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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 7 months

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i’ll relearn love at our kitchen table ; satoru gojo

synopsis; satoru doesn’t quite know what love is supposed to feel like. but if it means coming home to you, it can’t possibly be that much of a curse.

word count; 4.9k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, satoru gojo vs. the mortifying ordeal of being loved, fluff fluff fluff!!, a hint of angst if you reeeaallyyy squint, gojo’s pov, the babygirlification of satoru gojo, i just think being babied would fix him <33

a/n; i wanted to write something for suguru or shoko but this man is genuinely holding my brain hostage atp so more satoru fluff it is!! physically i could write gojo angst yes but emotionally? imagine the toll…

when satoru steps over the threshold to your apartment, he’s downright exhausted.

it’s a heavy kind of fatigue, a little sickening. the kind that seems to sneak its way into his bones, crawl its way under his skin. dragging him down, down, down.

a yawn slips from his lips.

the mission itself wasn’t too tough — anything is a breeze for satoru gojo, that fact needs no elaboration. this one was just a little more taxing than usual, slightly more important, which meant he had to deal with the technicalities of it all. had to listen to the elders go on and on about the importance of discretion, about finishing things swiftly and efficiently, and something else he didn’t stick around long enough to hear.

and the curse? a small fry, really. nothing worth fussing over. but it was annoying, with that irritatingly effective barrier technique. how long did he have to stay inside that goddamn veil before it let him get close enough to land a hit?

satoru doesn’t want to think about it, can’t be bothered to figure it out when all he wants is to collapse into the warm comfort of a soft mattress. all he knows is that when it finally lifted, the night sky was the only thing he could see. a vacuum of stars — taunting in its perpetuity.

so, with all that being said; to say satoru feels a little worn out might be a bit of an understatement.

hair slightly tousled, eyelids heavy with sleep-deprivation, he slumps against the wall and allows himself to simply breathe. a soft groan flows from his parted lips as he stretches idly, a small respite for his stiff and achy joints, his tired muscles.

it’s been a long day. but satoru still finds it in him to exhale a relieved breath, to drag his blindfold down to his neck and kick off his shoes.

because it’s been a long, long day — but now he’s finally home.

(not just a house, not just an apartment, but a home. a place of comfort and belonging. satoru didn’t think that was a luxury he would ever be able to afford.)

the moment he lets the door close behind him, a particular scent greets him. soothing in its familiarity, the only thing in his life that never seems to change; a blend between fresh laundry, and watered houseplants, and something that smells a bit like honey. maybe even sweeter than usual, though satoru chalks that up to his mind playing tricks on him.

it’s nice. so nice. coming back to something warm and real, a respite from his hectic work. a safe haven, of sorts, one that hasn’t been taken from him just yet.

satoru likes to think of your front door as a threshold between realms, a gap between within and without. one is dark in its saturation, plagued by that never-fading smell of iron, while the other is simply warm. sacred in its normalcy.

everything looks just as it should, the same as when he rushed out this morning; a fluffy blanket draped over the couch haphazardly, that soft golden light streaming out from the kitchen, your shoes by the front door.

satoru blinks, drowsily.

wait.

why is the kitchen light still on?

as if his eyes could ever deceive him, satoru rubs the skin under them groggily — blinking once, then twice.

yep, it’s still there — that soft fluorescent glow. a sight he’s come to associate with breakfast and dinner and a mellow kind of love, laughter shared over warm meals made by human hands. food tastes better, satoru has come to realize, when you have someone to eat it with.

ah, but it’s odd. did you forget to turn the lights off? that’s not very like you.

as if possessed by a strange, irresistible longing, his feet carry him to the kitchen in question. undeniably groggy, his uncoordinated steps are riddled with fatigue, but the yearning in his chest compels him to move forward anyway — a kind of yearning he only fully understands when he enters the space, and sees you slumped over the table, a familiar flicker of cursed energy capturing his attention.

you’re asleep.

satoru stills, where he stands by the threshold between the kitchen and the living room.

everything looks the same as always — cookie jars placed on the highest shelf to give him an excuse to help you reach them, origami made from newspapers he never bothers to read anyway, a vase standing proudly on the kitchen counter, stuffed with fresh flowers he bought for you two days ago.

the red roses still haven’t wilted, shining in the blue of the moonlight flickering in. good. they’re pretty, but maybe next time he should get you something more original. maybe some sunflowers, something that could rival the brightness of your smile. do they even sell sunflowers this time of year? if you were awake, satoru would ask you, even though you always tell him to just google it —

but you're not awake. you’re fast asleep, cheek squished against the kitchen table, snoring softly.

satoru feels his mood lift at the sight alone, and suddenly he doesn’t feel as tired anymore. something soft and almost otherworldly sprouts in his chest, as he takes you in, stepping closer. almost giddy, just to see you up close.

you look so peaceful and relaxed, so content. elbows resting on the table as soft little breaths fall from your parted lips; he spots a bit of drool on the corner of your bottom lip, gaze fond as he wipes it away with his thumb. he can’t resist the urge to poke your cheek, and it makes you stir ever so slightly — lips curling up into something akin to a sleepy smile.

satoru grins.

(you’re so cute.)

despite his fatigue, he hears himself chuckle, all soft and amused and a little bit lovesick. it comes to him so easily, when he’s with you; that upturn of his lips, the butterflies in his stomach.

satoru is still getting used to it. this cotton candy sweet, light as a feather kind of love. the kind that always feels like spring. but with every day that passes, the life he has with you becomes a little easier to digest. his future with you becomes a little easier to visualize.

yeah, he thinks. he could get used to this. coming home to you.

a soft smile, as he exhales a somewhat exasperated breath. you really shouldn’t be sleeping out here, though. silly.

satoru leans forward, inching closer to your pretty, sleeping face — he almost feels bad, waking you up like this. but he wants to hear your voice so badly.

so he cups your cheek, cold skin meeting warm, his hands still lingering with the bite of the midnight air. his fingertips tingle, buzzing with the body heat that trickles from your veins to his — one single touch is all it takes for him to soften.

the word that falls from his lips breaks the peaceful silence of the kitchen, breathing life into the moment. whispered into your ear, causing your brows to furrow as you gently slip from sleep’s embrace.

“baby…”

satoru is smiling, when your eyelids flutter open. a sincere smile, reserved for you and his students. bathed in the mellow hue of the kitchen lamp’s illumination, a soft glow curls around the strands of his white hair, creating a halo of artificial light.

blinking sleepily, you gaze at him in silence. something shines in your eyes, something satoru tentatively recognizes as adoration. and he gazes right back at you, with heavy-lidded eyes and a lopsided smile. teasing, lighthearted. thumb smoothing over the apple of your cheek.

then he grins, hopelessly endeared. ”hey there, sleeping beauty.”

a yawn tumbles from your lips, and you lift yourself up. leaning into his touch. “toru…” you mumble, voice a little raspy but still oh so sweet.

satoru doesn’t say anything. he simply takes you into his arms, gently, touch so very delicate — as if you’re made of porcelain. and you just let yourself fall into his embrace, while he tucks you under his chin, safe and secure.

it’s warm, he thinks. it feels right. complete, somehow.

and satoru thinks to himself that this must be what love feels like. what it’s supposed to feel like, anyhow, all sweet and light. all good and normal, something you never have to question. a cornerstone.

“you’re back…” you drawl, muffled into his uniform as your arms sneak around his thin waist. bringing him closer.

stroking the back of your head softly, satoru’s chest rumbles as he speaks, voice deep and a little raspy. soothing, a lullaby just for you. “yeah,” he hums. ”were you waiting?”

all you do is nuzzle further into his chest, cheek smooshed right over his heart; breathing out a sleepy little mhm that has him going weak at the knees, lips curling up helplessly.

“i wanted to…” you continue, stretching your arms a little to shrug away the remnants of sleep still clinging to your joints. “but i fell asleep.”

satoru feels you move in his arms, until your jaw settles on top of his shoulder and you press a chaste kiss to his neck. an exhale leaves his lips, something tender in the way his breath wavers.

“welcome home,” is whispered, muffled against his skin. a sentence he never wants to go a single day without hearing. “did the mission go okay?”

he plants a kiss on top of your head, speaking in a low tilt, reassuring. “it did. just took a little longer than i thought.” a soft inhale, as he basks in the scent of your shampoo. “i wanted to text you, but the veil blocked my signal. sorry, sweetie.”

another soft yawn, and a shake of your head. “s’ fine, don’t worry,” you murmur. ”i’m just glad you’re okay.”

satoru chuckles. there’s a fondness to it, light. and then something else, something more heavy — it rumbles through his chest, almost like a purr, or a soothing thunderstorm. he can only hope it’s enough to comfort you.

“of course.” he says the words like they’re indisputable, like they’re written down in scriptures old and worn. cradling you in his strong arms, he pulls you closer to his chest. hoping you’ll feel his heartbeat against you, feel that he’s there. “i always am, aren’t i?”

no answer. only a tiny hum, absentminded.

and satoru knows, deep down, that his words don’t mean much. that a part of you is always going to worry over him, no matter how many times he tells you that there’s no need. that he’ll be fine.

the thought makes him feel a bit guilty. a little sick to his stomach, at the thought of being a source of your anxiety, the reason you can’t fall asleep at night — but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t also make him feel somewhat giddy. the thought tastes sweet, on his tongue, even though it probably shouldn’t.

having someone who worries for you is a luxury, satoru has come to realize. a luxury he has, now, one he hasn’t had since —

well. that’s neither here nor there.

(“be careful, satoru,” he recalls a kind boy saying.

but that was many, many springs ago.)

“oh, right.”

at the sound of your voice, satoru pulls away ever so slightly, gazing down at you. “hm?”

with a single step back, you look up at him. tilting your head. hands still resting securely on his waist, fingertips squeezing at his hips. lightly, affectionately. barely restrained fondness. ”have you had anything to eat yet?”

“yeah. got some takeout on my way back.”

satoru expects you to sigh in relief, at his instantaneous answer. you don’t like it when he skips meals, so these days he’s been trying not to do it as much. even though he doesn’t always have the time to eat properly, and even though the sweets he chews on between missions make him lose his appetite. but he makes an honest attempt, for you.

someone worries for him. someone wants him to eat well. that’s more than enough motivation for satoru gojo.

but you don’t exhale, and you don’t look very relieved, either. you look… disappointed. eyes suddenly glancing down at the floor, lips curled down into a barely noticeable frown.

“oh,” you breathe. “okay. good.”

one second. then two. satoru tilts his head.

“why?” he stops to think. maybe… “did you make something?”

a certain recognition flickers in the depths of your eyes, and satoru thinks he must be right on the money. chewing at your bottom lip a little, you wait a moment before curling your fingers around his wrist — tugging him away from the kitchen table.

satoru follows, pliantly, until you’re standing in front of the fridge.

“well, um… here,” you mumble, somewhat sheepishly. fingers tapping at the handle before pulling it open. “take a look.”

satoru watches as the fridge door opens, slowly.

he blinks.

the first thing he sees is a single slice of strawberry shortcake. the strawberry looks fresh, glittering like a ruby on top of the softly whisked cream — and layers of sponge cake, that look like they’d melt in his mouth.

and that’s not all. there are a wide array of baked treats stuffed into the cramped space, protected by plastic wrapping and containers. everything from cupcakes with too much frosting — just the way he likes them — to chocolate chip cookies that crumble at the corners, satoru never seems to run out of things to look at. colourful treats, lovingly made and sitting right in front of him. it’s like he’s standing in a patisserie. they almost seem to sparkle, in the peripheral of his vision; glimmering softly, tantalizingly, like something out of a dream.

childish. that’s what nanami and shoko always call him, and he always protests, but —

maybe they have a point, after all. satoru certainly feels a little childish, when he realizes his eyes must be wide and bursting with child-like giddiness. a simple kind of joy, at seeing the ample selection in front of him. especially after that tedious mission prevented him from getting any sugar into his system.

”i did my best,” you mutter, sharing the sight with him as your eyes trail over a pretty bag of pink and green macarons. ”dunno if they turned out any good, but… i hope you’ll like them.”

satoru’s gaze flits over to you.

he opens his mouth, and then closes it again.

”did you… make these?” a beat. ”for me?”

a blink. ”.. yeah?” who else would they be for?, your eyes seem to say. a little confused.

for a second, satoru can only stare at you. in complete silence, the tired cogs inside his head turning sluggishly as he thinks about the implications of that answer. and with a soft flutter, he feels his heartbeat pick up, warming him up from the inside out.

you made them. with your own hands. you made all of these and you did it for him.

for some reason, satoru finds it oddly hard to speak, like someone stuffed a bunch of cupcakes down his throat. it’s weird — usually he can’t seem to stop talking, especially not when he’s with you, but…

(something about this is just too tender.)

you must have been baking all day. no wonder the apartment smelled sweeter than usual, when he walked in.

as if itching to curl around one of the macarons, his fingers twitch, but satoru gulps and keeps them still. he wants to say something, anything, wants to thank you or ask why you’d spend so much of yourself on him, but satoru only stays silent.

and maybe it’s because he’s tired. maybe he’s just a little caught off guard. usually this wouldn’t be that hard to handle — he could just throw himself on you and shower you in kisses, show his appreciation with a flurry of dramatics and declarations of love.

but right now there seems to be a disconnect, between satoru’s mind and body. maybe the mission drained him more than he realized. or maybe it’s more than that, maybe there’s nothing he can say or do; what words could he even begin to use to properly verbalize the emotions he’s feeling right now? how could his touch ever begin to measure up to the sweet sensation unfurling in his chest?

the silence doesn’t last long. as satoru stands there and spirals, you speak up, most likely chalking it up to him being too sleepy to react.

”this mission was especially rough, right?” you begin, with a soft tilt of your head. a smile curls its way onto your lips, proud and sweet. sweeter than everything in the fridge combined.

one step, then two. you inch closer to him, until there’s almost no space between you — standing on your tiptoes, one hand on his shoulder and the other reaching for his head. smoothing down his tousled hair, fingers tangling themselves between the soft white strands and getting lost in them. and it’s gentle, the way you begin to pat his head, doting.

then you speak. ”you did well.”

and it’s such a simple thing to say. three words, three syllables, but the words just tumble out from your mouth so earnestly that satoru can’t help but still. his breath hitches in his throat, softly, barely noticeable, but it’s there. that surprise.

he never knows how to act, when you get like this. patting his head and ruffling his hair like he’s something warm and sweet and worthy of love. something delicate, and not the strongest man on the planet.

it’s so weird. you’re so weird.

(satoru leans into your touch without thinking, allowing his eyes to flutter shut.)

it’s perplexing, this feeling, and the fact that he can’t pinpoint why frustrates him to no end. isn’t this wrong? shouldn’t he be the one ruffling your hair, coddling you?

what formula is he supposed to follow here, exactly? should he tease you? pull away from your touch?

satoru wishes his six eyes could tell him the answer, but they don’t. they’ve never been very good with emotions, with things that aren’t directly tied to his suffering or imminent death.

(so ironic. all these eyes and nothing to see. they failed to see suguru’s silence, back then, and now they fail to see what reaction would please you the most.

really, such a worthless ability to love people with.)

no answer comes to him. so satoru doesn’t tease you, and he doesn’t pull away.

it does feel slightly wrong, though. like this feeling isn’t something he’s supposed to have, there must be some mistake, he can’t possibly be allowed to feel so loved — can he? having you bake him all his favorite treats, run your fingers through his hair. praise him for working hard.

really. isn’t he being too coddled?

(… but it feels so nice.)

satoru suspects that there’s a lot to love he might not fully understand, just yet.

maybe tomorrow, when he’s a little less tired, he can try once again to give you the impression that he’s perfect. that he doesn’t need affection, that he doesn’t crave your support or your touch. that he’s above all that, the strongest, someone for you to depend on.

depend on him, while he depends on no one. that’s the kind of existence satoru gojo is. that’s how it should be, that’s all he knows, but…

— ah. it feels really nice when your nails scratch his scalp like that.

and suddenly, that’s all satoru can think. no more pesky what-ifs, or second guessing every good thing he gets. right now, it’s just you and him. your fingers in his hair, his footprints in your life.

satoru allows himself to melt under your touch, almost meekly. leaning down just a little further, to make it easier for you to smooth your hand over his head. he nuzzles into your palm with a happy little exhale, and for some reason he feels sort of bashful.

try as he might, he doesn’t manage to successfully shoo the emotion away, so all he can do is hope you don’t take note of it.

and you just continue your onslaught of affection, now ruffling his hair with both your hands, like he’s a big puppy getting cooed over. satoru has a nagging suspicion that you might be getting a little carried away, but he doesn’t stop you. greedy, in the way he wishes your hands would never leave his hair. the way he hopes you’ll never be too far away from him to reach.

”such a hard worker,” you coo, and he feels himself grow flustered. ”my baby deserves so much love.”

”woah there,” satoru chokes out, grinning, desperately hoping you won’t notice the red tint to his ears. ”are you flirting with me? i have a partner, you know.”

a giggle slips from your lips, sleepy and amused. ”oh, do you?” one of your hands goes to cup his cheek, thumb caressing the edge of his jaw as you gaze at him fondly. ”lucky them.”

the grin you’re wearing is awfully bright. soft around the edges in a way that has him speechless, brain malfunctioning ever so slightly. satoru makes a mental note to scrap the sunflower idea — there has to be some brighter flower out there, one that can actually compete with your smile. sunflowers just won’t cut it.

but then you let go, and satoru gets broken out of his lovesick stupor.

when your hands leave his skin, his lips curl down into a soft pout. one he rushes to smooth away, before you can notice it.

you step back, failing to stifle a soft bout of laughter, but satoru knows it’s not because you saw it — he knows because your gaze is glued to his hair, and he internally winces when he thinks about how messy it must look, after your little bout of cuteness aggression.

(you really are weird, finding him cute of all things.)

he expects you to tease him a little more, but you don’t, turning away and tapping your fingers on the kitchen counter. ”if i’d known you’d be home this late,” you speak, stealing one last glance at the pastries before closing the fridge. ”then i would’ve waited until tomorrow. so you could eat them fresh.”

an apology rests on satoru’s tongue, but as if sensing it, you rush to reassure him.

