talkative, making sure with each conversation the two of you had to sprinkle in little details about how delightful the Keep was; how much everyone there adored you. 

You saw right through all of it, and you pitied him more than anything. Your poor Messmer; he didn’t deserve any of this. 

You weighed your options constantly, they were all you ever thought about anymore. On one hand, the ability to change the world for the better. To right Marika’s wrongs, and hopefully return her to her dear son. On the other, a safe and cozy spot in the arms of your husband forevermore. You wouldn’t need to look over your shoulder every waking moment, Messmer’s serpentine companions would do it for you. You would be safe. 

It was at this point you figured that you should tell him the truth. The truth about the Shattering, the disappearance of his mother and how he may not ever see her again. Surely this conversation would trickle into one concerning your lordship and if you wished to obtain it. So, in the little corridor outside of his chamber, you made your decision and prayed it was the right one.

[archived-daydreams]

— First love, late spring.

Summary: what does it feel like, to fall in love with them?

Characters: Jing Yuan, Dan Heng, Gepard, Kafka, Bronya, Serval, Asta x gender neutral reader.

Word count: 1.2 k.

Tags: fluff.

Author’s note: my debut writing for Honkai Star Rail ! I know Jing Yuan hasn’t been released yet, so his part is just personal interpretation; all in all, these are just some sort of little headcanons I wanted to try imagining and writing down, I hope you enjoy <3

Reblog to support your favorite authors ! It helps more than likes.

JING YUAN

Falling in love with the Cloud Knight general feels like returning to a home you still hadn’t realized how much you’d longed for.

His calm presence draws you in, a melodious and crackling hearth beckoning you forward in shades of gold and skies at sundown. To stand beside him could be compared to entering a secret forest, where the moon rises as she kisses the dipping sun on the cheek as they meet at dusk. Birds chirp happily, as if revealing the songs your heart likes to play when you are with Jing Yuan, the heat in your cheeks, a manifestation of the firework embers lighting up the starry twilight. The general puts his arm around your shoulders, bringing your form closer to his, fluffy argent hair tickling the side of your neck.

You lean into him, the sunset looks a little brighter when your lover’s lips graze your temple.

And when his big calloused hand intertwines its fingers with yours, you know with him, anywhere is paradise.

DAN HENG

Scarlet maple forests feel more magical underneath the stars.

In the same way, pieces of every story and memory that constitute the wielder of Cloud-Piercer take form before your eyes as you make your way starwards.

Not one for many words or idle conversation, Dan Heng shows you the emotions he conceals to the public in small actions, starlit fragments only the one who dares to rummage between the layers of crimson leaves will uncover. Shielding you from unexpected enemies, helping you up and down the platform of the express, throwing a blanket over your shoulders when you inevitably pass out on the couch after running around with March… And when, still halfway into your realm of dreams, you call his name, a keen eye may spot on the express gurad’s cheeks some of the carmine usually adrift in the breeze in the autumn months.

Then again, if could be just your sleepy imagination…

Perhaps. is the lingering “what if” echoing on your mind.

GEPARD

The steady rock amidst a tumultuous ocean, relentless waves colliding against its silvery surface, time and time again.

Yet the rock does not yield.

Much in the same way the captain of the Silvermane Guards is your white-hot anchor in the blizzard.

No matter how hurt you are, Gepard stays.

No matter how drained and wasted your last breakup left you, his strong arms embrace you, the biting gales futile against his hold.

And maybe, taking notice of your own (and his) feelings might take you a while.

But Gepard Landau’s heart only knows loyalty.

So he waits.

For you to realize, for the sun to finally shine, and mark the path from you to him.

Because argent tends to reflect the skies, and only when the morning star deigns to shine, can the cobblestones tying you together gleam.

You take a step, and you know Gepard Landau is your only destination.

KAFKA

Exhilarating and with “danger” spelled in boldened capitals, that is how romance with the Stellaron’s Hunter feels.

The rational part of you warned you this was a bad idea, yet, as they say, sometimes, the heart wants what it wants.

Freedom prevailed that night, and your lips met the Interastral Peace Corporation’s most wanted’s.

It could have been the drinks you had, against your better judgment, the sweet intoxication of the alcohol in your system and of the temptation of her, a ticking bomb combination.

But caution is thrown to the wind the moment Kafka wraps her priced coat around your shoulders, her lips sensually whispering in your ear, promises of a million idyllic tomorrows together already tangling in the messy yarn ball of your mind.

But who are you to refuse? Or how could anyone, for that matter? When her painted lips envelop yours under the infinity of the firmament?

BRONYA

Dignified, smart, and the picture perfect image of what a heir should be like.

However, what is hidden beyond that icy facade of flawless poise?

Your sweet lover, a girl who enjoys the sound of tranquil nights and hurried steps by morning, someone who lets herself daydream to the faint music coming from Golden Theater.

A beautiful and enchanting contradiction, a storm of opposites you can’t help but get lost in, from the pretty curls of her lucent hair, to her determined gunmetal gaze.

Who would have thought, you think with a tender smile, as your hands run through her steel moonlit tresses, that you’d get to win the heart of the Heir to the Supreme Guardian of Belebog?

Leaving a soft kiss to the crown of her head, you lay down beside her in bed. With a last look out the window at the slate sky, you close your eyes.

The lyrics to a ballad swirl in your mind, probably coming from Golden Theater.

In the dim light, you find your girlfriend’s hand.

That night, Bronya Rand would be the actress in your oneiric plane, her heart, yours alone.

SERVAL

Electrifying and magnetizing, akin to a violet horizon right before a storm. The thunder in the distance makes your every hair stand on end, yet you can’t help longing for something more.

Afternoons helping Serval out at Neverwinter Workshop always end with you sitting before her, wide smile aglow on your features as she picks up her electric guitar. You always loved the way her sapphire eyes sparkled when she talked about this or that new song she was composing, but actually getting to see her perform for you alone… that’s enough to get you giddy.

Her painted nails strum the cords with ease, each of them bending at the workshop owner’s will, as lightning seems to take command of your heart, its thundering pace and the melody she plays seamlessly dancing to the beat of a fervent tango.

As the sky throws its indigo shawl over the lovers, the blonde gazes at you, a pretty (and unusual) rosy tone on her cheeks, a silent inquire for your thoughts about her new piece.

After all, you’re always the first one to hear every new song she comes up with.

ASTA

The girl who used to dream of naming stars after herself finally found a star that will always orbit around the fiery sun she is.

Her crystalline eyes look up from the papers she was sorting out until moments ago, her lips curving up in a crescent not unlike the one she used to observe, when she spots you.

Two cups of coffee in hand, you sit beside her, your head leaning on her shoulder. Your hand catches hers over the table, prompting her to stop the frantic scribbling of her pen.

And the instant her opalescent gaze meets yours, she is breathless, a nebula the color of her hair spreading through her cheeks. Her pen falls out of her grasp, the words she never seems at a loss for, failing her.

As they do every time when it comes to you.

But who could blame her? When she’d trade every galaxy and celestial body in this universe and the next for a millisecond next to you?

The lead researcher of Herta Space Station closes her notepad.

For now, work can wait.

[tobiospoiltmilk]

I love you, I’m sorry.

—

summary. in which megumi could not handle avoiding you anymore. apologizing to you by letter, given he could not face you in such circumstances. could this also be an accidental confession?

cw(?). sfw, swearing, !megumi x !femreader, mentions of tsumiki, gojo and your !sister, slight angst, fluff, not proofread, terrible capitalization, reminiscing, reciprocal feelings, childhood friends, mutual pining, things not being casual, lyric/title name mentions (i love you, im sorry, casual, kaleidoscope.), basically megumi is so in love with reader his heart hurts and yearns for her

a/n. omg guys i love this so much agdydhdhsj… very first post so i hope this does well! might consider releasing pt. 2 if it does -sob-

Dear Y/n,

It’s me, Megumi. And before you decide to throw this thing out, or whatever it’s supposed to be… hear me out. Please. I know I haven’t been the greatest to you these past weeks. i’ve been a total jerk, and i’m guessing it really wasn’t a secret now, was it? Yeah… whatever, anyways. I guess i’d like to tell you that i’m sorry. I really, truly am… and i know i don’t seem the type to apologize, but i guess when it comes to you, apologies come easy. Because you deserve every damn apology in the world, and if i had one wish given to me, I wouldn’t… hesitate to use it on you. I don’t know what i’d wish for, but i do know that no matter what, it would always regard to you. When it comes to you, I’m selfish, i guess…? Please don’t make fun of me. i’m only trying to make things right. Not that i should have a say in that right now… because I know i’ve hurt you deeply, i don’t deserve your forgiveness nor your kindness, but yet, some part in my heart believes that you’ll forgive me anyway. No matter what shit, twisted way i had caused pain in your precious life.

