#i even rewatched dead hearts to feel something

[aromanticbuck]

Once upon a time...

in a far away forest, bordered by an icy lake, there lived a warlock who hated all of mankind... but he had not always been this cursed, having ventured long ago into these same woods with the purest of hearts, only to have it hardened and die from the betrayal of his one true love. Having no more heart of his own, he became immortal, and would kill all those who dared set foot in his forest. Only if he ever met a man pure of heart, could he be freed from his curse, and become mortal once more...

His name had been John, centuries ago. He was John of Stonesfall, a soldier in a war that was over only shortly before his life was. His life, on the other hand, was cursed to never end, even if it felt like it had when the curse was passed onto him. For years, he was bound to that forest, to the shore of the lake that it surrounded, determined to wait as patiently as he could for someone who was as pure of heart as he had been when he entered it. Only then would he be able to leave and finally live out the end of his life - free of the power that he didn’t understand that trapped him there.

Except years turned into decades, and decades turned into centuries, and the forest was destroyed so that mankind could expand - it became a city, in enough time, Chicago. There were too many people to kill for trespassing onto land that should have been his, so he settled on an alternative and blended in, instead. But people looked at him a little too long if he introduced himself as John of Stonesfall, and he needed a name that didn’t make people think he needed to be committed to some mental institution somewhere, especially when it might be too far from the lake for the curse to be appeased. So, he chose different names for different identities as time went on - John, Samuel, Caleb, Adam, Daniel, Brandon, Gregory... the latest was Mouse. It was something that no one blinked at as long as he stayed in alleyways, didn’t talk to people besides his dealers, didn’t draw any attention to himself that would leave a paper trail. Then, he would have to change his identity again, and it was harder to do each time he had to do it, when more and more people would recognize his face and potentially expose him.

It had been going fine. He’d lived almost five years as Mouse, and almost no one questioned why his appearance never changed. No one questioned where he came from or where he was going next. It was perfect, until the police showed up when he needed to be anonymous the most.

He’d almost given up on finding another pure heart. The world had changed too much, and those people simply didn’t exist anymore. The centuries he’d spent alone were all for nothing, and he had resigned himself to the rest of them alone. So, he gave the name Mouse to the patrol officer who asked for his statement, any information he could give about the crime that had been committed right in front of him. And the officer - J Halstead was what the badge on his chest said - seemed... nice. But people were only nice when they wanted something, like information to solve a crime, or the body he was cursed to keep living in, or a favor that only he could accomplish because he couldn’t be killed in the middle of it.

Things from there happened without his permission, and he didn’t even know how. Months after their chance meeting in the middle of a police investigation, he was sitting across the table from Officer Halstead at dinner. Three years after that, things were still good. He rarely spent time in those alleys anymore, choosing instead to spend nights in Jay’s apartment, listening to pillow talk that involved discussion about cases he’d closed and ones he still hadn’t solved. When his unit had an open position, using devices that Mouse was an expert in after teaching himself skills as society developed around him, he made sure it got offered.

And that was when John knew he couldn’t keep living that way.

He couldn’t spend every single day in the same building as someone he loved, someone who loved him return, someone who trusted and believed him at every turn. Because Jay’s heart was pure, and that was what he was most afraid of. Maybe he could break his own curse, finally be given the freedom to age and die after spending so long in a kind of stasis, but that would come with a price. A broken curse didn’t go away, it just jumped to the next person, clung to the next pure heart until it was worn down and hardened into one of stone. The cycle had to end, and it would end with him, not someone like Jay Halstead who deserved a real life, the shorter, mortal kind that actually meant something.

After packing a bag and getting ready to leave their home, the one he found himself wanting to cling to instead of just remember, there was only one thing he could do. He had to tell his love the truth, and give him the advice that had been given to him by the witch who had passed her curse to him so many years before. The advice he should have listened to before it was too late:

Run. And never come back if you value this life.

#jay halstead #mouse gerwitz #greg gerwitz #greg mouse gerwitz #moustead #cpd #chicago pd #one chicago #dead hearts #john of stonesfall #alex does moodboards #immortal and mortal aus my beloved #oh my god they were doomed by the narrative #i've been thinking about this all day #i even rewatched dead hearts to feel something #(the feeling was ow)

[princesssmars]

practical magick

a stiles stilinski x witch!reader

plot : just when stiles thought he had gotten used to the dramatics of the supernatual, he happens across you performing magic in the forest. when you fail to wipe his memory, his thursday afternoon gets a whole lot weirder.

wc : 4.678

contains : sfw. kissing at the end. the picture for look inspo is fair-skinned but the reader's skin color is not described! reader has hair! google translated latin sorry 😞i like my men loserish and obsessed sorry.

a/n : yasss a little halloween special. rewatching teen wolf for the third time bc idfk. is it obvious i love witch!reader's yet.

for the first time in over a decade, stiles stilinksi was bored out of his mind.

he had previously thought that given his adhd gave him a deep desire to be doing literally anything all the time that the word bored wouldn't enter his daily vocabulary until he died.

yet here he is, kicking his feet at the dead leaves on the ground as he searched for any hidden traces of wolfsbane. the only reasons this had even happened was because he had opened his big mouth too many times and was sent on a busy quest by deaton, to "make sure the surrounding areas were safe for werewolves."

just reminding himself of what led him here was enough to tick him off again. it wasn't like the past two years have been easy, being under the constant threat of werewolves, werewolf hunters, kanimas, etcetera etcetera. it was enough to stress out the most stable of adults, and stiles was the direct opposite of that, so of course he got nervous and started talking over people and pissing them off.

"stupid wolfsbane, stupid werewolves," he mumbles, kicking at more of the dead brown leaves on the forest floor, tearing a line of the familiar purple plant up from the ground and stuffing it into the brown sack in his other hand. once he was done it was likely it would either be tucked in jars in deaton's stash or burned. he wouldn't mind seeing the latter.

its another twenty moments of grumbling and scavenging before a sound in the distance stops him in his tracks. he stands still, making sure that he barely breathes before he relaxes, figuring his anger and memories are making him paranoid of the woods.

a minute later he wishes his mind was playing tricks on him, because he nears the noise again, but this this its louder.

"its closer," he thinks.

he barely even registers when his legs start running. he may have a bag full of wolfsbane, but there was no guarantee the threat was something the plant could harm. and he didn't feel like tempting fate today.

at this point he's slightly lost his direction, but when he passes the stunted redwood stump he and scott carved their names into during the fifth grade he starts to understand where he is, and as his heart beats in his hears he knows if he turns right here he'll come up onto the old willow tree-

in the span of ten seconds he smacks head on into a hard object, falling on his ass and gasping as the air is knocked from his lungs. he blinks quickly to try to rid of the black spots in his vision, and before he can comprehend it he's making eye contact with you.

he's slightly embarrassed that the first thought that races across his mind is how pretty you are. he knows he should be wary of you, but he can't help it. your hair is a rich (h/c), seeming to almost shine despite the sun being blocked by clouds. your skin is smooth and your eyes are gorgeous and big and still staring straight at him.

you both rush to stand up. he holds his hands out in a way that you would calm a wild animal, hoping it doesn't piss you off.

you continue to stare at him. which isn't helping calm down his racing pulse.

"uh, alright. look, i'm not gonna hurt you, alright? i'm just...looking for something..."

before he can finish his sentence, you raise your hands to cup the sides of his face. his words die in his mouth and he feels his cheeks warm up to the point he's surprised they haven't burned your palms. you look determined, and for a second he feels like he's gone to heaven

"convertere et perge quid agas. oblivisceris quid hic vidisti."

turn around and continue what you're doing. you will forget what you saw here.

his mouth opens and his brows scrunch in shock. he never thought those latin lessons he took online and with lydia would pay off, but he's really glad he did them now.

he considers doing what you said, just turning around and forgetting all about this encounter. but unfortunately his curiosity is getting the better of him, and if his suspicions are correct he needs to know more about you.

"i'm gonna guess you just tried to put a spell on me, right?"

your eyes widen so largely he's afraid they're going to pop out of your skull.

"i..i don't understand, that should have worked. are you a warlock? druid?"

"no, no. i'm just stiles." he tells. his guess that you were something supernatural is partially confirmed, since you know about druids and the whole tried to put a spell on him thing.

"well, stiles, unless you tell me why my spell didn't work on you i'm most likely going to have to kill you." you deadpan.

he thinks you're kidding so he eta out a strained laugh. you don't even twitch.

he wracks his brain for a good enough excuse that will save his life before his arm moves without command and thrusts the bag in your direction.

"well, i have a uh, a bag full of wolfsbane, if that matters at all. pretty sure it does since…yeah…wolfsbane”

yours eyes dart from him to the bag, most likely not trusting that their isn’t some insta-death powder that will pop out as soon as you open it, so he looses his thumbs grip and steps closer so you can see the purple herbs inside.

“hate to admit it but you’re right,” you sigh, pushing back some hair from your face. his eyes follow the movement before darting back to yours.“ that much wolfsbane would make most supernatural or magical doings wonky.”

"yes, yes! exactly. that makes sense. im sorry about that-"

"why would you even have that much wolfsbane anyway? are you a hunter?"

"what? no, no! im not, i swear to you im not a hunter. i can explain this, really i can." he nearly chokes on his words at the speed he speaks.

you stare at him for a few seconds more before crossing your arms over your chest, hopefully about to let him explain why he has a bag filled to the brim with a dangerous plant on a random afternoon.

when you start to walk directly past him into the forest he doesn’t think he’s ever been more confused.

"fine. you can explain it on the way back.”

he’s as still as a statue as he process your words. you just accused him of being a hunter and now you want him to follow you to whatever mysterious place your going? even for him this is weird, and he’s ten seconds from refusing-

“hurry up.”

he rushes to catch up behind you.

after around twenty minutes of stiles repeatedly asking where you were going followed by silence on your end, you finally reach a clearing in the woods filled by a large victorian-era house, fully black with large looming windows lit up by warm golden lighting coming from inside. there's a nearly fully glass sunroom/greenhouse on the right side, and he can see from here the varying flowers and plants that fill the room. he wants to ask how a house like this could be kept under wraps from the rest of the town, but then he remembers.

magic, duh.

you lead him through the threshold of the home and down a hallway until you arrive in what must be your living room, not giving him a chance to admire the room before you're pushing on his shoulders so he sits in a loveseat, taking your own seat across from him. your legs spread and you rest your elbows on your knees as you glare at him, causing him to shift in his seat.

"why are you carrying a bag full of wolfsbane?"

"my friend's boss, deaton. he asked me to pick up any wolfsbane in the woods to make it safer for them when they do the whole wolfing out thing."

"deaton's working with werewolves again? does he have a death wish?" your brow raises in confusion, he notes how the fingers on your right-hand scratch at the skin on your right.

"i'll be honest, you're kind of creeping me out."

"thank you. why is he doing it?"

"my friend, scott. he's a werewolf. and so are our friends erica and boyd. and derek and his weird uncle peter-"

"the fucking hale's are back? are you kidding?" a scoff leaves you and you get up out of your chair, starting to pace back and forth in front of his chair.

"yeah, it was this whole thing with peter being evil and killing his niece, and he turned scott but scott thought it was derek who turned him. it was a whole thing. not to mention how peter came back from the dead-"

you continue to walk around the room while occasionally pausing to pay attention as the boy details the events that have happened in the past year. despite you being a stranger it felt oddly cathartic to vent about everything that had happened to him. admitting to the countless times he felt scared out of his mind but had to stay strong lest his enemies take advantage of it.

"that's a lot for a normal human to go through in just a year with no prior knowledge of the supernatural. i'm surprised your brain didn't implode from the stress."

he blinks. "thanks. i guess."

"you're welcome. i'm going to make some tea. stay here," you say, moving from standing across from him to heading to a room near the side of the room, able to faintly see some dark counters and pots and herbs hanging from the ceiling, "not like you'd be able to leave anyway."

that's reassuring, stiles thinks to himself, bouncing his leg up and down where he sits. after a minute he figures you won’t kill him horrendously if hes looks around a bit, so he gets up and starts observing the countless pictures on the walls. some are old, like the people in them are wearing outfits from a few hundred years ago, while some are colored and recent. in most of the recent ones, you’re with three older women who look just as dark but ethereal as you do.

he continues looking at some pictures and hung-up trinkets when you come back into the room with two cups of tea, handing one with a smile to the wary boy with a halfhearted promise that it’s “totally not poisoned.”

“can i ask you a question?” he asks, sipping at his tea after he discovers it’s not poisoned and actually really good. he was never really fond of tea, always preferring coffee or energy drinks when he was in a low-energy period. he remembers his mom liked chamomile tea.

“you just did. but go ahead.”

“why would you let me in here? you could have just questioned me at the willow tree, you didn’t have to let me into your house. not that i don’t like your house. i like the whole victorian gothic vibe.”

you don’t answer for a solid minute, slowly drinking from your cup as you stare into the lite fireplace.

“witches pride ourselves on our knowledge. to be aware of our abilities and surroundings at all times to best stimulate our growth. and as much as i’d like to be this powerhouse who could take down any threat, i know i’m not. if you actually were powerful and i tried to take you on myself? who knows what would happen.”

“and i’m guessing that magical barrier around the house would protect you in case i really did try anything?” he gently asks, not wanting to talk too loudly to distract you from opening up to him.

“exactly. plus if you tried anything my aunts probably would have put a curse on you and your loved ones. something not too flashy to attract attention, but enough to cause great suffering.” he notices your soft sigh when you stop talking, almost like you’re disappointed you won’t get to see this suffering play out.

“plus it’s better to know where your talents excel,” you continue, setting your cup down on a skull patterned coaster on the coffee table in front of you. “i’ve always been better at using my magic to investigate my surroundings. helps to find materials or signs of psychos roaming around.”

something you two have in common. it makes his mouth quirk up.

“so, the werewolves and all the other things being back in town, that’s a problem for you and your aunts, right?”

“yup. if it was just werewolves it’d be normal for beacon hills, but kanimas and a whole pack of alphas? who knows how much that can disrupt the natural balance and what more they’ll bring.”

he thinks over his next words carefully. scott would likely be upset at first at him for trusting you, but he was also the nicest person stiles had ever met. if you could help them then it was worth the risk.

“then how about a trade. you help us with this alpha problem, and you get the experience you need to become a great and all powerful witch. pretty soon you'll be riding your broom to your heart's content."

you can’t help but scoff a laugh as you think it over. he starts to think you’re about to reject the offer as you stare him down before you get up and offer him a hand.