”ah, but this is fine too! they should still taste good!” you turn away, muttering. ”… hopefully.”

then you nod to yourself, crossing your arms absentmindedly.

satoru looks at you for a second.

then he steps forward, unable to resist the temptation — tapping at your wrist with the pads of his fingers, before gently curling them around it, coaxing you into turning your head towards him.

the kiss he presses to your lips is soft, delicate. his fingers trace along your jaw, cupping your cheek and tilting your face up slightly, just letting his warm lips rest against yours. sweet and chaste. he sighs into the kiss, content, and feels your pulse pick up.

then he moves down to your jaw, slow and methodical — lazy kisses, sleepy but so full of affection. and little pecks, scattered all over your lips, your cheek, the tip of your nose.

you seem to melt a little, against him, and satoru relishes in it; his ability to make you relax. far more valuable than the six eyes, he would argue.

when he pulls away from you, with what takes tremendous self-restraint, he’s smiling. his gaze meets yours, layered over with pure adoration, blue eyes crinkling as he looks at you. as if you’re his entire world. the kitchen light embraces him, cascading down the contours of his face; the bridge of his nose, the curve of his jaw, his barely noticeable dimples.

and there it is, again — that flicker of love in your eyes, that adoration. as if you’re looking at a painting, something too beautiful for words.

(satoru hopes you can see that very same adoration, reflected in his eyes as he looks at you.)

after a moment, he leans forward, to rest his jaw on the curve of your shoulder. you stumble a little under the weight, caged in as his arms hug your midriff.

”god,” he sighs, breathless, heavy with giddy disbelief. almost whining when he continues, nuzzling into your neck as if to hide. ”why are you so perfect, huh? i don’t get it.”

at that, you huff out a laugh, an amused little breath. wrapping your arms around his neck and scratching softly at his nape. satoru shudders just a little, arms tightening around you.

”stealing my line…” you mutter, accusatory, smile laced over with a honeyed affection.

another amused breath, this time from him. this is one battle he won’t let you win. ”nah,” he grins, tugging you closer. ”’s mine.”

this is warm, he thinks. this feels right. complete, in a way that satoru never understood before you.

he could probably stand there forever, just basking in it. soaking up your body heat and the smell of your shampoo. until your warmth is all he knows, until he can never get your scent off his skin.

and satoru thinks that he could get used to this. a cotton candy sweet, light as a feather kind of love, one that smells like spring and tastes like strawberry shortcakes and feels like tight hugs shared in kitchens.

your love makes him feel so human. and it’s scary, terrifying even, but it's also too good to pass up. it’s worth the risk. so worth everything.

a yawn leaves your lips, suddenly. satoru feels you soften in his embrace, nuzzling closer to him, stumbling just a tad; he doesn’t think it’s fair, for such a simple gesture to make him as happy as it does.

”sleepy?” he coos, smile giddy and fond. ”let’s go to bed, okay? no more sleeping on the kitchen table, silly.”

a disgruntled little huff resounds throughout the air, as you let your arms fall to your sides. ”that’s on you,” you declare, poking the plush of his chest with your finger. ”i only fell asleep because you took so long.”

a teasing glint flickers in satoru’s eyes.

”wanted to see me that badly, huh?” he coos. you roll your eyes, and he pulls your cheek. ”that’s cute.”

”so what if i did?”

satoru stills. you’re smiling, a little mischievous, but mostly sincere. and it really is very unfair of you, he thinks — to do this to him while his guard is down.

but he manages to pull himself together, raising an amused eyebrow and booping your nose in a way that catches you off guard. blinking up at him, eyelashes fluttering.

satoru clears his throat. ”well, that’s sweet.”

then he turns on his heel, suddenly, and strolls over to the fridge. ”but you know what’s even sweeter?” he chirps, fingers curling around the handle as he swiftly pulls it open.

licking his lips, absentmindedly, his eyes trail over all the different pastries. so close yet so far, just out of reach; his fingers move forward, towards that mesmerizing slice of strawberry shortcake —

”— no.”

a hand settles on satoru’s waist, and tugs him away from his well-deserved prize. taking advantage of his momentary surprise, you close the fridge decisively, and give him an unimpressed raise of your eyebrow.

satoru whines, loud and grating. pouting sweetly, trying to make you feel bad. ”c’mon, just one bite —”

”no.”

”but they’re for me!”

”they’re for you to eat tomorrow. i was only gonna let you eat them tonight if you were on the brink of starvation, or something.”

”i am!”

”so the takeout was a lie?” you narrow your eyes at him, suddenly suspicious. ”have you been skipping meals, again?”

satoru pauses. weighing his options. ”well, no, but…”

”— then no.”

another soft whine. you turn away from him, when he tilts his head and gives you his best set of puppy dog eyes. in fear of giving in to them, satoru knows, as you have so many times before. ”please?” he tries, to no avail.

”you’re not eating sweets before bed, satoru,” you deadpan, and his smile falls further, exaggerated. ”and no, we are not having that conversation again.”

he can tell you’re trying to sound stern, but a giggle tumbles from your lips nonetheless, at the ridiculousness of the situation. keeping a grown man away from your fridge, knowing that he’ll wolf down every pastry he sees and get himself sick if you don’t. all while the man in question whines at you in protest, frowing so deeply, disappointment evident on his features.

(except satoru really isn’t very disappointed at all. like this, he gets to stare at your smile all he wants, after all; knowing you won’t notice it, too busy trying to keep yourself from giving in to his pleas.)

he tries again, one last time. just because he knows it’ll make you laugh. you do, a little exasperated, and satoru couldn’t be happier.

and he thinks to himself that if this is what love is, if this is what it’s supposed to feel like, then it can’t possibly be that much of a curse.

maybe he should revise the hypothesis, get a second opinion. he’ll have to ask you tomorrow, over pastries and coffee, and hear what you have to say.

as you both stumble to the bedroom, sleepy and a little delirious, satoru thinks that maybe this is enough; the lighthearted banter, the fond laughter. everything good and real and normal, within the space of your apartment, a home he never thought he’d have.

(and maybe, a second opinion isn’t necessary, after all. maybe it doesn’t really matter if love is a curse or not, as long as he gets to share it with you, like this.)

that night, satoru dreams. curled up with you beneath the blankets, limbs tangled together, as if he could never be close enough.

he dreams of kitchen lights, of sweet treats and warm hands. of spring breezes, and a love he’s finally beginning to accept for what it is:

good. wholly and thoroughly.

#lovesick satoru is my favorite satoru but yknow whats even better? lovesick satoru/lovesick reader #i just have such a firm belief that this man is a loser when hes genuinely in love ok.#hes so touch starved i think he’d crumble into a little puddle on the floor if u kissed his cheek #loves to tease and fluster you n hes so good at it but the moment u give him the same treatment? he is Gone. down for the count #spreading the loser satoru agenda <33 i love this man so dearly.#i NEED to hold his waist btw idk if i made that clear. i need it like i need air to breathe. like why is it so tiny if not to be held by me #had to hold myself back like a wolf during a full moon from describing his waist in too much detail youre welcome #overall idk what to say i just think love could fix him #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk x reader

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doomrotten · 6 months

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My English is bad Right now, I can't afford to fully embody the work, but I can make sketches.

By the way, first and foremost, I want to emphasize that this is just my subjective opinion, which can change instantly, even if I am presented with another interesting point of view. Perception of a character is something constantly changing for me.

By its nature, Bi Han is a kind of revolutionary. He is the eldest child in the clan leader's family, and he was entrusted with all the responsibility and duties. He was raised to continue the legacy of his clan. He became a strict authority figure for the clan. Being the eldest child in my own family, I can understand his desire to change his life and the future of the clan (I don't have a clan, here I'm talking about my opinion), based on his own beliefs, rather than the beliefs of his parent. We don't know exactly how he was brought up, but judging by the results, we can confidently say the following: his ambition is to glorify the clan, make it the most powerful among other clans (if they exist), abandon old established traditions, and become independent from the authority of others, especially Liu Kang.

Even though the Lin Kuei clan holds the foremost place in Bi Han's heart, there is still disappointment in my soul - he sees his brothers only as a means to his own achievements, as cannon fodder, just like other ninjas in the Lin Kuei.

However, even though the clan plays a crucial role in his life, in the combined history, he still chooses power, leaving the clan in the background in the Sector. Perhaps new thoughts were born in his mind about how he can become unsurpassed, drawing strength from another dimension. Why? Perhaps for the sake of achieving complete self-assertion? His father didn't see the potential in Bi Han, just like in his brothers, as he also mentioned in the storyline: "He didn't notice our superiority."

Thus, Bi Han penetrates into the realm of unexplored horizons and is ready to do everything possible to achieve his goal.

#lin kuei #bi han #sub zero #mortal kombat 1 #mk1 #mk2023 #mortalkombat1 #mortal kombat #mk #bihan #bi han sub zero #sketch

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aemondswifexoxo · 6 months

Text

Blue Hydrangeas

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original stark female character

Summary: Anora Stark, the younger sister of Lord Cregan Stark, is sent south in order to do her duty and marry the prince Aemond Targaryen. She has heard the rumors about the One Eyed Prince, both the good and the bad, and is uncertain where the prince stands in regards to her and their arranged marriage. Will they grow to love each other? And what will happen to the Stark family once the Dance of the Dragons starts?

Also published on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51385267

Chapter I

The carriage ride from Winterfell to King's Landing was calm at best, boring and too long at worst. She would have preferred to make the trip by boat, but storms have haunted the narrow sea since the start of the year, and the journey by land was much safer. Though it was autumn, the weather in the south was much more forgiving, except for the heavy rains that encountered them in the Riverlands. But all that was left behind, now that Anora and her party made their way through the King’s gate, into the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, and her month long trip came to an end.

Anora slightly moved one of the carriage curtains, in order to observe the city and its people. The streets were full of people, some making business, other’s just walking around, but most followed her entourage with their eyes, either knowing what her arrival meant or questioning what was happening. She had heard stories of how Kings Landing was not an ideal place to live in, how the smell was overwhelming and the people dangerous, and though the rumors about the odors seemed to be true, the population seemed just like the one in White Harbor: busy, hard working, a community. In a moon, those will be her people, hers to protect and care for.

She’s to be married to the prince of the realm, Aemond Targaryen, and to unite their noble families. She didn’t know the prince, only the stories and rumors that surrounded him. They said that he had lost an eye, though the specific circumstances no one agreed on: some said that his dragon, the mighty Vhagar, ate it when he claimed her; other’s say that his older sister, the princess Rhaenyra, had it ordered as revenge, for prince Aemond had questioned the legitimacy of her three eldest children. She had also heard of his character, how he was cold and aloof, a good fighter and a fast learner, how he loved his mother, followed his duty to a T, and how he was the picture perfect image of a valyrian prince.

When the betrothal request had reached Winterfell, her brother Cregan had been hesitant to accept it. She was his little sister, after all, and he didn’t want to throw her in the jaws of a dragon. She was the one that accepted the proposal, that had the final say. Even though she was unsure, and truthfully nervous about the union and the type of person that her future husband would be, this was a very advantageous match. Not only would it make her a princess, but her children would be possible dragon riders, her house would be protected by the crown, and the prince was the same age as her, a luxury that other brides couldn’t afford.

She had heard from Lord Manderly's wife, that the prince was quite handsome, if you ignored his marred eye, and that he seemed to be dutiful and honorable, and the complete opposite of his older brother, who was a drunk adulterer. She hoped they could find an amicable marriage, and from what she had heard about prince Aemond, she believed she would at least tolerate his company. She could only hope that he would find her presence endurable as well.

As she noticed that they were nearing the Red Keep's walls, her nerves started to arise. She had never been south of the neck, much less in court. Both her parents were from the North, which meant that she wasn’t taught the ways of the South. She had read and educated herself about them, truthfully reading seemed like the only thing she did during the weeks on the road, but she feared it was not enough. Would she make a fool of herself in front of her betrothed, of his family, of the entire court? What if the prince hated her? Or what if she hated him, if he was cruel and vile?

Her anxiety-ridden thoughts were interrupted by her carriage passing through the castle walls, into an open courtyard where an entourage of people were waiting to welcome her, including her betrothed and the royal family. She hastily let go of the curtain, closing it and blocking her view of the group of people awaiting her. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, waiting for her name to be announced for her to exit the coach and finally meet her future husband. When it did happen, her door was opened, and one of the servants came to help her out of the carriage. When her feet landed on the ground, she smoothed her skirts and looked in the direction of the royal family. There stood the queen Alicent Hightower, wearing a beautiful and modest dark green dress, and a welcoming smile on her face. On her right stood a tall, older man, also supporting green clothes and a golden broach in his doublet, meaning that he could be none other than Otto Hightower, the queen’s father and the Hand of the King. She also sees who she can surmise to be prince Aegon and princess Helaena, and their three small children. Prince Aegon seems bored, like he wishes to not be there, while princess Helaena has a distant but sweet expression on her face, and her youngest son, Maelor, in her arms.

In the middle of them all, stood a man who was undeniably her husband-to-be. He was tall and slender, though strong, had long silver hair, a handsome face, and an indigo eye. Eye, a singular one. The other one was covered by an eye patch, which fails to conceal the whole of the scar that peeks from above his brow and down his left cheek. She takes a few steps in their direction, and makes a deep and elegant courtesy, keeping her eyes down to show respect. When she corrected her posture and lifted her eyes again, she made eye contact with her betrothed. He had a blank, aloof expression on his face, she could not tell what he was thinking, and it scared her a bit. In her restlessness, she gave him a small, polite smile, and turned her gaze to his right, where his mother was. She was immediately greeted by the queen's warm brown eyes, and her kind expression.

“We welcome you, Lady Stark, to our home and to our family. We hope you enjoy yourself, and may we grow close to one another.” The queen spoke to her, with a gentle but firm voice.

Anora smiled at the older woman, and at her family.

“Thank you, your grace. You are the most kind. I also hope that we may grow into a happy union, and I will follow my duty as the future princess in the meanwhile”.

After all the courtesies and gentilities are exchanged, Anora is instructed to her chambers. Her rooms are large and welcoming, having a lot of light, warm and rich furniture, and a large and comfortable looking bed. She was gifted a sleeping chamber, a sitting chamber, and a dining room, as well as some castle maids. She had brought along two of her lady’s of company from Winterfell, Audra Whitehill and Moira Woolfield, who were her friends since childhood, but the extra hands and company pleased her. She knew not to get too accustomed with her new rooms, since she would be moved to her husband's chambers once they got married. When the door of her room closed and she was left by herself for the time being, she took her shoes and jewelry off and laid in her new bed.

There was to be a welcoming feast later in the evening, to celebrate her arrival and her betrothal to the prince. But for now she intended to rest, and maybe calm her nerves before she was to encounter him again. The way he looked at her, and the lack of expression on his face still haunted her. What did he think of her? Did he find her beautiful? Did he have a good first impression, or was he displeased with her? She turned to her side, unable to fall asleep. She was overthinking it, she had to rest to be in her best mood during the feast. Anora blew the candles on her bedside table and laid a blanket over her body, before finally falling asleep.

She was awoken a few hours later by her lady’s, in order for her to get ready for the banquet. They bathed her, dressed her, brushed her hair and styled it, painted and treated her face in order to enhance her natural beauty. In the end, Anora felt splendid. She was dressed in a soft blue, almost gray dress that matched her eyes. Her jewelry was simple but beautiful, made of silver and engraved with delicate patterns. Her hair was half up in a conglomerate of elegant braids that crowned her head, while the other half fell down her back in her natural curls. In her face, they applied some cream rouge to her cheeks, eyelids and lips, and brushed her eyebrows. She hoped that her betrothed would find her appearance pleasant. When she expressed her wishes to Moira, she whispered back:

“How could he not? Look at you Anora! He would stupid if he found you anything less than breathtaking.”

They giggled like little girls at this, and Anora felt her anxieties calm down a bit. When the time struck, one of her guards knocked at her door to tell her that she had to leave for the feast now. She made her way to the throne room, where the celebration was taking place, with her household guards at both her sides. When she arrived just outside the room, one of the royal guards told her to wait there until her name was announced, then, and only then, was she allowed to go through the doors and enter the throne room, where her betrothed was already seated.

The nerves came back, and she started to feel her hands getting sweaty. She made a last effort to look as presentable as possible, smoothing her skirts, adjusting her bustle, retouching her hair and her jewelry. Finally, after what felt like hours, her name and titles were announced to the court, and the double doors opened.

She started walking at a slow but sure pace, being careful not to trip in her skirts while also keeping her eyes up. She could see him sitting in the middle of the dais, and she noticed that he was already looking at her. His eye held no negative emotion, but it also didn’t show any positive one. It just stared at her and at her every move. She refused to break eye contact, and held it even when she stopped in front of the grand table installed on the foot of the Iron Throne, and curtsied for the royal family.

As it was expected, prince Aemond stood up, and made his way to her side, where he bowed and offered his arm to her. She took it gently, and noticed how warm and firm it was. She couldn’t help but to blush. They made their way to their seats in the middle of the dais, where he pulled her chair back to allow her to sit. He took his chair on her left side, and with that, the feast began.

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not-goldy · 4 months

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Ngl I hate people blurring out the other soliders faces. So many times we get leaked pics or videos everyone else is afforded basic privacy and the tannies are expected to be on display and then one time everyone gets posted and we play where's Waldo with jikook people jump in to hide everyone else's face instead of posting as is. They're all supposed to be equals right now either faces are allowed to be seen or not but these dual expectations blow me

Sigh. I welcome your thoughts and do feel free to share your frustrations and worries with me. It beats the "Jimin is strong and can handle anything tone deaf outta touch squad over there."

Apparently, "Jimin is so strong it's okay for anyone to violate his privacy cos he can handle it. He has a black belt, he's rich, he can protect himself you know💀

his brain is made of vibranium membranes what's a little privacy violation gonna do to him

Feeling gaslighted yet? Welcome to my life on these streets.

Tae must have been late on his wakadan taxes cos dude was low on vibranium the day he threatened to shoot poison needles at reporters who violated his privacy💀

Jungkook reporting those stalkers is crazy cos dude has enough muscles that only rivals that of Kangoroos- you'd think a guy like that would let a little privacy violation pass🥴

It's the dehumanizing that goes with that for me.

They are protecting those other people because they are civilians who have not signed away their right to be respected and treated as human beings. Something about them being civilians reminds them of their own sense of humanity.

However idols can be so- rich, so pampered, so privileged, so objectified, so commodified, so commercialized to feel human let alone be thought of as human in our subconsciousness.

It's why its easy to tear into them and call it review, constructive criticism, when we detouch them as idols we fail to remember they are people's sons, brothers, partners, friend, mentor- worse? They won't fire back. They won't fight for themselves tear into them right back, defend themselves because their station in life requires utta resignation of their personhood.

Why won't they block out their faces? Because THEY KNOW they can get sued for publishing their images without authorization, they can be held directly accountable but not these famous folks. They don't deserve a right to privacy because they have perpetually given those rights away as idols.

This level of dehumanizing of idols has become so normalized in internet spaces we don't even blink or think twice before participating in it.