Remember when we first met? We were both as tiny as we would ever be in our lives— so pure, (not really applying to me.) You were taking one of those daily afternoon naps like usual, and unbeknownst to you, a tiny me would be lounging around in your own family’s estate— with the exception of a loud and rowdy Gojo speaking to your sister, of course. I remember when you finally woke up, and i got to see that glass face of yours for the first time. you were 8, i was 7. Yet you looked so beautiful with that droopy and puffy post-afternoon nap face of yours. We played til’ evening in the courtyard that very same day. It’s not like you forced me to play dolls with you, i actually kind of enjoyed it… only because you were my playmate. i just wish Tsumiki would’ve been there when Gojo first took me in from those dreading streets. Yes, i was a grumpy little toddler with somehow the ability to summon a specific arrangement of creatures, you never questioned anything about it. An 8 year old like you, and a 7 year old like me, should have no reason to know anything about curses or techniques at our age. it was so cruel, and although you were older than me by a year, i still felt the need to protect every fibre and aspect of your existence. An existence i hold very dear to my heart, every damn night.

Remember our middle school days? Yes, where my grumpiness piqued at an all time high, a burning flame that threatened to burst if not carefully dealt with. I was considered a delinquent— no, i was a delinquent. It’s no use trying to defend that title, anyway. I beat up kids left and right, totally abused my gifted strength to terrorize other bullies and jerks who were entitled to popularity. Hey, atleast i only went after the bad people, haha? Nonetheless, you never considered me a bully, or a bad person. That sweet, little mind of yours thought that little 12 year old me could never do anything wrong. Yet you know every action i did proved you so wrong. You watched from afar as i would beat up several kids above grades older than me at once in an old, abandoned baseball field. A small smile on your face, sat prettily on a bench with your friends while happily eating away at your bento your sister made for you every day for school. And during recess, while i was being the usual grumpy jerk that i was, you’d somehow find away to cheer me up. One day, when things got so bad i almost lashed out on Tsumiki, you were there to comfort me. Your small little hands wrapped around my arm, rambling on about how your day went as if being this close of a proximity was casual in anyway. It immediately snapped me out of whatever bullshit show i was about to put on against Tsumiki’s teasing. Part of me hoped—no, wished the way you were with me wasn’t casual, was it casual?—

—You and Tsumiki were the bestest of friends, given you both were the same age. I loved seeing you bond together, even if i never made an effort to show my appreciation. In conclusion… i was never really necessarily a good person in my life, but during the years you were gone— two years, i’ve managed to learn how to calm down the raging fire burning within my heart. i would think about you and Tsumiki when things would get tough. Whether it be controlling my emotions, or when i’m somehow losing a battle against a curse a slight grade level above me. I always won, thoughts filled with the both of you. Minus the injuries. The most important people in my life. Someday i’ll be able to thank you for your help, and in another life, Tsumiki.

Those days you were absent from my life, i spent reminiscing our greatest memories. Not one memory have i forgotten that the two of us shared. And the one that stuck the most in my head, was the one spent at the hospital when we were 9 and 10, waiting outside the comatose room where your dearest sister lay. You were crying into your small little arms, wailing and mourning for your sister’s comfort yet you knew she wouldn’t be available right now. All you wanted was for her to wake up, why wasn’t she waking up? Your 10 year old brain asked yourself. I watched as you wept from the chair beside you, peeking to see those glossy tears falling from those God-gifted eyes of yours from under your wrapped arms, hugging your small frame. My heart ached so much for you, i swear i was going through heart murmurs at that moment. Little 9 year old me had no idea how to comfort someone… because i was never really familiar with comfort to begin with. The only solution that appeared in my young mind… was to share my red bean stuffed panda bun with you. And so that’s exactly what i did. My small, yet experienced hands immediately got to work, reaching into my little side bag to search for the familiar wrapping on mind. Once in my grasp, i carefully tore the packaging, revealing a wonky, yet delicious red bean stuffed panda bun still warm and ready to eat. Yet instead of stuffing it inside my small little stomach in 4 bites, i tore it in half, not the most symmetrical halves, but it still did the job. And with that, i reached out to give a little tap on your bony shoulder, snapping you out of your sobs as you turned to me with puffy, red cheeks stained with raw tears. I proceeded to (nonchalantly) hand you the other half of my red bean stuffed panda bun— I gave you the bigger side, of course. You deserved it more than anything. Oh the butterflies i felt in my jittery stomach when i finally saw that sad face of yours light up in appreciation and excitement. Especially when your precious smile was caused by little ol’ me. It was safe to say, that we both happily indulged in our savoury snack that day. Not to forget, I also remember Gojo taking us out for ice cream the same day. I wasn’t proud that it cheered you up more than my attempt, but as long as you’re happy, i guess.

When I saw you the first time in 2 years at the Sister School Games Event, i swore my heart stopped beating in 3 exact intervals. I saw a kaleidoscope of bursting colours grow within my blurry vision as i tried fathom if it was really you or not, but that radiant aura of yours that you carry was so igniting, i knew i wasn’t mistaken. It was you, you, you, you. Where did you go, and why did you leave me with no closure? I know i have no place to say whether i’m mad at you or not— in fact, i was more mad at myself than i was at you. I was mad at myself for letting you go so easily, without even trying to reach out to you when your clan sent you away to become a sorcerer at Kyoto Jujutsu Tech. Who were you to leave me behind for so long, only to come back happy as ever, like nothing ever happened? Not that i’m… complaining, obviously…— After those 2 years, you had become even stronger than you were before. Stronger than me, in all honesty. It was hard to admit the fact you were a higher grade level than i was at first, but i’m happy for you regardless. I remember those days when i was the one to protect you from mosquitoes and critters hungry for your precious, sweet blood whenever we’d play outside in your courtyard. 7 year old me, and 8 year old you, were practically inseparable. You loved my divine dogs so much, some days i’d think you only hung out with me to chase them around with mud all over your clothes. You always assured me that you ‘loved’ me more though, if that was casual. I don’t know.

Now… back to what i was saying at the start.

I love you, and I’m sorry.

-To my dearest Y/n L/n.

From Megumi Fushiguro.

a/n. LET ME KNOW IF U ENJOYED IT ?? 😔

and once again, i might consider releasing pt.2 of reader responding/reacting to the letter! who knows, maybe you’ll even spill out some confessions… wink wink.

[blitzwhore]

You Love Him (Not)

Stolitz | 800 words | G | Blitzø character study, Blitzø loves Stolas, Blitzø is bad at feelings (and traumatized), 2nd person POV

On AO3

A peek into what goes on in Blitzø's mind when he looks at his selfie in bed with Stolas.

Curled up on the sofa, home alone on a Friday night, you scroll mindlessly through your phone gallery, as you so often do. 

And it hurts, it aches, but you just can't seem to stop. Seeing yourself next to all these people, your smiling face not crossed out for once, is an addictive sort of pain, one that has you hooked. The light from your phone screen blinds you in the darkness of your flat, sucking you in, urging you to scroll faster. Fizz, Verosika, Moxxie, Millie, Loona, Barbie. We were happy, you think as you scroll. For a little while, I made them all happy. 

But when you see your picture with Stolas, you pause. 

Because, in this picture, you don't just look happy. You look content.

It's as though your own eyes are staring back at you through the camera, except the person in the picture doesn't feel like he's you. Not with that gaze that looks so perfectly at ease. Not when his face looks so soft as he holds Stolas close. The person in the picture is peaceful and untroubled, without a single care in the world. And you… well. You're a wreck, that's what you are.

You just can't look away, mesmerized and terrified in equal parts by how carefree you look next to Stolas. And what's scariest is that, if anyone were to see this picture, this moment that you secretly froze in time and have held close to your heart ever since, they'd see… they'd know that you… 

Blinking, you stop that thought before it can fully form. No. 

You don't.  

You lock your phone—close your eyes, fighting the wave of distress that overtakes you. 

You don't love Stolas. 

You don't love Stolas because it isn't worth it. You've already been there and done that so many times before—the hope, the vulnerability. The inevitable heartbreak. The insults, the disdain. You don't need to love anyone else—the world has already assured you over and over again that you are unlovable. A selfish partner, a freak, a piece of shit. 

You don't love Stolas because love is a fancy, overused word, anyway. It doesn't mean anything. Not when people so often say it, and then leave anyway. Leave before you can understand why they don't want you around anymore—leave before you're ready to lose them, or go on without them. 

You don't love Stolas because your love consumes everything in its wake. The second you get too close, the second you allow others in, they get burned. A single touch of your fingertips can trigger a wildfire, and you're helpless to stop it. You've made peace with it; learned to capitalize off of it, even. But Stolas is too precious to lose, and so he's too precious to be loved by you. 

You don't love Stolas because that's the only way you can be sure you will never lose him. Because how can you lose someone you've never truly had in the first place?

You press your fisted hands to your eyes, fighting back tears. You don't love Stolas. You don't love Stolas because you're too damaged to be loved back. Because every time Stolas looks your way, you can't return the look, your gaze darting to the ground, begging it to swallow you and spare the world from your sad, sorry presence. You don't love Stolas because, when you're with him, you just feel inadequate—broken— wrong . A shell that pretends to be empty, but that is full of all this pain it can't contain, a spiralling hurricane of grief and loneliness and self-loathing that's constantly threatening to burst, to spill, to hurt, to burn.