“you’ve got a deal.”

after shaking on it, you send the boy back with his bag of wolfsbane and a few more helpful weeds from your greenhouse, giving him a note to give to deaton so he won’t ask too many questions.

when he returns to the vets office he dumps the materials on the operating table, ignoring isaacs joke about how if he took any longer they’d all be alpha chow by now. he can tell deaton is concerned about where he got the vials of strange red and yellow herbs, but when he reads the note his eyes widen and he lets out a mix between a laugh and a sigh. scott asked insistently what was on the note but his boss refused to tell him what it said.

before he left to drive home, deaton pulled stiles to a corner and told him that he had been in close contact with one of your aunts before something happened a few years after the hale fire that caused them to go into hiding and cut contact with all supernaturals they had previously been helping, including him as the emissary of the hale family.

as he lay in bed that night staring up at his ceiling, all he could think about was you. you were a welcome distraction from the chaos of his current life, a pretty distraction at that. if not a bit scary. which he didn't mind all that much.

the both of you spent more time together in the following weeks. at first, it was just simple conversations by the willow tree talking about the werewolf situations and checking what materials deaton needed from your family. as time went on his curiosity got the best of him and he started to ask you more questions about your life.

"so hit me if this is stupid but did you have any family in salem? or can you like make a potion ina cauldron to see if I did because I could use that as massive bargaining power in fights with issac-ow! why'd you hit me?"

"you said i could."

"yeah but not so hard. jeez, ever thought of quitting this witch thing and trying boxing."

"never thought of it. maybe i should start now. with your face."

"really funny."

(your threats kind of reminded him of derek, but had less of an 'i'm about to rip your throat out and eat your esophagus vibe.' slightly.)

but as time went on it got deeper. as he told him more about himself you started to do the same, once even apologizing for "giving off psycho killer bitch vibes" and chalking it up to being so isolated from people for most of your life. he told you he didn't mind the vibes, assuring you he liked it maybe a little too excitedly.

he could really feel the shift when one day he came up to the willow tree and he saw you, standing with a frame photo in your hands and nearly on the brink of tears. he was so shocked at seeing you show such intense emotion he wasn't watching where he was going and stepped on a branch, alarming you as your head whipped to him like a deer in headlights.

"i...im sorry. i can leave if you want."

"no no, it's," you shook your head, looking down at the photo once again. "it's fine. it doesn't matter."

"well if it's enough to make you cry id say its world ending-"

"could you just shut up? for once in your life?"

it's quiet for a minute, the only sound in the air being the gentle breeze. even thought the comment stings stiles knows all too well you're just lashing out in anger and hurt.

"im sorry."

"don't apologize. i get it, i do." he moves closer until he's standing beside you, walking slowly so he doesn't make you lash out again.

he looks down at the photo and he gets it. its you, about six or seven with a bright smile on your face and standing with two people he can tell are your parents. he can see the resemblance. you have one of their smiles and hair color, the other's nose, and by their clothes, the same dark style.

"its been over ten years. since i lost them," you whisper, your voice sounding more weak than he's ever heard it. "itd be nice if I was staying with my aunts for some sabrina the teenage witch reason but no. i don't have a choice."

he gently puts a hand on your shoulder. "i get it, i do. i lost my mom. every day i remember things about her in things i do. it hurts but its better than forgetting."

you sniff and hes about to back up when you put your hand over his on your shoulder, gripping it tightly. it hurts a bit. he doesn't really care.

"its not fair."

"its not."

"...thank you."

"don't mention it."

you give him with the materials and he's about to leave when you stop him, your hand grasping his wrist. he wants to ask whats wrong but he stops. you're staring right at him, into his soul he thinks, and all he wants is to hold you and tell you any pain he's suffered the past few years is worth it because it led him to you, that even if you asked him to sacrifice himself on an alter for a spell that would make you happy for a minute he would do it-

"this bracelet. i want you to wear it and don't take it off no matter what, all right?"

hey, that works for him.

as soon as the bracelet was clasped around his wrist he felt different. like his nerves were tingling and his brain was warm. he felt like he was going to get the most powerful migraine in existence and reached to take it off when you took his hand again.

"please. just give it a minute."

and so he did.

only thirty seconds of dull pain later and he felt normal, if not better. like when you're a kid and have the best day of your life and return home to a good meal. a nice bath, and a great night's rest. he feels almost powerful.

"hey what is this thing? did you just give me powers? is this gonna make me your servant or something?"

"bye stiles."

he gives deaton the materials after telling scott where he was ignoring the weird look on his face before the boy goes back to examining an adorable beagle on the operating table.

deaton takes the bag and bottles with an appreciative smile, his eyebrows scrunching up when he notices the jewelry on stiles wrist.

"where'd you get that bracelet?"

"uhh, i found it. at a thrift shop. thought it looked cool. why?"

deaton clearly doesn't believe him but decides to entertain stiles anyway. "the band is a normal bracelet but the charms are what makes it special. they're pagan."

"could you explain them to me? just because you know."

the vet just shakes his head and laughs before pointing to each one.

"this one, the witchs knot. standard symbol for warding off evil. its mostly used as a protection charm."

stiles admires the charm, the metal silver with the symbol burned into it. it looks like a circle with a line roped in and out of four points of it.

"this, hecates wheel. a goddess of magic, as you probably already know. symbolizes the power of knowledge and life."

this charm is a bit heavier, the stone looking weathered with a scratched labyrinth engraved on it, a distinct 'x' in the middle of it.

"and this one is..." deaton starts before his words trail off. stiles looks at it. it looks like four combined circles, each with symbols inside them. the two across from each other on the side looking like two crescent moons, the one on the top holding a basic pentagram. but he doesn't recognize the one on the bottom-two perpendicular lines forming an 'x' with little swirly lines coming from the middle on the top and bottom.

"what? what does it mean? is it bad?"

"no, it's not bad at all, stiles. the crescents and pentagram are used in another basic protection spell. more protection for the user."

"and the one on the bottom?"

"well, i don't honestly know what it is. its most likely a personal sigil made by the person who made it. but by my guess, based on others I've seen before, it might mean whoever made it has a deep love and affection for whoever they gifted the bracelet to."

stiles thought he was keeping his cool, but scott made extra sure to remind him the following days and the dumbass look on his face when deaton explained the symbol to him.

he didnt know what to do. this had to mean you felt the same way he did about you, right? why else would you gift him a love sigil on a bracelet you insisted he wear? for a second he considered it was a love spell you tried to put on him, but he was feeling iffy about that. mostly about how he wouldn't care that much.

(he apparently admitted that in a sleepy haze when he was sleeping over at scotts, and he's never wanted to die more than when he woke up and realized issac of all people heard him.)

the next time he saw you he tried as hard as he could to act casual. you asked him about ten times if he was okay, and he eventually came up with a good enough 'just a slight stomach bug' lie and regretted it immensely when you invited him back to your house, telling him you'd been practicing making simple health remedies and you had the perfect thing to fix him.

the whole walk to your house he was on edge, his palms feeling sweaty for the first time in his life as he repeatedly wiped them off on his pants. just like the first meeting, you tell him to wait on the couch and he lets out a shaky breath when you leave into the kitchen.

what does he do? does he confess? does he need to? he was so scared that he was being too obvious and maybe that's why you put the sigil on the bracelet, to let him know you returned his affections. but what is he wasn't obvious? and he was basically telling you he only liked you because you liked him? what if-

"stop staring into space and drink this tea, dummy."

he laughs awkwardly and takes the ornate cup from your hand, sniffing the tea before he drinks it. it's sweet but savory, smelling like nutmeg and milk. he can see little flakes and leaves floating on the top. he takes a sip and hums at the taste.

"screw boxing, you should be a professional chef. i'm gonna need you to give me this recipe."

"yeah right. a witch never reveals her secrets." you scoff before sitting down next to him on the couch. you put your arm up on the back and rest your head on your wrist as you cross your legs, your foot brushing against his leg. he nearly spills the tea over his lap.

he can't help but admire you. he had given you a few magazines he'd gotten from stores and stuff to better show you how people were dressing these days, and while you'd hated most of it you took to some trends, wearing a pair of black ripped skinny jeans and a pair of combat boots. he tried to focus on the rips in your jeans as to not let his eyes wander up, where you were wearing a leather halter camisole with nothing underneath. he can't help but laugh in his head when he thinks of the word camisole. maybe he was spending too much time around lydia.

"stiles? seriously are you possessed or something? normally you'd be talking my ear off trying to guess exactly what ingredients i used for the tea."

he sets the cup down after taking another long sip and turns his body to you, your eyebrows raising in what he can tell is amusement. most people could easily get annoyed by his theatrics, but after your near trauma bonding at the willow tree, you had always made sure to welcome them with a smile.

"look, i have something to say. which you probably already know, but i need to say it to you anyway to make sure you really know, y'know?"

you blink. "go ahead."

he breathes in and out a few times, his previous confidence suddenly disappearing.

"let me guess, you saw the sigil and now you're going to confess your love to me?"

he goes into a near coughing fit.

"how, well thanks because now i dont have to actually say it, but if you had given me a minute-"

before he knows it you're scooting closer, your faces just a few inches apart. you're staring at him with that same look you had when you gave him the bracelet. his breath is picking up and he bites his bottom lip, your eyes darting to the motion.

"can i kiss you?"

"yes, god yes-"

your hand grips his chin and brings his lips to yours, the intensity and plushness of it nearly driving him insane. he doesn't really know what to do with his hands, settling to just keep them on his lap before your other hand brings them to your waist and squeezes them in place. at this point you're nearly on his lap and that combined with the kiss and the fact he swears he just felt your tongue poke his lip is going to be the death of him.

he pulls away from the kiss and kneads his hands on your hips, able to feel the softness of your skin on the places where the camisole lifts up.

"wow. i mean just...arent you a recluse? where'd you learn to kiss like that? have you like, conjured up clones to practice with or something."

"stiles?"

"yeah?"

"shut up and kiss me again."

"whatever you say, babe."

for the first time in his life, stiles stilinksi thinks everything is gonna work out.

ty for reading! had to tell myself to get up off my ass and write at 3am and wrote about half of this so sorry for any dialogue inconsistencies. love you bye bye.

#teen wolf #teen wolf x reader #stiles #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski fluff #stiles stilinski x witch reader #stiles x reader #witch reader #witch!reader #deaton #scott mcall

[obey-me-disaster]

Hey, I was wonderin if ya could write a headcanon of how the characters could deal with MCs death, if they weren't revived after Belphie killed em in lesson 16.

Thank ya :purple_heart:

A/N: I am not sure if by 'characters' you mean all of them or not. I will do the brothers for now and if you want anyone else, feel free to ask ^-^

Demon brothers x gn!MC

Spoilers for lesson 16!!

Warnings: death and description of it, grieving

MC stays dead for good

Lucifer

He is feeling so many things and none of them are good. MC is dead, his little brother did it, he failed to protect both and it all can be traced back to him.

MC's injuries are beyond healing and all he can do is watch them die and regret everything he has done up until that point. He regrets every time he tried to harm them, he regrets not hiding Belphegor better, far away from them.

When Diavolo and Barbatos appear he lets himself have some hope that they could save MC, only to get hit with the realization that not only would they stay dead, but Belphegor will be taken away for treason too.

If Barbatos decides to reveal the whole Lilith thing, this whole situation will become unbearable to him. He let down everyone he loved and he only has himself to blame.

If he knew how deep of a wound would MC's death leave in his heart, he would have chosen anyone but them for the exchange program. Or maybe not, it was still a privilege to get to know them in the first place.

After MC's death he becomes even stricter with his rules, so none of his brothers can do anything stupid that could get themselves in trouble. He can't bear to lose anyone close to him, especially if he can do something about it.

Mammon

He was the one that held their dying body. All his attention was on them, he couldn't hear the way Belphegor was mocking him for crying over a human.

Despite feeling how they were dying in his arms he was still trying to cling onto the hope that they could be healed. Unfortunately, fate was having something else in mind.

For a good while after their death he could still feel them dying in arms. He is really conflicted over trying to remember that way MC felt in his arms and trying to forget how it felt when they died.

Despite all of that he tries to be of help to all of his brothers. Lucifer can't be the only one trying to keep the family together, especially when he is grieving too. In a way this whole thing reminds him of how all his brothers were after the fall.

He stops takes a long break from gambling and from money making schemes. He really sees no use for the money if MC is not there with him.

He will most likely beat himself over the fact that he couldn't protect them. He was their first man after all, the demon that was put in charge of protecting them and he failed! He is not getting over that guilt any time soon

Leviathan

He thinks it's all a bad dream. Why else would his best friend be dying? At the hands of his brother?? He tries to deny it but it's pretty hard to do so when MC is literally dying in front of him.

He wants to believe that this is one of those moments when the protagonist of an anime is on the brink of death, but through the power of plot armor they get a new power. The only thing MC gets is a one way ticket to the Celestial Realm. guess Simeon and Luke will see them after all

He refuses to come out of his room and face reality. He will rewatch every anime he has watched with them. Will try to recreate the conversations he had with MC by talking with Henry 2.0. His brothers will have to bring food into his room to be sure he doesn't die of starvation.

It takes a long while before he starts going out again, after all, who is The Lord of Shadows without his Henry.

Any and all progress he made on seeing himself in a better light will go down the drain. He will need some time to snap out of it and realize that MC would not want to see him hate himself.

Satan

He knew there was no hope of saving MC bu just glancing at them. That was probably the only time in his life where he cursed all his knowledge and wished he was ignorant. Maybe that he way he could still have some hope that MC will live.

He goes between complete fits of rage and feeling numb. MC taught him how to better feel emotions other than anger and now that they are gone he doesn't know what to do with himself.

He doesn't know who should he direct his anger to. Belphegor for killing them? It seems obvious but it's not enough. Lucifer for creating this situation to begin with? He would love to, but Lucifer is also at his lowest so it doesn't feel right. Himself for not seeing the signs of MC working behind all of their backs? He already does that.

He avoids any and all romance books. He keeps seeing MC in the main love interest and he hates it.

He keeps thinking of all of their injuries and in how much pain they must have been in their last moments. If he wanted to, he could name all of their injuries that he recognized just by looking at their body.

He knows that logically he couldn't do anything, but sometimes the thought of 'if I was better at human medicine/biology I could have saved them'.

Asmodeus

It makes his skin crawl just thinking of the way MC looked as they were taking their last breath. He still has it in the back of his mind. Along that, he also has the feeling of helplessness memorized.

If anyone would think he would stop taking care of himself after MC's death, they would be deathly wrong. MC was one of the only people that didn't like just for his looks, and probably the only one vocal about how they loved his personality. Now with them gone, he thinks there is no one he can show flaws with.

He has to be at his best. To not let anyone know about his imperfections. The demons that don't know him may think he got over MC's death pretty fast, but his brothers that live with him can hear him sob in his bedroom.