Somehow we've come to the conclusion that being a public figure means giving up your basic fundamental human rights and that not only is it okay to consume them in ways that violates them, that somehow hyper scrutinizing their very existence, bringing them apart so recklessly and putting them back upside down is okay and all part of their work hazard.

That somehow fame is proof of their consent to be placed on a pedestal so out of realm of human possibilities because that's the only way we can adore them is if they are over and beyond us- beyond human beyond the stratosphere.

I've been trying to protect my own mental health by detouching from certain conversations around these boys because it cuts too close to home. And I don't want to hear she's projecting her queer traumas onto them as if breach of privacy, the blatant micro aggressions, dehumanization isn't a universal struggle- why do i gotta queer to know how that feels? Why can't I just be a fucking human being who relates to another human being?

Imagine a few of us expressing concerns over some of these mental torment they have to endure in there through no fault of theirs only for people to tell you in the face, these men are stronger than they look, they are not victims, they are not damsels in distress- WELL THEY ARE NOT ROBOTS EITHER SO WHICH IS IT?

As if we need people's permission to express concerns, as if there's a threshold of pain these boys, Jimin, is expected to endure before its okay to worry for them and only then would it be okay to worry for their mental health, breach of his privacy and other gazillion bs they are bound experience in there- the hyper masculinty, the toxic masculinty- these boys, Jimin, have gone through so much to discover himself, to break away from toxic gender ideologies, to be okay with who he is, to accept himself and all that is going to chip away at MS and these nutheads are out here telling us he's strong he can handle it. They lack context, can't even comprehend context or nuance IT'S EXHAUSTING.

It's the worst form of bigotry, policing, dismissiveness, anti intellectuallism packed as alternative view points, I've ever encountered in my life. They metamorphorizing, shape-shifting to hide who they truly are at their core.

If I hear anyone jubilate over an untwinked Jimin or untwinked anyone in BTS I WILL GO OFF.

And yes I'm sensitive about this, I've ever had a melt down over the fandom cheering because JM muscled up, I won't have a meltdown this time- I WILL BLOW THIS WHOLE THING TO THE GROUND WATCH ME.

But yea, go off Anon. Get things off your chest💀

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littlemissmanga · 11 months

Text

The Daimyo's Princess

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader

Rating: SFW

Warnings: Worn down reader, slight insecurity if you squint, elements of a Dom/Sub dynamic but just a hint/talks about “punishment” but no details.

w/c: 1,323

Clone x Reader Bingo Square: Tattooine @clonexreaderbingo

Previous Squares: Don't Forget That / Rex (18+) / Mechanic

Summary: The day had drained you in the worst way, leaving you exhausted and restless all at once. Now, all you wanted was the comfort only found in the arms of your Daimyo. But Boba Fett is still occupied by his responsibilities, holding court from his throne. Do you have the courage to take what you need, or will you suffer in silence?

You can't wait.

You know you should, but it’s just not possible right now. You have been feeling unmoored all day. Your skin tingles with need as every atom feels like it would fly away if not held firmly in place.

And there is only one person you trust to do that.

But today’s session of petitions seems unending. You try listening from the back corner, not wanting to disrupt the natural flow of procedure and hoping to keep yourself occupied with the politics of it all. At least until the blessed moment Boba would dismiss the crowd and you could approach him.

It’s a strategy that worked before. But the monotonous prattle from the clear social climber — a merchant looking to establish a foothold in Outer Rim — did little to distract you.

Not when Boba sits sprawled out on his throne, claiming every inch of the chair the way he claimed everything in life.

Including you.

What had started as just a job — administrative work for the new daimyo of Mos Espa — quickly became a passion project in the truest sense of the word.

Your composure and mindfulness as you skillfully kept the palace running smoothly impressed Boba Fett. When your fiery nature and flirtatious quips were met with amused chastisement, it didn’t take long for admiration to evolve into affection on both sides.

Once Boba becomes attached to something, no force in the galaxy can make him let go. The minute you assured him his affections were returned, that you wanted him as he wanted you, you became his.

He made sure everyone in the palace, employees and guests, knew that you spoke with his voice. Your authority was his authority. The only person you submitted to in this realm was the king himself.

But you had never been so bold as to claim the throne. And in this moment, that’s all you want — to claim your throne on Boba Fett’s lap as he sat and doled out judgments from his.

A million and one logistical errors had surfaced that morning, pushing your drive and creative problem solving to their absolute limits. Now, your mind is drained, exhausted and blank even as your body thrums with adrenaline and unresolved tension.

Something needs to be done. Or else you fear you won't be ablt to control how you’ll react to the next provocation.

Slowly, you move along the sides of the room as far as you could, passing the line of petitioners as you went. You keep your head level and your gaze lowered. Not to the floor like a slave — nothing would infuriate your Daimyo more than you subjugating yourself like that publicly — but a respectful mid-level, which also affords you freedom from meeting any offended gazes.

“Who is that?”

“How rude!”

“Does she really think the Daimyo will be fooled just because she cut the line?”

Each whispered outrage is a knife in your heart. You only hope they are quiet enough not to travel to Boba’s ears. You don't want to dishonor him, or the guests of the palace. But you need him.

“There is no shame in admitting a weakness and taking what you need. The only shame is in continuing to hurt yourself and others out of pride.”

That lesson had been hard-learned early in your relationship, the punishment for losing yourself in your work and ignoring your own care far worse than any he had doled out before or since.

So maybe there is a chance you could be bold and not be punished for the audacious act you planned.

With a grace that belies your nerves, you finally cross to the middle of the room and climb the stairs to the dais. Meeting Boba’s visor, you stand before him and make your intentions clear as you move to sit sideways on his lap.

It takes no more than a second for him to curl around your waist and pull you down, securing you gently to him. His thumb runs gentle circles over your hip, its consistent pressure comforting.

“Everything okay, Princess?” Boba whispers.

His concern for you is a balm more blissful than any bacta treatment. It should be pathetic, the way just that much affection was enough to quiet your restless body, to soothe your exhausted mind.

But it’s just Boba. The effect he has on you is as natural as it is absolute.

It wasn’t the time or place to fill him in on all that weighed on you. So for now, you pulled a tight but genuine smile to ease his concern. “It is now,” you respond equally softly.

“Excuse me?" The disgruntled cry came from the merchant, his eyes raking over you angrily. "We were in the middle of discussing rather important matters! I would have believed the Daimyo of Mos Espa to have better hospitality than this!”

Maybe it was because your last nerve had been fried long ago. Or maybe it was the presence of your Daimyo, holding you so firmly against him, reminding you of all that he loved about you. Or maybe it was because the insult was directed not at you, but at your man.

More likely it's just that you couldn’t leave well enough alone when someone’s mouth was bigger than yours.

Either way, you found your voice again. And from Boba’s lap, it rang clear with authority.

“You have been welcomed into this palace, granted shade from the Twin Suns that beat down on Tattooine, plied with cool drink and rich food, and been given the privilege of an audience with the mighty Boba Fett. In this way, you have been treated hospitably. You do not, however, have the authority to tell the Daimyo or his Princess where either may sit in their palace.”

The merchant shrinks under your glare, no doubt aided in its intensity by the blank stare of Boba’s visor behind you. Still, you revel in his submission, finding it soothing in a different way to Boba’s touch.

“You are more than welcome to continue your petition. I assure you the Daimyo has not been distracted by anything other than your outburst. But if you find yourself too distracted, then perhaps it is better for you to cede the floor to someone more focused.”

The poor man before you sways back and forth on his feet, unsure whether he should stay or go.

“If you need a moment, step aside.” Boba’s voice echoes through the chamber, though it is lower than yours had been.

It takes only another fleeting second before the merchant decides to continue his spiel. You note with a fair amount of satisfaction that he is more soft-spoken than before, his demands morphing into pleas.

Boba is true to your word. He had not been distracted in the slightest and offers a trial exchange to determine if this man’s business is worth his time. But before the next petitioner can take his place, you feel your Daimyo lean closer, the edge of his helmet pressing gently to the line of your jaw.

“You handled yourself well, Princess,” he growls softly, and you beam at the pride you could hear even through his modulator. “But don’t think we won’t discuss the rest of your behavior later.”

“Yes, Sir.”

You know he only has your well-being at heart. And a small punishment is well worth the price of your prize — contentment and security in Boba’s arms and the respect of his court. Riding the high of your victory, you scan the rest of the line, noting that few petitioners meet your eyes. The ones who do nod deferentially.

Such is the way on Tattooine. Those with strength are followed. You never had expected to be in such a position yourself. But maybe Boba is right with all those sweet words he whispers in your ear when he believes you to be asleep.

Maybe, just maybe, you do have more strength than you believe. And if it takes spending more time with your Daimyo to find it … well, then that is just what you will have to do.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

a/n: I was on the fence about whether to include Boba Fett in my bingo card when I saw the Tattooine square. He is technically a clone, though he himself distances from that identity. But nothing else triggered my brain when thinking about a drabble for Tattooine. Then I saw this post by @thirsty-boba-fett-posts and one of her headcanons inspired me to the point where I had to write this, though it kinda took on a life of its own.

I hope you enjoyed it! And if you did, please reblog so others can find and enjoy it, too!

#cfb2023 #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #daimyo boba fett #daddy boba #dom!boba #dom boba #tbobf #tbobf fanfiction #dom!boba x reader #this is so self-indulgent #i just wanna sit on his lap and have him make things better

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pikahlua · 2 years

Text

Katsuki’s trading card is Ruined and Izuku is mad about it: Wait a fucking minute is that the Second’s quIRK-?

Whacha lookin’ at, Izuku?

The card.

He’s looking at the card.

HE’S LOOKING AT THE CARD.

He has no way of knowing who is “dead” or not. He just sees everyone down basically. Mirio’s the one who spills the beans, but it’s AFTER Izuku’s wild reaction.

What the fuck is going on?

Oh you bet Mirio’s your ass I have an idea.

Katsuki had a plan

I maintain that Katsuki did not go in for a Hail Mary shot just because he got a quirk boost. He fucking knew what he was doing. Maybe he didn’t know if he’d take damage, maybe he did or didn’t plan to get hit, but he KNEW what the FUCK he was TRYING TO DO.

And Monoma’s reaction is my meta evidence.

TELL ME THAT BLASTY KID SUDDENLY CHANGED HIS ENTIRE PERSONALITY AND THREW OUT HIS CHARACTER ARC. GO ON. I FUCKING DARE YOU.

Dis bitch.

He only went into action after THAT THING HAPPENED.

“That thing” being:

1. Tomura was touching him

2. Tomura said the names of All Might, Izuku Midoriya, and Katsuki Bakugou while touching Katsuki

Katsuki is key to the plan to defeat Tomura

I was catching onto the pros’ weird behavior over Katsuki’s life quite a few chapters ago.

Yes, of course Aizawa cares about his student, but his wording in this scene is...weird. He immediately calls for Izuku’s whereabouts the second Tomura acknowledges the closeness between Izuku and Katsuki. Suddenly everyone is treating Katsuki like glass.

Edgeshot in particular said something that caught my attention.

“A life we can ill afford to lose.”

Sure, there is something to be said for the theme of heroes who are strangers to Katsuki finally acting like heroes and saving him when they really fucking should save him. But like...wow. I’m sure Edgeshot has had plenty of opportunities to save random civilians by sacrificing his own life, but he didn’t. He saved that last resort for this moment in spite of all his years working as a hero. What was so special about this particular life? What if Izuku, who apparently is key in their plan to defeat Tomura, dies too? Why wouldn’t Edgeshot save his power for the life that could potentially save the most lives?

Unless that’s exactly what he did.

From chapter 367:

"Right now, Edgeshot is taking life-saving measures for Bakugou-kun!! He will definitely be successful! We're fighting [based on] that premise!! We haven't lost anything yet! We aren't giving up!"

Isn’t this an interesting way for Mirio to put it? “We are fighting on that premise” and “we haven’t lost anything yet,” huh? Even if Edgeshot may be lost, they haven’t lost anything?

What if Izuku is freaking out because without Katsuki their plan (to save Tomura) can’t possibly succeed anymore?

Look at the focus placed on that card!

Where’s All Might?

Where the fUCK IS-?

...

FUCK.

Consider this

Katsuki goes in for...something. Something to forward their plan. Maybe to touch Tomura? Because he’s fast enough and can predict his movements for a moment? It doesn’t matter. He goes in.

He doesn’t plan on getting hit.

In fact, the only reason he gets hit is because, unexpectedly, TomurAFO senses a threat and panics. His survival instincts kick in.

As a result, he lands a hit on Katsuki right in the chest.

But.

We also see this at the SAME TIME Katsuki’s heart takes damage.

Either he knows he’s about to die.

Or.

He knows he’s about to lose his card, which suddenly is important when we the readers had no idea it was still important.

Tomura hit Katsuki with a deadly blow. He also ruined the card.

But what else did we see on that page?

Izuku has the same card.

The Second’s magical vanishing gauntlet

Why does the Second only have one gauntlet in these flashbacks when he has two in the vestige realm?

Maybe he gave the other to someone else.

Remember that Tomura has said All Might’s, Izuku’s, and Katsuki’s names?

What if the Second’s quirk creates connections between people based on their names...but the connection is maintained through paired objects?

What if Izuku was trying to use the Second’s quirk to get to UA faster because he also has his All Might card on hand.

He and Katsuki have the same trading card, and that would allow Izuku to activate the Second’s quirk to...get to Katsuki faster somehow.

Maybe All Might’s vestige IS IN THE CARD. Maybe it traveled to Katsuki via the Second’s quirk, and the cards are the travel points.

Maybe Katsuki and Izuku are trying to get one of the cards onto Tomura so they and/or All Might’s vestige can travel to Tomura’s vestige world.

And if Katsuki’s card is ruined, their plan can only now work if Katsuki somehow managed to meet the activation conditions of the Second’s quirk before the card was ruined. Or maybe ruining the card is PART of the activation conditions.

THE POINT IS

All Might’s vestige AND YOICHI, the FIRST and LAST vestiges in the OFA chain are currently unaccounted for!

KATSUKI’S CARD IS RUINED

AND IZUKU LOST IT OVER THAT

#my hero academia manga spoilers #I HAVE CONNECTED ALL THE DOTS WAY TOO MANY TIMES #meta #theory #second OFA user #second's quirk theory #katsuki bakugou #motherfuckin katsuki bakugou #izuku midoriya #get a fucking card sleeve you dweebs

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americancowgirl19 · 2 years

Text

She’s King

Summary: You take your father’s place as King despite being a woman. In order to make peace and end the war you agree to meet the prince - who ends up being your fated mate. You can only hope your fated mate gets along with the mate had chosen before you met him.

Warnings: angst, grief, fluff, little bit of smut

Reader: Alpha Female Reader

Pairings: Beta Frank Castle x Alpha Reader - Omega Matt Murdock x Alpha Reader

Word Count: 2601

A/n: Modern Royal A/B/O AU

Masterlist - Part two!

The kingdom is in mourning. The great king is dead; killed on the battlefield. The Lords are doing what they can to keep the peace among the people. The last thing anyone wants is for panic to spread whilst in the middle of the bloodiest war known to history.

You buried your father today. Even the Earth seemed to mourn this loss. The rain poured with such vigor that it raised the creeks and flooded the paths the enemy army might have driven down to siege the royal castle. You knew that the first chance they got they’d march right here and attempt to take the throne. Your father had no male successor. The throne is vulnerable.

You stood beside the throne with your siblings as the people greeted your mother, the widowed queen. You were right beside her. Everyone turned to you directly after giving their condolences to her. You knew what everyone was thinking but nobody has yet to say it out loud.

You’re not the eldest child. You’re somewhere in the middle of roughly a dozen other siblings. Twelve children are a bit obsessive, right? Your parent must have loved making babies and raising kids. Well, not exactly.

In your kingdom, and all the kingdoms in the land, it is law that only an alpha could succeed the throne. While you had older brothers and sisters - and younger ones as well - you were the only one out of the liter to present as an alpha. Your presentation out ranked your older siblings who only presented as either betas or omegas.

So, the twelve siblings weren’t due to the fact that your parents loved children. They were trying to conceive a male alpha. It’s the only thing in their reign they failed in.

While the kingdom mourned the loss of your father - their king - you mourned the future you had planned. You mourned the freedom you could have had; the life you could have lived.

You knew tomorrow would be the coronation. They couldn’t afford to wait. If there was nobody on the throne when the enemy arrived, then it would be all too easy for them to take it. While your mother was still alive, she was only a grieving omega queen who didn’t truly understand the art of war and the politics of man. She played her own realm of politics. The king and queen had two very different jobs; she wouldn’t know what to do.

Your father, fearful that he would never conceive another alpha, taught you how to be king. He prepared for every possibility and knew that when the time came it wouldn’t matter that you were a female; the job would fall upon your shoulders. He needed you to be prepared; he needed to know the kingdom would be in good hands if he should fall.

Tomorrow you will be crowned king. Your mother will remain queen until you find your own omega to take her place. It wouldn’t be an easy task. The omega would have to be a male; they’re as rare as you are.

When the night was over, and everyone was dismissed you returned to your room. Your ladies helped take the pins from your hair and undress from your clothes. Despite it being modern times, you still found the corset to be a nice touch to pay homage to the past.

They asked you if you would need anything else; you declined and bade them good night. The instant the doors were shut the man hiding in the dark corner came to the light. When you looked at him the emotions from the day rushed forward. You didn’t have to put up a front with him. You trusted him implicitly.

“Come here, baby,” He whispers, beckoning you forward. With a few large strides you’re in his embrace. He holds you close, and you nestle into his shoulder. He doesn’t give you his condolences or give you false promises. The two of you are past such formalities.

The two of you end up in bed. You’re laying between his legs, your head on his chest. There’re no clothes keeping you from the skin-to-skin you desperately need. You close your eyes and listen to his steady heartbeat. He slowly combs his fingers through your hair; periodically massaging your head.

“We could still do it,” He whispers. Your heart drops instantly knowing what he’s talking about. “We could be across the ocean before they even knew you were gone,”

“They’d find us... Maybe not soon but they would,” You whisper back. “It would be a life on the run and when we’re dragged back how could I look at anybody knowing I left when they so desperately needed me?”

“How could you help them after they treated you?” He asks, the anger coming back to his voice as it always does when talking about this.

“Frankie baby, you know it doesn’t bother me how they treated me,” You whisper, lifting your head. “It doesn’t matter what my personal feelings are. It’s my duty, my responsibility to take the throne.”