You don't love Stolas because you can't. Not again. The mere notion makes you cower. To open your heart up to someone like that again, knowing the pain that will inevitably follow—it's more than you can bear. It's easier to live just on the edge of something real, to be a shadow, a play of light. It's easier when every single crack in your shell can be brushed off with a joke. It's easier to be the person who doesn't care, who's always right, always loud and obnoxious, always one step ahead, always in control.

No, you don't love Stolas. You don't, because the Blitzo who was strong enough to love died a long time ago, and you, Blitzø, can't go through that again. 

You're not strong enough to face what loving Stolas might do to you. 

You can't love him. 

You can't love him. You can't. 

And yet. 

And yet, despite it all… 

You unlock your phone once more, and there it is again. Staring back at you, bright as day, the evidence too clear to deny.

You...

Oh, Satan.

You love him. 

[mossgh0st]

By Any Other Name (Jean Kirstein x Reader)

Summary | Jean realizes not all nicknames are bad.

Contents | Fluff, No use of y/n, Eren and Floch are little shits, Mikasa manhandles Eren, snarky!Jean

Pairings | Jean Kirstein/You, Eren/Mikasa

Notes | This was inspired by @fandominfestation‘s post. Header image credit goes to Portgas D. Ace on Pinterest.

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

He hates it.

The snark of Eren Yeager matched only by himself, the holler of his cackle makes Jean Kirstein’s spine stiffen.

What’s worse than his cackle? Only one thing.

“HEYO ~Jean-boy~!” The high pitched whine of Eren’s voice bellows from down the hall. There could not be a worse nickname, coming from a worse person. If he didn’t know better, Jean would say even the bricks lining the walls of Mitras’ capital building shuddered in embarrassment for him. Floch’s (fucking fuck that guy, Jean thinks) stupid laugh follows quickly behind, his wheezing sounding more donkey than human.

He can’t stop the lava-hot anger boiling to the surface, shoulders rising and fists clenching at his sides. Now they’re both laughing, and he wants to deck them both in their stupid, snide faces. Jean turns, eyes narrowed to a slit, “Where’s your bodyguard, Yeager? I don’t see your usual evil brooding shadow.” Smirking, he knows he hit Eren right where it hurts, in his puny runt-sized heart. Fuck it, if he wants to play hardball and mock my mother, I’ll play, he thinks.

Eren short circuits and Floch’s jaw falls open. Before Eren becomes his usual flash of rage induced, uncoordinated, off-balance flurry of flailing limbs, Jean stalks off not quite fast enough to miss the tail end of a devastating loss.

Mikasa grabs him by the collar before he can wind himself up, “Why do you always do this shit?”

Jean smirks to himself. “Oh, hey Mikasa. Didn’t see you there!” He calls.

He’s rounding the corner when Yeager grounds out a retort that’s followed by an “Oof,” where Mikasa yanks his collar a little too hard.

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

Yeager still tries his patience, incessantly. Jean blows him off nowadays, his temper no longer simmering just below the surface. When his pest’s favorite insult doesn’t even make his skin prickle, he knows he’s fucked.

There’s a new factor at play, and Jean’s too preoccupied to care much about Eren being a little prick. All because of you.

It’s not his fault, he thinks. You’re so sweet. If they bottled and sold you as a drink, no one would get enough. It’s in the way you smile, eyes twinkling. How you immediately flush when paid too much attention, or address a group. Your soft voice and desire for the quiet. Jean knows you’re not a pushover, you’ll knock someone on their ass. The difference is in how - with few words spoken and gracefully, swiftly, without hesitation.

So when Jean spends the night in your quarters, warm and wonderfully devoid of the regular scout racket, his mind is far, far away from fucking Yeager and Floch. And, when you beckon him closer in the lamplight, finger under his chin and a glint in your eye; when you whisper “Come here, Jean-boy,” before bringing your mouths together… well, he’s never loved the sound of his own name more. Yeager can eat a bag of dicks, he thinks, right as your lips part and let his tongue explore the softness of you.

With one hand on your waist, the other in your hair, and you on his lap, hands around his neck, he knows for certain that he is absolutely and unequivocally fucked.

Bonus: Eren tries it again and the unintended effect is that Jean gets a raging boner.

[sdr2lovemail]

Hello, could I request Mitsuri x reader headcanons?

A little backstory: It's a modern au where reader is the sister of the clones. She's dating Mitsuri and Zohakuten doesn't approve. Like that's his big sister get away from her! Zohakuten probably give Mitsuri such a hard time when he's around.

Zohakuten wants Mitsuri out of your life (FEM Reader)

Synopsis: Zohakuten hates your girlfriend and is very open about it.

Notes: I love Mitsuri and I love Zohakuten, thank you for requesting this. Double posting, I felt inspired by this ask.

Requests are open!

Mitsuri would be ecstatic. Pacing around, anticipating your younger brother getting home. She wants to make a good impression. She loves you so much and wants your brother to approve of her.

You try to get her to lower her expectations. “Uhh, I wouldn’t be too excited. Zohakuten isn’t the most… friendly.” 

As if summoned by his name, Zohakuten walks into the room. His usual scowl seems to deepen upon seeing Mitsuri. “Who is that.” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.

Before you could introduce her, Mitsuri bounds up to the boy. She offers her hand with a wide smile. “I’m Mitsuri Kanroji, your sister’s girlfriend. You must be Zohakuten. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Ignoring her hand, Zohakuten is silent as he glares at her. His brow furrowed with anger. Though, his expression doesn’t daunt Mitsuri. She instead grabs something out of her bag.

“I brought you a gift! It’s the latest copy of Jump. My brother loves it.” She offers him the manga, hoping he will like it.

“I hate that magazine. Don’t think you can sway my judgment with pointless entertainment.” With that, Zohakuten stomps to his room, ignoring your reprimands, leaving you to comfort Mitsuri.

The two of you had a rather rough childhood. Your brothers moved out the second they could, and your father had the tendency to just up and leave, which left you to raise Zohakuten pretty much on your own.

He’s always been a closed-off kid, protective of those he loves and quick to anger. He hates others trying to get in his space. You were the only family member he had around. He didn’t want a stranger ruining his normalcy.

Zohakuten tells that to her face, of course. “You are just a shameless harlot trying to seduce my sister. You’ll never be a part of my family.”

No matter how much you reprimand him or put him on punishment, his feelings hardly change. Mitsuri would try everything to get him to like her. She’d offer gifts like sweets and games, try to bond with him, anything to try and get to know him. But her efforts are met with the presents being trashed and mean words.

He goes out of his way to make Mitsuri feel unwelcome.

One time, Mitsuri had come over for dinner. Zohakuten had set the table with only two plates. When you asked him to set another out, he said you shouldn’t waste your money feeding her. After getting scolded, he would get a plate for Mitsuri, with as much attitude as possible.

Mitsuri will eventually learn that this is just how he is. No amount of presents, food, or small talk can get him to like her. Though, she’ll still offer him things.

I can see Zohakuten capitalizing on your love for him. You wanna hang out with Mitsuri? Well, his stomach hurts and he needs you to help him feel better. You and Mitsuri are snuggling in bed? Zohakuten had a nightmare and wants to sleep in your bed tonight. 

Your four other brothers might take him off your hands if they could be bothered to. It’s Aizetsu who watches him the most. He feels bad that Zohakuten keeps meddling in your love life.

Give him a few years, and he will grow to tolerate Mitsuri, nothing past that. He’ll start taking her presents and not try and lock her out of the house. Zohakuten will always carry a sense of resentment. You’ll be at your wedding and he’ll pull you aside to ask if this is really what you want. “The papers haven’t been signed you can still leave.”

[popponn]

coincidences and flickers.

ii - blank papers.

notes: fem!burnout artist!reader x pro-player!isagi yoichi ; pro player / post canon au ; self-depreciating thoughts towards one's own work ; fluff, with slight angst (burnout) with a happy ending (a slight hurt/comfort) ; unreliable narrator. a.n. at the end; f!reader but could be read as gn.

summary: you never thought you would find yourself next to isagi yoichi again. yet, like a deja vu, it happened once more.

prev. ; series masterlist. ; next

Going outside, viewing a bright cheerful day filled with fresh air and sounds of laughter around you, several sayings crossed your mind before you finally stopped yourself upon a cafe. Sitting on one of the bar stools and facing yourself towards the people who passed by you from beyond the window, you sat quietly.

The first comment came from yourself, heavily uttered out in your mind, it said, “Ah. Shit. It’s going nowhere.”

Right in front of you, beside a half-empty cup of coffee, was your opened sketchbook filled with unfinished scribbles all over. In some parts, there were hastily drawn squares that illustrated the canvases you would use for your work. Inside those squares were sketches no longer visible, most of their parts were crossed out almost violently under a tangled mess of scratchy lines. Looking at this without your pencil touching the paper, you just wanted to slump down right on top of the table. Thankfully, however, you still remembered what it meant to be appropriate in the middle of a crowded public place.

The second was not quite a comment, actually. It was part of an old professor’s lecture from your student days, a memory that had aged by a few years already. It was said in an empty hall that would soon be used to exhibit students’ works within a few months, right in front of said students. Your professor resembled a smirking, merciless wolf ready to ruin and devour as he stood upright, dressed in black that was more suitable for a funeral than a class.