He sleeps with a lot of demons and humans in hopes of getting rid of the pain but it doesn't help since he is missing the affectionate, non sexual, touches that MC would give him.

He made a special album of all the photos he ever took of MC. He didn't want to risk the photos from his phones disappearing by accident and lose something important for him. He would hate to not be able to gaze at their face, even if it's just through photos

Beelzebub

This man is crushed. Not only did he lose MC, he lost them at the hands of his twin. He is beyond torn on the inside, and no matter what side he chooses to take he will be riddled with guilt.

At that moment he felt just like during their fall. A huge joke of a protector that couldn't keep his loved ones alive. His nightmares after the whole incident will be nearly a daily basis.

He tries to talk with Belphie about the whole incident, he doesn't want to lose two people at the same time, but he also feels like he is betraying MC's memory by trying to save his twin.

If the whole reveal of MC being Lilith's reincarnation's descendent happens that will literally end him. He couldn't protect the last thing that was related to Lilith.

Just like Satan, his sin is out of control. He goes between long periods of not eating and periods where his gluttony is worse than ever.

The only thing worse than his gluttony is his survivor's guilt. People he loves and cares about keeping on dying/being taken away yet he remains unharmed and for what? Is that a cruel joke of the universe? He didn't even get to protect MC/talk with Belphie during the incident. He literally couldn't do anything but ask himself 'why?'

Belphegor

I already made a post on how MC and Belphegor got to bond before lesson 16.

At first he feels justified. He got his revenge, proved his point and protected his family from having the same faith as Lilith. Yet despite all of that it feels wrong.

Satisfaction from killing them quickly turned into anger at seeing his brothers cry over a 'random human' to regret. He realized that he himself got attached to them, and now that both his anger and MC were gone he was left with nothing. His brothers must hate him now, after all he murdered someone precious to them.

Due to treason he is locked up somewhere away from his brothers so in his mind, he really lost everything. If Diavolo and Barbatos reveal the whole Lilith thing he will literally want to end himself on the spot. He lost his sister, MC, the only remainder of his sister, lived in hate for something that was not even true, betrayed his brothers and lost them. In one night his life took a turn for the worst in a way he could not even imagine.

And on top of all of that, he can feel the way Beel is trying to cope with the loss of MC and feels even more guilty for making Beel go through that.

He also can't make himself grieve for MC cause in his mind, he has no right to do that, after all he killed them in cold blood and laughed over their body.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me lucifer headcanons #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me mammon headcanons #obey me mammon x mc #obey me leviathan headcanons #obey me leviathan x reader #obey me satan headcanons #obey me satan x mc #obey me asmodeus headcanons #obey me asmodeus x reader #obey me beelzebub headcanons #obey me beelzebub x mc #obey me belphegor headcanons #obey me belphegor x reader

[plutofromafar]

let's go home

A/N: heyyy... it's been a while (two years) since i've written something. life just got busy, but i hope you're all doing well. anyway, i've been rewatching criminal minds and got inspired to write this. i hope you like it!

pairing: season 6 Emily Prentiss x fem!Y/N

warnings: angst, toxic relationship, control issues, trust issues, canon character death, grief, (but everything is okay in the end)

word count: 2517

Read on AO3

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

"Where have you been?"

You dropped your bag to the floor and shrugged off your jacket, hanging it up.

"Out. How was work?"

Emily ignored your question, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall, watching you with curious eyes.

"Out with who?"

"No one, Em. Am I not allowed to leave this apartment?" You sighed.

"You never just leave without telling me where you're going or who you're with, don't give me an attitude."

You roll your eyes, heading to the bedroom. Emily stopped you.

"You're not going to bed without telling me where you've been."

"Why does it matter? You've been at work. I just wanted to get some fresh air," you threw your hands up in slight frustration. "You leave every morning, and I don't question you. Why can't I do the same?"

"Because I don't trust you!" Emily raised her voice. She blocked off your path, glaring at you.

You narrowed your eyes, steeling your composure to not show that her words had hurt you.

"Why not? I'm your girlfriend."

"And that means I should trust you just because we are dating? You've given me plenty of reasons not to trust you."

"Like what?"

Emily placed her hands on her hips, standing up straighter. "You've been secretive, you're too friendly with other women, you're always on your phone, you hide things from me."

Rage bubbled inside your chest. "Do you think you're a saint, Emily? You are no different from me. How many times have I tried to ask you about your day, just for you to shut down? How many times have I been tossed aside while you prioritize your work? How many hours have I spent waiting for you to come home, worrying that you were shot dead when you'd really just fallen asleep at your desk?"

Emily flinched, surprised by seeing you so angry, and how true your words were.

"Y/N, that's different. i'm just... busy all the time, or have classified information..."

You felt tears sting in your eyes.

"I can't do this anymore," you whisper.

Emily froze in place at your words, watching you grab a duffle bag from the hallway closet.

"What?"

You swiftly moved to the bedroom, feeling Emily follow behind you. You started packing a few essentials, deciding that you would come back later for more things.

"You know what."

"You're leaving?"

"I don't think you're ready to be in a serious relationship, Em. I saw the signs from the start, but I overlooked them because I liked you. But I can't put up with all the secrets, the lying, and the distrust anymore. I'm your girlfriend; I trust you more than I trust anyone in the whole world, and it hurts that you don't feel the same about me."

You wiped your tears.

Emily took a step forward, feeling a surge of panic.

"Sweetheart, listen, it's not like that... I..." she faltered, unable to think of anything that would fix this situation.

You waited for Emily to continue, but her silence was enough of an answer. You zipped up your bag and walked over to Emily, giving her a soft kiss on her forehead.

"I love you, Em. But I can't stay here."

Emily's face briefly softened at your kiss, but her heart dropped as your departure started becoming very real.

"I-" Emily's voice cracked. "Can I talk to you? Please?"

You stopped by the door, considering your next words very carefully.

"I've given you so many chances to talk to me. If all it takes is for me to leave, then it's probably too late."

A wave of hurt crashed over Emily, even though she knew there was a truth to your words.

"I promise I'm ready to talk now."

You made the grave mistake to turn back, and one look at her sad brown eyes was convincing enough. Wordlessly, the two of you walked to the couch and sat down.

Emily took your hand, breathing a sigh of relief when you didn't pull away.

"I know I haven't been the best girlfriend over the past couple months, okay? I-I admit, I've been keeping some things from you, but you have to understand..."

"Understand what?" You voice was soft, but your tone harsh.

"Understand why I was keeping them from you, I just..." Emily sighed. "I was scared. Scared to tell you certain things."

You looked into her eyes. "Is something happening at work? Or is it something in our relationship?"

There was a moment of hesitation before Emily spoke.

"I-it's work-related, yes... and it's the reason I've been so... on edge."

"Does it have something to do with Ian Doyle?" You pieced together.

Emily froze, the name she never wanted you to know of coming out of your mouth.

"Where did you hear that?"

You sensed the anxiousness in her voice, and you knew you were treading on dangerous waters.

"I came home early one night, and I overheard you talking on the phone to someone. You sounded stressed out, I figured it had something to do with work."

Emily nodded slowly.

"I... H-how much of that did you hear?"

You shook your head, "Not much. Just a few names and details. 'Interpol', 'undercover', 'Lauren Reynolds.'"

Just hearing those words alone made Emily anxious.

"I need you to keep what you heard a secret, okay? Don't tell anyone, not even the team. Can you promise me that?"

"Yes, of course."

A wave of silence washed over the two of you. Emily fiddled with her fingers, but never took her eyes off yours.

"Emily, I don't have to worry about losing you, do I?"

Emily managed a small smile, holding your gaze for the longest time.

"No, you don't have to worry about that. I'm not going to let anything keep me away from you, Y/N. I promise."

It was like the storm clouds had finally parted, revealing a glimpse of blue skies above. For the first time in your year-long relationship, Emily had finally opened up to you about something.

You slowly moved in for a hug, giving Emily the chance to opt out if she wanted to. But she leaned into your embrace, hugging you with such intensity, as if you'd vanish if she let go of you. Emily had never been so scared to lose someone before, and she knew that she could never risk losing you ever again.

You were the first to break the silence.

"This can't happen again, Em. I need you to be honest and trust me. I value your feelings, and I don't want to lose you."

Emily nodded as you voiced her thoughts exactly.

"I know. I promise... There's, uh... one other thing I need to tell you about."

"What is it?" You pull away to look at her.

"I need to go somewhere tomorrow to deal with an issue from my Interpol days. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone..."

Emily stood up, walking over to the window and knelt down. She flipped up a floorboard, taking out a padded envelope.

"If I'm not back within a week, I want you to open this."

You took the envelope.

"What are you planning to do, Em?" your voice shook.

"It's just a precaution," Emily lied in order to not worry you. "There's a risk that comes with every mission I go on. I just want you to keep this for the future."

When you didn't reply, Emily took your hands into hers.

"I'm going to be fine."

You nodded, touching your forehead to Emily's.

"Will you stay? Come to bed with me?"

Emily's soft and vulnerable words sent an ache to your heart.

"Yeah."

The two of you settled into bed. You laid on your side, face to face with Emily. She leaned in to plant a kiss on your forehead, wrapping her arms protectively around you.

"I love you, Y/N.”

"I love you, too."

Long after you dozed off, Emily remained awake. She wanted to remember how your body molded perfectly against hers, the smell of your shampoo and how your hair tickled her nose, and how her heart beat differently when she was around you. She worried about how you would hold up if something happened to her. She tried to stay as still as possible to not disturb your sleep. After what felt like hours, she let sleep overcome her as well.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The next day, you woke up to an empty bed. Emily had already left as she usually did, but this time it came with a heavy, lingering feeling. Of what, you weren't sure yet.

You sat up in bed and glanced at the alarm clock on Emily's bedside table, which told you that it was almost 12pm. You felt something on your forehead and you reached up to find it was a bright pink sticky note. You laughed, remembering how Emily used to leave notes stuck on your forehead if she woke up and left before you.

“Be home soon. I love you,” the note read in Emily’s cursive handwriting. You stuck it to the wall above your nightstand.

You had the day off from work, so you started your day of relaxation. A few hours later, a knock on the door jolted you out of your focus on a TV show you were binging. Your limbs protested as you stood up from the position you’ve been sitting in all day.

A familiar face stood behind the door.

“Andersen?”

Agent Andersen had a solemn expression on his face.

“Y/N, I regret to inform you that Agent Prentiss has been injured in the field. I’ve been sent by Agent Hotchner to bring you to the hospital.”

The world went silent as his words sunk in. This wasn’t the first time during your relationship that Emily had gotten injured, but it wasn’t the kind of thing that got easier every time.

The journey to the hospital was a blur. Before you knew it, you were in the waiting room. A heavy silence occupied the room as you and the team waited for an update.

Finally, the doors opened and you stood up, almost falling over until Rossi took your arm. With one look at JJ’s face, you knew your worst fears had come true.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

It’s been seven months since Emily died. Seven months since you attended her funeral. Seven months since you quit your job, packed your bags, and left town without telling anyone.

You’ve been living in a permanent state of anxiety and grief ever since Emily’s passing. You could barely register anything happening around you, not with the words “she never made it off the table” echoing in your mind constantly. You currently resided in New York with your friend, who was in their first year of residency and basically lived at the hospital, so you had the apartment to yourself a majority of the time.

You became vaguely aware of your phone ringing as you pulled yourself out of your daze. You were surprised and confused when the caller ID read Hotch’s name. The first month after your very sudden departure, your phone was bombarded with calls from each member of the BAU. As time passed and their calls kept going unanswered, they ceased their contact. Occasionally, you would get a few voicemails from Penelope who would update you on things happening in her life and to tell you that she missed you.

“Hi.”

“Y/N,” Hotch’s voice lifted in surprise. “I wasn’t sure if you would answer.”

You sighed.

“Well, here I am.”

“I’m…” Hotch trailed off for a second. “I’m calling because I need you to come back to Quantico.”

“Not interested.”

“I wouldn’t be asking if this wasn’t important, Y/N,” Hotch spoke quickly before you could hang up.

You thought about it for a moment.

“I’ve already sent the jet your way. JJ will meet you at the airport.”

You chuckle.

“I haven’t agreed yet.”

“I think you’ll want to be back here. Just trust me.”

The thought of reuniting with JJ and the rest of the team was tempting. You hadn’t realized how much you missed them all these months.

“Okay.”

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

JJ met up with you at the airport runway, pulling you into a tight embrace that you reciprocated. The two of you caught up with each other as the jet got ready for takeoff.

JJ sat up straight, her face becoming serious but still warm.

“Y/N, there’s something I need to tell you before we land.”

You held her gaze, sensing a hint of anxiety in her voice.

“What is it?”

Just like seven months ago in that waiting room, the world stopped spinning when you heard JJ’s words. You sat like a statue as she recounted the events, from Emily’s transfer to Paris to the team taking down Doyle at last.

When you were unresponsive for too long, JJ gently touched your hand.

“Emily is alive?” you ask for confirmation, not believing what you heard.

“Yes.”

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Your steps from the runway into the office were quick and frantic, even JJ had to try to keep up with you. Through the glass doors of the office, you made eye contact with Hotch.

“Emily’s alive? Where is she? Is she here?”

Hotch didn’t answer your rapid-fire questions, but he swiftly led you into his office. Your heart was beating out of your chest and you could hear each pump of blood.

The figure in the room turned around and you gasped when your eyes met brown ones that you thought you would never see again. The Emily that stood before you had small changes in her appearance, but she was still your beloved Emily.

Emily approached you slowly, as one might approach a scared puppy.

“Y/N.”

You let out a sob, diving forward and pulling Emily into your embrace. She held you, tenderly stroking your hair as you cried into her neck. Tears sprang into Emily’s eyes as she felt her heart begin to mend having you in her arms.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…” Emily repeated softly. “I had to keep us safe until Doyle was captured. I’m so sorry I had to leave you, and that I had to lie to you.”

You shook your head, pulling away slightly to see her face.

“You had no choice, I understand. I’m just glad you’re here. I thought I lost you for good.”

“You’ll never lose me again,” Emily wiped a tear from your cheek. “These past seven months have been hell without you. All I could think about was how rocky our relationship had been in the months before I left. I promise you that I won’t let us go back to that. It’s not going to be easy, and I have a lot of issues to work through, but I’m going to put in the work. I trust you wholeheartedly, Y/N.”

You smile at her words, feeling that things will be different this time around.

“That means a lot to me, Em.”

Emily tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, cradling your chin in her hand.

“Let’s go home, okay?”

“Let’s go home.”