“And what about us?” Frank asks. Your legs move over his to straddle his waist. You move up his body and hover over his face. “I’m not exactly good for your image, baby,”

“What?” You ask teasingly. You lay back down on his chest and move your head just to the side to rest on your palm. Frank’s head follows you, unwilling to break eye contact. “I think telling the world that my chosen mate is the famed Punisher is exactly the image I need,” You whisper only half joking. “Your reputation is world famous. Everyone would cower at the thought of you. Kingdoms would think twice about moving against us,”

“But I’m only a beta,” Frank whisper. You sigh. Your eyes fall shut and your head presses against his. He instinctively holds you closer.

“But you’re only a beta,” You mutter knowing it wouldn’t be enough to hold the crown. You needed an omega. Omega and alpha parings had nearly a large chance at producing an alpha offspring whereas alpha and beta pairings rarely conceived them.

“You’ll look beautiful tomorrow,” He whispers, gently changing the subject. “You’ll take the throne and kick ass. You’ll bring us back to peace, I just know it,”

If only he realized that in order to bring peace would to the kingdom would be to marry the enemy’s nephew - a prince who happened to be an omega. The rival king took his throne with much controversy. The previous king had died mysteriously paving the way for him to take it. It was supposed to be temporary until the prince was old enough. Only the prince is blind, and people are hesitant to put him on the throne.

However, you taking the throne is the perfect solution for them. With your marriage the war ends, an alliance if formed, and they hand off their blind prince. Your kingdom wasn’t crazy about having a blind queen, but they were desperate for an end to the war.

You were king. You wouldn’t be pushed into anything that you weren’t certain of. You agreed to a private meeting but guaranteed nothing more. It was enough to pacify the other kingdom into pausing the war.

“What’s his name?” Frank asks, watching you get ready.

“You know his name, Frank,” You mutter going your makeup. You refused to let your ladies help get you ready. You wanted as much time with Frank as possible.

“Tell me,” He demands. You bristle a little at the demanding tone, but you force yourself to calm. You look through the mirror and sigh.

“Matthew Murdock,” You whisper. Frank’s jaw ticks. “You knew this was going to happen,”

“Didn’t think it would be so soon,” He growls. Neither did you. You were only king for four months. Within those four months you were quickly proving to be an even harder opponent than your father in regard to the war. You were more ruthless and daring. The bloodiest war was becoming worse, but you were winning. If a truce could be made over marriage you would consider it.

You quickly finished your makeup before walking over to Frank. He was sitting on the side of the bed pouting. You gave him a small smile while gently taking his face in your hands.

“I love you, Frank Castle,” You whisper. He softens and grabs your hips greedily. “And no number of omegas will change that,” You promise.

“What if he doesn’t like me? What if he demands you send me off? I’m not supposed to be with you in the first place,” He mutter. You smirk resting your forehead against his.

“Every king has had their concubine,” You mutter teasingly. He lets out a quick laugh and tugs you into a kiss. “I’m king... I’m not going to let anyone chase you away or send you off,” You hand moves from his cheek to the collar of his shirt. He shivers when you pull it to the side. “I claimed you a long time ago, beta,” You growled possessively. He moans as your lips suck and your teeth nip at the mark. “You’re mine,” You growl reclaiming him.

Frank chokes on a moan, his fingers bruising your hips at the sudden rush of euphoria. He lets out a shaky breath struggling not to cum in his pants. Wanting him to do exactly that you nip at the fresh wound while suddenly palming him through his pants.

“Fuck-” Frank chokes again and cums in his trousers like a teenage boy. You hum approvingly and lap at the bite mark.

“Good boy,” You whisper. Frank couldn’t help but to preen at the praise as he rides through the blissfulness.

“You always pick the worst times to do that,” Frank grumbles, as you pull from his neck.

“Whatever do you mean?” You ask, tilting your head. He shivers again when his shirt brushes over the mark. “Just be happy I didn’t claim a new spot,”

“Then I’d never let you leave,” He growls.

You loved claiming Frank. He always made the sweetest sounds and produced the most intoxicating scent. He currently had four claiming marks. Every time you made a new mark the sex... damn, the sex was wild and insatiable.

“I’m sorry I can’t stick around to help you clean up,” You whisper, running your thumb over his lips. “I’ll make it up to you when I come back,”

“If you come back smelling like that fucking omega then I’ll fuck you all night,” Frank growls.

“Promises, promises,” You wink. “I’ll be back tonight,” You gently kiss his lips and pull away before he could pull you into the bed. “Feel free to stay messy until I return,” You wink at him. “I wouldn’t mind coming back and licking you clean,”

Frank groans loudly and falls back onto the bed. You laugh slipping out of the bedroom.

“Have your way with that sexy beta?” Natasha asks, smirking knowingly as she finds you and matches your pace. You growl warning her to keep her voice down. Your inner circle knew about Frank - only those you would trust with your treasure - but everyone else was oblivious, hopefully.

“Is the car out front?” You ask. Natasha hums nodding.

“Yelena had it brought around. You sure you don’t want us coming with you?” She asks.

“I don’t want to arrive with an army,” you tell her. “Things are already tense, and this is neutral ground. I don’t want to break neutrality,”

“You honestly think he’ll be alone?” She asks.

“No,” You shake your head putting on some sunglasses as you stepped outside. You send Natasha a quick look. “And neither will I,” You mutter before walking to the car.

Natasha, having heard the message (follow and protect from a distance), instantly springs into action. Once the car is on the way she grabs Yelena, Kate, and Wanda. The four of them follow your orders and protect you from the shadows.

“Your majesty,” A man bows before you as you reach the destination.

“Has the prince arrived?” You question.

“Yes, he is inside. As I asked his guards, I must ask that yours remain out here,”

“I only brought my driver,” You inform him. You motion for Jarvis to return to the car before entering the building.

You had different expectations when you imagined meeting the prince. But finding out that the man in front of you is your destined omega was not one of them.

The instant you entered the building his scent wrapped around you. It surprised you so much that you were frozen in place. You breathed in deeply and it simply consumed you.

“Alpha,” His whimper strained as if he didn’t want to make a noise but couldn’t help it. Your eyes snapped open and zeroed in on him.

“Omega,” You growled closing the distance between the two of you. You didn’t touch him, but you stood as close as you could. You knew your eyes were dilated but you help your desires back. You didn’t want to startle him.

You lifted your hand, and as if he could sense it, he flinched away. You were hurt but you shushed him softly. He doesn’t move again as you close in on him.

“You’re so beautiful,” You whisper, gently running your fingers along his jaw. Matt shudders and instinctively moves into your touch. The light graze of your fingers seemed to open a flood gate. Matt needed you to touch him. He hadn’t had a gentle touch since he was a boy. The two minutes you’ve been in this room have been the most time he’s felt safe since before his father died.

“Alpha,” Matt whines twitching. He wants to touch you but fears of crossing a line. Reading his body language, you take a leap and pull him close.

Your arm slips around his waist and he takes that as a sign to give in. His head finds its way to your neck. You don’ realize you’ve been doing it but you’re purring to calm his anxieties.

Your arm tightens around his waist while your hand threads through his hair. He snuggles closer to you. He doesn’t want to hope but he can’t help it. For the first time he hopes he can get out of his kingdom. His kingdom of corruption and murder. He wasn’t a helpless omega. He tried to bring peace and squeeze out the corruption of his kingdom, but it proved to be impossible. His own family was at the heart of it all. Maybe with you he could actually have the power to change things instead of running around in a mask at night.

“Matthew,” You whisper. Matt hums pleasantly and nuzzles into your neck. “We have to talk about this,”

“I know,” He whispers back, tightening his grip around you. You smirk and shuffle him over to the comfortable love seat. You laugh softly as he straddles your lap and continues to snuggle into your neck.

“How likely is it that your king is going to end the war should we marry?” You ask.

“He will,” He whispers. “He’ll end the physical war, but he has plans to infiltrate your court. He’ll take your crown from the inside,”

“Do you want this marriage?” You ask him. “To leave your home and come to mine?”

“I do,” Matt nods, lifting his head. You couldn’t help but to lift your hand to caress his face. He leans into your touch. “If you’ll have me,”

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hihopelessromantics · 1 year

Text

Can clever plotting end the Holy War? Sure. But this time the plot’s just, “Meliodas decides to fuck around and find out and drag everyone he can think of into it."

ah yes another drabble that I got too shy to put in the reblogs. this meme format gives me so much joy

from that reblog chain: Yet another reason why the Demon King ducked up by making his preteen son a war commander. The amount of strategy he displays by doing that is… might I say god awful. He consulted ZERO people on the development of children. Probably freaked out when he saw baby Mel for the first time. Like "STOP SCREAMING I COMMAND YOU TO STOP." *even louder infant screaming* "YOU CANNOT GET AWAY WITH THIS INSOLENCE!” levels of ignorance.

The only thing stopping Ten Commandments Meliodas from getting the audacity to kill him sooner was a lack of a support system. This kid saw the slightest hint of hope and went OH YEAH. PEACE. ALL THE WAY LETS GO. and immediately was such a disaster about it that he sent shockwaves through history. Imagine if he had been allowed to properly communicate with his brother and others even once every several weeks. The hijinks TC Mel would get into.

Prompt:

The traumatized teen leader of the Ten Commandments finds a little hope in his own home. Throwing as much caution to the wind as he can possibly afford, he drags his precious little brother around the Demon Realm and the battlefields of Britannia to find a solution to the war that’s fucked up their lives from the beginning. More and more happless souls are yanked into the rebellion as impulsive kid shenanigans ensue. Then Meliodas and Zeldris accidentally open up a litttle too much to their new friends and news of their (and Elizabeth’s!) home life goes viral, roping in the four archangels and the ten commandments who are not fucking stoked to hear what they’ve been left in the dark about. This is the aftermath. In meme format.

________

Zeldris: I remember last time we got the chance to talk like this you asked me why I always work so hard. And I got too nervous to answer

Meliodas: uh huh

Zeldris: well… the truth is… I have this dream. That one day I’ll be able to make the demon realm a peaceful place. No more reliance on violence to prove our value. Just, just us demons, working to be the best we can be.

Meliodas, feeling a lil bit of his soul revive as his third eye is being pried open with a chainsaw: ‘keep it cool Meliodas don’t be a blubbering weakling in an important moment’ d-damn Zel…that...

Zeldris: I know it’s strange. To imagine a world where we could give up satisfying our vengeance against the goddesses. But it’s doing so, so much more harm than good. I can see it. I know you might not understand why I would be willing to give it up, with what the goddesses have done to us… to you… to mom. You think I haven’t guessed what happened to her, but… unless father killed her… no, that’s not important now. What’s important is how we move forward… if we just… stay stuck like this, then what’s the point of it all?

Meliodas: nah FUCK the war. It’s all pointless BS. Mom knew it too

Zeldris: please don’t - wait what

Meliodas: don’t what?

Zeldris: um. I thought you might be really angry

Meliodas: what, for being stronger than me? Strong enough to hold onto hope even after all this time?? Zel. I’m glad you could share that with me

Zeldris: 🥹

Meliodas: That dream... I would love to make it come true. even if trying to make this place less of a hellhole is a big hassle and doesn’t work out like exactly like we thought, I don’t think I could regret trying. You’ve shown me love can grow here after all... I have a reason to try

Zeldris: Big brother… do you… doyouwanttorulethedemonrealmtogether one day?

Zeldris: I’m the second prince, and I know father expects much less of me. But I’m capable. I’ll be of use right by your side. You’re the heir. The one everyone expects will be king. Fullfilling that... Is that the path you’re dreaming of? Is that what you want to do?

Meliodas: ! Weeelll. Actually. It never meant anything to me, being the heir. Except more pressure from the Demon King. If there’s gonna be a new Demon King, it should be you. That’s what I think.

Zeldris: Ah. So that’s how you feel... in that case, are you still willing to continue on as a prince at all?

Meliodas: like I’d let you shoulder all this BS all by yourself if I could help it. I trust I’ll... “be of use”?

Zeldris: No-no-I-that sounds- use? No- I don’t think like that -!

Meliodas: Aw, Zel, your face is all reddddd. Hehe. Always wanted to turn the tables on you like that! Don’t worry. I know it’s because father makes you so unsure, and I unwittingly helped out with that for a while.

Zeldris: Hmph. You just can’t restrain yourself. Don’t make me so anxious when you know I already am!

Meliodas: I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But you know-

Zeldris: Yes, I know. You love me. When do you think we’ll be capable enough?

Meliodas: hm *remembers a certain silver haired goddess*

Meliodas: Well, that depends…. How much into the realm of crazy are we willing to let this revolution become?

Zeldris: I’ll do anything I have to for our people.

Meliodas: great. great. How good are you at Public Speaking by the way

*some time later*

The demon king: 👁️👄👁️

Assorted people from all five clans, several Induras, a bucketload of dragons and miscellaneous creatures from all over Britannia, Bloody Ellie and some archangels, all of the vampires under a newly crowned queen, and the demon army, including Gowther who somehow broke out of prison and found Glariza along the way:

. . . you’ve been staring at us for five minutes. That’s gratifying and all but I hope you don’t expect us to explain. Trust me, you don’t want to ask how we all got here. No time for that anyway. We also have questions. So many questions... Questions we prefer you answer before we all kill you. For starters, why are your sons lolis and how the hell are they talking to those CREATURES in the back. Do you see those? Please tell us we’re hallucinating at least some of them. Is that a pig?

Zeldris: rude. Karen has been dragon queen for eons. She knows more languages than I do and probably understands every word you are saying. I’m just doing my best to translate, that is all.

Meliodas: his name is Wild :D isn’t he cute?

Wild: Meliodas-sama why is your father’s face so red? I think he needs a healer.

Ludociel: a pig that speaks? this truly IS hell. Why the fuck did you summon all these untrustworthy creatures from purgatory. Meliodas, I can’t wait to punish your father for bringing you into this world. I can’t believe his mistake is working in our favor right now. MAEL STOP HUGGING THAT THING

Mael, choking on the fluff: this is the best day of my life for so many reasons

Wild: Good to hear, my friend!

Elizabeth, removing her face from the fluff: AMEM. Thank you for having an audience with us, demon king. We have important news. We are ending the Holy War once and for all. Die or die. I'd give you the option of living, but you'd die anyways. Your people are really pissed that you sent your own kids to war and lied to them about it. Whether you live or die, whatever your punishment for prolonging this war will be, that is their call, not mine.

Demon King: FOOLS. DO YOU REALLY INTEND TO KILL ME? when the dust settles here, you will all be dead, and the Holy War will begin anew!

Elizabeth: when the dust settles, I'll be making love to your son on my golden throne, and you'll be a scorned, forgotten memory.

Meliodas: looking forward to it!

Zeldris: I’m gonna kill you brother

Demon King: you mortals cannot POSSIBLY fathom the thoughts of a God. Why I've done the things I've done is beyond you.

Random demon: could say the same for any other child abuser...

Ludociel, shouting at the demon king with equal ire: YOU could not possibly fathom how MUCH I have had to deal with ever since Lady Elizabeth brought that horrible demon and his gaggle of abominations into our camp! I have seen things. Felt things. Even tasted things. That no goddess should ever have to again. (*Meliodas grins evilly*) I don't even care anymore. What is strategy? What’s logic? We ate rocks made by a 5-year-old to get in here safely

Merlin: I'm 12

(Bloody) Elizabeth to the demon king: touch her and ill torture you to death

Demon King, trying desperately to figure out why there's a small child here and why Bloody Ellie is being weird about her, she LOOKS FAMILIAR, oh god is this her child, HOW LONG HAVE THOSE TWO BEEN A THING, this isn't their weird fucked up love child is it??:

I AM GIVING YOU FIVE MINUTES TO LEAVE THIS REALM

Rou, completely ignoring the 200 ft tall giant: oh my God Mel he fell for it!

Ludociel, also completely ignoring him: WHAT??

Meliodas: that was frozen tree blood. And a prank. Your goddess magic is adequate to protect you that's why we had you all cast Saint's Coat

Merlin: Maple Syrup. It’s called maple syrup. And magic potions don't taste nearly that good. I'm shocked you fell for that Ludo. you really are losing it

Gowther: technically, he isn’t wrong. The potion to combat the miasma is partly made from organic material from purgatory. There were some rocks in it. And also bone.

Sariel: when did you go to purgatory???

Mael (muffled by Wild's fur): rock is organic?

Zeldris: 84% of native purgatory rock is!! It’s even been linked biologically to a demon’s darkness. It’s fascinating. I read a whole book about it

Sariel: hello??? who took this man to purgatory without saying shit to anyone??

Tarmiel: I don’t even know who that is. I can’t remember when he got here

Demon King: YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW YOUR ALLIES?! YOU SNIVELING NAIVE FOOLS! STOP THIS.

Mael: not true, we know who he is! that’s the boyfriend of the demon I found trapped in a magic circle in the woods, remember? And I was like, I’m kinda having an exestential crisis right now so it could just be me, but if a goddess and a demon can really be friends and being a pacifist is okay actually and everyone was just being a bitch to me for no reason, then fuck it, who cares why the demon king put you in here? I’m setting you free. just promise you won’t wreck anything. make a demon contract with me or whatever and let’s end this cursed war. and she went “yea actually i’m directly an enemy of the demon king. he threw my lover in jail :(” and then me and Elizabeth and that guy over there *Doll Gowther throws up a peace sign* did a jailbreak while you lot were arguing over whether you could trust Mel or not? Remember that guys?

Ludociel, who did NOT remember, on the verge of fainting:

Mael: Wait did I not tell you ANY of that?!? BROTHER I’M SO SORRY

Doll Gowther: Don’t be. He would not have let you contribute in a substantial way again.

Ludociel: I HATE YOU ALL. EVEN YOU ELIZABETH YOUR VIRTUE IS UNSALVAGEABLE

Elizabeth: do I owe you dessert Mel or does him insulting my virtue in this context not count

Meliodas: I’m not actually sure…might have made that bet too vauge

Zeldris (to Merlin): I’m not letting them adopt you. You can be my little sister

Demon King, finally realizing who Merlin is and that he’s not getting out of this unscathed unless he gets serious: THAT’S IT. YOU THINK YOU CAN DEFY ME? BARGE INTO MY REALM UNINVITED TO CHALLENGE ME ONLY TO BANTER AMONGST YOURSELVES? GUESS WHAT. YOU CAN’T. EVEN THE MAGICAL POWER YOU RELY ON SO MUCH COMES FROM ME!

The ground begins to shake violently. Besides the obvious, nothing else happens.

Demon King: MY COMMANDMENTS. HEAR AND OBEY. END THIS NONSENSE REBELLION. RIGHT NOW!