“The theme is ‘beauty’. Please remember to make it a worthwhile piece. Of course, how you interpret those themes is up in your decisions and angles,” he said. Somehow, those motivating words felt haunting. You remembered how most students paled as the tongue that had ruined so much self-esteem during its career as both a critique and a teacher went on.

“Feel free to show off with size and numbers as much as your space and creativity allow it. I do have high hopes for each of you. After all, ‘beauty’ is one of the most attractive things for an artist, no?”

—sitting at the cafe, years after graduation and even more after that exhibition, you could hardly remember what you drew. Did that professor also leave a scathing so bad your memory repressed it?

Then, the third comment came in the form of your friend, a few glasses behind from being a blackout drunk, but certainly a few glasses too much to still have a filter placed on his mouth. A thick accent laced his slurred voice as he continued his supposed lecture about art and career. “Don’t you get it?! We are artists, but we are human too! Love what you make everyone!!!” he said passionately while standing on top of the restaurant table half naked, his cartoon t-shirt nowhere in sight.

Everyone, just as drunk or a bit less, cheered and agreed with him simultaneously. The stench of fellow art graduates and victims of capitalism’s passions, or perhaps repressed stress, filled the room. From your seat, as the unfortunate yet responsible sober friend of that night’s reunion—chosen via a rigged game of rock paper scissors—could only watch in amusement. Shouting again, your friend stated, “Art is rooted in our emotions as a human! It’s the heart—the heart! Don’t forget that! Express yourself!!!”

Afterward, it spiraled down into even more of a jumbled oration that you couldn’t quite remember. But, certainly, you would wonder if your current self was the one seated there that night. What would this version of you think of those sentences?

Your answer came immediately in the form of a scoff that escaped your mouth bitterly.

“Beautiful things, love, and emotion… huh?” you repeated while staring down at your sketchbook once again. Letting go of your pencil, you buried your face in your palms,“…what am I doing right now then?”

Is there a point for an ‘artist’ who felt nothing when doing something they were supposed to feel so much emotion for?

Is it even okay for someone to make something even when it is not even worthwhile?

“Ugh,” you groaned hoarsely into your hand. Lifting up your face you heaved out one long sigh. As of the moment, you should try again to brainstorm a concept for the needed pieces. Also, you still had illustration work to do. There was no time to whine and feel down. It felt immature, truthfully.

You glared down at the messy, filled-up page of yours. This was the product of your choice, so you had to go on. If the worst comes to worst, you would just consult your client and draw it out as needed. It felt almost like a chokehold that dug itself right inside your trachea, but you reminded yourself once again. “It is work,” you whispered to yourself, “you just have to—”

“Excuse me,” a voice stopped your mutterings right on its track, asking, “is this seat taken?”

You spared a second to berate yourself, once again reminding yourself you were in public that going out was probably the wrong choice for that moment. Then, you faced to your right, answering the voice with a smile, “It is not, please feel free—”

Then, in a manner of a dramatic deja vu, you found the very familiar face of Isagi Yoichi, dressed in casual boyish clothing, right next to you. He paused as he too realized who you were, freezing just as he was about to sit on the stool beside you with a cup of cold drink in his hand.

“Ah.”

“Oh.”

Like a pair of two surprised barely-acquaintances you were, you and Isagi stared at each other in a mix of surprise and recognition. His eyes looked a few shades darker under the shadow of his black cap, however, through tresses that peeked out from under there, you noticed how the bluish tone of his hair got accentuated even further. Dressed in a casual white sweater and grey pants, those hues of his stood out even further.

He looked slightly different compared to the man you met that night, shying away from the party and leaning against the wall. But, even more so, he looked different from the ‘him’ you viewed through the screen three days ago.

A player who truly deserved the titles of ‘Ace’ and ‘Star’ in his name. Someone who without a doubt carried so much passion for what he loves that it couldn’t help but steal your breath away for numerous reasons. It was hilarious in a way, how replaying that one of many matches where Isagi Yoichi played–out of curiosity and a slight remembrance of his name–ended up with your heart thumping almost wildly in your studio.

It was supposed to be a background voice, yet you watched that match with too much enthusiasm, feeling both envious and wishful every time Isagi Yoichi’s face came onto the screen.

Ah–you took in an inconspicuous deep breath–this is no time to think of some soccer match.

Reverting your focus back to the matter at hand, you silently took comfort in the fact that most customers surrounding you either had their ears plugged or were too into their own conversations to care about two people gawking at each other. Forcing your bewilderment within a tidy gulp, you immediately put on your best pleasantry. “What…a surprise to see you here, Isagi. And as I was saying, it is not occupied. Please feel free to have it.”

Quickly enough, the male in front of you followed your cue. Pulling the chair and sitting himself beside you, Isagi offered you a nod that could pass as a half bow as he greeted you by name. “I, uh… didn't expect to see you here too. It’s nice to see you again!”

You nodded back to him, albeit much more slowly, “Indeed, to think I will be able to meet and converse like this with a national soccer superstar, your fans must be seething.”

Isagi chuckled bashfully at your remark, the tense line on his shoulder loosening, “You talk as if you are no one yourself.”

“Having a few websites and prints displaying my name is certainly incomparable to you, please,” you shrugged, turning in your seat slightly to find a more comfortable position to converse with him, “though I am honored to have you know me.”

“Well, I did end up finding out a bit more about you after that party…” Isagi said as put down his iced drink. An iced tea of some kind, if its color was any indication. While your attention shifted slightly towards his drink, Isagi continued a tad bit too miserably, “…but to think you listen to my comments about your painting like that…”

Isagi’s smile crooked ever so slightly, a teasing tone mingled with one that said ‘How could you?’ as light as it should be for a small talk poking. You raised both of your eyebrows as a reply, smiling, “In my defense, you didn’t ask.”

“Hey, I think I did,” Isagi took a sip from his drink. His right cheek twitched. “I definitely did and you just answered vaguely.”

“Then, you probably asked just as vaguely,” you covered your grin with your hand, poorly playing up a faux misery to cover up your growing mirth, “after all, there is no way for a mere painter and illustrator like me to just brag in front of you, Ace Striker.”

“You are…” taking notice of your insistence, Isagi gave up with a sigh. Then, staring at his drink as if he was remembering that party, he continued, “Still that night…”

Hearing him trailing off, you too recalled the condemning comments you spat out that night. “I was… truthfully I just had some shame with that piece of mine. Pardon my manner,” you reasoned, truthfully unsure of how much of it was true.

“Ah, no, I don’t mean it like that, I mean!” Isagi hurriedly added, “I mean, yeah, that happened, but if I know it was your painting…”

Isagi seemed to hesitate to continue his words. You did wonder on what he wanted to say, but letting an awkwardness rise when the both of you still clearly wanted to sit in this spot would be in poor taste. Brushing it off with a wave, you attempted to finish the topic at hand with a good note. “As they say, what happened, happened. So, putting all those aside,” you turned your face fully towards Isagi, starting the conversation from the top once again. “What brings you here?”

If Isagi did notice the shift in conversation, he certainly didn’t bother to mask it. His eyes stayed on you for a moment, but after a brief, nearly unnoticeable moment of silence, Isagi replied to you as he took off his cap, putting it down on the table, “I, well, taking a drink, I guess? I’m supposed to meet up with a friend but…”

As your company furrowed his eyebrows despite holding his smile, you scoffed amiably, leaning your cheek on your palm. “Did they cancel out of the blue?” you asked, out of experience,

“Yeah, his girlfriend and something about an urgent matter,” Isagi said in a way that told you whoever this friend was, it wasn’t exactly a surprising thing for that person to pull. You attempted to cover up your pity at that. Isagi, with hair slightly disheveled by his cap, returned the same question back to you. The forced smile etched on his lips visibly softened as he asked, “How about you, though?”

You took one deep breath as you thought up a response. Answering honestly would just bring the two of you back to the very topic you attempted to run away from–your drawing. But, with a sketchbook being opened in broad daylight like this in front of you, lying would be plain stupid.

You held back a groan. Your headache was probably caused by a rotting mind rather than whatever you thought it was before. This conversation had turned into a devil’s loop.

However, still taking proper manners and such into account, you lightly tapped said sketchbook, “As you can see, work, in a way. I need a change of scenery to try and get new ideas. But, as of now… you could say I’m taking a little break.”

It certainly put so many things mildly, but that answer should do. The last thing you wanted to do would be to express your frustration once again and repeat that night with the same person. Therefore, calling ‘this’ a ‘break’ would suffice.

“Ah, I see,” Isagi’s eyes moved to your sketches. Then, they moved between you and those scribbles a more few times, before with a somewhat timid kind of curiosity, Isagi hummed, “Uh, you don’t have to but… mind if I take a look? At those drawings?”

How you wished you could snap that thing shut and run away.

“Sure,” you pushed it towards him. You hoped your hands didn’t shake. Keeping up your demeanor, you added in a joking manner, “But they are still very messy though–” they are a mess “–I hope you won’t mind.”