#emily prentiss #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds angst #emily prentiss angst #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #jennifer jareau #aaron hotchner #david rossi

[aveline-amelia]

You know what I love about BBC Sherlock?

You only catch some things on your 2nd, or 5th or 10th rewatch.

Like with Mycroft and Sherlock.

You watch Mycroft be annoyed at Sherlock calling at Christmas, so you think he would rather be left alone and doesn't want to deal with anyone, including Sherlock.

But his initial expression is one of surprise. He doesn't want to believe that Sherlock could be calling for sentimental reasons because he cannot bear to be wrong.

He wants Sherlock to show him he cares, like he did back when they were children.

And notice his wording there. "Did they pass a new law?" Sherlock is not the one who cares about upholding the law, Mycroft is. He is setting the stage for Sherlock to banter, but Sherlock just tells him Irene Adler is dead and hangs up.

When Sherlock calls Mycroft (despite the fact he prefers to text) in TSO3 many speculate the reason he wants him at the wedding is to have someone for support.

Mycroft says they will spend more time together now that John is married. Just like old times. He knows Sherlock would hate that, yet Sherlock doesn't deny it. He could say he can spend extra time with Mrs Hudson, or Lestrade or Molly or Wiggins.

He could say he doesn't need him at all. But we know that's not quite true.

If Sherlock was being sincere here and said he needs someone on his side, by his side, someone to be there for him, so he feels less alone... Mycroft would most likely think he was being mocked. He wouldn't believe him. Why should he?

When Mycroft tells Sherlock his loss would break his heart, he isn't doing it because of the drugs.

The drugs are just an excuse to hide behind. A smokescreen. He can't even look at Sherlock while is he saying it because he knows what's coming. Mockery.

"What the hell am I supposed to say to that?"

Mycroft broke script. He said the quiet part, the subtextual part out loud. I do care about you and it would break my heart if you died.

Sherlock doesn't know what to say. You can even read his bewildered statement as a genuine question. Mycroft does, in a way. So he answers.

"Merry Christmas?"

"You hate Christmas."

"Perhaps there was something in the punch."

I know you are up to something.

On the tarmac, Sherlock didn't even want to say goodbye to his brother. But when Mycroft calls him in 4 minutes, Sherlock has no idea Moriarty might be back. He just thinks Mycroft couldn't go even five minutes without speaking to him again and checking up on him.

Sherlock didn't say goodbye to Mycroft because he knew that wouldn't be the last time he'd hear from him.

"I will always be there for you."

"Shouldn't you be out there getting me a pardon, like a proper big brother?"

"He was a rubbish big brother." Was, not is.

"You were great."

He didn't find Lady Bracknell convincing. He isn't talking about that.

"Dr Watson? Look after him, would you?"

"Mycroft. Make sure he's looked after. He's not as strong as he thinks he is."

Neither of them are.

#the holmes brothers #mycroft holmes #sherlock holmes #sherlock bbc #bbc sherlock #adding some tags #sherlock meta #the holmes brothers meta #holmes brothers meta #idk if this counts as meta

[37-drc89]

should be the last night we’re apart; kim seungmin

trope: exes to lovers.

genre: angst with good ending.

warnings: self-hatred.

word count: 1,4k.

note: i will appreciate every reblog, comment, feedback, as always! thank you so much for reading! x

masterlist

Slight lantern light shined through the glass, painting the room's walls weak orange. Other than that, only darkness wrapped your body tightly, so tightly it could almost suffocate you. Cold wind blew through opened window, sending unpleasant shivers down your spine, but there’s no strength in you to close it. There’s no strength to look in the mirror in front of you. No strength to look at yourself.

How many days passed? Eight? Nine? Nineteen?

How many days passed since Seungmin left?

Counting was useless, it always successfully blurred into nothing. Or maybe it was just you who never tried recalling that day, as it sent physical pain into your crashed, aching heart. However, it seemed to be the only thing your mind could ever go back to.

You promised each other to be infinite, until death and further. But the problem about every good book is that it always has its end, and that's all you've learned since the day you were born. Maybe Seungmin didn't enjoy your book. Maybe he got bored of the plot, maybe the characters were a mismatch for him, maybe there were typos on your side that made him go. You could be searching for any explanation all day and night, but the proper words were taken away from you, along with your promised eternal love, with Seungmin.

Your head rests on your knees, eyes focused out somewhere on the floor, looking for any other emotion that could fill you, other than pure guilt. You need to go on. You might be hurt, but life doesn't end here. At least that's what movies say, so why does it feel otherwise?

Obviously, your friends did reach out to you. They sat there, held your hand, patted your back, wiped your tears. They rewatched your favourite shows over and over again, joked around, and you smiled, you laughed even, only for the grin to go long forgotten when doors closed behind them. Additional guilt creeping on your back for being nothing but a burden, weight even your closest friends couldn't lift for you.

And Seungmin was nowhere to be found. Everytime someone walked around the stairway, useless hope grew in your chest, only to brutally be dragged back down when it happened to be your neighbour. Every notification your phone popped made your breath stop, but his name never appeared on the screen. Your fingers always hovered above that send button, unsure about the millionth message you've been preparing the whole day, always ending up deleting it anyway. You stopped trying and your phone remained untouched since. No point of waiting if there's nothing to be waiting for.

It felt as if every good thing was taken away from you. Your every first time, every good joke, every tooth-rotting sweet message, every pleasant morning and evening when you got to lay down next to the love of your life. Was it all really something you have to say goodbye to... for good?

Even the time when your first kiss happened, on that one regular sleepovers of yours? When air thickened during a simple conversation you always had, right before going to bed, his hand slipped over yours, but eyes never left the wall in front of him. Silence grew between the two of you as you quietly blinked at him. "Can I kiss you?" he murmured with dead serious face and you nodded before you could even think. Situation got to you only when his lips connected with yours, staying there for what felt like eternity. Back then you could swear you've never seen Seungmin so passionate about something, so whipped. Your lips felt like they were meant to be kissing each other, and it felt right. Something finally felt right. When your lungs started yearning for breath and he pulled away, first genuine smile appeared on his lips that night, eyes softer than they have ever been, and your heart told you right there that you indeed love the boy in front of you. And as much as your heart fooled you sometimes, you trusted it - do you now have to let it down and forget?

Or about the night he found you in your bathroom, face soaked in burning tears, body completely nude, all but painful whimpers coming out of you, the night you felt especially unattractive, ugly, hideous. When he caged you inside his comforting embrace, not letting you speak as Seungmin knew nothing but self-hatred will come out of you. When his lips carefully kissed every part of your body, slowly, mumbling sugar sweet words into your skin, as if he wanted them to linger underneath it. He kissed every scar, every mole, every beauty mark, your every insecurity. In the end he kissed away your tears, not bothering the salty taste, whispering his admiration and love. The night you felt gentler about yourself for the first time in your life.

Now you despise what you see once again. There is nothing to love.

1 am struck on the clock, reminding you about how long you've been rotting into your bed, another four hours flew by your head before you could catch them. Few messages from your friends already cold on your phone, you should check them, you should at least let them know that you are alive, but are you really? Can you consider your current state as living?

Krrrth.

Your ears fail to catch that familiar sound of key being inserted into the keyhole, lock sliding open right after. You only notice stairway light sliding into your apartment along with doors opening quietly, but it disappears seconds after. Faint steps growing louder as a figure stands in the doorframe, in complete dark. But the silhouette is so well known to you you could recognize it half-blinded.

He locked his gaze at your poor, small figure, finding your eyes in the dark immediately. Soft pants leave his lips, a sign that he most likely ran. To you.

Kim Seungmin.

The last person you need. The only one you want to see.

"y/n,"

Your name on his lips feel like a curse and like a blessing, and you can't tell if the knot inside your stomach is tightening or loosening. You want to punch him, you want to scream, you want to kick him out and tell him not to come see you ever again. But more than that, you want to hold him and never let him go again. To kiss him all over, to cry into his chest, to confess your love for him over and over again.

Your mind quiets as Seungmin makes his way to you, kneeling in front of you. Moonlight perfectly reflects dried tear stains on his face, you hear his breath shake. His hand lifts up, reaching out for yours, but he doesn't dare to touch you, to scare you, waiting for your permission. Only when your cold, trembling hand leans in into his, Seungmin carefully holds it. His other hand sneaks itself around your back, scooping you into his embrace. You could protest. But this moment feels like a dream come true. Like something you've been searching for for your whole life. He holds you so gently like you're the most fragile, porcelain masterpiece ever created, just like you remember. Your hands roll into weak fists, ready to punish him for leaving, but all you're capable of is clutching them on his hoodie as strongly as you can. Tears that seemed dried out for the past days start flowing, and they run, run, run down your face one by one, creating a steady stream.

Time passes. Minutes or hours, you're not sure. Seungmin pulls away gently, hands coming up to hold both of your wet cheeks. His heart trembles at the poor sight, another set of tears threatening to fall from his own eyes. He knows he hurt you. He knows he's the one responsible for what he sees. And he is ready for you to punch his face, aware that this is the only thing he deserves from you.

But instead, you lean in, laying your swollen, red lips on top of his. And he can't help but hold you closer, like he's getting the greatest award for being the worst dick existing.

"My love. I will explain to you, everything," stream of tears go down his cheek, bottom lip trembling. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry. For everything you've been through, because of me."

"This better be the last night we were apart." You squeak weakly, running your thumb over his lips, effectively shushing him. Right now that doesn't matter, because Kim Seungmin is by your side once again.

You can tell if something is right when most things in this world are plain wrong.

And you know this is right.

#skz #stray kids #skz au #stray kids fanfic #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz angst #seungmin #seungmin angst #kim seungmin #kim seungmin fanfic #seungmin fic #seungmin fluff #seungmin x reader #seungmin stray kids #seungmin skz #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin fluff #kim seungmin imagines #skz seungmin #kim seungmin angst #stray kids angst #skz fluff

[rvb-canon-grimmons]

RVB RESTORATION THOUGHTS!!!!

LONG POST IM SO SORRY I HAD A LOT OF FEELINGS

(Im so sorry this got so long, but i got emotional while writing it so please bear with me, read this like its the morning paper while u eat breakfast or something i have alot to say)

Before I go into the things I didn't like I do want to focus on some positives.

-Like I said in an earlier post, Geoff's acting…he absolutely killed it, and maybe this is because I'm a little bit Geoff/Grif biased but he was giving so much emotion and everyone else felt a little bit flat. Also only he could have delivered the "Come with me" line with so much Homoeroticism -I Had a pretty fun time watching the fight in the second half, The references to Monty we're sweet and getting to see Tex and Carolina fight together was pretty epic! -A good handful of jokes got me good. "23rd in my class" Shelia translating Caboose's Spanish to Lopez

Ok……. the next bit of this will get a little bit negative, but I do want to say this is coming from a place of deep love and care for this series. I have run this blog for like 6/7 years now and I've been a fan of this show for double that. My biggest fear is that fans get the same treatment we did when no one liked RVBZero. I have criticisms. This is a 21 year old series that so many people have had a part in and so many have loved. I was not looking for perfection, I wasn't even looking for something good. I was looking for an ending to the stories of characters people have held in their hearts for 21 years. Unfortunately, what I feel we were left with was a hastily thrown together hour of basically nothing.

-Why weren't they friends…..Why weren't they friends…No one cared for the others. I understand that we have semi warped perceptions of the characters from fanon works and things of that nature. But even in canon, the reds and blue care about each other. On their own team and the other team. Simmons, Grif, Tucker, and Caboose spent MONTHS together in chorus and same for Donut/Sarge/Wash. I've recently rewatched blood gulch and Caboose and Sarge have a great dynamic! Tucker and Grif canonically get along pretty well. Simmons was ON BLUE TEAM for like a hot minute there. THEY KNOW EACH OTHER AND CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER. This was zero percent present in this film. No one had any motivation to look for Tucker. No one cared that it was Tuckers body inside the suit. THE REDS LEFT CABOOSE FOR DEAD!!!!!! THEY JUST LEFT HIM!!!!

-Tucker, I'm so sorry baby girl, this was supposed to be your arc, your moment. You were hardly in it. No build up to how he became the Meta. The scene where he breaks out of it to not kill caboose was the best part of the arc. And he just wakes up and remembers it "like someone elses Nightmare??" ok sure

-Wash………………WHAT THE FUCK???? WHAT THE FUCK???????????????? WHAT THE FUCK??????? WHAT THE FUCK???? TO RUIN THIS MANS ENTIRE CHARACTER ARC BY MAKING HIM COMPLETELY OBSOLETE. PUTTING HIM IN SOME RANDOM HOSPITAL FOR AN UNKNOWN INJURY THAT HAPPENS OFF SCREEN AND ISN'T EXPLAINED. HAVE HIM HALUCINATING DOC FOR SOME FUCKING REASON. HAVE HIM SHOW UP TO THE FINAL BATTLE AND DO ABSOLUTLEY NOTHING BUT JUMP OFF A FUCKING CLIFF AND NOT SAY A WORD TO ANY OF THE RED AND BLUES I AM LIERALLY ABOUT TO FUCKING CRY TYPING THIS I AM LITERALLY SO FUCKING PISSED OFF. AGENT WASHINGTON, THE CHARACTER THAT WAS SO HAPPY IN THE SEASON RIGHT BEFORE CHORUS JUST TO BE ON BLUE TEAM AND HAVE A FUCKING FAMILY AGAIN. JUST SIDELINE HIM FOR NO FUCKING REASON AND THEN NOT LET HIM SPEAK TO ANY OF HIS FRIENDS EXCEPT CAROLINA AND DEAD DOC. AND DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE FACT THAT TUCKER BEING THE META WAS LITERALLY A PLOT POINT CATERED TO HAVE WASH BE INVOLVED. THIS IS LIKE AGENT WASHINGTON ANGST BAIT 101. YES IM A TUCKINGTON SHIPPER BUT PUT ALL SHIPPING ASIDE, THEY WERE STILL FRIENDS, THEY WERE FRIENDS THEY WERE FRIENDS.

Grimmons. I am disappointed. But really not surprised. Honestly for everything I disliked I thought Grimmons was handled ok… at this point im like….. they couldn't even throw us a bone. company was dying, final season airing, and they couldn't even throw us a solid Grimmons queerbait joke. Its whatever….I don't wanna get too upset about shipping because at the end of the day, ships becoming canon isn't what shipping is all about (says Tumblr user "RVB-Canon-Grimmons) you get what im saying.

-Donut…..where was he…..Fucking Homophobic honestly

-DOC IS DEAD?????????????????????????????? FUCKING WHY???