The Ten Commandments, permanently scarred from realizing that Meliodas the Destoryer and Zeldris the Executioner were kids this whole goddamn time, and not just weirdly short: ...loooooook...uh...here’s the thing. we’re gonna kill you now and we don’t need your power to do it. We got rid of it already. We have the power of, uh, *checks smudged writing on hands, dilligently inscribed by Elizabeth* ... teamwork

Wild: AND OUR MIGHTY BODIES!

TC: and what ... what the pig said

Mael, extracting himself from Wild’s fluff, noticably buffer than 5 minutes ago: Plus the power of the gods! It’s almost noon :)

Zeldris: Damn, we timed this wrong. You better not destroy the castle

Yeah this has been sitting in my drafts for weeks because I don’t know how to end it. Anyone who wants a part 2 let me know lol

#happy on the internet on exam weekend to everyone!#nnt drabble #holy war au drabble #yet again imagining the little fictional people saves me from the tedious boredom of being super anxious #ah yes daydreaming when I have things to do - one of my favorite things #nnt pack mentality #this sat in the drafts folders for weeks. am I too shy for this website #hihopelessromantics writes a drabble

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starvinginbelair · 9 days

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this is just a thought for the moment, but, i'm wondering (and processing through writing, it's not a full fledged idea) if there's like. a chance if the greater outraged people/suspicious atl fandom could somehow. have a lawyer in their midst and make an offer of their services publicly to the girl who claimed things on twitter and it could be like a fan effort? obv it's a big thing to try coordinate but i'm in the mood for some movie style vigilante shit and i'm just. entertaining the possibility (even though i am definitely not a lawyer). but when i look at things fans have come together and coordinated it def does feel smaller than some things that are outright unhelpful yet people came together for

while i think this would be a better idea than what's currently happening, and of course done with good intentions, i genuinely do not think something like this would never come to fruition, mainly due to the online nature of the allegations and simply how much would actually have to be done on the legal side alone by even the most organized groups of fans.

pls note i'm not an expert on us law. i'm also still in my undergrad, and NOT a law student, but here's how i see it based on my knoweldge of that system.

firstly, i'm not even sure you can bring a legal case on these accusations to a court. i mainly focus on the criminal side in my degree, so i know a lot about this stuff, but because this case was not one that was reported to/investigated to the police (by my knowledge), there's nothing a criminal court can do. this case wouldn't even be brought up there. the reason all time low is able to sue in civil court is because they are suing on defamation charges, and not criminal charges. however, the victim, because they remained anonymous in the original post would not be able to countersue for the same issue. so that's the initial challenge, that i'm pretty sure there's not even a charge that the victims could sue all time low for, it would have to process through a criminal legal avenue.

the only thing i can imagine on the civil level is potentially something to do with not advertising their shows at 18+? but at the same time, it's really hard to think that there's any substantive argument coming out of that, considering there's no us regulation against not advertising 18+ on tickets. and while i don't necessarily think that what all time low was saying at their shows was appropriate, i don't think that it was out of the realm of "acceptable social behaviour" especially for bands in their genre at the time (which they would definitely use as a counterargument for their behaviour)

even if this case somehow did get off the ground, there' still so many other barriers to getting justice for these victims through the legal system. while of course the number of 97 has never been officially confirmed by anyone, there were still a lot of accusations against the band. the difficulty here is that there is no guarantee that all of these people live within the same legal jurisdiction or even the same country. that would likely mean trials in several different areas, which the victims probably would not be able to afford (even if there was a lawyer in the midst of atl fans).

most lawyers don't often do pro bono work, in the first place, and i've personally never heard of it being done across countries like that. logistically, it sounds like a nightmare, because the legal system is so much more than just going to court and pleading your case. it's discovery meetings and motions to dismiss and very much so requires in person or at least consistent online interaction between lawyers and their clients. very rarely do cases actually go to court, with most settling far before it even gets to that stage. and because so much of this broke online and on twitter, with very little other than just stories from victims, it wouldn't be worth it to try to fight it. any lawyer considering picking this up would know that the judge would probably dismiss the case, on the basis of lack of evidence about a year into the process. i say lack of evidence btw, not as away to say i don't believe the stories, but that court admissible evidence is very different from what the average person considers to be evidence. it has to follow a very strict set of guidelines and anything that does not fit the bill is striken from record. and with tiktok and twitter information especially, very rarely does all of it pass through within any issues whatsoever.

anyways, the lawyer would likely realize then that they'd pretty much be wasting a year of everyone's time and money with this case, and simply just not pick it up. it'd probably have to be a very invested lawyer to pursue it in the first place, with more evidence and what they believe is an iron-clad case. but solely on what broke online, i just don't see enough for anyone to want to go after it.

this is also why a lot of sa vicitms don't go to the police or to the courts with their stories. because the system is simply not set up to benefit them, or to get them true justice. they are asked time and time again to prove to the courts that they've gone through this intense trauma, and so much of the time, it is not acceptable just to say that it happened. there has to be stacks on stacks of evidence, and even then, the court can rule against them based on whether or not they truly believed that the defendant did the things they were accused of. it's really tough, and while i would say some places are getting better at adapting their legal system to accomodate these issues, the us is definitely not one of them. with the current way their legal system is set up, it's hard for any victim, with even mountains of receipts and testimony, to receive justice. much less with how little admissible court evidence there would be in this case

#ask #it is never as easy as they make seem in the movies #also the likelihood of this ever going to court and not just being handled with a settlement is near none

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visioncursed · 3 months

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when sukuna is using megumi's body , we know gojo has just been released from the prison realm . there's a lot already that happens there , so for one we know that he had the pressure of savings thousands of people on him . if he runs people will die , if he fights people will die , if he uses domain expansion in a way that is anything but perfect people will die .

he's pushing himself to the absolute limit knowing that he is genuinely the only person who can , because it's demanded of him as per the requirements of situation . he has to be there alone .

but he's still an unstoppable force up until he sees geto probably the only person on earth that he knew so well , who he was so connected with at the soul that he second guessed six eyes because he knew after a moment that it wasn't him . seeing a loved one threw him off & ultimately got him sealed .

when he is released we have no idea how long it felt like he would have been in there for , or the mental toll it took . he doesn't even get time to process it , he's already expected to battle sukuna who is using his student's body , the boy he'd basically raised , who he watched grow up & on top of that he's informed that he's seen as complicit to the destruction that happened while he was locked away ,

that people died , nanami died , some of his students even are dead or permanently injured & it's all because he hesitated for just one second . all of the work he did trying to save people didn't matter , everything went the absolute worst ways possible & all of that comes back to him because he messed up .

but gojo has never been viewed as a person - has never been anything but the strongest so he doesn't get time to mourn .

he doesn't get time to worry too much about megumi . sukuna uses a face that could be a weakness but gojo absolutely can't let that happen again , can't hold back on him . he represses that by telling himself he'll worry about megumi later because if he messes up here then everyone is really properly fucked & he'd already caused all of this in the first place by freezing up the first time around .

so whatever he has that makes him more human , that makes him for connected - he has to crush that because he can't afford it . megumi doesn't stand a chance if satoru doesn't give it his all , & no one else does either .

besides that he knows megumi . he raised him , watched him grow & knows that he has so much potential , more even than yuji does . he knows it's possible to fight back from within & megumi had never been very good at trying his very best because he never believed in himself .

satoru believes in megumi & if it meant weakening sukuna , dying for it - if it meant his students had the chance to finish things off , if it meant more time for megumi to push through his mourning & realize he had more to lose & everything to fight for ,

then dying for it just wasn't really the worst thing . if megumi died for it too he thinks he'd rather satoru kill them both than let someone parade around in his body hurting the people that he loves .

regardless he loves him , he has faith in him , & if nothing comes of that then at the very least he thinks he knows he's doing the best that he can for him under terrible circumstances . megumi would understand - or he would finally reach his fullest potential . those are the only options .

#✧. ┊ hollow purple ( headcanon ) .#SO THERE

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mysticstarlightduck · 10 months

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Excerpt From The Last Wrath:

Context: While travelling across the continent and hiding his identity, Darian becomes lost in the swirling streets of the city of Faravvia. Attacked by an unsightly thief, the last thing he expected was to be saved by an unexpected duo... and to encounter a face from his past.

Darian walked through the white marble streets, his woven hood hiding his features from curious onlookers, even in this foreign market. Every sound around him should mask his steps, every color help him blend into the shadows - at least, he hoped so. With only a clue to guide him towards his missing friend, Darian could not afford his own enemies to find him now. In other times, he would have found this city a wondrous sight, with its clean marble streets and colorful stalls of cloth, scented candles in paper streetlights above painting the city a myriad of colors on the light of a full morning sun - compared to his iron-forged home kingdom, this would have been paradise.

But no place was, not anymore.

The city’s beauty did not outshine its many dangers. Even far from home, Darian knew that one look on his face would be enough for a lucky bounty hunter to recognize a paycheck. His father’s reputation preceded them both. Darian could not help but feel like the eyes of each passerby were burning into him. Even though they were not. A part of him just wanted to go home, to be safe - to, for once, actually listen to his father asking him to stay out of the war. But he knew that was no longer possible, and even if it was, he had a promise to fulfill.

Darian clutched the small parchment scroll in his hand tightly, a strange name and rank scribbled in black ink during the middle of the night - his only chance to find and save his friend, resting on ink upon paper.

Now, he only had to find a way to enter enemy territory. Safe passage from the Free Realms and into the Morosyn Empire was a rare currency, and it was about to become even rarer, with the recent tensions at the borders. If he wanted to reach Tanwin, he’d have to be fast. And smart.

Trapped in his musings, confused by the buzzling crowds and twisting streets, Darian failed to notice the direction he was headed in, how his surroundings turned from beautiful to strange and finally decrepit - until he reached a dead end.

He froze, suddenlly all too aware of where he was. The smell of damp wood surrounded him, and rats scurried along cracks beneath the buildings, ragged cloth curtains flowing slightly in the breeze. Darian was sure that this place was not where he was supposed to be, not if he wanted to get out of the city alive. He scrambled back, trying to figure out the path he’d taken here, when a figure slipped out of the shadows behind him, slowly walking his way.

“Well, what h’ve we here? Pesky little rich brat, got lost on yer way h’me?”

The man slithered towards him, dirty clothes stained with wine from his recent visit to a local tavern. Darian swallowed, blood roaring behind his ears as he flittingly around him, trapped. Hands shaking, he finally found his voice. “I just want to be on my way, sir. I - I am not looking for any trouble.”

The thief laughed, throwing his matted head of hair back.

For the first time, Darian wished he’d taken his father’s fighting lessons seriously, as he chillingly realized he wasn’t getting out of this without a fight. Which he did not know how to do.

“All posh an’ proper, callin’ me sir…. We won’t h’ve trouble, kid, if you hand over yer coin,” He paused “and that fancy little ring”

No. Darian’s blood ran cold. He had only enough coin to buy him the passage he needed to cross into the Empire. His father’s signet ring was his only memory of home to hold onto, the last thing from his past that he had after entering this quest, after nearly losing everything multiple times. Darian hadn’t had time to say goodbye when he left home to save Tanwin. This ring, it was his last sense of security. And it was also his only ticket for help should he need to contact the rebellion. He was not going to let them take this too.

Darian held his ring hand closed to his chest. Recoiling back, away from the approaching threat, Darian hope his glare was more intimidating than it felt. “Well, I am not giving you anything.” His voice shook, betraying him.

“Tryin’ to be defiant, are ya?” The man sneered “I’m not in the mood for games, brat. If yer not gonna hand ‘em over, I guess me an’ my associates” He made a gesture as he stepped forward, two new figures following him from where they’d hidden in the shadows of the murky alleyway. “Are gonna h’ve to take it by force. How ‘bout we start by choppin’ off that pretty little ring finger right there?”

Darian stammered, shaking like a leaf, as the new figures prepared to pounce. He didn’t want to die - not today, not ever. The thief snarled, whipping out a wickedly sharp dagger from his jacket, the blade glistening in the dull light. There was nowhere to run, and Darian braced himself for the worst.

“Back off from the kid, jackass.”

A new voice broke through the stale silence, making Darian jump. The rugged thief turned around, stopping his imminent approach. Darian held himself back from breathing a sigh of relief - he wasn’t out of danger yet.

“What’d ya just say -”

A loud punch rang out, cutting the thief off mid-phrase. The newcomer caught the falling thief, twisting the man’s arm behind his back and placing a dagger of his own at his throat. “I said: back off.”

The thief whined, lifting his free hand to try and land a hit at the young man behind him, who was faster. His dagger flashed out in one swift motion, slicing the man’s hand clean off. The thief’s “associates” were too stunned to move.

Behind him, another figure came, wielding a small sword in her hands, appeared from the shadows. She glared at the fearstruck thieves, a warning. The thieves glanced at each other, uncertain.

“Anyone else want a lesson on manners?” The tan young man called out, standing tall as he pointed his bloodied dagger at the murmuring robbers, who instantly fell silent. “I thought so. Now, pick up your stuff -” He jerked his head at the leader, who was now writhing on the floor, “- And skedaddle. Or else you jerks will be on the receiving end of my - and hers - next move. Your choice, but I ain’t got all day.”

He adjusted his dagger in his hand, grasping it tighter, as the girl behind him leveled the sword in her hands, taking a step forward. Darian swore that, if looks could kill, the stare the young man gave the crooks would have them out cold. The thieves nodded between themselves, fumbling as they dragged their leader behind them scorfully, under the duo’s steady watch, and skittered away back from the shadows they came from.

Darian only gawked, shifting his feet under him.

It didn’t take long until the thieves were completely out of sight. The young man with the dagger rolled his eyes, adopting a more relaxed stance as he pulled out a purple handkerchief from his pocket, beginning to carefully wipe the blood off his dagger. “You sure this kid is the one?” He said, discarding the dirty cloth into a gutter on the side with a look of faint disgust. Briefly, he checked the blade in the sunlight, before pocketing it. The girl nodded enthusiastically, but seemed suddenly unsure.

For the first time, Darian realized that they were looking for him. Newfound dread replaced his relief almost instantly. But instead of doing anything to threaten him, they just stood and watched, the girl sheathing her sword. She stepped forward, gently, tilting her head to get a better look at him, wringing her hands as if trying to figure out what to say.

“Um, you’re Darian, aren’t you?”

Darian hesitated, as if recognizing a ghost. Something about those eyes. He’d seen them before. A long time ago. Those same anxious hands, those deep green eyes behind strands of hazel… and that blinding smile. This could only be one person, and yet it couldn’t.

“Wait… Seira?”

The girl nodded, nearly cheering as she pulled him into a crushing hug, lifting Darian off the ground. He was speechless for a moment, though he didn’t know if it was from the shock of this reunion or the strength of her arms almost crushing his ribs.

“How - Wait, how can this be possible? After all those years - you, here… I thought you were dead!” Darian exclaimed, catching his breath, as she slowly released him back to the ground. Behind her, the young man that saved him looked around, as if expecting another thief to pop out of the shadows.

Seira chuckled, straightening out his crumpled robes.

“I’m very much alive, thank you. It’s a very long story, but I can’t wait to tell you all about it! What are you doing here?”

Before Darian could begin to explain, the young man walked up to them, interrupting them both. “It’s all well and good, I know.” He placed a hand at his hip. “Childhood friend reunion and all that! But before any of us get into any explaining, we should get out of here. We don’t know if those guys are going to call for ‘backup’, and I am not particularly keen on staying around to find out.”

Seira nodded. “Where should we go, Lukan?

“I know a place, just try not to call any attention to yourselves, and we’ll make it there just fine. I hope.”

Taglist (to read this story bit) @moonandris @lassiesandiego @lyutenw @conkers-theficwriter @elshells @jasperygrace @clairelsonao3 @repressed-and-depressed @macabremoons @rickie-the-storyteller @jay-avian @aziz-reads

#writing #writeblr #writing motivation #writers #my characters #character writing #my wips #my writing #writerblr #writers on tumblr

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meetaethere · 2 months

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"Childhood Dreams, Adult Realities: A Journey of Growth and Discovery"

As I sit down to write my life story from childhood to adulthood, I am overcome with a rush of memories, emotions, and reflections. My journey from childhood to adulthood has been a tapestry woven with threads of joy, sorrow, love, and growth. Each chapter has shaped the person I am today.

Childhood was a time of innocence and wonder, filled with endless possibilities and boundless imagination. I grew up in a small town. My earliest memories are of lazy summer days going to grandma's house every weekend, spending time playing with my friends,and catching fireflies as the sun dipped below.From the earliest days of my childhood, grandma's house was my sanctuary. Every weekend, without fail, I'd eagerly go to her house, my heart brimming with anticipation. As soon as I crossed the threshold, I was enveloped in the comforting embrace of her love and warmth. Grandma's house is not just a place; it was a haven where I felt safe.With Grandma by my side, every day was a memorable adventure waiting to unfold. From making champorado,chika and exploring the wonders of her backyard garden, we embarked on countless escapades filled with laughter and imagination. He wanted me to become a teacher someday.As I grew older, I came to cherish not only the moments of fun but also the invaluable lessons of love and wisdom that Grandma imparted to me. Through her gentle guidance and unwavering support, in Grandma's eyes, I was always enough, just as I was. She always said congratulations for my small achievements until now, comforted my tears, brought me home from work, and encouraged my dreams with unwavering faith, support, and unconditional love. No matter the challenges or uncertainties that life presents, I am also blessed with my parents because, as far as I can remember, until now, my birthdays were like stepping into a wonderland. Even if it was a simple celebration, my parents made sure that each one was special, with tons of presents and decorations. When I was young too, I remember that going to the dentist scared me silly. The whirring tools and masked faces made me tremble. So, I avoided the dentist like the plague, and because I was afraid, I ignored any toothaches or problems. I hoped they would just go away on their own. But as I got older, my teeth started to look less nice.Eventually, the pain got so bad that I had to go to the dentist. With a pounding heart, I finally faced my fear and sat in the dreaded chair.The dentist was kind and gentle, even though my teeth weren't in great shape. They helped me fix the problems and showed me how to take better care of my teeth, but the doctor said I needed to have braces to make my teeth straight and nice, but they were too expensive and we couldn't afford them, so I didn't have braces.And now I am not confident and shy speaking in front of many people because of my teeth. Every time I stood before a crowd, my heart raced and my palms sweated. But it wasn't just the fear of public speaking that held me back; it was the fear of being judged because of my teeth.As I entered adolescence, the landscape of my life began to shift in unexpected ways. I grappled with the tumultuous journey of self-discovery,belonging, and purpose. High school was a time of both exhilaration and heartache, as I forged friendships and relationships and weathered the storms of academic pressure and social expectations.