“I definitely won’t!” Isagi responded with a grin that carried with it a mysterious confidence. He sounded even more sure than you were. As he flipped the book back to its first page, you immediately bit your tongue. You reminded yourself to appear friendly. “I found some of your work online and I really like them!”

A light flutter touched you upon hearing his praise. It did sound genuine, even if you probably would have thought otherwise. Though, probably, if you looked at your older artworks, you could say that it was made with your whole heart at the very least. Unlike most things you had put out recently.

Idly tracing the pencil you had laid down, you replied, “I’m glad you like them.”

You managed to stop yourself from saying more, somehow, despite the bitter words already hanging at the exit of your mouth. Pushing those words aside, you eventually decided to continue to follow the lines on the pencil’s body once again, feeling the familiar and artificial smoothness on it.

“Woah,” Isagi gaped quietly, turning the pages slowly. You took notice that it was pages of still life studies you did. Just from the number of details on them alone, it was apparent they had been made some long time ago–before the overwhelming weight that made the task of simply opening your sketchbook unpleasant came into your days. There was no way you could muster enough will to put in that much effort.

You stared at those sketches deeply, wondering if you enjoyed making them then. Under your own breath, you murmured, ”Those stuffs, eh…”

“You really are amazing…” Isagi praises easily as he continues to flip through the pages, mouth agape slightly as if your drawings truly were masterpieces. “You are so good.”

Truthfully, the more praise you heard, the more you wondered how you should react. Donning on faux gratitude and humor felt wrong. It truly did lighten your heart to hear it. Hearing that someone spared even a second to appreciate something you make has always been nice. But, even so–

Those drawings were from a time when drawing was easy and filled with love. The you who had walked past that time and looked back at it with nothing but envy had no right to accept those praises. In a way, perhaps you never did deserve those praises.

Many people deserve that title of a ‘pro’ more. They who draw better than you could ever hope to be, they who love drawing much more deeply than you.

You, who dared to say you were in love with your craft once before falling silent this soon–

You have no right to accept those words.

Your fingers drew to a pause, you put a second of consideration before deciding to put that pencil back into your back. “You praise me too much,” you replied, thankful for his kind words nonetheless. However, still unwilling to dwell too much on your drawing, you tried to shift the focus towards Isagi once again, “Also, I’m a bit curious, but do you mind if I ask something?”

“Hm?” Isagi’s head lifted up slightly, removing his attention from your sketchbook for a moment. “Sure, I think. What is it?”

“I thought soccer practice is an everyday thing for pros like you. Are you on break?” you asked casually.

“You could say that,” Isagi said, “two weeks off for a bit before we go back to the usual.”

“I see…” you noted down. Then, the memory of a video you watched a few days ago came to the surface of your mind for the second time. It was a video you played to fill the background silence at your studio, however the cheers of crowds and the close-ups of Isagi Yoichi’s face were played enough times to have an impression of their own. “Still, seeing how hotblooded and passionate you are on the field, I would have thought you would be practicing alone instead of drinking coffee…”

“Wha–” Isagi, unexpectedly, spluttered at your sudden statement.

You blinked. Your hand flew to cover your mouth the moment you realized what you just muttered out loud, “Oh my–I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude–”

“No, no! It’s fine!” Isagi shook both of his hands quickly. The two of you truly were lucky that no one paid attention to your interactions or it would be embarrassing–you noted, your face turning as if you just sucked on something sour. “I mean, I usually kind of do? It’s just, a break is necessary sometimes, you know–those stuffs. And really, it just surprised me for you to say that out of the blue so…aha ha ha…”

As the blue-haired male laughed bashfully, you couldn’t help but to follow it with a hesitant guffaw of your own. Letting the sudden jolt between the two of you dissipate, you soon added, “I truly do mean it as praise, though. Even someone who doesn’t know anything about soccer like me couldn’t help but admire you when you play.”

While you were very much aware of how you worded it out like mere flattery, you truly did mean every bit of your word. Even through a screen, watching a play of something that felt worlds away from yours, seeing someone putting on such a wide victorious grin and focused gaze was a ‘something’. Three days ago, seeing that replay in the silence of your own room, sitting right in front of a blank canvas, it truly was a sight.

“Your dedication and such… I will call you a talented genius, but it was definitely more than that…” you vividly remembered how his eyes shone within those footages. Even outside of the field, the glint that stole your breath that day still held itself across his blue eyes that were right in front of you. “...you are a sight to behold, Isagi Yoichi.”

Isagi’s mouth hung open. Nervously, he rubbed the back of his neck as it morphed into a bright smile–boyish, bashful, yet full of pride that you had come to associate with him after watching that match. And, you supposed, after watching the proof of his hard work, he truly deserved to feel that pride.

“Thanks,” Isagi said, saying your name quietly in gratitude. His eyes escaped towards your sketchbook for a moment, “I think I could say the same about you too, though, you know.”

You blinked. “...Huh?”

“That painting that night and all these sketches,” Isagi continued to flip through the sketchbook, finally arriving on the messiest page of all, yet still looking at it as if it was worthy of something beyond a series of unfinished scribbles and less, “I’m no expert at paintings and drawings too, but I could feel how much of your heart and seriousness you put in it.”

“... is… that so…?” you did not expect to hear such praise. Was it a praise?

Was trying to put your all enough when it amounted to nothing eventually?

When it turned out to be meaningless and–

“Your drawings–” Isagi faced towards you, leaning forward slightly as his eyes crescented, a genuine and sincere glimmer still carrying itself in them, “–I really like them!”

For once, you stilled as you listened to Isagi Yoichi’s compliment.

It was simple and, undoubtedly, very subjective. There was no praise on how he understood it nor on how he thought everything came together. You wondered if this was because you hadn’t heard or tried to seek any opinion of your drawings for a while. Or perhaps it was because you drowned every single one of them with your own comparison and sentiments. You couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. However, you knew that it stilled you because–

It was simply an ‘I like them’. 

For once, however, you couldn’t feel any disgust towards yourself or your drawings coming up. Your brain couldn’t come up with any reason or anything–it stayed silent, as you could only nod and utter out a quiet acceptance. When push comes to shove, who were you to discredit a feeling of ‘liking’?

“...thank you, Isagi,” you nod, looking away back to the window across you with a smile you knew was too shaky and big, feeling lightheaded and flustered, “I’m glad you like them.”

The cafe was bustling and Isagi had returned to your drawings, smiling even as he replied to you with a relaxed manner, “Same to you!”

Yet again, you found yourself unable to reply to that. Letting the conversation died there somehow felt right, oddly enough. Your shoulder relaxed as you took a deep breath once more. In the back of your mind, the grating weight was still there and you knew it would come back much sooner than you hoped it to be. But, for that moment, it was enough.

Sitting next to Isagi Yoichi–whose fervor had gained your respect–who praised you with such sincerity, it was enough for you to think that at that very moment–

It is okay for you to draw, despite everything.

Isagi turned to the next page as you stayed silent, finding yourself only being able to stare blankly at the air between the two of you. “Ah,” Isagi came to a pair of blank pages, clean and unblemished by anything. 

“It seems you reached the end, Isagi,” you lightly said, offering a hand to take back the book.

“Yeah,” Isagi closed it and took it to your hand with a satisfied look, “thanks! It was great!”

“...you really praise me too much,” you repeated once more, this time acknowledging how it felt lighter to say it. “However, thank you. I’m glad you like those studies and idea roughs.”

“...studies…? …roughs?” a pair of blue eyes looked at you in confusion, the owner clearly blurting those words out of question and unfamiliarity.

You couldn’t help but to laugh at that, “The drawings you have seen. They are studies and roughs. An observation drawn on paper and… a messy note of ideas in drawing form, I suppose.”

“Oh–I see, I think I got it!” Isagi said, brightly in understanding, before then shifting slightly in his seat and taking a sip from his drink. “I never heard of those terms before–or maybe I just forgot it after high school, haha…”

You chuckled in sympathy. “It’s okay. I barely remember any rules of soccer either. I do know you can’t use your hand unless you are a goalkeeper, but other than that, I don’t think I even know what offside is.”

With faces turned towards each other, you could clearly see Isagi’s eye crinkling in humor. It was a good look on him, you noted. The lines of laughter on someone’s face always have their own charm visually, you know after all these years, however, it truly suits his face.

“Then, should I tell you?” Isagi offered, quiet rhetorically as he didn’t miss a bit to continue, “So, basically it’s–”

VRRRRT–

Which he would if it wasn’t for the sudden sound of vibration coming from his pocket. Both you and Isagi glanced down. Isagi made an apologetic face that was jumbled along with a grimace and a subtle irritation, earning a nod and an amused smile from you.

Another deja vu. It seemed like that this meeting would end soon too, you thought silently, vacantly looking at the empty pages in your hand. It didn’t feel good. The empty pang where you knew excitement should thrum was still very much there. It still felt like a hole that was simply there to make you suffer.

But, for once, it didn’t feel as terrible as it usually was–you noted. Perhaps, you could fill those pages with something ‘likable’ soon enough.