-Sarge's death was fine, I'm not upset by it I just didn't feel like it was emotionally satisfying. Especially after the shock of them leaving Caboose and the much better scene of tucker fighting the meta's control over him to not hurt caboose.

-PEOPLE CALLED U SIR ALL THROUGHOUT CHORUS SIMMONS WHAT THE FUCK??????????? WHY IS SIMMONS PROMOTED AND INCHARGE OF NO ONE???? WHY DID GRIF LEAVE HIM???

Im sorry………..this is so long………just remeber this is only my opinions and if u don't agree thats totally ok!!!!! I am just a critical bitch….

#rvb #grimmons #rooster teeth #red vs blue #rvb grimmons #rvb restoration #agent washington #tuckington #rvb restoration spoilers

[slytherinshua]

DEATH OF A BROKEN HEART

genre. angst. soulmate au. warnings. heartbreak and major character death. pairing. leehan x fem!reader. wc. 524. request. requested by @hyunhanie: could you pleaseee do an angsty fic with Leehan?? Like idk about what in particular,but please something dramatic!! a/n. sry for this being so late but i hope you like it!! ik its not very long-- originally i was going to write a leehan hanahaki au but that kind of got forgotten in my drafts for a bit :( i just whipped this up cause i had angsty ideas from the trailer film that i still can't stop rewatching skdjks lol. original gif by @/foamofyouth and i just put the text over <3

Donghyun let a string of curses leave his mouth when he heard the robotic tone of the voice message rejecting his call for the 10th time that night. He wasn’t sure what else to do. Cry, shout, scream? All those options had already been expended. And so he let foul words slip from his pretty lips into the cool air of the bathroom; words he would never ever have imagined being directed towards you.

You were so precious to him. Or, at least, you had been.

72 hours. 28 missed calls. 2 broken promises. 1 burning soul mark.

Donghyun had been lied to by the whole world. He sunk to the floor as the weight of it all hit him, the sting on his wrist getting more extreme the farther you were from him. He pressed down on it with one hand, dropping his phone as he curled into a tighter ball from the pain. No amount of pressure would ever relieve it. There was no medication he could take. He just had to wait.

If you were his soulmate then how did it go wrong? It wasn’t supposed to be able to go wrong. Soulmates were supposed to be perfect for each other. 

But you had switched faster than Donghyun could blink. 4 days ago you had been planning your future together, and now here he was abandoned by the only person he had ever trusted.

You were running away from him, he knew that much. There was no other explanation for why it burned so much. Soul marks only hurt when your soulmate left you for good. It was a pain that you were only supposed to feel when they died.

You weren’t dead.

You weren’t supposed to leave.

Donghyun knew that he would never get the answers to his millions of questions. He had no way to reach you, no way to demand an explanation from your lips. Not that he would last 1 second in your presence again. He broke so easily, wrapped tightly around your finger even when you had left his heart broken and bleeding on the cold tile floor. 

He would never get you back, and by virtue of it, he would never love again. No one would love someone abandoned by their own soulmate, especially when he had no defense.

Donghyun let his eyes flutter closed, breathing a few soft breaths of fresh air as he let his mind wander over memories one last time. The grips of death fingered at his clothes, creeping ever closer, trying to grab hold of his heart. 

And he let it.

There was no reason to resist anymore; no motive for prolonging the inevitable. 

A shaky breath left his soft lips, and one final tear formed on his lash line. It wasn’t out of anger or hatred for you and your actions, but full of regret and longing for one more chance. If he could restart time and do it all over again, he would in a heartbeat. 

That was his weakness. That was what made him all the more vulnerable to the soulmate phenomenon; death of a broken heart.

↳ boynextdoor taglist: @rizzshimura,, @captivq,, @icyminghao,, @eternalgyu,, @metalchick529,, @schmocolateschmchip,, @kpoprhia,, @candewlsy,, @weird-bookworm,, @cyberpunksunwoo,, @kangtaehyunzzz,, @snowflakemoon3,, @lovialy,, @lecheugo,, @okshu,, @wccycc,, @seunghancore

#﹒fics 𓈃 ⵌ #k-labels #leehan #donghyun #kim donghyun #boynextdoor #boynextdoor leehan #bnd #bnd leehan #bnd x reader #boynextdoor x reader #boynextdoor angst #bnd angst #leehan angst #kim donghyun x reader #donghyun x reader #leehan x reader #donghyun angst #kim donghyun angst #bonedo #kpop angst #leehan fic #kim donghyun fic #donghyun fic #boynextdoor fic #bnd fic

[happy74827]

Lost On You

[Rick Grimes x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Drawn to his strength and resilience, you've secretly fancied the widowed sheriff turned leader. But with recent events turning his smiles into forced fake ones, all that's on your mind is to make it known that he's not alone {Takes place in Season 5}.

WC: 2067

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst

This is officially my first Walking Dead fanfic, which I'm honestly surprised hasn't happened earlier, but I've recently rewatched season five, and it made me remember just how much I love Rick. So, here we are.

『••✎••』

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the makeshift camp that had become a haven for the group after their escape from Terminus. The tension that had gripped them during their ordeal was slowly easing, and a sense of normalcy was tentatively settling in. Amid the camaraderie and relief, one person's heart was beating just a little faster than the rest – yours.

Ever since the days at the prison, you had found yourself drawn to Rick Grimes. His strength, his resilience, and the way he cared for his people… it resonated with you deeply. You found yourself admiring him from afar, with feelings growing with every shared moment. And now, as you sat by the campfire, watching Rick with Judith nestled safely in his arms, those feelings were impossible to ignore.

He changed, though. It was apparent in his eyes. Andrea had mentioned long ago how he was becoming “colder,” but you never saw it until now. Until you’ve (quite literally) were face-to-face with evil.

After the incident with Gareth and his people, Rick rarely smiled. And when he did, it was faker than Daryl’s chupacabra claim. Even when Judith giggled while tugging on his beard, or when Michonne and Carl had random competitions, he never smiled like he used to. The last time you saw him “happy” by definition was back when Hershel was still around.

Rick was no longer the man who gave you hope. You didn't know if it was the guilt of his past actions, the stress of the group's survival, or a combination of the two, but Rick Grimes had been lost somewhere along the road, and you wanted to find him.

Your gaze drifted down to your lap, where the remnants of a half-eaten dinner lay. You weren't sure what Carol had made tonight, but it was good. She was always an amazing cook.

Carol.

She was the only person who knew how you felt about Rick. It had been hard not to talk about it. You two were close, and it wasn't like you were a master at keeping secrets. Carol was, though. She had a talent for reading people and knew right away when you had developed a crush. She always teased you about it.

You were glad she didn't tell anyone, and you were glad to have her as a friend.

With the fire beginning to die down, and the food finished, the others began drifting back to their respective tents. First Michonne, then Carl, Daryl, Carol, and Tyreese. Sasha lingered for a bit, and eventually, Abraham and Rosita. Eugene and Tara had been gone all day scavenging for supplies, and Glenn and Maggie had disappeared into the woods an hour before. They had just recently returned, hand-in-hand, and were giggling and whispering as they headed for their tent.

As for you? Well, you were just waiting. Waiting and watching Rick. You didn't know why, exactly. Maybe you were hoping he would suddenly break out of this new, serious-all-the-time character he'd been portraying. Or maybe you were trying to figure out how to talk to him, how to tell him how you felt.

That thought sent your heart racing again. You took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before letting it out slowly.

You couldn't help but feel like the entire world had been waiting for something to change. Waiting for a spark. And when you looked at Rick, you knew. You just knew.

There was something about him. Something special. Something you couldn't explain, but it drew you to him like a moth to a flame. He was the spark you had been waiting for, and the feeling was so strong you could hardly contain yourself.

Rick turned, and you met his eyes. They were a clear blue, a striking contrast to the dark hair that framed his face. His beard was starting to get long, and the curls atop his head were a bit wilder than usual.

Your eyes met his. The smile he gave you was weak, forced. You were tempted to stand up and give him a hug, just to make him feel better. But you didn't.

After a few moments of awkward silence, he stood up, adjusting Judith in his arms as he did so. She stirred, her eyelids fluttering a few times before falling shut once more.

"G'night."

"Night."

And then, he was gone.

You watched as the tent flap closed behind him. He had disappeared so quickly that you barely even had time to register what had happened. You felt like a part of you had just left with him. Your heart was beating a mile a minute. You had been sitting there, watching him, for a long time, and the sudden silence was deafening.

As you headed for your tent, the last of the campers called out to you.

"Night!"

You stopped in your tracks, turning towards the voice. Carl was smiling, waving at you. You raised a hand in response, flashing a brief smile before turning away.

"Night."

You were asleep almost instantly. The day's events had left you exhausted, and it didn't take long for sleep to overtake you. It overtook you to the point that you had slept in until after everyone else had gotten up.

Morning came and you exited the tent, squinting as the sunlight hit your face. The sun was high in the sky, and the others had begun the morning without you. You didn't mind; it wasn't the first time this had happened, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

As you made your way to the main area, you were greeted by several friendly faces.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Glenn teased. "We were starting to wonder if you were ever gonna get up."

You flashed a sheepish grin. "Sorry. I was just exhausted."

You scanned the area for a few minutes, noting that a couple of people were missing. Rick, for example, was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey, Glenn, where's Rick?"

Glenn glanced around the campsite. He scratched the back of his head and shrugged. "Not sure, actually. I haven't seen him this morning. Not since breakfast."

That was strange.

"I'm gonna go look for him," you said,

As you left, Glenn gave you the thumbs up in encouragement before his eyes flashed back to Maggie and Tara. Most likely retelling the events of the previous day.

You soon wandered through the trees, searching for any sign of Rick – or anyone for that matter. Both Daryl and Carol were also missing, but you weren’t concerned about those two. It was more concerning for those who stumbled upon them. Now Rick, on the other hand, he was different.

As of right now he wasn’t the man to mess with. Seeing how he handled those at Terminus, and hearing what had happened the night before from Michonne… you weren’t concerned about the possibility of him getting attacked or injured. Your concern fell towards his mentality.

He was “technically” the leader that everyone had listened and looked up to. Abraham made arguments, mostly of the importance of taking Eugene to DC, but Rick was the one who had the final say. That kind of power and responsibility to lead an entire group to their survival has heavy effects. And now, after so much loss and failure, it finally took its toll.

The sun shined brightly through the trees as you walked, and the air was warm. It was the kind of day you would have spent reading on your back porch, or maybe going for a hike. Before the world ended, anyway.

As you started walking, you couldn't help but notice the quiet. There was no sign of life anywhere. No birds, no insects, no Walkers. It was almost like the entire world had disappeared, leaving you all alone.

The forest became more thick and dense the further you walked into it, with the trees growing more close together. The sun still shined through the branches, but it was still early, and the shadows were deep.

You started your trail back towards the temporary camp when you noticed a noise coming from behind you. You spun around, heart pounding. It sounded like footsteps.

"Rick?"

There was no answer. Just the sound of the wind whistling through the trees.

"Rick?" You tried again.

Nothing.

The silence was unnerving. The sound of footsteps had stopped, and there was still no sign of life anywhere.

Then, suddenly, you heard a branch snap and everything that was peaceful turned into a war zone. You spun around fast with fists clenched. You didn’t even process what it was before you struck it in the face.

Your face fell once you opened your eyes to peek at the danger.

Ah, shit.

Rick straightened out, his hand running over his nose where you had accidentally struck. He seemed a little dazed, but otherwise was fine.

"Oh, god, I am so sorry," you said, wincing. "I didn't know it was you. I thought you were a… I don’t— oh, geez.”

Rick blinked a few times, regaining his composure. His hand fell from his nose, and he gave you a slight smile. Fake, again, but this time you didn’t blame him.

“What are you doin’ out here?” Rick’s voice was low, and he sounded tired. He didn’t look directly at you, instead choosing to gaze past you at the forest behind. It was almost as if he didn’t care to hear your answer.

And it was clear he wasn’t bothered by the fact that you had just punched him in the face.

You found yourself sighing at his words. It was a difficult question. One that had multiple answers.

What were you doing out here?

What was he doing out here?

Why were either of you out here instead of being with the group or resting up after the chaos of yesterday?

The questions buzzed in your head, but the answer was clear.

You were out here because of Rick. You were out here to find him. To talk to him.

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The two of you stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity, and the awkwardness was palpable.

"You should be with the others.”

The words hung heavy in the air. They were simple enough, but the weight behind them was crushing.

"You should be with them, too," you countered.

Rick's gaze shifted to you, and you met his eyes.

The sun's rays broke through the treetops, illuminating his face. He looked tired. So tired. Rick had always had dark circles under his eyes, but the ones you were seeing now were new. They were a deeper shade than you'd ever seen, and they seemed to have grown bigger.

He was worn down, exhausted, and there was a hollowness to his stare. A dullness that had replaced the fire. And yet, despite all of that, there was still a warmth there. A sense of caring, of love, that was still present.

It was that warmth that gave you the courage to continue.

"I'm worried about you," you blurted.

His expression shifted slightly, his brows furrowing.

"You're worrying about me?"

You nodded, your eyes still fixed on his.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am."

He shook his head.

"You don't need to worry about me."

"Yes, I do. Because I care about you."

Rick stared at you for a moment. He seemed stunned, and the look on his face made your heart ache.

He let out a small sigh.

"You don't have to," he said, his voice quiet. "I'll be fine."

"You don't have to be the hero all the time, you know," you said. "You can let the rest of us help carry the load."

His eyes searched yours.

"You can't save everyone," you continued. "Sometimes you just have to accept that there are some things that are out of your control."

Rick became silent. You could see the pain and conflict swirling in his eyes. He wanted to accept your words, but the guilt was still eating away at him.

He closed his eyes, and the tension in his body seemed to ease a bit.

"I'm just… tired," he said. "I'm tired of seeing people die. Of losing people."

You placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I know," you said. "I'm tired, too."

#the walking dead #rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #the walking dead fandom #rick grimes x you #x reader #reader #twd rick #twd daryl #carol peletier #daryl dixon #female reader #female!reader #rick grimes x female!reader #andrew lincoln #michonne grimes #michonne #carl grimes #judith grimes #shane walsh #angst #hurt/comfort #twd angst #fear the walking dead #twd negan #ftwd #season 5 twd #maggie rhee #tara chambler #glenn rhee

[jahiera]

Please,,,, please more rambles about astarion and him healing and his slowly changing relationship with (-tav-) Sex and intimacy and choice and-

LISTEN BUDDY...