Amidst the chaos of adolescence, there were moments of profound clarity and growth.

As I graduated from high school and ventured into the realm of adulthood, I was met with a newfound sense of freedom and responsibility.

Senior high offered a fresh start, a chance to reinvent myself and pursue my goals to achieve them.Entering senior high school was both exciting and nerve-wracking. As I stepped through the doors on the first day, I was filled with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. The halls seemed larger, the expectations higher, and the challenges greater than ever before.

But alongside the excitement of newfound independence, there were moments of uncertainty and self-doubt.As a senior high school student, speaking in front of others was a daunting challenge. The mere thought of standing before a crowd sent shivers down my spine, and my voice often faltered in the face of fear. But deep down, I knew I wanted to change.Despite my fear, I made a conscious decision to confront my insecurities and work on improving my self-confidence when speaking in front of class and many people for my own good.But amidst my shyness, I always remembered something my grandma used to say: that he wanted me to become a teacher someday. Her words stayed with me, a gentle reminder of her belief in me, even when I didn't believe in myself.I realized that if I wanted to fulfill my grandma's wish, I would have to overcome my fear of speaking in front of others. So, little by little, I started to push myself out of my comfort zone, improving my self-confidence when speaking in front of many people because I remember one person telling me that I should not be shy when speaking in front of many people because judgements are always around us. All we have to do is believe in ourselves that we can do it and ignore what people say around us as long as we do not hurt other people. Thats why, until now, step by step, I have been helping myself and encouraging myself to be strong and improve my self-confidence for my own good and those who believe that I can achieve my dream of becoming a teacher someday, and I believe that if anyone can do it, I can do it.

And my grandma's outspoken mentors as my role models who inspired me to dream big and pursue my goals with unwavering determination.

Through it all, I have learned that life is a journey of constant evolution, self-discovery, and self-acceptance.Each chapter of my life has brought with it its own set of challenges and triumphs, shaping me into the person I am today. And as I reflect on the path that has led me here, I am filled with gratitude for the lessons learned, the friendships forged, and the experiences that have shaped my journey from childhood to adulthood. As I embark on this narrative journey, I hope to capture the essence of my experiences and the lessons they have taught me.

#childhood #adulthood #12branding #empowerment technology

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sevenciircles · 11 months

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a new dawn

The sobs wracked through her as she laid against her bed, hair messy and eyes bloodshot.

He had destroyed everything. Everything she had ever worked for. It came in flashes to her even weeks after it had happened. The thunder crackling, the eye appearing in the sky, the smokey haze of red as her hopes and dreams came crumbling down. More than just the Hotel, with the destruction symbolizing just how much she had lost.

The argument between Charlie and her Father had been biblical. The Princess having thrown everything at him in a haze. With her highly emotional state, it was no struggle for the King to defeat the Princess. The Hotel remained destroyed, her friends forbidden from contacting her, her duties as a Princess to come before anything else in her life.

Redemption was supposed to be a phase. An experiment that was doomed to fail. Something to show her that those who came to Hell were truly unredeemable. That she couldn't fix it. That she had to enjoy what she had, the unbridled power she was afforded.

Only, Charlie had succeeded.

One sinner, a newer resident at the Hotel, had been drawn up into the sky in a shining bright light display, demon form shattering like glass to reveal a beautiful angelic one.

It was everything she could have ever hoped for.

When the mortal soul left his realm, Lucifer had been summoned.

Charlie knew that her Father didn't believe in her, in her dream, but what he did...

Destroying her Hotel, forbidding the redemption of souls by Royal Decree. For if Hell became empty of sinners or those who knew that they could go to heaven... there would be anarchy. People would underestimate the Morningstar power. Their absolute authority.

Those who witnessed it...

Silenced.

Snuffed out.

Like a candle that had been pinched between two fingers. What was there, was not.

So Charlie wept, not just for her dream. But for all of Hell. Who lay unaware that redemption was possible, that a better way was possible, but was prevented by something as finite as power.

Greed.

Sin.

Charlie hiccuped, wiping her tears as she hyperventilated, not able to catch her breath. But she did manage to quell her sobs into silent tears that stained her cheeks as she rose up.

Looking at herself in the mirror... it really was eerie how much she looked like her Father.

Charlie picked up a hairbrush and threw it at the mirror, the shattering glass feeling like something had broken within her.

Almost as soon as she did it, she regretted it. Anger would never solve anything. She sighed, reaching down to pick up the mirror shards when she sliced her hand on an unseen piece. Dropping the shard, she clenched her wrist as she winced and looked at the black blood that stood out stark against her pale skin.

For some reason, the blood hypnotized her. She had seen her Father bleed once, too. He had been pierced by a weapon, the opposite of a holy weapon, a pure demonic one. One forged from the very depths of Hell. A Fallen Angel was still an Angel after all.

Could she really...?

Charlie crossed over to her window, throwing up the balcony doors and looked out at the streets. She saw so much from her castle window. People starving in the streets, victims piling up, victimizers getting away with it all. This was what her Father was preserving. Protecting. This was what he wanted to rule over. A chaotic den of wickedness that had no hope of redemption. Because the once shaker of the status quo couldn't reject what he had worked for.

Her Father had created a new kingdom, one to spite his Father. God. Something that he had succeeded in. The opposite of Eden, the opposite of Hell. Instead of a place of mercy and love, it was vile and cruelty. Where people were forced to suffer for mistakes they could atone for, where those who were truly awful lived on top.

It was wrong.

As the blood dripped from her hand... Charlie looked at the city that was only representative of the larger problem.

Sometimes there was no changing something that was broken so deeply. There was only creating something better, newer. Less broken. A new era that would be to everyone's benefit.

Charlie was aware that deep down, her Father must have thought the same thing. But where he had fallen into the same trap of those before him, Charlie wouldn't. He sought the subjugation of souls, Charlie would liberate them.

So the blood dripped onto the railing, and Charlie made a promise.

One she would not break.

If the system couldn't exist the way it was, then she'd fix it. She'd do whatever it took for her people, for their souls. They had laughed at her, scorned her, destroyed her. Well, Charlie would show them all. She'd show them all a path to a better life, she'd show them that what they had wasn't all there was.

She'd show them a new dawn.

In the end, Charlie really did still think they looked alike.

She had his cheeks, his hair, his smile...

His blood.

The Court stood to the sides, too stunned to approach her. The bloody, beaten Princess who had spent a year preparing for this.

Her red eyes stared at what was once her Father as his eyes slowly lost more and more of their light. A blade of pure hatred and sin sticking out of his heart. A blade that Charlie had put there. She had looked into his eyes as he fell, and held his hand as he exhaled his last breath.

Where would he go? Charlie didn't know.

But she knew everyone there was wondering a different question.

What would she do?

Charlie stood up, blood dripping from her mouth, the same blood that painted the floors of the throne room. Her hands seemingly dyed black.

She looked to the Court, to the witnesses who had seen her act of defiance. Her ultimate rebellion.

On the eve of Extermination, King Lucifer and Queen Lilith were no more.

Charlie let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

Between the two bodies of the ones who had given her angelic and demon blood in equal measure. They had birthed their own defeat.

But their act of destruction and hubris had what created their end.

However, there end was Charlie's beginning.

Reaching down, she gripped the cool metal of her Father's crown. Heavy, but not as heavy as it had been when she tried it on as a child.

She placed the crown on her own head, and she wasn't alarmed that it fit her perfectly.

She was born to do this.

Charlie walked towards the throne, and no one attempted to stop her. In fact, as she passed, the Court all bent to one knee. Heads bowed.

Charlie sat down on her Father's throne, no longer feeling his shadow over her or his blood coursing through her veins.

It was her blood. Her kingdom. Her power.

Charlie looked at the red glowing coming in from the stained glass, and she knew that the citizen of Hell would be awakening to an Extermination that would never come.

They would soon echo the words of the Court as she settled onto the throne, still covered in blood.

"All Hail Queen Morningstar! All Hail Queen Charlotte!"

Charlie looked at the sun that was rising, and a smile graced her lips.

It was a new dawn.

#morning glow is long past due. ~ charlie #not canon #just a lil what if #otherwise known as daughter unintentionally follows the same path as father #one she attempted to deviate from #sorry sweetie

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ravenknockss · 4 months

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CHAPTER FOUR: BRIDGING THE DIVIDE

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Needing a way to send a message to Henry, the adults and Marceline come across Devin and capture him. Meanwhile back at camp, Henry meets a Lost Boy who could very well be his only ally.

SUMMARY: A war of centuries has been raging on Neverland, Lost Girls versus Lost Boys. When they escape the island and the grip of Peter Pan, the two factions must reconcile with each other in a brand new world.

WARNINGS: implied sa, mentions of child death, indoctrinated/conditioned children, brainwashing children.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: cross posted on ao3

Regina walked to Marceline’s quarters and stood in front of the door, preparing to knock.

“Come in, your Majesty,” Marceline’s voice called from the inside. Regina’s brow knit in confusion as she lowered her raised fist to open the door and enter. “Did you need something?”

“No…” Regina said, looking into Marceline’s eyes as the girl sat by the window with a cup of steaming tea. “I was wondering if I could speak with you.”

“Of course,” Marceline smiled softly, gesturing to the empty seat across the table. Regina approached her and sat down, smoothing her blazer. “One cube or two?”

“Pardon?”

“Sugar,” Marceline answered, pushing a small cup toward Regina. “for your tea.”

“Oh no thank you…” Regina smiled as she put the rim to her lips.

“You said you wished to speak with me?”

“Yes,” Regina said, setting the cup down. “You said that when we get Henry you wanted us to take your girls as well as the Lost Boys… what if you came with us?”

Marceline tensed before placing her own cup down with a quiet clatter. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“When you leave the island, someone will have to stay and fend off Pan to protect the Lost Ones,” Marceline replied, gazing at Regina in solemn determination. “Even if they leave the island, his shadow, his magic can still reach them. I need to stay to keep them from him.”

Regina’s gaze softened. “Why does it need to be you?”

“I’m the only one who’s able to keep him at bay. I was destined to be locked in battle with him for eternity the minute I realized Evelyn was gone. The Lost Ones don’t have to be tied to that same fate.”

“What if we kill him? Now I know that the more… heroic of my compatriots wouldn’t necessarily be in favor of that, but if we can get rid of Pan we can free you too.”

Marceline let out a sigh before rising to her feet and staring out at the moonlit jungle. “Tempting but no. One thing I’ve learned about Pan is that he’ll never relent. He won’t stay dead and when he returns, I’d be bringing more innocents into our conflict. It’s safer for your realms if I stay here.”

Regina stared up at Marceline, heart panging in her chest. No child should have to carry such a heavy weight on their shoulders. “If that’s what you think is right…”

Marceline gave an affirming nod.

“I’ll be going then,” Regina answered.

Rumplestiltskin stood in the library, sifting through tomes and journals, with an expression of mild appreciation for the expansive studies conducted by these girls. Footsteps approached from behind him.

“What’s that?” Regina asked.

Rumplestiltskin turned the book and read the cover: “The Theory of Geographic Magical Thresholds.”

“Sounds enticing.”

“It is, actually,” Rumplestiltskin answered, turning to meet the Queen’s eyes. “It’s a theory about why different realms have different magical climates and rules of operation. It also offers a reason why Neverland is so… imaginative.”

“Well while we’re in this makeshift library,” Regina said. “I need your help finding a solution to our Pan problem.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled, closing the book and reshelving it. “Killing Peter Pan? You may be good, dearie, but you’re not as good as he.”

“What about us? Together, we could give Pan a run for his money.”

He thought for a moment. “It’s entirely possible, but we can’t afford to fail and… Emma’s magic is shaky at best.”

Rumplestiltskin began to walk past Regina, but she caught his arm. “What about Marceline?”

“Who? The Lost Girl who rebelled against Pan? She may be knowledgeable, but we don’t know how well she does in combat.”

“She’s prepared to fight Pan for the rest of their lives!”

Startled by Regina’s sudden outburst, he replied with uncertainty, “Good for her.”

“We can’t leave her to that,” Regina said forcefully. “If you’ve spoken to her then you know she…”

“Know what? That she picked a fight with one of the most powerful beings I’ve ever come across in my life for a friend? Sounds like that’s her problem.” He pulled his arm out of her grasp as he began to walk away.

“Gold!”

“Why do you care so much, dearie?” Rumplestiltskin scoffed. “We’re here to get Henry, I don’t care about some lost girl with a tragic backstory. Marceline has her own problems and we have ours.”

“Concentrate Henry,” Pan’s voice said as he circled around the boy. “This is Neverland! You can conjure anything you want if you just believe.”

Henry took a deep breath, trying to shake the feeling of the eyes of the Lost Boys.

“Oh please,” one of the Lost Boys scoffed. “He’s not gonna do it. He’s been trying for three minutes!”

Felix’s voice cut through the air, stabbing at the mouthy boy. “Shut it, Devin. Have some faith in the boy.”

The boy sighed through his nose and gripped his spear, leaning back against the tree trunk.

“You can do this, Henry. I believe in you,” Pan said just as a carafe of lemonade appeared in Henry’s hand. As the condensation dripped through Henry’s fingers, he opened his eyes and beamed in awe. “You must have been thirsty.”

“I am,” Henry smiled before holding out his other hand, summoning plastic straws in his hand. “Come on, you guys!”

The other Lost Boys smiled, rushing forward to take a sip. Pan and Felix smiled down at the boys, huddled over the carafe—pushing each other out of the way for a sip to quench their thirst. Devin rolled his eyes and stood, walking over to the boys with a sneer. Grabbing one of the boys by their hood, he pulled him back and took hold of the straw.

“Nice going, wonder boy,” Devin scoffed, wiping his mouth. “But how is this going to help us kill Marceline?”

The other boys quieted down as Pan stared warningly at Devin.

Henry looked at Pan and back at Devin. “What do you mean, kill Marceline?”

“We don’t need to kill Marceline to defeat her,” Pan answered.

“Yeah because she’s going to give up,” Devin snapped. “To get rid of Marceline, we have to kill her. Tear off her head and put it on a stake!”

Henry’s eyes welled with fear as he stared at Pan who glared venom at Devin.

“Shut your mouth, Devin,” Felix hissed, grabbing the freckled brunette’s collar. “or should I shut it for you?”

“Stand down Felix,” Pan sighed before taking Henry’s shoulders. “Walk with me.”

Henry followed Pan into the treeline, staring back at Devin and the other Boys.

“I’m not going to kill her!” Henry declared once the boys were out of sight.

“Henry, listen to me,” Pan said, sitting down on a rock. “Sometimes heroes have to make sacrifices for the greater good. They have to slay the dragon to protect the kingdom and no one gives the fire-breathing reptile any thought. Marceline is your dragon, Henry.”

“I don’t care!”

Pan sighed and stood up. “I really didn’t want to resort to this.”

“What?”

“Come on.”

Henry stood for a few moments, conflicted as Pan walked deeper into the jungle. He followed hesitantly, ready for danger, but all of that fizzled into melancholy as he stood next to Pan—overlooking a pit of bones.

“What is this place?” Henry inquired, voice trembling.

“This is the place where we take our fallen boys,” Pan said. “Killed by Marceline and her Lost Girls. There’s at least a hundred skeletons.”

“A hundred?” Henry croaked, eyes watering as he stared down at the skulls and bones. “Marceline… she killed everyone here?”

“Down to the last boy,” Pan sighed. “Henry, I’m sorry I had to show you this. I didn’t know how else I’d get you to understand.”

“No,” Henry answered, voice wobbling. “I’m glad you did.”

Pan breathed and pulled Henry into a gentle embrace, cradling the sobbing boy in his arms as he smirked down at the pit—the illusion shifting in the fog.

“We should get back,” Peter sighed, guiding Henry away from the pit. “No one should stay here longer than they have to.”

Devin scowled as he stared down into the blazing bonfire at the center of camp from his favorite tree branch. His leg was propped up on a higher tree branch while he played with a knife in his free hand.

“Got a moment?” Pan’s voice inquired from above him, startling the boy enough to drop the knife.

Devin turned and gulped, nodding. He watched Pan suspiciously as he sat down on the higher branch.

“What is it?”

“When Henry defeats Marceline and saves magic, Marceline will be left alive but that’s only because death would be too kind for her,” Pan said. “When the Lost Girls are gone and she’s alone, Marceline will join us.”

“How is that a solution?” Devin scoffed.

“Tell me Devin… have you ever wanted a pet that you could do anything to? Could play all day long and would never make any mess?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“How would you like that kind of pet, Devin?”

“Where are you going with this?” Devin inquired.

Pan leaned in and whispered. “Marceline will be our pet… and we’ll do whatever we want with her.”

A devious grin broke out across Devin’s lips. “How far can I go?”

“As far as you see fit,” Pan smirked, leaning back. “Make her regret everything she’s done.”

“I think I’m going to hunt,” Devin grinned, jumping down from the tree and snatching the blade from the ground.

“Attaboy.”

Marceline sat in her quarters, drumming her fingers on the windowsill as the door opened behind her.

Emma’s voice spoke first. “You said you wanted to see us?”

“Yes,” Marceline replied, standing and turning around. “We may not be able to get Henry yet, but… perhaps you can get him a message.”

Regina and Rumplestiltskin shared a glance before the Dark One piped up. “And how are you planning on doing that, dearie? Pan will have protections.”

“And I don’t recall seeing a Neverland Post Office,” Emma added.

“Then I guess we’ll make one,” Marceline grinned, walking over to her workbench and plucking a glass vial from the table. “We just need someone that can get in and out of Pan’s camp easily.”

All eyes turned to Tinkerbell. “No!” the fairy protested. “I’m not endangering myself for some flimsy plan!”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about Tinkerbell,” Marceline added.

“Then who are we getting?” Hook inquired.

“We’re going hunting,” Marceline grinned. “For a Lost Boy.”

A pit formed in the stomachs of David, Hook, and Neal as they exchanged wary glances.

Devin traversed the jungle with his spear at the ready, adrenaline rushing through him as he thought of the witch responsible for the death of his brothers. Ripping past trees, his thoughts overflowed with memories of Rufio, Plank, and countless others. He remembered the fires that consumed their camps, the bones haphazardly buried beneath the topsoil, the entrails strewn across the trees.

He had no idea how fast he was running or how far from camp he had strayed, but now all he could think about was how he was going to punish the evil witch that had dared to stand against Peter Pan and the Lost Boys, who brutally murdered his fellow boys. When he came across a baby boar grazing in the brush, he jumped forward without thinking, prepared to stab the pig in the gut before a force pushed him against a tree. He grunted and groaned, trying to pull away from the rough bark and the vines that slithered around him, but it was no use.