“Hey, yeah. It’s me. What is it, man?” Isagi picked up the phone with a tone much more casual than the one he used with you. A bit rougher and clearly more impolite too, you realized. “Huh? What–suddenly? Dude. Come on you just dipped out on me–you can’t just–”

You looked away as Isagi seemed to get exasperated not long into the phone call. Remembering your empty cup of coffee, you wondered if you should order another drink or perhaps move on, either back home or somewhere for dinner. You would definitely have to turn back to your work, though, either way. Your teeth felt like biting your tongue ever so slightly at that reminder, though you probably should indeed go home.

However, before that, you did feel like you had to do something beforehand.

Peering over at the phone Isagi’s hand, you wondered how should you go over it.

“Um,” Isagi called out your name, breaking your trance, wearing a description of ‘feeling bad’ on the scrunch of his face, “I’m sorry but that friend of mine…uh, he kinda turns back with his girlfriend and needs me, so…”

“Take it easy, it’s okay,” you hummed in understanding. Isagi wore an obvious guilt on his face still, however, so you added, “Really. While I do pity that I won’t get an explanation from Master Ace Striker himself, I was grateful for our chat. Thank you for humoring me.”

He chuckled at that, “Come on, no need to be that formal. I enjoyed it all too–oh. Wait.”

As Isagi cut himself short, quickly clicking through his phone, you let him be for a moment. You took the chance to put your sketchbook in your bag and scanned over the table for any of your belongings left. From the corner of your eye, you saw a quirk placing itself on Isagi’s lips.

“But, since we already looked each other up,” relaxed and friendly he offered his phone to you, unlocked and displaying the contact screen, Isagi did what you felt like you should do in your stead. “Mind exchanging our number so I can explain about ‘offsides’ and other rules to you through text?”

You were very glad your head had cooled down, or it would be terrible. Is Isagi the friendly oblivious type who doesn’t realize this sort of thing could be translated as flirting? Or it is? Or perhaps, you were simply getting too many things over your head after a few praises.

“Sure, I was about to ask you for the same thing,” you took his offer gladly, admitting your prior intent easily. Accepting his phone, you punched your number in and quickly returned it. “I will look forward to that offside explanation and the other kinds of stuff too.”

“Yeah, yeah. Explain some art stuff to me too later, ‘kay?” 

“Oh. An exchange of information? How transactional.”

“I don’t mean it like that! But… yeah?”

The two of you emitted a simultaneous small laugh, for some reason. Quieting the tickle in your mouth, you shook your head, “I’m joking. I will look forward to another talk with you. It was insightful.”

Isagi’s lips turned into a shape that spelled out amusement in its equal crooked and wry curve. However, just right before he was about to open his mouth, his smile slipped along with the resounding vibration from the device in his hand. Isagi let his mouth hang open for a moment, before finally grimacing, “...well, I should go.”

Never taking your eyes off him as Isagi stepped off his stool, you nodded. “You should. I will be off soon too. Be careful and good evening, Isagi.”

“Then… good evening to you too,” Isagi said as he took backward steps towards the exit, confident and controlled enough as if he could see what was behind him clearly, “I’ll see you around.”

You raised a little wave that was more of a jest than anything, bidding him a farewell, “See you.”

And with that, Isagi turned around swiftly, a slight bounce pushing his first step forward as he went for the door. You were about to take your eyes off him right as he stopped in his rush all of a sudden, turning towards you once again.

“Oh, also–” Isagi said, a bit louder and ignorant to a few glances thrown his way, “–good luck with the idea hunting. Don’t push yourself too hard, ‘kay?”

prev. ; series masterlist. ; next

a.n.: and the second chapter is done!!! it definitely took longer than i thought, haha. maybe i should publish the outtakes for giggles hoho;;; but things are finally moving and looking up. and as a disclaimer, i want to remind you that everyone's burnout is different & this fic will never be the perfect portrayal of those experiences. but, if you are in a slump or a burnout, i wish you a good time soon :3 thank you for @doobea for beta reading this too ;;; this thing wouldn't end up being as coherent as it is without u ily;;;; all in all, i hope you enjoyed this chapter :> please do look forward to the next one, i will look forward to any kinds of feedback & thoughts u may have hehe <3 once again, thank you for reading!

taglist: @doobea @mariyumemi @intheewrld @lazysublimeengineer @coquettemaiden @kreishin @yoisami @takotakigum @themigrainegirll **bolded and italicized means i cannot tag you. please do contact me in case you want to be added or taken out of the taglist :>

[waterfire1848]

AU: azula escapes the asylum becomes a vigilante akin to batman and is more effective at defeating ozai fanatics than zuko (much to his jealousy and anger when he finds out) and azula manages to fix the reputation of her nation through her vigilantism and while iroh sends agents to take her down as a threat (succeeding in imprisoning her) ty Lee and mai who have found out who the vigilante is, stand up for azula on the trial and state that most of the accusations for what she did during the war is slander. By the end of it, azula is freed and moves to Kyoshi island to live an easier life, even if the warriors hate her; she even sets up a life as a farmer/trader where she sells vegetables, fruits, teas, herbs, spices and medicine. (Tyzula endgame)

Hello, @supbro50000 !!!

1. Azula gets sick and tired of waiting for someone to let her out of the asylum so she breaks out. She frees herself then rushes to a small village outside of the capital to lay low for a while. While there, a nice family takes her in and allows her to stay. She gets food, water, a place to sleep and does some work around the house for them while she's figuring out her next move. The family that takes her in has a mom, dad and two young boys. Azula grows close to the mom in the house, who treats her like one of her own, and even spends some evenings playing with the kids outside. (Mother: I saw you playing outside with the boys. Azula: I was training. Mother: I'd love to meet whoever your parents are. Not everything has to involve training. Azula: You would not want to meet my parents. Trust me. Mother: I'm sure they can't be that bad. Azula: You'd be surprised.) Initially, Azula wants to take down Zuko and become Fire Lord again. She's just taking the time to figure out what the best way to do that is. However, one night, the village, and family that has been incredibly kind to her, are attacking by Ozai fanatics. Angered that they're hurting the people who have been kind to her (especially the mom), Azula attacks when she scares them off, revealing her blue fire and lightning. Azula doesn't try to remain in the village after this, she just gives the mom a silent nod and smile and rushes off into the forest.

2. Azula sets up base in an abandoned village that was deserted by people years ago. She hunts the various animals, collects water from the stream and buys whatever else she needs from neighboring towns to construct her base. From there, she decides to go after the Ozai fanatics who are terrorizing the Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom citizens that are trying to call the Fire Nation home. She's careful, never showing her face, and hardly bends (so no one is able to see her blue flames). Wherever she goes, she takes care of the Ozai fanatics with ease because they don't know how to fight a sane Azula, no one does. She's hurt from time to time but never returns to her base without making sure she's gotten the fanatics to leave. As more time goes on, Azula overhears from various that the loyalists are backing down and are more and more scared to come out. Not because of Zuko's efforts but before of Azula. (EK citizen: I'm telling you. My fiance and I were terrified of staying in the Fire Nation last year. She wants to stay here cause her family is in the Fire Nation, but with the loyalists we didn't know if it would be safe for me. Azula: How horrible. Citizen: It was until that Phoenix showed up. Azula: Phoenix? Citizen: She's this fighter who's been taking down the loyalists. Everyone calls her Phoenix because someone saw her bend and the former Fire Lord wanted to be the Phoenix King so...kinda funny. Azula, smirking: I guess it is.)

3. You know who doesn't like this development? (Ozai Loyalists? Not far off, but no). Zuko. He's not against the fact that the loyalists are being taken care of (that's the only part about this that he actually likes) but he doesn't for the fact that it's some masked vigilante who's doing it. They don't know what she wants or who she's working for and that does not sit right with Zuko. One day, when Azula is fighting, Zuko happens to be nearby with Mai and they head over and see the Phoenix. (Zuko: It can’t be…) Pretty quickly they discover it’s Azula and Zuko is not happy. He believes this is all some big stunt by her to trick people or that she’s working with the loyalists in some way. Mai isn’t convinced that she’s doing that at all, but Zuko doesn’t listen. Instead, he informs Iroh about what is going and Iroh orders Yuyan archers and imperial firebenders to head out and capture Azula. During one of her fights when she’s injured, Azula drags herself back to her base and finds everyone there waiting for her. They subdue her and take her to the palace, throwing her in a cell while she awaits her trial. During this time, Mai talks to Ty Lee about Azula being the vigilante and the two come to the understanding that Azula wasn’t doing it for fame or to trick anyone because she never seems to want to do that. Even in prison, she just talks about wanting to get rid of the Ozai loyalists. The two decide that they have to do something.