Okay gonna talk about the Grave Scene. this scene truly lives in my head rent free. I've been rewatching it a few times and every way it plays out is so touching. Especially the way he.. hmm... expresses himself here? There's such earnestness to him that frankly is unimaginable to the person we met in act 1. He really went from being both so sly & yet obviously lying ("[you trusted me...] an objectively stupid thing to do.") to someone who admits and lists the way Tav makes him... feel.... SAFE? and held? and I understand why it's not something a lot of people focus on but I actually am so heart-touched by how complex and intricate his journey to reclaiming sex and desire is at the end of this conversation. None of it is gratuitous. None of it is for show. The blending of the nonsexual intimacy, and openness (the grabbing of the hands, the showing of the grave, the raw admittance of so much vulnerable material he gives to Tav; all things he would never have even CONCEIVED of offering up in even act 2.)

("I've been dead in the ground for long enough. It's time to try living again." ... "With everything that life has to offer.")

It's an extremely nuanced and thoughtful approach to an SA survivor rediscovering & reclaiming what they want to make of their desires, their sexuality, in the aftermath of what was done to their bodies without their consent. It's so thoughtful & beautiful imo. Finally here at his grave, he tells Tav that they're someone he feels safe & accepted with, & he can experience intimacy on both sides with someone who has put forth the effort, the time, the willingness to learn and wait and watch and care for his own desires in a manner no one else EVER has.

("I feel safe with you. Seen. And whatever the future holds for me, I don't want to lose that.")

It REALLY... gets me in the heart here. It doesn't avoid the difficulties of sexuality in the aftermath of abuse, and it ultimately shows one individual's journey toward reclamation and reconciliation with autonomy on their own terms. That's so vital here, that he reaches out, chooses to make the step forward, HIS choice. There's no lingering gratuitously on the trauma, if that makes sense? the descriptions and vulnerability are raw; Tav is grounding person here, Tav gives him room to speak. The true balance of intimacy in verbalizing his feelings, intimacy in being close physically with Tav, intimacy in discerning for himself what he desires, intimacy in accepting touch, contact, affection, togetherness. It's all so... [BITES INTO FIST SCREAMING]. And the ending. Where he and Tav get to set off on another adventure. Get to explore who they are truly now, with each other, without any higher powers looming over and putting a yoke around their necks. I'm personally partial to the "finding a way for you to be in the sun," ending myself but all of them are just ... so delightful. He really SHINES in a way that exceeded my expectations so completely in act 3. he went from totally closed off and locked away and unaware of how to navigate his own personal relationships, no idea what a "relationship," even was, no idea how to express boundary or unravel his complicated ideas and feelings around his body, what it was forced to do for Cazador, to:

("For nearly two centuries I stalked the streets like a ghost while the person I was lay here, dead and buried. Now I need to figure out who I am. What I want.")

also laying a flower on his grave and all he says is "cute." but there's such a minor moment of tenderness there. I weep I wept I will weep.

#I do get why I've seen the interpretation that he's totally sexless after it all & far be it for me to stop people from #interpreting it that way; interpretation and all that; but I personally really love & appreciate the narrative's conclusion here #in which sex is treated as thoughtfully as it can be; real and tangible and /yes/ an avenue of true togetherness beyond #like. getting off. that's not what it's about at all. (and the way this contrasts his post-ritual ending with all the SHOW...) #there's so much genuine intimacy & beauty here both nonsexually & at the end when it's reclaimed like whaahhaahahhahhhhh #it's hardly nonexistent in media for sexuality and SA to be something explored thoughtfully but I admittedly HAVE NOT #seen it explored this thoughtfully in a major RPG video game before. not to this level and not in this way. #SA survivors re-finding bodily autonomy ohhh boy I have. feelings. #sa tw #sa mention #abuse tw #bg3 meta #bg3 spoilers

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed, Episode 39 Part 3

(Masterpost) (Pinboard)  (whole thing on AO3)    

Warning! Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Days of Future Past

After they leave Yi City, the gang comes to a proper town where there is a lantern festival going on, or else it's just a town that is really nuts about lanterns.

The juniors go shopping, looking at random trinkets, cell-phone cases, sunglasses, and electric toys that will break as soon as you get them home. Wait, that's my local mall I'm thinking of. But it's the same idea, pretty much.

Judging by the dream catchers hanging up on the right, this particular Ancient-China kiosk is owned by a traveling Ojibwe person.

Sizhui experiences a callback to symbolism from the past as he looks at an array of toy insects.

Jin Ling toy shames him, and Lan Jingyi comes to his defense.

Toys are for every age, people. Even if you outgrow one style of play, there's a lot of ways to enjoy toys, including tucking them in your robe and pulling them out to look at them whenever you have a memory cascade.

When Sizhui was young, he looked at toys with Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian didn't give him the toys, however, because "asking is asking, buying is buying." For Wei Wuxian, there was always a vast chasm between what he wanted and what he could actually have. Lan Wangji, of course, promptly gave A-Yuan toys, including a version of this grass butterfly.

The last time we saw A-Yuan with the butterfly is the last time A-Yuan saw Wei Wuxian. WWX frightened him and he dropped his butterfly, and everything went to shit after that. So I think it's fair to say the butterfly symbolizes some stuff.

(More after the cut!)

Jingyi points out to Sizhui that they have all of this same stuff at home in Gusu, which is what happens in a franchise-based retail economy.

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian enter the market together, but Wei Wuxian quickly runs ahead, enjoying the energy and the sights. Grown-up Lan Wangji, unlike his younger self, seems perfectly comfortable in this crowded and busy environment.

Lan Wangji pauses at a seller's stall to experience his own callback to the past, as he contemplates a lantern with rabbits on it.

Here the show the show restrains itself and does not show us a flashback to the rabbit lantern of the past. That's ok, though; the first lantern scene is one of the most memorable in the show, so we can just replay it in our heads.

Back then, Wei Wuxian made a special lantern for Lan Wangji, and they released it together. That was the first time we saw Lan Wangji smile, and it's also when Wei Wuxian's pledge of chivalry turned their mutual interest/attraction into something much deeper.

While Lan Wangji and Lan Sizhui are contemplating lost things from the past (sky lanterns, by their nature, are losses, but in a nice way), Wei Wuxian is confronting one of his own losses.

He sees a little kid running to a vendor, and his mind's eye sees A-Yuan.

Lan Wangji sees Wei Wuxian's reaction to the child, and he stops looking at the lantern to watch Wei Wuxian instead.

When Wei Wuxian realizes that the child is not, in fact, A-Yuan, the air goes out of him.

Is it too cruel of me to point out that while Wei Wuxian's heart is breaking from realizing that A-Yuan could not possibly be shopping for toys in this market, the real A-Yuan, Lan Sizhui, actually is shopping for toys in this market?

Wei Wuxian allows himself to feel things, for a moment--and when he turns around and sees Lan Wangji watching him, he doesn't immediately paste a fake smile onto his face, which is some kind of relationship growth.

Lan Wangji takes this opportunity to say "hey, Wei Ying, I forgot to mention that A-Yuan isn't dead."

Ha ha ha ha ha of course he doesn't say that. He's waiting for the right moment to share this information, and Lan Wangji has no idea what constitutes a right moment for verbalizing anything. If he can't use his sword to communicate his devotion or his disappointment, he's in a pickle.

Also, Lan Wangji is aware of the popular Wuxia trope of "lone survivor of a massacred clan grows up to seek revenge," and the rules say you can't reveal the survivor's identity until they have gotten a job as the bodyguard and/or concubine of their enemy's innocent heir. Sizhui has made a good start by befriending Jin Ling, but he's not showing much inclination to revenge, so Lan Wangji is stuck for now.

Like a Lantern in the Dark

When Wei Wuxian sees the lantern next to Lan Wangji, he breaks into a genuine, sunny smile, and runs up to very gently tease LWJ about it.

Like a lantern in the dark, Follow on now, follow your heart

Back then the lantern had a single rabbit, and was a gift from Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji said he's used to doing things alone, and Wei Wuxian said that he can change. This rabbit lantern has two rabbits, and is about to be a gift from Lan Wangji to Wei Wuxian. Because Lan Wangji has changed.

"Lan Zhan, let's buy it"

Wei Wuxian has also changed. He asks for what he wants, instead of just wishing, and is delighted when Lan Wangji gives it to him. The lantern, people. Lan Wangji gives the lantern to him.

They take the lantern together, walk with it together, and immediately give it to (their son) Sizhui, telling him to take good care of it. Sizhui is confused but Jingyi knows what's up. Look how happy he is that his favorite teacher has a boyfriend.

I'm pretty sure ceremonial lantern-giving is going to be incorporated into Gusu weddings from now on, at least weddings where there is already a kid who needs a special role in the ceremony.

Brotherly

The kids tell Lan Wangji that Zewu-Jun is here to see him, and Lan Wangji makes this face:

Holy fuck, what is going on between the Lan brothers? It occurs to me that we haven't seen them together since Wei Wuxian came back to life. They were close, in the before times, but 33 lashes and 3 years of forced seclusion might have changed things.

Wei Wuxian gets back into his mask, and they go and show the sword spirit to Lan Xichen. Lan Xichen...absorbs it...into his body? What is actually happening here?

I mean, it looks cool, but that can't be healthy.

Now that Nie Mingjue's body has been - mostly - found, his fears are confirmed. He says that Nie Mingjue qi-deviated in public and "all his veins were broken," which I'm pretty sure should actually be translated "all his meridians were broken." Meridians are what carry your qi around your body. After that happened, nobody knew what happened to him and/or his body.

So he's sad about this, but not shocked. I feel like Lan Xichen maybe could have tried harder to find out what happened, but he never was as stubborn as Lan Wangji.

You Don't Know Him Like I Do

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji point out that Jin Guangyao is the obvious suspect in the current situation, but Lan Xichen doesn't want to hear it; he literally turns his back on them while he explains all the reasons Jin Guangyao couldn't be the person who's in control of the Yin tiger seal.

Lan Wangji is hard to read in this conversation; he lets Wei Wuxian do the talking. But he seems deeply suspicious of Jin Guangyao, and is maybe kinda resigned to his brother refusing to hear him.

I wonder how many sketchy things Lan Xichen has forgiven, over the years? How many does Lan Wangji know about?

"He wouldn't do that"

Lan Xichen's statement here is a direct parallel to Lan Wangji's statement way back in epsiode 21, which is the last time we saw the brothers talking about anything besides battle strategy.

Back then, Lan Xichen asked about the deaths at the supervisory office - you know, all those people who killed themselves in horrible ways and/or were killed by vengeful spirits. He wanted to know if WWX killed them using Yin Iron. Lan Wangji said nope, not my sweetie, he sure didn't.

"He wouldn't do anything like that."

Same framing, same camera angle, same blocking. Same message: the one I love would not do bad things using Yin iron. But - here's the thing - Lan Wangji was flat-out lying in that earlier conversation. He saw Wei Wuxian doing forbidden stuff and got in a huge-ass fight with him about it, only to deny it to his brother.

Parallels being what they are in this show, I think this is a strong suggestion that Lan Xichen is knowingly lying in the current conversation.

If we look back at that previous conversation, when Lan Wangji asked Lan Xichen "how can we understand someone's heart?" Lan Xichen gave a surprising answer.

"When looking at someone, you[...]shouldn't use a clear right or wrong, black or white to judge them. What matters is what their heart believes in."

When this conversation happened, it seemed that he was giving Lan Wangji advice about his Wei Wuxian situation, but in retrospect, I think he was thinking about Meng Yao, who had recently murdered a guy and defected to the Wen clan.

In the present moment, I think Lan Xichen knows that Jin Guangyao is sketchy, but he also believes there are some lines his friend won't cross. (He doesn't know yet about the fratricide, patricide, and filicide, or the massacre of the sex workers in the brothel where JGY grew up.) I don't think any of these guys really believes that "Yin iron" is one of those uncrossable lines.

The conversation is interrupted by the juniors having a loud argument inside about whether Wei Wuxian is The Worst, or merely bad. Lan Sizhui started this by very very mildly defending demonic cultivators. Jin Ling is super upset, because of the whole "Wei Wuxian killed my dad" and "Uncle Jiang Cheng frequently reminds me to kill people like Wei Wuxian and feed them to my dog" situation.

Lan Wangji immediately drops the important conversation he is having to go inside and deal with the more important problem of a child talking shit about his boyfriend.

Busted

The moment that Lan Wangji goes inside, Lan Xichen addresses Wei Wuxian by name, letting him know that he's recognized him. Watching him fondle his untouchable didi's shoulder might have been a clue. Wei Wuxian is alarmed but makes a quick recovery.

Lan Xichen is surprisingly kind to Wei Wuxian at the same time as being extremely extremely wary of him. He's not pleased to see him, and Wei Wuxian's 1000 watt smile and apparently genuine pleasure in greeting him properly receives a chilly response.

Wei Wuxian gently asks Lan Xichen to think about what they've discussed, but he doesn't press. He gives him time and space to think. In a way, Wei Wuxian is better at handling Lan Xichen than Lan Wangji is; Lan Wangji's stubbornness makes him inclined to push. Wei Wuxian is better at fitting his tactics to the situation.

He says his bit and then leaves Lan Xichen to think things over in peace.

Soundtrack: Follow the Heart by Yaima

#restless rewatch: the untamed #lan xichen #lan wangji #lanterns #twin prides #canary3d-original #the untamed gifs #the untamed #ep39

[demonslayedher]

It didn't seem right to skip over episodes I didn't draw recaps for! Things that ran through my head while watching this episode:

--When making this episode, Ufotable had the advantage of knowing what would come later in the manga. While rewatching it today, I had the advantage of knowing what would come later in the anime.

--By that, I mean the judicious use of Nezuko's lines in Tanjiro's dream in "Kamado Nezuko no Uta" *cough which I was just singing again at karaoke a few hours ago so it's even fresher in my brain cough*

--By that, I also mean the imagery of the field of Nichirin-to, wisteria petals, and dawn-like light as Tanjiro contemplates if he were to become a demon, and how he would trust that someone in the Corp would cut his head off for him --It never gets old how the Shabana siblings are a foil to the Kamado siblings, especially because Tanjiro recognizes how close they were and takes it to heart. I love how Gyutaro took a liking to Tanjiro on account of Tanjiro being laughably pathetic, and by merit of both of them being big brothers. That gives them something to relate to which is totally independent of whether they are demons or humans.

--I love that scene with Gyutaro mocking Tanjiro so much; it's one of those scenes that Ufotable really slowed down and dialed up the drama in, while still making every action make sense and count. One of the most tense conversations in the whole anime, and Gyutaro's glee is palpable. I love that all the names he calls Tanjiro are names that he was called when he was human, and while I don't think Gyutaro is conscious of it, it feels like at some level, he's yelling these things at himself because he's angry with himself for having failed to protect Ume.