“That was easy,” Regina scoffed as she and two other women approached him.

“What the hell?” Devin exclaimed. “Are you trying to start a war with Pan?”

Emma approached him, seething with rage. “Pan started the war when he kidnapped Henry!”

“And besides,” a voice lilted from higher in the tree. “We’ve all been at war for quite some time.”

Devin tried to crane his neck up, but he couldn’t see far. “Who.. who’s there?”

“Guess,” the voice answered from in front of him.

His head dropped, looking directly ahead of him. A brunette, dressed in a tattered chemise under leather armor, stared at him with chilling hazel eyes.

“You,” he growled, lurching forward to try and break through the vines. “It’s you!”

Emma, Regina, and Snow looked at him warily as he and Marceline stood a couple feet from each other.

“It is,” Marceline answered smoothly. “Who are you, anyway? I could’ve sworn I’ve seen you on the island before, but… your name slipped my mind.”

“I’m not telling you anything, witch!” Devin hissed. “Pan’s coming! He’s training Henry to defeat you.”

Marceline had to suppress a chuckle. “Is that so?”

“Henry?” Emma inquired. “Why Henry?”

“He has the Heart of the Truest Believer!” Devin smirked. “He’s the one who’s going to stop Marceline from stealing Neverland’s magic!”

Regina turned away, chuckling lightly as Marceline let out a small titter. Snow and Emma looked at each other.

“Why are you laughing?” Emma asked. “Is this true?”

“It’s false to the point that it’s funny,” Regina scoffed. “Look around you, Emma! Magic is dripping from the leaves! You can’t just steal magic from a place that supposedly has an infinite amount!”

“You’re lying!” Devin protested.

“She really isn’t,” Marceline answered.

“It doesn’t matter,” Emma sighed, approaching Devin with kind eyes. “Tell us where Henry is.”

“Why should I?”

“When we leave this island, we can take you and the rest of the Lost Boys with us. You can have a home!”

“Adults really are stupid.”

“Excuse me?”

“Why do you think we’re here?” Devin snapped. “We’re here because we don’t want to go home! Our homes were where we learned that we were alone. Pan gave us a place where we could be together.”

“Really?” Marceline smirked, staring into Devin’s blazing blue eyes. “What happened to Slightly?”

Devin lurched forward with glassy eyes. “You and your girls slaughtered him! Strung him up against the Hanging Tree!”

“I wish we could take the credit, but my girls had nothing to do with Slightly’s untimely demise.”

“Likely fucking story!” he roared, struggling against his binds.

“You remember what happened before Slightly,” Marceline said, stepping closer to him. “How there was a lull in the camp. All the boys were tired and weary from running and hiding. No new boys had shown up in decades…”

“What are you saying?”

“What would be the best way to rekindle those dying flames of vengeance?” Devin stayed still, glaring up at her. “Slightly was always the one who questioned Pan… why not kill two birds with one stone?”

“Then I guess Slightly should’ve known better,” Devin answered.

Snow stared at Devin, tears welling in her eyes. They weren’t tears of sorrow or pity, but rather of fear. He stared at her, a subdued grin playing on his face.

“Emma…” Snow mumbled as she walked into the treeline. “Emma, I can’t.”

“Mary-Margaret, wha—?” Emma said, following after her.

Regina rolled her eyes as she stared at the boy.

Emma stopped at the edge of the treeline, pulling Snow back.

“Emma… I,” Snow sighed.

“Hey… Mary-Margaret, what is it?”

“His eyes,” Snow breathed, sniffling slightly. “He didn’t even care that Pan killed his friend!”

“Yeah,” Emma mumbled. “It seems like they’re more loyal to Pan than we thought.”

“I…”

“What?”

Snow looked up at Emma. “I don’t think he’s even a boy anymore.”

“I don’t think any of them are,” Emma answered forlornly, looking back at Devin who stared directly at her with murder in his eyes. “Even the girls.”

“I’m starting to think Neal and David were right.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t think we should bring them back with us,” Snow breathed. “They’re too far gone.”

“How do you know that?”

“Look at him, Emma!” Snow urged. “Even if Pan’s gone… his influence on them won’t be.”

“Then we help them!” Emma protested. “How do you know what’s too far gone? Who are you to tell me that they’re past hope!”

Regina walked up next to them. “I think Snow’s right.”

“What?”

“Listen, I’ve been trying to act more… heroic lately, but I don’t think they would be good for Storybrooke,” Regina sighed.

“What?”

“Pan has been manipulating them for… we don’t even know how long,” Regina reasoned. “They’ve been conditioned… heavily.”

“Then we uncondition them!” Emma snapped.

“Listen, Emma. I get that this is a sensitive subject for you but… Snow’s right,” Regina answered. “they don’t know how to be regular boys and girls anymore.”

Henry sat in the camp, staring at the bonfire dancing in the middle of haphazardly made tents and forts. His mind swam with thoughts of his mothers, his father, his grandparents. A pit grew in his stomach as his heart began to waver.

“You’re Henry, right?” a boy’s voice said from above him.

He turned his head as the boy sat down. Henry surveyed him. This boy was much different from the others. His hair was messy, but still clean, as were his clothes. Everything he wore fit better than on any of the other Lost Boys and there was a certain sparkle in his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Henry answered.

“I’m Morgan,” the boy greeted with a welcoming smile. “I’m here to help you make your Lost Boy vestments.”

“Oh… thank you,” Henry replied, mildly surprised at Morgan’s articulate and polite behavior. “Uhm… why?”

“Well… if you’re going to defeat the wicked witch of the woods with the power of imagination, you’ll at least need to look the part,” Morgan smiled, pulling out some brown fabric. Henry knit his brow. Something in him sensed that Morgan didn’t exactly believe Pan either. “Have you had any previous sewing experience?”

“Uh no,” Henry answered, scooting closer to Morgan. “Hey, could you tell me more about the witch?”

Morgan tensed before brushing it off with another bright smile. “Didn’t Pan already tell you everything?”

“Well yeah but… if I have to defeat her, then I need to know things about her.”

Morgan pushed fabric in front of Henry with a needle and thread. “Here, this is a backstitch. It takes longer, but your clothes will thank you in the long run… also gives you something to do… why don’t you try it?”

Henry picked up the needle and followed Morgan’s first stitch. “So what do I do?”

“Make a straight stitch and then double back.”

“Right.” Henry stared down at the fabric and slowly put the needle through the fabric, pulling it through.

“And then put it through the first hole you made.” Following the instructions, Henry continued in the same manner, making a shaky line across the length of the cloak. “You got it!”

“Thanks,” Henry answered, offering a brief smile.

“You’re a fast learner.”

“I guess.” He paused and turned toward Morgan. “So… who exactly is Marceline?”

Morgan took a breath, leaning further down as his eyes periodically scanned the camp.

“Marceline is…” Morgan replied lowly. “She’s a Seidr worker.”

“What’s that?”

“Magic from the Land without Magic,” Morgan answered. “It’s old, ancient magic from when the world was still young and the gods governed the earth.”

“So you’re saying that the myths from, like, the Greeks are true?”

Morgan gave a lopsided smile. “We’ll never know, but… the story of Marceline and Pan is the closest thing to a myth I know is true.”

“So… seidr,” Henry mused. “Is that why Pan wants me to defeat her?”

“No no… it’s much more complicated than that.”

“How complicated?”

“Convoluted. It’s fucking… fucked.”

Henry’s eyes widened. “Don’t say that!”

“Say what? Fuck?”

“Yeah! You shouldn’t say that!”

“Have you ever actually sworn in your life?”

“No.”

“It might do you some good, especially now that you’re here.”

“Anyways… Marceline?”

“Yeah… so there were some bridges built, things were said, things were done, and then the bridges erupted in flames and burned to ash with no hope of being rebuilt.”

“Vague much?”

“I can’t say much,” Morgan answered. “I’m not exactly in great standing here…”

“What do you mean?”

“I was close with Marceline before the split… they’re all pretty suspicious of me as it is.”

Henry let out a breath and looked around the camp, spotting Felix weaving some rope by the fire.

“Nevermind… I’ll ask Felix.”

“Bad idea.”

“Why?”

Morgan looked up at him. “Felix is Pan’s second-in-command. He’s also been here longer than any of us. He’s seen more combat than anyone else on the island—except maybe Pan. I’ve seen him push boys up against trees and beat them half to death because he had a bad day.”

“Well, it won’t be a very good idea on his part to beat up the one who has the Heart of the Truest Believer,” Henry answered as he walked to Felix, ignoring Morgan’s further warnings.

Sitting down next to the tall boy, Henry stared up at him expectantly.

“What do you want, boy?” Felix drawled.

“What exactly happened between the Lost Boys and Marceline? What makes you think that she’s stealing magic?”

Felix whipped his head to face Henry before sending a glare to Morgan.

“Why do you want to know?” Felix hissed. “Didn’t your mother tell you to not ask so many questions?”

“Actually, she encouraged me to,” Henry answered coldly. “It’s called critical thinking, I wouldn’t expect you to know it.”

Rage simmered in Felix’s eyes before Pan appeared behind him and spoke.

“Stand down Felix, let’s tell him.”

Henry looked up into Felix’s eyes, baffled as the rage in the larger boy’s blue eyes dissipated into a gaze that Henry couldn’t place.

Pan sat down next to Henry, straddling the log next to the fire, staring into it. “Marceline came to me in a dream. Her friend was dying at sea and she couldn’t find a cure. We came up with a deal. I’d heal her friend so long as she stayed with me in Neverland and searched the threads of fate to find you.

“In any case, she hid from me for a while, having found the secret of Neverland’s healing spring. When I found her, she was with her two friends, Katherine and Evelyn—the previously sick one. They had built a cottage behind the Echo Cave. Katherine prepared the meals, Evelyn tidied up, and Marceline went out to hunt and study the land.

“I invited myself over and indulged in a home cooked meal, reminding them of our deal. After that, they joined the Lost Boys, but Marceline was always skeptical of me.”—Pan grinned at the memory.—“She was a sponge of knowledge. Always wanted to know more, learn more and share it with the world.”—He reached over Henry and nudged Felix.—“You remember her rant about physics and how flying shouldn’t have been possible…”

Felix snorted slightly. “And then she tried to make a micro-magnifiying glass to analyze it and see if pixie dust had gravity altering properties.”

Henry’s eyebrows furrowed. “A microscope?”

“Sure whatever.”

Pan continued. “In any case, time went on and boys became more common on the island. Eventually she warmed up to us and we fell in love. I helped her understand magic and her own powers. She helped me understand the island. After we… connected for the first time, the shadow started bringing girls to the island.

“All good things come to an end. She began to grow… discontent with the way the Lost Girls were being treated by the boys. I don’t really understand why. They were never in any danger, they just had to clean up the camp but I digress… they were angry, she was angry, and she got a bit too resistant…”—Pan gave a sad, lopsided smile.—“…even for me.”

Henry looked into the fire. “So… what happened?”

“She and her girls became more mean-spirited toward the rest of the boys and when I told her to stop…”

“What?”

“We got into a fight. A big one.”

Felix piped up, an uncharacteristic amount of awe apparent in his voice. “A battle that uprooted thousands-year-old trees, shook mountains, and cracked the earth.”

Pan sighed. “Yeah… that big. Amid the fighting, her friend Evelyn tried to intervene, get us to come to a reasonable solution. I don’t know whose spell hit her, but before we knew it, she was on the ground—cold and limp.

“Marceline blamed me for it and took her girls away, building four outposts on the island. In the tragedy, something else happened…”—Pan leaned in.—“In her grief, her anger, her madness, she triggered something I never thought possible. She willed the island to grant her its power. She… chained Neverland, the birthplace of dreams, to her for her own selfish needs.

“That’s why we need you Henry! My magic is strong, but not nearly strong enough to beat Marceline. Your magic… the magic of belief, imagination, innocence, it will save Neverland and all the realms.”

Pan stared into Henry’s eyes with a desperate glimmer as Henry stared into the fire, jaw clenching and unclenching as he processed the information.

“Henry?” Pan asked. “Is something wrong?”

Henry seethed. “Yeah, with her. She’s going down.”

#lost boys #peter pan ouat #regina mills #snow white and prince charming ouat #emma swan #16+ mdni #ouat neverland #peter pan #dead dove do not eat #captain hook ouat #neverland ouat #tw emotional manipulation #tw child death #tw implied sa

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chantsdemarins · 2 years

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❄️Frost Secrets from the Other Son Chapter 10 The Embrace of Ironwood

I am so thankful for everyone that has continued to read this story. 🖤 Thank you 🙏🏻 Two more chapters to go. I promise there’s a happy ending.

Chapter summary: A lot of snow, heartbreak, drama, regret, and the unexpected. Laufey. A "Lokas" flashback...

Smut rating: ❤️‍🔥9...for Lukas, damn him.

I truly love your comments, your reblogs, and your messages. It means so much.

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The first thing Lillian noticed was the snow. It was like no snow on Earth or Asgard.

Each snowflake looked like a crystalline puzzle piece. When one would fall from the sky, it locked in place with another, drawn to the exact snowflake in which it would fit. There was an indiscernible and spooky quality to it.

It occurred to her that it was like someone collected all of Loki's tears he had ever shed, froze them, and scattered them across an entire realm.

The snow was emotional. But so was Jötunnheim. It wasn't just the snow.

There was an eerie feeling as they walked past the canyons and the cliffs, past the dense thickets of what looked like trees. If the snow made Lillian feel like she was going to cry, then the cliffs made her heart swell. So much so that she had to take extra breaths.

It seemed as if hidden in the clouds were the emotions of endless lifetimes of experiences. Separations, marriages, births, all the wars. Lillian considered that this must be the Jötunn way. If it could be devastating at times for humans to carry their emotions, what had it been like for the Jötunn? What had they discovered about their survival that resulted in such a dramatic evolution? When she went deep into her heart, she felt the truth, Jötunn deemed their bodies unsafe places to feel anything.

To circumvent the consequences of their sensitive, dynamic physiology, they created a way for emotions to exist still, just not in a personal way. Jötunn's choices and their lives were guided by something else. Something far more mysterious and perhaps unknowable to even the most adept Aesir to comprehend.

No wonder they were both drawn to one another and, in the last centuries, at war with one another.

The Aesir were much like humans, driven by the forces of their emotional lives. When Lillian thought about her lover Loki, her child's father, she wondered if his struggles to "do the right thing" often didn't have the same emotional motivation or even sense of right or wrong.

Whatever love he had learned to feel was like the siður Frigga had taught him. If he excelled at using his siður, would he someday excel at love too?

All this sudden revelatory insight was a dizzying experience for the first kilometers of their trek. She mostly endured the disorientation of encountering the emotional ecosystem of Jötunnheim alone, afraid to speak of it to Loki for the moment.

She had gotten so big seemingly overnight, her health stable for the moment, and she had succeeded at keeping herself and the baby alive. Being so far along in her pregnancy made their hike difficult, though. Loki constantly asked Lillian if he needed to carry her, which was kind but unrealistic. She would only ask him if it came to that.

They had been on Jötunnheim for less than an hour, and Lillian's curiosity had already supplanted her fear, as it often did. She remembered Loki calling her brave. She wished she would have corrected him then. She was not courageous, just easily curious.

In this receptive state, she was able to carry them both forward. Loki was practically ghostly.

His pale white skin matched the layers of snow and ice they walked through. The silence he afforded also gave him a spectral aspect. Individual snowflakes landed in the fur of his cold weather cloak. He pulled up the hood and became fixed in his thinking. He just wanted to arrive at their destination as quickly as possible and then leave quickly.

Heimdall had landed them on what Asgardians would call bergkløft, further enough away from being quickly detected, but this meant a long, arduous hike in deep snow to the location most likely to be occupied by what Loki and Lillian hoped were the Jötunn version of healers or doctors. They could be scientists like on Earth for all they both cared. Someone must know how to keep a frost giant child alive inside her body.

The area they were in search of was similar to the entryway to the trans-dimensional portal of the lapis cave on Asgard. This choice made the most sense as a starting place, and Heimdall could see the portal between their worlds enough to use the Bifrost to transport them.

Much of their relationship had been like this, guessing the best course of action and moving forward into the unknown.

It was invigorating to Loki, who was experiencing a new future unfolding for the first time in his life, even if it was harrowing and much more dangerous than his previous course of longing for a throne he would never have and bidding for attentions never given.

He had the attention of Lillian.

He would have the attention of his son, once he was here safely. Yet still, something was eating at him. Even in such a risky situation as they now found themselves in. Even as he watched Lillian walk beside him, her long brown hair framing the face he found arresting to his senses, Loki could not quite picture the happy ending his growing feelings seemed so desperate to discover with her.

He wanted more time with Lillian that he knew for sure. More time as lovers, parents to a young, complicated child, more time to know one another.

Loki mused that some of the previous lovers he had known for centuries. Lukas was with him for decades off and on. More than someone who just warmed his bed. Although bitterness had crept into their connection, Lukas had fallen more deeply in love with Loki than he was capable.

Loki wouldn't let himself imagine being officially tied to Lukas for reasons he could never explain thoroughly enough for Lukas' liking. So, they both moved on. Although they would find themselves in familiar spots, chapters of the lives they thought were closed would re-open, right where they left off…As he was walking, Loki found himself lost in a particular memory-

Trondheim, Norway-Midgard, another century ago…

They were drunk by Midgardian standards.

Shoving their way out of the crowded dining hall. Lukas was careful not to hold Loki's hand amongst the more primitive Nords. They celebrated their help in successfully planting crops and obtaining a viable harvest, a rarity in the rock-laden landscape that would break any metal equipment that dared dig a meter or more to plant any seed.

Odin had sent Loki down to help them. Loki reluctantly went, but only if he could sneak his lover with him. It had been a long time since they had seen one another. Loki was the god of the field and Lukas' bed, as he liked to tease him.

It was midnight, late in the summer, early fall. Seasons on Midgard were such a novelty. They had just finished a swim in the tepid water, also a passing novelty. Norway was not a warm place for long. Water was the first thing to get too cold. Besides Loki's heart, Lukas also liked to say

"L," as Loki called him then, would tease him about these things, but primarily he would tease him about his hair. The way he flipped it around, the way it curled perfectly, and looked greasy and unkept all at once. The way all light sources seemed to be incapable of reflecting off it. The black of Loki's hair simply absorbed the light…

That night, they tumbled around the handmade quilt L had laid out by the lake shore. Jousting, pinching, punching, choking one another until someone called it. It was always sudden when their playfulness became something more.

Without much notice, Loki's pants were off, and he was in L's mouth.

L teased, "you're still so huge."