4. At Azula’s trial, both for her vigilante actions and actions during the war, Mai and Ty Lee speak up for her. They argue that if she’s getting put in jail then, by logic, so should they and Iroh. (Mai: We were on her side. Everything you’re accusing her of is something we did too. Zuko: That’s different. You two- Mai: I love you, Zuko, but that’s the only reason why I defected from Azula’s team. I didn’t think the war was wrong or the Fire Nation was wrong. I did it to protect you and Ty Lee defected to protect me. Ty Lee: And if Azula deserves to be in prison for her actions then why isn’t Iroh. He tried to conquer Ba Sing Se too. Iroh: That’s different. I have realized the mistakes of my actions and deeply regret them and I’m doing what I- Ty Lee: You had time to understand that you were wrong. How long did you go on your spiritual journey? Iroh: 2 years. Ty Lee: 2 years after the war Azula was helping stop Ozai loyalists. Isn’t that a sign that she doesn’t want Ozai back? That she doesn’t want him to succeed? That she realizes her mistakes? Azula: I don’t want Ozai back. I want him gone and in prison forever and those loyalists would have prevented that from happening.) After much arguing and back and forth, Azula is released and allowed to leave the palace without issue. Azula does leave but she also realizes that the Ozai loyalists are pretty much gone now and, after the trial, she doesn’t want to remain in the Fire Nation. Ty Lee comes to her after the trial and says that she might have an idea.

5. It’s a challenge at first, living on Kyoshi Island, but Azula and Ty Lee get used to it. The Kyoshi Warriors are not fans of Azula when she first arrives, but the firebender learns to gain their trust and prove that she’s not here for any kind of malicious reason. Eventually, the girls learn to accept that Azula know lives on the island. For the sake of having something to do, Azula trains with Ty Lee in the Kyoshi Warrior style(some girls are against it but Ty Lee convinces them). Suki provides her with more than a few books about a firebender who traveled with Avatar Kyoshi who could create white fire (Azula becomes an instant fan). When Azula had mastered the Kyoshi Warrior’s way of fighting, she decides to stop fighting, taking a few years to simply rest and be free. She and Ty Lee get married when they’re both 25. By then, Azula has become a farmer and trader on the island, learning how to grow crops thanks to her neighbors and trading with Earth Kingdom coastal towns. During one of her visits, Azula notices a young girl stealing from her stand and discovers the child (about 4 or 5) is an orphan. She takes the girl back to the island and she and Ty Lee agree to adopt her. 3 years later, they adopt a Water Tribe baby boy (who is a suspected waterbender). (Katara: Not that I don’t love seeing you two with kids, but why not a firebender? Someone you could train. Azula: I was too worried I’d end up like Ozai. It might be harder for him to learn bending but at least I’ll never hurt him. He’ll be safe and loved even if he is raised by two women from the Fire Nation. Katara: Aw. That’s so sweet. I’m sure you’ll both raise him well. If you need any help with his waterbending later in life, let me know. Azula: We will. Ty Lee: *Side eyeing Azula* Katara: What? Azula: There’s a second reason we adopted him. Not nearly as important as making sure he’s loved and supported and- Katara: What? Azula: It’s hilarious watching old racist Fire Nationals at the palace almost have a heart attack when they realize their former princess is now the mother of an Earth Kingdom ‘peasant’ and a Waterbender. Katara: You know what? That is hilarious.

[bluestar22x]

The Shot Not Taken

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (Nickname "Sunny")

Summary: It was one last night in a cabin after a case; it wasn't supposed to end this way

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 3,400(ish)

Warnings: Sexual tension, yearning, violence, fairly graphic mentions of blood, angst, tragedy - Might be AUish since I don't know what time of year Marcus actually moved to D.C.

Author's Note: I wrote this for @almostfoxglove 's Angst Challenge, and I almost made myself cry, so prepare yourselves. (Moodboard was made by them)

xxx

"You wanna quit while you're ahead, Pike?" you questioned, a smirk on your face. "Before I take what's left of your cash?"

"You're bluffing," he said warily, his dark eyes peering over his hand of cards to where you sat across the table. "There's no way you're that lucky. You've already won five rounds tonight."

"Don't get mad at me when you can't afford breakfast tomorrow."

He flashed you a wicked smile as he placed his hand on the table. "Somehow I doubt that'll be the case." He nodded at his cards. "Four of a kind."

You glanced down to see that he indeed had four aces. You chuckled, surprising him. "Weak."

You dropped your cards on the table revealing that you had the ultimate hand. "Royal flush."

He groaned. "What the hell, Sunny?"

"If it makes you feel better, I'll share my breakfast with you tomorrow," you promised. "Now hand over the money."

A thin smile broke through his look of disbelief. "You should've been nicknamed Lucky instead of Sunny. I'm never playing poker with you again."

"Aw, but you just paid my rent for the month," you teased.

"Exactly."

He reached for his bottle of beer and took a sip before throwing the cash he owed you onto the center of the kitchen table. "I'm bailing before I can't afford my rent."

You pretended to pout but couldn't keep up the act for long. You were nicknamed Sunny for a reason. You hardly ever were in a bad mood. There wasn't much that could keep your spirits down. Which was a good thing, considering your job as an FBI agent for the art crimes department in Washington D.C. involved some very long hours and carried plenty of risk when out in the field.

"Chicken," you declared as you pushed your chair away from the table. "Fine. I wanted to go for a walk before it got too dark outside anyway."

Pike nodded at you as you sprung to your feet. "I'll pick up the cabin while you're out."

"How chivalrous of you, Agent Pike," you sang out. "I'll be back by sunset the latest. Send the hounds if I'm not."

It was a joke, but unsurprisingly the lines over your partner's brows etched in a little deeper. Worried at just the idea of you not coming back. It was sweet, considering you'd only been partners for four months. He'd just moved to the capital on a promotion.

Maybe that meant you were friends.

When he'd first been paired up with you Marcus Pike had been reserved around you, almost like he was afraid to become friends with you.

You'd been secretly hurt by it because he was fine with almost everyone else. His cheerfulness almost rivaling your own at times. He was one of the most good-natured agents you'd ever met, but he was quiet around you. Not necessarily cold, but strictly professional.

You'd wondered if someone had hurt him and if you reminded him of them somehow. He seldom mentioned his final months in Texas to anyone.

You'd thought you were reaching before Marcus came around, because he seemed as married to his work as you were, but your superior had revealed to you at a work party that Marcus had requested for his ex fiancée to have a job at the capital too but she'd never shown up. Marcus had simply told him they'd broken up.

"I doubt you'll need to," you assured him. "Last I checked the case is closed so no stolen art dealers should be stalking these woods. We cuffed our guy last night. Only possible danger out there now is bigfoot."

Marcus huffed. "I have a feeling you're more likely to run into a black bear. Not as many bigfoot sightings in upper New York as there are in the northwest."

You grinned. "Good thing I'm good at intimating anything bigger than me." You patted the holster on your hip. "And my gun's right here for backup."

You fled the cabin you'd been stuck in for most of the past month while you were working on your latest case and headed out on the dirt trail alongside the lake that bordered the back of the property.

There were trees on either side of the path, but you were close enough to the lake's border to be able to see the water the whole time you strolled along it.

It didn't take you long to settle into the peace that nature often brought you. You loved the city life, all the things you could do instead of being bored, but every once in a while it was nice to get away.

You couldn't really count one evening before your flight back to D.C. as a "get away" but you'd take what you could get before your next assignment.

It was autumn, after all, your favorite season. The air was crisp but not quite yet cold enough for you to bother with a jacket, and most of the trees were at the height of flaunting their bright, colorful leaves. In less than a month most of them would fall away, their remains scattered by the wind, leaving the branches bare, exposed, until the trees resurrected in the spring.

Though it wasn't quite yet jacket weather, there was enough of a breeze to compel you to slip on the sweater that you'd tied around your waist on the way out along with the fingerless gloves that had been stuffed into its only pocket.

It's perfectly pleasant out with the extra layer on, and you enjoy every second of the rest of your time in the woods. The loss of light from the setting sun was the only real reason you eventually wanted to turn back. After a raven startled you with its call you decided it was time to return to the cabin before your paranoia got the better of you.

You'd never liked being in the woods at night.

You didn't immediately go back inside the cabin though. Instead you chose to plop yourself down on a massive rock by the edge of the lake and watch the sun as it set.

It was so calming to observe that you zoned out and didn't hear Marcus approaching until he was already sliding onto the rock with you.

He offered you a green mug that clearly contained coffee, its smell filling your nostrils almost as soon as you'd spotted it in his massive hands.

"Decafe, milk only?" you asked. You hated drinking caffeine after six o'clock. You always tossed and turned in bed after.

"Of course."

You accepted the mug from him and tested it. It wasn't bad for cheap home brewed coffee from the local gas station and Marcus had got the ratio of milk right.

He was good with details even outside work.

"It's quiet out here," he noted, pleased.

"A little too quiet at this time of day," you told him. "The day animals are going to sleep and the night ones are just starting to get up. We're in the between."

"Spending time out here has got me thinking," he confessed. "I think I'm going to search for a cabin in Virginia when I get back. It would give me a place to unwind, a place where I don't hear an engine roaring and tires screeching every minute of the day. Would be good for the kids too when I have some someday."

You glanced at him, stunned by his casual mention of wanting to start a family someday. He'd never mentioned it before, but there he was beside you, a wistful look in his eyes, probably imagining his hypothetical future children playing in a lake similar to the one in front of you, splashing each other relentlessly or something as he watched them from the shoreline.

You couldn't help but shake your head at that. It wasn't meant for his eyes, but he noticed anyway.

"What?"