--Speaking of, I love how Daki is like, "nuh uh, Oniichan, don't you dare make these two our friends, I hate them" and Gyutaro ignores her because she's an annoying little sister. Such siblings. Also, the way she's just casually sitting totally unphased at the top of the building is the biggest mockery, as it rubs him how useless their hard-earned triumph in the previous episode was. I love how much that theme gets stressed in this series--that is what it means to fight demons!

--Kimetsu logic: don't give us any idea what the characters are doing until after they've already done it. Tanjiro wasn't running away, but instead grabbing a kunai and covering its scent? Oh, ok, cool. Zenitsu had another variation on his one technique and he can only use it twice in one fight? Ok, cool. Inosuke can move his organs and resist poison? You know what, okay. Also, a note of voice acting--I love how heroically deep sleeping Zenitsu's voice is (I'm sure that's how the hero of Legend of Zenitsu always speaks), and how Inosuke is clearly Not Okay.

--Uzui can stop his heart? Sure. Alright. I wonder how much of that was voluntary in the middle of a fight with his little Tsuguko on the line, though--perhaps he also went into that state to prevent himself from bleeding out from his arm? But man, he is no-o-o-o-t looking good, that is truly fighting with desperation, however elated he is to have completed his sheet music technique.

--His wives were watching when he was down on the ground and supposedly dead. ;__;

--Ufotable always has such a challenge to make every Breath technique look amazing and they keep raising the bars. Even though a lot of the height of this battle was just being flashy and yelling at each other, they still had to thing about battle mechanics, like what hits they actually manage to get in on each other (Uzui didn't just lose the eye, he took a nasty hit in the abdomen, too!) and the moment Uzui drops one of his swords. Although a lot of the fighting in this episode is slowed down by character thoughts, if you put it all in sequence, it was very, very quick.

--This entire battle, actually, probably did not take very long. The initial blows exchanged between Tanjiro and Daki took a while, but once it got going with Uzui involved, it was very, very fast-paced. Considering people only started to evacuate during the Daki and Tanjiro battle, and most of them were still there during Nezuko's fight, it was probably very lucky if it was vacated by the time this episode started. We don't know how long Tanjiro was out cold, but hopefully that was enough time for the stragglers to get away before Gyutaro's final attack (but Nezuko saves them, yaaay, I also get to enjoy knowing that Nezuko's fire at the end of this episode because Ufotable made that cool choice too!). Anyway, part of the reason I bring up the speed of this battle is because I am still cross at Ufotable for messing up the timeline by placing this arc in very late autumn, which is should had been in summer, thereby making the night short in the first place--and uncomfortably hot even before you add all the flames! (Added bonus: hot and muggy for the boys when they're in kimono and makeup, because that's funny.)

--THE MARRRRKKKKKK

#KnY rewatch #my art #kamado tanjiro #kamado tanjirou #kamado nezuko #daki #gyutaro #gyuutarou

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Lost Without You | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi, friends! Ya girl is back with some sweet sweet angst.

If you like what you read do me a favor and reblog so that others can find my stuff 🥰

Warnings: blood, reader injury, Bucky missing you terribly 💔

——————

Bucky leaned against the wall with a coffee in hand, waiting for you to make your safe return. He looked around the empty hangar as he stirred sweetener into your drink, an unstoppable excitement to see you building in his chest. He hated being forced to stay at home and go through the motions without you. The apartment just didn’t feel the same without your ‘Hoe Shit’ playlist blaring on a Saturday morning or your uproarious laughter as you rewatched New Girl for the millionth time. And after two long weeks, he was more than ready to have you back by his side. 

A deafening roar filled the air, signaling to Bucky that the quinjet was making its descent. He knew better than to greet you with coffee. The last time he’d done so, you’d jumped into his arms without thinking and sent hot coffee spilling all over both of you, scalding your skin and staining Bucky’s clothes. And as he chuckled at the memory, he opted to set your drink on a nearby crate of supplies, just in case.

He quickly raked a hand through his hair and tugged on his T-shirt in the hopes to look his very best for you. But he knew it didn’t matter to you if he showed up in a tux or a pair of sweats- you’d just be happy to see him.

The door to the quinjet opened and Bucky’s heart leapt into his throat, but it was Wanda who appeared first. A slight tinge of disappointment tarnished his anticipation, but he kept a smile on his face regardless. He eyed her as she exited the jet with her eyes down and her shoulders slumped, devoid of her usual cheery nature. This was not the Wanda he knew- something was wrong. 

“Hey, Wanda! How’d it go?” 

She didn’t answer. She didn’t even make eye contact. She simply walked past him and stormed down the hall, a flare of red following in her wake. Maybe she’s just tired, Bucky thought, maybe she’s in a bad mood.

But then Bruce ignored his greeting. As did Nat. And Scott. And Sam.

Bucky waited for you, watching the jet with a sharp intensity. He knew you were probably just tidying your things or talking with Clint about the mission, but an uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. It was an unshakable sense of foreboding that infected every cell in his body, setting him on edge. And after ten minutes without even a glimpse of his best girl, panic set in. 

“Sam- hey,” Bucky caught up with his friend and tugged on his jacket, stopping him dead in his tracks, “what’s the deal? Where’s-”

“You need to talk to Barton.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Sam, not quite comprehending the situation. He made a beeline back to the jet and stormed up the ramp in search of Clint, finding him busily typing in his mission log. 

Without lifting his head, Clint knew who had come to speak to him. “Hey, Barnes-”

“Where is she?” Bucky’s eyes roamed the jet, desperately searching every nook and cranny for your warm smile. But you were nowhere to be found. The jet sat empty, save for some supplies and a few extra weapons. A sharp anxiety ripped through Bucky when he eyed your lonely duffel bag sitting in the corner- untouched. Before Clint could even open his mouth, Bucky had him by the collar.

“Woah, easy-” Clint struggled against Bucky grasp- to no avail, “hey- I didn’t do anything to her. Hands off”. 

An unsettling combination of fear and rage burned behind Bucky’s eyes, but a gentle hand on his shoulder calmed the storm. He breathed a deep sigh of relief as he turned to face you, embarrassed that he’d reacted so irrationally. 

But it wasn’t your hand on his shoulder. 

The eyes of Maria Hill stared back at him, cautioning him against hurting Clint any further. 

“Can someone just fucking tell me where my girl is? Why is she-”

“She’s not here.” 

Maria’s words didn’t make sense. Why weren’t you home safe with the rest of the team? Why did they return without you? 

“We lost her. She was ambushed…taken,” Maria’s voice waivered at the mention of your tragic circumstance, “But they’ll keep her alive-”

“We think”, Clint added, earning him a swift kick from Maria. 

Bucky’s world melted. Everything seemed to run together, mixing and blurring until it became a shapeless fog. Nothing made sense anymore. Despair punched a hole through his chest, suffocating him. 

“This wouldn’t- this wouldn’t have happened if I were there…” Bucky’s words were barely audible, his ability to speak slowly failing as misery crept up on him.

“Aww, come on, man,” Clint clapped a hand onto Bucky’s shoulder, “You can’t put that on yourself-” 

“I’m not, I’m putting it on you”, Bucky swatted at Clint’s hand, “I’m calling you incompetent. You were the lead on this mission- how the fuck did this happen?”

The second Bucky heard Clint utter the words “I sent her off on her own”, he was done. Without a word, he stormed off. 

In his over one hundred years of life, he couldn’t remember being this scared, this full of anxiety and dread. His normally steady hands shook with almost violent tremors, and his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. He needed to find you, to get to you as soon as he possibly could. He needed to bring you home. 

“Where is she?” Bucky almost yelled as he pushed through the door of Fury’s office, “I can be ready to leave in two minutes-”

Fury raised a calm hand, his demeanor far too relaxed given the circumstances. He leaned back in his chair and lazily pressed a few buttons on his keyboard. “Hmmm”, he shrugged, “Her tracking device isn’t responding”.

Bucky stared at him, waiting for a ‘but’ that never came. His hands slammed against Fury’s desk, the vibranium sending a deep crack splintering through the wood. Bucky’s hulking form loomed over Fury, casting a shadow over him completely- but Fury didn’t even flinch. 

“SO? What do we do? How do we get her back?” Desperation coated every word from Bucky’s mouth. He stared Fury down with an unmatched intensity, panic constricting his pupils into microscopic pinpricks. He couldn’t believe how indifferent Fury was, how simply unbothered he appeared. 

Fury waved Bucky off, “we’ll have a team on it tomorrow. But for right now, we-”

“That’s not good enough!” Bucky almost growled, his voice low and threatening, “I’m not letting her rot at some Hydra facility- I know what they’ll do to her!” 

Fury finally stood from his chair and met Bucky’s eye line for the first time. A cold, aloof attitude dripped from his lips as he spoke:

“She’s not the first agent to go missing, Barnes”. 

A chill ran down Bucky’s spine. He didn’t care if you were the first agent lost on a mission or the five hundredth- he was going to get you back. “She didn’t ‘go missing’- she was taken!” Bucky slammed his hand on the desk yet again, deepening the fissure in the wood, “One of your agents was taken hostage! She was ambushed and abducted!”

Fury sighed. He seemed annoyed somehow, like your current situation was an inconvenience to him. “Regardless, Barnes. It will get handled. We have people for this.” 

He made a move for the door, only to be stopped by Bucky’s wide shoulders. Bucky’s sharp, hot breaths fanned Fury’s face, and he swore he could hear Bucky’s heart pounding in his chest. The normally quiet, reserved James Buchanan Barnes looked like a rabid dog, like some uncontrollable force of nature destined to strike at any second.

“Are we gonna have a problem here, Barnes?” Bucky knew better than to accept this as a simple question- it was a threat. 

“Dispatch a team. Now.”

Fury rolled his eye, “I can’t. We don’t know where she is-”

“Then I’m taking a jet and going back to her last known location-”

“Like hell you are! You are a SWORD agent now, Barnes. That means I’m in charge- I green light the missions. And you have not been given approval to waste time and money on some goddamn wild goose chase for your girlfriend”.

It was only a few moments later that Fury had Bucky escorted from the compound, and enacted security measures to keep him out. The building was sealed against him, restricting him access to your last known coordinates, weapons, jets, and the names of your possible abductors. 

Bucky was completely and utterly helpless. 

He stalked toward the parking garage after being denied entry to the compound “until further notice”. And when he slid into the driver’s seat of your black Audi, the smoldering rage in his chest fizzled out; the passenger seat was empty. 

You were supposed to be there. 

You were supposed to hold Bucky’s hand while he drove, tell him stories from your mission, sing along to every song that came on the radio. He’d planned on taking you to Shake Shack for your favorite burger and fries, a post-mission tradition the two of you never skipped. You were supposed to arrive home together and immediately rip each other’s clothes off, followed by a long nap, a movie, and takeout from your favorite Indian restaurant. To round out the night, you’d share a shower and Bucky would hold you close under the warm water, telling you just how much he’d missed you. And finally, he’d carry you to bed and let you drape your body over his. You’d rest your head on his chest and fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, like you did every night.

But Bucky arrived home alone. He sat in the car for what felt like hours- but didn’t want to go inside. He didn’t want to open the front door and see your favorite blanket on the couch or your grocery list on the counter. It was too much. 

And so he made a call to Sam. He crashed on his friend’s couch that night, but sleep never touched him. He laid awake all night worrying about you, wondering where you were, hoping to god or any deity who would listen that you were still alive. And just as the sun began to peek through the curtains, Bucky’s phone rang.

“Nat?”

“They’re not sending a team.”

Bucky bolted upright, his mouth suddenly dry, “What- what do you mean? Why?”

“Fury said…” Nat paused, wondering if she should even tell him, “he said there’s ‘no point’ in sending a team after her. He doesn’t think Hydra had reason to keep her alive.”

He’d never been so furious before, so completely and utterly enraged. Goosebumps rose across his skin, prickling down his neck. This wasn’t the hot, smoldering rage that sent fire searing through his veins; this was a special type of outrage, spurred by deep betrayal. It nipped and bit at his skin like a cold, relentless wind, sending a sharp shiver snaking up his spine. His left hand formed a tight fist, so tight that the vibranium began to creak and whine under the pressure. 

Nat didn’t want to continue, didn’t want to deliver the final blow, “Fury thinks she’s already dead…” 

Nat knew Bucky too well, knew he was about to start spiraling. “Barnes, hey. I know she’s still alive, okay? There would be no point in abducting her just to kill her. Hydra’s too smart to kidnap a SWORD agent without reason. I stole a drive from Fury’s briefcase, some files from his office- we’re gonna get her back. I’ll meet you at your place”.

Nat’s soft knock was answered in an instant. She stood in the doorway, slightly bewildered by Bucky’s early morning energy, and snaked around him to gain access to the apartment. “I’m guessing you haven’t eaten lately, so…bagels”. She dropped the paper bag full of bagels on the kitchen counter, followed by a stack of “borrowed” files. Bucky poured over document after document, scanning every miniscule detail for a hint as to where you might be. Nat matched his intensity, only pausing to spread cream cheese on a blueberry bagel and practically force it down Bucky’s throat. 

“I know you’re desperate to find your girl…just don’t forget to be a human. Okay?” Nat warned as Bucky walked her to the door after a long day of searching, “You can’t rescue her if you die of starvation first.” Bucky nodded along and promised to eat and sleep the appropriate amount, but both he and Nat knew it was a lie.

Days passed with no update from SWORD, nothing new from Nat, and zero help from any of the materials taken from Fury. Hopelessness grabbed Bucky by the ankles, pulling him down, down, down a rabbit hole of despair. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe you were really missing. He’d had dreams like this time and time again, in which Hydra stole you from his side in the dead of night or took you hostage to create a new Winter Soldier. 

But this time, he couldn’t wake up.

A knock on the door pulled Bucky from his third pass at an encrypted document, and he silently cursed the interruption. He forced his ragged body to rise from its seemingly permanent place on the couch and opened the door, only to be greeted by his partner in crime.

“Jesus Christ, you look terrible…” Nat eyed Bucky’s messy hair and the dark circles that lay beneath his eyes. A ghostly pallor erased any hint of life from his face and a seemingly permanent scowl pulled his lips into a frown. He was a shell of himself, a ghost of the man he used to be. 

Bucky quickly ushered Nat inside, almost dragging her over the threshold by her elbow. “What’s the update? Did you hear anything from Fury? I was looking at some of the-”

“When’s the last time you slept, Barnes?”

Bucky ignored her question. He continued about possible Hydra bases and locations they’d most likely use to hold hostages, but Nat interrupted him yet again.

“Hey- have you gotten any sleep? At all?” 