Loki gasped for breath, trying to find a way to reply, "you're exaggerating, you shouldn't, you don't need to, not with me anyway."

He didn't stop, "you know how big you are."

"Don't the ladies still tell you?" he teased again.

Between lavishly sucking his cock, L said, "they must not notice your hair when staring at your cock. It's a distraction," he laughed more before taking him deeper.

"Fuck you," Loki said, barely audibly.

"Please fuck me," L replied as he pulled Loki onto him, their hands clasped. Loki looked over his shoulder, checking again if they were truly alone. He grabbed him, held his cock roughly, stoking it, then plunging his mouth over the tip. L wasn't so small himself, but Loki could never tell him. He didn't speak to L like that.

So much time had passed since they had last seen one another. Before Trondheim, they had been untraceable to one another. Covering their tracks in the snow.

"Are you going to do this?" L said, now out of breath, fingers laced in his hair.

"Obviously, but you need to shut up first," Loki said as he fumbled, pushing L's legs up.

"Shush."

Loki closed his eyes as he entered him. Then he opened them widely. He wanted to see his face and his laughter. He always laughed so much with him. It was absurd to fuck your best friend. But they did. They always had. For all the women in their lives who didn't understand, there would be one who loved it and ones that wanted to join in… They didn't usually let them. They didn't talk about it either. It was just understood somehow. "Something impossible," according to L.

But wasn't it like that for most people you've known for so long? If it was not love, then it was simply just time. Enough time would make anyone bound to you. At least, that was what Loki reasoned.

He had only known Lillian for eight months.

What more was there to her? She was a brilliant journalist and had a whole life back on Earth. A family and her friends. All of this was seemingly forgotten as the energy of their connection condensed everything into their binary star-Loki and Lillian.

He liked the sound of their names together. What made Lillian different than the countless women and men? He never had a pregnancy scare with any of his other lovers. Why was this happening now, and with a human?

On his best days, he only focused on the task of the moment, but today even in the middle of such danger, he considered her humanness and the additional burden she was bringing.

Their joyful lovemaking in the library. In another dimension, they would have stayed playful lovers, slowly growing either more and more attached or eventually finding themselves annoyed with the inevitable shortcomings of one another—the usual.

Instead, they conceived a baby, on the solstice, in the royal library, and this child revealed his parent's deceit. Despite all his judgment and confusion, he loved her. Or something like that, at least. He knew this in his heart, even if it was getting harder and harder to express. Even if he couldn't see the future, the present drove him to do the noble thing. Stand by Lillian. Make this right.

"Lillian, the cave," Loki pointed to the round, similar basalt structures to the east of them. They had finally arrived.

"We can do this. We are almost there," she spoke back to Loki, although primarily reassuring herself. Loki noticed her fatigue.

"I want to carry you the rest of the way, Lilly. Will you let me? You must be exhausted."

She let him.

He picked her up with his large hands and carried her. Looking up at him with a broad smile, he seemed to struggle slightly.

"Your son is getting big if you haven't noticed," she said, laughing now, folding an errant hair behind her ear.

"Oh, I noticed," Loki replied with a smug smile etching his face.

Moments like this, they felt like a couple, not just two desperate people trekking in a dangerous realm. His strained face made both laugh every few steps until they reached the cave. He gently slid her out of his arms and back onto the frozen landscape.

They were still alone. No Jötunn had detected them. Loki had cast a shield around them, a kind of cloaking device, but Lilly knew it might not work for their son. If he had made his appearance known on Asgard, what were the chances someone on Jötunnheim might also sense him?

From Laufey's perspective, they had two choices. The first was to deploy soldiers to the old cave where they had detected the sign of a lone Jötunn or ignore it, let the Jötunn perish in the blistering cold with no resources. If a Jötunn was that ignorant to be alone and unaccounted for, their death was fitting, even under the current circumstances in Jötunnheim. It was simple.

Usually, he excelled at such simple decisions.

Had Laufey not dreamed of his lost son only a few months ago, he would have just made his decision, but Azira's image haunted him. Something felt out of place in his usual planning and the order of his reconstruction and rule of Jötunnheim.

The only logical conclusion was that perhaps his son had been found, this thought would not leave his mind, and it was not something he could tell anyone else. His son's life had become hidden, forgotten, erased. Only he and Azira knew of him if she was still alive. If this son were still alive, he would be the rightful heir to the throne or worse.

A thousand thoughts complicated Laufey's evening. He should have been attending to the latest challenges his council were appraising him of, yet he could not think well enough to listen to them.

Indeed, Jötunnheim was not a place of abundance.

Not only were frost giants waning in numbers but also food, resources-including anything extra that would bring life meaning. Even their connection to their gods was changing. Many frost giants had lost their faith. Political infighting had worn down the potency of his rule. Under such austerities, every Jötunn was accounted for and known. It was the only way Laufey was holding on to any power.

Although it would not befit a king to travel to a remote area of his realm for one possible Jötunn who was out of place, he could not explain his journey other than it would do him well to get away from the political strife for a little while. This his most trusted allies understood and believed. For the moment.

It would take a few days by foot to reach the cave. He was unfamiliar with a feeling of hope or even the drive propelling him on this journey. Yet, in the darkness of night, he embarked to see what might be waiting for him, even if only his dreams were unaccounted for.

When Laufey finally reached them, the change had already taken place. Lillian exited the cave, her blue legs wobbly, while Loki helped her navigate her large unfamiliar body. He held her hand and looked at her with a gaze of astonishment. The round pregnant belly she displayed was marked with the lines of Laufey's people.

Laufey stared at the seemingly Aesir man and held his breath.

What was left of his feeling heart rattled. He placed his hand over his chest, trying to calm himself, even with his raven hair and eyes the color of Jötunn lakes.

Laufey knew.

He knew he was staring at his son.

Laufey could see Loki's tender concern for the woman, but he could also see a bold countenance behind his supportive appearance. This concerned him, and why had he taken on the appearance of their enemies?

Was he a sorcerer or a mage? Further, Laufey's intuition was highly sensitive since his emotions were not clouding his clarity.

He also knew the woman his son was with was not a frost giant.

They were both concealing their identities, but why?

He lingered his gaze on her.

His son's wife or lover.

Laufey could not tell which she was. His son did not seem betrothed.

Lillian's pregnant belly alighted feelings in him long forgotten. Memories of Azira flashed through his mind. He had been there when she gave birth to Loki and practically delivered the child by himself. The war had devastated their entire realm, and no healers were left.

The known world for Laufey was collapsing, but he stayed hiding in the ice-covered landscape. He knew they had risked their lives and the tentative peace between Jötunnheim and Asgard just being there.

If he made his way towards them, more was at stake than the chance to reclaim his son and investigate what was happening with the woman and their child…

Where had his son been all these years? He asked himself again, shaking his head in disbelief. A long blue hand covered his mouth as if to stop him from calling out to Loki. So many unanswerable questions charged the marginal peace he was clinging to with a strange protective feeling. However, he was unclear about just what he felt protective of.

He wouldn't sleep tonight.

He let them leave. He knew it was best for him to wait this out.

There would be a time when he would make his presence known. Not today.

Loki was stunned. For Lillian to change her body. To willingly transform into the most despised creature, himself.

It had been the only way, according to the Jötunn healer poet Lyra, a woman with no children of her own but with the ability to protect the ones coming into the realms. She was stalwart about their options. Lillian must change into a frost giant body. The child would not live otherwise. There was no other choice.

"She might not be able to turn back. You should know this before we go further," Lyra said briskly, brushing past them both with tall glass bottles in her hands. She proceeded to pour them into a metal cup, preparing the concoction that would turn Lillian. She looked up at them, waiting for a response as she stirred.

Lillian did not need any time to think. She simply said, "I'll do it. I will take the risk of possibly permanently staying a frost giant."

Loki was not sure at all that this was their final option.

"Lillian, where will we live if you change into a frost giant? How will we ever be together? How will our child ever have a family? This might be forever. You cannot risk this. We must simply take the chance and try and deliver our son back to Asgard. We will face it if he's truly a frost giant."

She stared through him, not knowing how to answer his questions so laced with his fears. It was clear, though, what he was actually saying between his breaths and long sentences.

He would not become a frost giant with her, should it come to that.

"You wouldn't change along with me, Loki? If I can't go back?"

"Lillian, how can you ask me this? Isn't this crisis in our child's wellbeing and life enough? Why must I go into this too?"

The wind outside the healer's cave picked up just then. Swirls of snow blew past the dark entrance, some getting inside, landing on Loki's long eyelashes as he paced back and forth.

Lyra was busying herself, but it was clear she was listening. She was a frost giant. This seemingly Aesir man was behaving offensively to even her high tolerance. She dropped one of the smaller glass bottles to the cave floor, shattering, leaving dried flowers strewn.

"My lady, I am so sorry," Lillian offered as she knelled down to help pick them up.

"No, do not help me. Sit down and rest. I am the one who dropped the bottle. Your husband's tongue is sharp and cutting to my nerves."

"He is not my husband," Lillian said, almost in sync with Lyra's growing agitation.

"Well, what is he then to you?"

She looked at Loki, now sitting on an old stool too big for his small Aesir body. It looked like a couch. He looked so sad and innocent. Scared. His life was becoming impossible to ever return to, this was at the heart of his fear.

Finally speaking, "he's the father of my child. I love him dearly, but he doesn't yet know what he wants. Sometimes his fears get in the way of my feelings for him."

Lillian couldn't believe she said that out loud.

Lyra noticed the shock on Lillian's face, "The cave is known for its truth-giving properties. This is also why I also know that this is the only option for you," she said, handing the steaming cup to Lillian.

Loki stepped in between them. He held Lillian's shoulders with his large hands. He turned his head, looking back at Lyra.

"What if she is killed in the process? What if my son is harmed? How can you guarantee they will live!" Loki was hysterical.

"Young man, a frost giant yourself, look deep within for the answer. I have no time for the fears of those who raised you to be something other than who you truly are. I will only answer you when you speak as your true self," Lyra's eyes flashed deep crimson at Loki.

"I can't be here for this. I can't watch," Loki shuddered, almost feeling faint.

While Loki was talking to Lyra, Lillian already drank the potion. She sat the cup down on the table.

Lyra noticed and approved, "Good job, brave girl. Now lay down. I'll cover you up and when you wake, you will be "another yourself," as we say here. We are not afraid of many bodies, many lives, being more than just what we see in the mirror, and soon you won't be either."

Loki was dumbstruck. What little control he felt he had in the situation was utterly gone. Lillian was asleep quickly under many large blankets and furs. They engulfed her body until you could only see the top of her head.

"Son, let her sleep. Come see," Lyra pointed for him to sit with her. She pulled out an old book, like the kind he enjoyed reading back home. He did not know whether to stop looking or keep looking, afraid of what he would see or not see, but he joined Lyra, tired and weary.

"She will be fine," Lyra reassured him.

"Loki-I wonder something, have you thought of names for your son?"

He was amazed at this question. Why was the healer asking him this?

"No. We haven't the chance," he said, running his hands through his long hair.

She flipped the yellowed pages and came to an illustration next to a gilded script. Holding the book up in the dim light, she said, "How about Kasse?"

"Why Kasse?" Loki had rarely heard this name.

He grabbed the book from her and inspected the picture. It was of a handsome man holding a flag, standing next to a slayed Midgard dragon-like creature.

Lyra explained, "Kasse was a great leader, from a city in Midgard, many years ago. You must have been young then, or maybe not yet born. He was part frost giant and part human. One of the first ones. He was a shapeshifter. His life was long and interesting, with the kind of heartbreak that made his heart stronger, not weaker," she continued.

Loki was intrigued but still wrestling with understanding why Lyra chose this particular man.

"Will you consider it at least? Tell your wife."

"She's not my wife. We already told you we aren't married."

"When will you ask her then, young man? How much longer will you wait? Or are you the type to only marry if you can steal her from another, only interested in a prize?"

"Enough," Loki got up.

"I'll consider your name, but you will go no further with your insults to my character."

Lyra smiled and looked over at Lillian. The blankets that once engulfed her were now right-sized for her new body.

She had become a frost giant.

Loki did not expect to feel the way he did. He could not look at her.

Her once beautiful features were now blue, gargantuan, and covered in lines, archaic and tribal. It was what he looked like without his Aesir siður. It disgusted him.

She did what she had to do to save their son, but now she was a walking reminder of all he hated about himself.

While studying Loki's troubling reactions to Lillian, Lyra reached into one of her old desks and pulled out an old tarnished locket. While Lillian was still waking up, she opened Loki's hand and placed it in it, closing his fingers around it.

"You will know what to do with this, but likely not a moment before you have to use it."

This was an unnecessarily vague statement. Loki looked at Lyra with slight disdain but agreed to keep it, even if it seemed to serve no purpose. His regard fit similarly to her suggestion that they name their child Kasse.

When Lillian was roused enough to stand, Lyra gave her the suggestion of relocating immediately to Ostrya.

"Good, you are awake," Lyra said, standing over Lillian, helping her to her feet.

Lillian felt her body, checking to ensure she still had two arms and two legs. She checked her reflection cast from the metal cabinet tucked away in the corner of the healer's cave workshop. She could see her ruby eyes staring back at her. It was distressing yet comforting. She felt her son stirring in her belly. He seemed to approve of his new home for a little bit longer.

Looking at Loki was too much; she knew he must be feeling partially relieved and partially repulsed.

Lyra was reading her thoughts like any good healer is apt to do, something Lillian was slowly growing more comfortable with; she stood next to her and spoke, glancing over at the worried Loki in the corner.

"You don't have a place to go, child. Asgard is not safe. Jötunnheim is not safe. Earth is not safe, except for Ostrya. Please have that kind Heimdall transport you there. Do not return to Asgard. Do you hear me, both of you, don't go back there until after Kasse is born safely."

"Kasse?" Lillian spoke quietly, getting used to the changes in her voice.

Loki stood closer to her side, trying with all his ability to pretend she was still the woman he loved.

"Lyra says we are to name him Kasse," Loki said, looking at her belly, wondering if something had happened to his son or if he still had the same noisy, emotional energy. He stopped himself from touching Lillian's belly and finding his connection to him again. He would wait until later when he could handle the onslaught of tumult raging through him with more grace.

"It's beautiful. I like it. Kasse Lokison, he sounds like a warrior," Lillian said, a proud smile beaming across her face. She glanced at Loki, searching for his approval. Loki smiled weakly back, his mind in other places.

Lyra came and hugged Lillian, "yes, a warrior's name for your son would be fitting."

Lillian hugged Lyra tightly back, feeling the desire to touch her forehead to hers. She followed her instinct and did so. Lyra returned the gesture. Loki intercepted and guided Lillian towards the cave entrance.

"If we are to head to Midgard, then we should leave. We thank you, Lyra, for your help," Loki attempted to wave goodbye to Lyra as he took Lillian's arm and led her out of the cave awkwardly, her new body clumsy and not coordinated.

"Can you let Heimdall know Loki?" Lillian said hesitantly, turning to him, but Heimdall had already heard her. He had been watching and waiting, not missing a second.

Suddenly they were whisked from the cave, leaving a cloud of icicles and aberrant snow in its wake.

It was true. One of the only places they could go was a remote ironwood forest in the mountains of Midgard, Ostrya.

They could not go back to Asgard like this. Loki could not return with Lillian as a frost giant. That all seemed to be true.

Ironwood, made of a particular molecular configuration, stripped visitors of any supernatural powers upon entering. It was dense and hard to navigate, and legends spoke of creatures living there undetected and rarely seen for centuries. This was one of the only places they could go to hide out and wait for the baby to be born.

Since Loki's powers would also be affected by the forest, they had to do a Midgard thing. They rented a cabin.

It was like the cabin she had been living in on Asgard. Lillian felt she could give birth there safely, although that particular thought brought immense fear.

Since they had been gone, her prenatal care had consisted of the limited psychic reading Lyra had done, concluding that the baby was progressing along with a human calendar system and would be born in only weeks. Lyra had given them another small book on Jötunn fertility, but it was written completely in Jötunn. It did contain illustrations, but they were pretty comical. It looked like the frost giants were skiing, not giving birth. Lillian wondered what truly lay ahead for her. She wished she could have Frigga nearby or her own mother. Her girlfriends. A doctor. Anyone really.

Now that her body could safely birth Kasse, the worry about the rest of their lives could come front and center.

Where would they go after he was born? With Loki growing more and more distant, would they even stay together? Would she stay a frost giant and raise her baby hidden away here?

Lillian also struggled to be back on Earth since they arrived. In a frost giant's body, the sensory experience of Earth was alarming and overwhelming. Every bird call was a shiver down her spine. Anytime her emotions would dive deeply into despair, her whole body would cleave and fall. She truly understood Jötunnheim now, the realm's design, the way emotions were kept in the natural world and not in Jötunn's bodies. She would give anything now not to feel so overcome.

So would Loki.

Days passed, and Loki was restless. He was determined to leave under the guise that they needed things; they were unprepared, which was true enough. However, Loki could go into the nearby cities and find what they needed. Instead, he insisted he go back to Asgard and get supplies there. Lillian knew this was too risky. So far, it was unclear if anyone in the royal family knew about their plan, what they had done, or where they might be.

"I promise I'll be back very shortly, Lillian; I know we are down to just a few weeks until Kasse arrives, if that is what we are calling him," Loki said, with a clinical tone, looking around Lillian, not directly at her.

"I think that is his name," Lillian said, with a faraway tone in her voice.

He grabbed his sweater, fastened it up, and put on each boot. There was a methodical slowness to his dressing. He was perhaps stalling, hoping Lillian might tell him not to leave. She knew he was repressing his fear, doubt, and, unfortunately, his love for her, which was still there, a flickering flame beneath the surface, just unreachable.

She could not change how Loki reacted, so she let him leave.

"We will be here, Loki, waiting for you," she finally said, grasping for the right words, patting her belly, and looking at him with as much sincerity as possible.

"I know you'll both be fine," he said as he finally put his cloak around his broad shoulders.

Although he wanted to hold her and reassure her physically. Kiss her. Remember her. Tell her he saw inside the Jötunn body she now resided in. He just couldn't quiet the voices in his head that rejected everything about how she looked and who he was.

His impending fatherhood felt like it was crushing him now. He worried especially that Lillian would ask him to change into a frost giant if she could not indeed turn back into a human.

His answer was clear; he would not do it. He simply could not. She would have to understand that it could mean the end of everything.

He opened the door and left, looking back only once. Only when he had gotten so far away, there was no chance he would run back into her arms with his mind changed.

The Bifrost opened, and Loki found himself arriving back in Asgard.

On to chapter 11

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