"Nothing," you mumbled, adverting your gaze from his handsome face.

"Tell me."

You shook your head. "It's nothing you'll want to hear. I don't want to ruin your night. Besides, it's none of my business."

"Tell me anyway," he insisted.

You sighed, not wanting to give in but knowing you were going to anyway. "It's just...we're both on the border of forty and we're on the wrong end of a gun at least once a month. The picket fence with the spouse and the two-point-five kids? That's not for us. We're not normal. This isn't normal. This isn't the way normal people live, Marcus."

"Plenty of other agents have families," he pointed out.

"And their families wait with baited breath every day until they come home," you reminded him. "And sometimes there's no relief. Sometimes their spouse, their parent, never comes back home."

It was Marcus' turn to sigh. "This is about your dad."

Your father had been an FBI agent too, in the National Security branch. You'd been only eleven years old when he was shot to death with twelve rounds by the suspect he'd been chasing down in the middle of the city.

"It's not fair to do that to anyone Marcus," you told him. "That's why I'm still single. Why I refuse to get married. It was that or get a desk job, and that's not me. But maybe, if you really want a family, a desk job is what you need. If you have a family, you should commit to them fully."

You were sure he'd be upset with you for everything you'd just said, but instead of getting defensive he scratched the top of his left arm and nodded.

"I've actually been thinking about that lately. The promotion's already given me more of a taste of what it would be like being in the office more often than not, and it doesn't disagree with me. Honestly, I think I'm over my risk taking days."

"What's stopping you then?" you questioned.

"Lately, you," he answered without really thinking.

You startled and stared at him. You noticed he was looking at you in a completely new way, or maybe you were waking up to something in his expression that had always been there. "What?"

"I didn't want to make our partnership a problem, but I also don't want to transfer without you knowing," he continued.

"Knowing what?" You were in complete disbelief. You already knew what he was going to say.

"I care about you, Sunny." He said your nickname so softly. "I want you. Have since we met. Tell me you feel the same."

They were bold words but you found yourself drawn towards him anyway, your lips crashing into his.

You had been yearning for him too. He was your friend, the best partner you'd had in a long time, and he was pretty to boot. You may have already had several dreams about kissing him like this...and more.

Despite all that, you pushed him away when he tried to deepen the kiss, as he cupped your jaw. "The picket fence isn't my ending, Marcus. I don't ever want a desk job. I don't want kids. You deserve someone who shares your dreams. I'm one night stand material, nothing more."

"That's alright," he said so surely the words made your stomach flutter.

You knew him better than that though. "No, it's not," you refuted. "You're not one night stand material, Pike, or else you'd be a lot more relaxed than you are lately. Have you ever slept with a woman you didn't love before? No matter how briefly you'd known each other?"

He stayed silent, answering your question.

You hopped off the rock for his sake, not wanting to be another of his relationships that ended in disappointment, and headed for the cabin to get in some extra hours of sleep.

There was nothing left to say. You couldn't be who Marcus needed you to be and you'd both get hurt if you gave into your lustful desires.

You dreamed of him in vivid detail that night.

x

The next morning Marcus stirred to the sound of slamming doors through the kitchen window, which he guessed you must've cracked open while going through your morning routine as you usually did during warmer weather.

You were the one making the ruckus, already packing your belongings into the black government issued SUV you'd been assigned while on the case.

After a bathroom break Marcus smoothed down his sleep mussed hair and headed for the kitchen where you'd left out a cup of caffeinated coffee you'd brewed for him after pouring yourself one. His lips quirked upward as he thought about your kindness and he snatched the cup up so he could take a sip. The coffee was on the cooler side of hot, but that was exactly how he preferred it.

You had gotten to know each other quite well during the few months you'd known each other, much more than just your coffee preferences. But he'd caught feelings for you early on, before that, despite not wanting to. Realizing he liked you had been a painful revelation. The last thing he'd wanted was another workplace romance, not even a month after his last had ended poorly.

He had tried to keep you at an arm's length at first, but that hadn't worked out. You'd seemed hurt by it, and that had eventually broken his resolve.

He'd tried to be satisfied with your friendship, but as soon as he could call you a friend, he'd started dreaming at night about you being more than that.

He'd thought maybe, just maybe sleeping with you would've been enough, but you were also right. He wasn't one night stand material. He'd never had casual sex in his life. There were always feelings attached to it.

And you wanted different lives. Like his last girlfriend, you were simply just not meant to be his.

That hadn't stopped him from restlessly tossing and turning in his bed the night before. Thinking about that kiss. How needy your response to his confession had been. How soft your lips had felt against his.

The memory began to make him aroused and he had to shift in his spot by the kitchen sink to get more comfortable.

Think of anything else, Pike.

He focused on the view through the window, a fog carpeting the rocky shores of the lake that cool, sunny morning. He was a city guy at heart, but he'd meant what he'd said the night before. It would be nice to get a cabin and spend some time in nature once in a while. It would be therapeutic.

He'd lost himself in the sight before him when two overlapping gunshots broke the peaceful morning.

Marcus jumped into action, scrambling for his work appointed glock and charging outside to the driveway with little thought for his own safety.

He froze when he turned the corner to the back of the cabin and his eyes found you slumped against the back end of the SUV, the trunk still raised, open.

You were wide-eyed, gasping for air, shaking, and you were holding your left hand over a dark patch of blood that was expanding alarmingly fast over your white tank top on the mid-left side of your chest. Your right hand still had a white-knuckled grip on your gun.

Marcus' heart nearly stopped at the sight. He barely noticed the body of the man laying only a few feet in front of you as he raced to your side to help you.

"Shit, Sunny," he hissed as he added pressure to your bullet wound with one of his own hands.

You coughed, and when you responded you sounded weak and pained. "It's bad." You looked scared.

Marcus brushed your cheek with the back of his hand comfortingly. "Shhh...save your strength."

He slipped his hand into the front right pocket of your jeans where he knew you always kept your cell phone and dialed 911. He later wouldn't be able to recall exactly what he'd told the emergency operator, only that he'd given them enough details to get the paramedics there fast.

"Hang on, Sunny," he murmured when he got off the phone. "They're on their way."

He was in complete denial of what was happening in front of him. If he hadn't been he'd have written you off as already dead. Because you basically were. You'd lost far too much blood. The bullet had most likely nicked a part of your heart. You were fading fast. Your eyes already falling.

"Marcus," you somehow managed to croak out. "Promise me you won't give up. You keep...looking for someone...to share that cabin with."

He shook his head at you, feeling desperate. "No."

"Please," you begged.

"Fine," he said, "But you're gonna have to be my wing woman. Keep me from moving too quick."

You almost managed a chuckle before the last of your strength slipped from you and you stopped breathing altogether. It was that abrupt.

Panic soared in Marcus. He carefully laid you out on your back in the dirt and pressed two fingers to your neck, searching for a pulse. Finding none he could palpate, he knelt over you and started to do chest compressions.

"Damn it, Sunny! Come on! Stay with me!"

Any civilian watching would've been horrified by the sight of your blood squirting out of your wound onto his hands and gray sleep shirt as he worked. It was a futile effort, keeping your heart going when there wasn't enough blood to pump anymore, but it wasn't until he heard the ambulance sirens that Marcus became aware of that.

The tears welled up then, his chest tightening as he went blind.

"Sunny, oh god," he sobbed out, taking in the gruesome sight before him. It seemed like the blood was everywhere.

He pulled your upper body off the ground and cradled it in his arms, pressing his forehead against your own, his lips grazing your closed right eye.

"Damn it, Sunny," he whimpered out before the full bulk of his grief hit him.

He nuzzled his face against your cooling one and finally wept.

x

Marcus wasn't sure how he'd managed to pull himself together enough to be the one to inform your sister of your passing, but he had.

He'd insisted on it. It was only right he be the one to tell her since he'd been your partner and had been there for your dying breath.

He'd promised your sister that it had been quick and that you hadn't died alone. And even though that made her cry harder, she'd promised him that it made a difference and thanked him for doing everything he could for you in the moment.

He hoped she had family to lean on the day of your funeral. He wasn't there when they put you in the hole. He'd been busy on another case, having buried himself in work to distract himself from his own pain, despite his superior begging him to take some time off to properly mourn you.

Witnessing the funeral would've made it too final. He hadn't been ready yet.

It wasn't until he finally met the one, someone who made him smile again, for real, who shared his dreams for the future, that his heart truly began to mend from your loss.

It wasn't until he had the wedding band, the cabin, and the kids that he completely stopped having the nightmares.

There were still nights though, usually around the anniversary of your death, when he'd lie awake wondering what would have happened if he had stopped you from leaving the rock by yourself that night.

Would you have woken up late, tangled in the sheets with him instead of being outside to face the secret partner of the illegal art dealer alone? Would he have harmlessly stolen back the painting hidden under the rear seat of the SUV instead of stealing your life?

Even though he was sure now that you were never meant to be his, he still couldn't help but wonder if he'd made a mistake letting you go back to the cabin without him. If you should've been his exception.

You would always be his biggest regret.

The shot not taken.

xxx

Tagged: @harriedandharassed

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Main Masterlist

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