“I don’t- no, not really. It’s fine, Nat. I’m a super soldier”, he huffed, “anyway, I was thinking that-”

“No. Not ‘anyway’. You need to take care of yourself. You need to eat. You need sleep. I bet you don’t remember the last time you drank water”, Nat rubbed the heel of her hand against her forehead. “I know you wanna find her. I get it- so do I. But you’re not paying yourself enough attention. How are you supposed to rescue her if you’re running on no sleep and haven’t eaten in a week?”

Bucky shrugged, “that kind of stuff isn’t important right now. I’m fine. I can catch up on my sleep��after I get her back. When she’s home and I know she’s safe, we’ll eat Shake Shack together and I’ll sleep for three days. I’ve been focused on the intel you brought me- every ounce of my attention is devoted to those files”.

“Bucky, I-”

“Just stop! Okay?” Bucky’s ragged voice echoed through the quiet apartment. “You don’t understand- I’m dying inside. My girl is out there somewhere being subjected to some of the most heinous, sadistic forms of torture known to man- I’m not gonna stop looking for her so I can take a fucking nap.” 

Nat watched Bucky’s tough exterior begin to crack and collapse before her eyes. He slumped into a kitchen chair, utterly dejected. 

“Her glasses are still next to our bed. She has a half-read book sitting on the coffee table. Alpine sits at the front door every night, waiting for her to return. The ‘welcome home’ flowers I bought her are still on the counter- dead. It’s almost…it’s almost like she’s here. It’s like she’s everywhere and nowhere all at once.” He paused for a moment, allowing his head to drop into his hands. 

“It’s so quiet here without her- it’s never this quiet…” Bucky’s voice cracked, “Our home has never felt this empty. I feel like the plans we had for the future were stolen from us- all the things we wanted to do together, the places we wanted to go. The devastation, the fucking sorrow…it hurts. It actually physically brings me pain. So I can’t stop what I’m doing to eat a sandwich or doze off. She’s- she’s probably wondering why I haven’t come for her yet. That’s why I need to find her- I can’t let her suffer anymore”.

Nat’s knees almost buckled. She’d lost people before, but never felt anything close to what Bucky described. She couldn’t imagine the hollow feeling, the ghostly sensation of being haunted by the things left behind by a loved one. Bucky was mourning you without a body to bury, and it was killing him.

“Okay, how about…” Nat rested a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder, “How about I make you something to eat? That way you don’t have to stop reading. And I’ll help you go through everything.” She dropped into the seat next to him, her own resolve failing. “I haven’t given up- you’re not in this alone, Barnes. I’ve been going by headquarters every day and pilfering through everything SWORD has on possible Hydra hideouts, but…I just haven’t found anything aside from what we have here. I’m sorry I couldn’t find more.”

She left Bucky alone at the table, setting her sights on the kitchen. It was obvious that Bucky needed to eat, but Nat knew in her heart the he didn’t have any groceries.

The pair sat together at your kitchen table, their eyes glued to confidential documents and profiles of Hydra leaders. They shared pizza and Chinese takeout, eating their meals without breaking focus. Nat slept every now and then, but only when her brain absolutely demanded rest. Bucky pushed on, powering through the debilitating exhaustion. He hated when his body shut down on him and forced him to sleep, even if it was only for thirty minutes. He was hell bent on finding any clue, any morsel of information that might lead him to you.

With Nat’s help, Bucky accessed the last file from Fury’s drive and dove in head first. He had his every hope and prayer riding on this final document. And his prayers were answered. 

“Oh- shit. Oh my god, I think-” Bucky’s eyes snapped up to meet Nat’s, “Give me the coordinates of the last mission- the location where she was last seen.” 

Nat scrolled through her mission log like her life defended on it, “umm, 44.2643 degrees north, and 109.7870 degrees west. Why?” 

A wave of goosebumps rose over Bucky’s skin, “there’s a Hydra base at those exact coordinates. An underground base. Literally. It’s carved into the side of a mountain.” 

Nat’s eyes widened, “So when Fury said her tracking device wasn’t responding-” 

“It was responding! He just didn’t think it would be at those coordinates- he assumed it was left behind at the mission site and that she was taken elsewhere.”

In no time at all, Bucky and Nat were geared up and ready to go. They assembled a team as quickly as they could, calling Sam, Wanda, Scott, and even Rhodes to assist them in their rescue mission. Rhodes developed an elaborate lie, telling Fury that he was the one who’d found your location- out of sheer dumb luck. Fury granted him access to weapons and a jet, giving the mission the green light Bucky had been so desperate for.

Bucky’s heart thrummed as the jet sliced through the sky. He couldn’t let himself get his hopes up, wouldn’t allow himself to assume you were alive and well. There was still a chance that you were no longer at these coordinates, still a chance that you weren’t even breathing. He, instead, focused on the the joy it would bring him to spill the blood of Hydra operatives. He didn’t want to kill anymore, not after his years as the Winter Soldier. But Hydra was an exception.

Before Bucky knew it, it was boots on the ground. The team descended upon the secluded Hydra base, fully prepared to slaughter every last operative who stood in their way. Nothing and no one was going to keep Bucky from his best girl, not even god himself.

He tore down corridors and exploded through locked door after locked door while the team handled anyone who dare try and stop him. As he traveled down staircase after staircase with Wanda in tow, an eerie feeling crept across Bucky’s skin. The air felt heavier, more sinister. An intense dread greeted him as flashbacks of his time as Hydra’s prisoner washed over him. He couldn’t shake the uneasiness, the stomach-churning anxiety that the all too familiar surrounding stirred in his soul. The lights flickered and a chilling sound filled the damp air. It echoed off the stone walls and surrounded him completely, setting him on edge. It was then that he realized what the sound was: a scream.

Your scream. 

Bucky’s body moved forward on autopilot, pushing him as fast as possible in the direction of your agonized cry. And when he reached a reinforced door with a biometric scanner attached, he knew exactly what it was hiding. The right combination Bucky’s vibranium arm and Wanda’s magic ripped the door from its hinges and gained Bucky entrance to the eerie room that served as your cell.

Dried blood stained the concrete floor a sickly brownish red. An alarming variety of wires and tubes wove their way in and out of your body. A gag lay between your teeth. Bucky shuddered. But you were still breathing, and that’s all that mattered. He holstered his gun and flew to your side, his hands shaking as he reached for you for the first time in weeks. 

But as his hands made contact with your battered body, you flinched.

Fresh tears sprung from your eyes and ran down your cheeks as your muffled cries begged Bucky not to hurt you. 

“She’s blindfolded…” Wanda huffed, “she can’t-”

Bucky hadn’t even noticed the heavy duty blindfold keeping you in the dark, keeping you isolated. He remembered not too long ago when an almost identical blindfold had adorned his face, preventing him from knowing what cruel and unusual torture was coming for him next.

The familiar sound of Wanda’s voice immediately sent your heart leaping into your throat. For the first time in what felt like years, you had hope. With gentle hands, Bucky slipped the blindfold from your face and pulled the gag from your mouth. He watched you squint and blink as you attempted to get used to the harsh, fluorescent lights. You couldn’t quite make out who it was standing before you, but the familiar glint of black and gold was all you needed.

“Bucky?”

“Hey, sweetheart…”

Instinctually, you tried to throw your arms around Bucky’s neck, but the chains that locked them in place refused to budge. A pained cry broke free from your throat as the heavy-duty metal dug deeper into your flesh, forcing a crimson river to spring from your wounds. Having Bucky so close and not being able to touch him felt like a cruel prank, like Hydra’s cruelest form of torture. Your heart beat wildly in your chest as your desperation for him grew. You needed him to hold you, to wrap you in his arms, to bring you home.

“Please, please get me out of here”, you pulled once again on the chains that restricted your arms and legs, making them rattle, “I need to- please, Buck, just get me out of here, get me out of here”. A strangled sob wracked your abused body as true desperation set in. Your breathing grew erratic and shallow, your chest rising and falling as you pled with him.

“Shhhh, baby, hey-” Bucky took your face gently in his large hands, “it’s okay, you’re okay. You’re safe.”

Bucky carefully pried the chains from your body, whispering constant apologies as you winced. He hated causing you even an ounce of extra pain after what you’d gone through, the mental and physical agony that you’d endured. Sharp grimaces yanked at your features as Wanda did her best to remove each wire and tube that had been forced into your skin. And as she worked to detach the last handful of devices from your body, Bucky finally got a look at you. He couldn’t believe how small you looked, how fragile. 

There was a deep gash sitting just above your newly blackened eye, spilling blood down your cheek. Dried blood sat matted in your hair. Your jaw was a ghastly black and blue, and a matching bruise turned your cheekbone purple. Your split lip opened each time you spoke, sending a trickle of blood dripping down your chin. A ring of indigo bruises bloomed under the skin of your neck, sending goosebumps across the entirety of Bucky’s body. He clocked the burn scars and stab wounds, the seemingly endless amount of needle marks. Deep, bloody sores bore into your wrists and ankles, no doubt the product of your restraints. Your clothes were torn and bloodied, barely hanging on to your battered frame. But you were alive.

“Let’s get you home, baby,” Bucky slipped an arm beneath your legs and one behind your shoulders, “I know you’re in a lot of pain- just tell me if I hurt you, okay?” An excruciating ache flooded your skull as you tried to nod, but Bucky assured you that you didn’t have to respond. He slowly scooped you up and pulled you into his chest, carrying you as close to his body as physically possible. He relished in the sensation of your body in his arms, your breath on his neck. An anxious shaking rattled your broken body as you tried to dig yourself as deeply into Bucky’s grasp as you could.

Finally, after weeks of agony, Bucky let himself exhale. 

He carried you to the jet and held you in his lap the entire way home, refusing to let you go for even a second. He couldn’t believe he’d almost lost you, that you’d almost vanished forever. The deep, aching pit in his chest left behind by your absence slowly began to heal with each breath you took. Bucky knew you were tired, that you needed to rest as you lay limp in his arms, but he couldn’t stop himself. He told you he loved you- over and over again. He told you how much he’d missed you, how sorry he was that it took him so long to find you. He needed you to know, right then and there, that he never stopped looking for you. 

“I lov- I love you, t-too, Buck…”

An intense warmth flooded Bucky’s senses as he reveled in the words; there’d been a time when he feared that he’d never hear you say ‘I love you’ again. 

Sleep evaded you the entire time you’d been held hostage. Between the anxiety and the sheer terror of being a Hydra captive, your body refused to rest. It simply wouldn’t allow you to close your eyes for more than a second. The fear kept you awake, utterly wired. It didn’t matter how much blood you lost or how much pain you endured, the reprieve granted by sleep never came.

But with Bucky’s arms were around you, safely holding you against his body, your fear melted away. You allowed the exhaustion to drag you under, bidding your hypervigilance a dieu. And with you resting safely in his lap, Bucky’s head fell back against the seat. And for the first time in over a week, Bucky slept.

The sense of peace brought on by your rescue was violently ripped from Bucky as you were snatched from his arms. He knew the med team at the compound was taking excellent care of you, assessing and treating your every wound. But he couldn’t keep his anxiety at bay. After being away from you, fearing for your life every single day, being forced to give you up almost felt cruel. His arms lay empty and aching, desperate to hold you again. 

His anxious form paced back and forth outside your room, straining for any word on your condition. He almost couldn’t take the apprehension, the utter agony of waiting. With every second that passed, Bucky’s heart sank further and further.

“It’s taking too long-” Bucky’s voice waiver, “Something’s wrong. What if she-”

“Hey, she’s okay…” Nat gave his arm a light, reassuring squeeze, “they’re just being thorough. Take a seat. Rest. Do something to distract yourself. You know what they say about a watched pot…”

Rest was not an option. Bucky’s mind traveled to the darkest places imaginable. He assumed your injuries to be fatal or that you’d been the test subject for some new Winter Soldier mind-control program. He just wanted his girl back, wanted you all to himself. The two of you had so much to catch up on, so many moments to make up for.

He continued downward in his dark, horrifying spiral- until an idea exploded out of his fatigued mind. He ripped his phone from his pocket, his fingers flying furiously over his keyboard. He needed this to be perfect.

And just as your doctor assured Bucky that you’d make a full recovery and granted him entrance to your room, Bucky’s brilliant idea came to fruition. He grabbed your surprise from the delivery driver with a gigantic “thank you” and high-tailed it to your room, desperate to see his best girl.

“Hey, doll…” he kept his voice light and gentle as he pushed through the door, “how are you feeling?” It took everything in him not to launch himself at you, to climb into your bed and mold his body around yours. 

Seeing Bucky just feet away numbed the near insufferable pain that plagued you. After your first few days without rescue, you were certain that you’d never see Bucky again. You grieved him, mourned him, almost as though he’d died. A stark emptiness slowly ripped you to shreds, and you resolved that dying under Hydra was better than being kept from the man you loved. An agonized groan left your lips as you raised your arms, making weak grabby hands at Bucky. 

It was then that you noticed the peculiar way he was standing. You narrowed your eyes at him, wondering what exactly he held obscured behind his back, “Barnes…what are you up to?” 

Bucky made his way to your side and carefully took a seat on your bed, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. As his large arms slowly unwound from behind his back, your lips were yanked upward into your first smile in what felt like centuries. The familiar brown bag from Shake Shack almost brought tears to your eyes- you couldn’t believe that after everything that happened, Bucky remembered. 

“Post-mission Shake Shack is a revered institution! And you’re back now, so…” Bucky’s hands dove into the bag and thrust a burger and fries into your hands, “welcome home, baby”.

———————-

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[strawberrybyers]

since it’s stranger things day, let’s take some time to reflect on a few facts

mike describes to will that meeting el was “simple dumb luck” but then when he’s encouraged by will to talk to el from the heart, he tells her meeting her was one of the best days of his life…??? when mike is in the van talking to will; he is speaking from the HEART. he is saying exactly what he feels also without saying it directly. go back and watch the van scene again. the tone and pace mike is speaking at shows this is something he’s been feeling for awhile and it bothers him.

just a little reminder that mike, lucas, and dustin were in the woods LOOKING FOR WILL! they stumbled upon el and when she gave an inkling that she knew something about will, mike wanted her to stay. he was quick to abandon her when they see will’s “body” get retrieved from the lake. mike is PISSED. he feels betrayed because he felt like el was his only hope to finding will, but instead there is no hope as he now believes will is dead. el had hope in mike as she felt like she could be a “normal” girl with him. she’s experiencing a type of kindness and care that she has never received before until mike reacts the way he does when they go to the lake. remember, el’s upbringing has been centered around transactional relationships. she has never just “received” kindness because someone felt like it. everybody has always had a goal when it came to el. it’s not that mike is a bad person or he did anything wrong for wanting el around to find will. i mean, hell, who wouldn’t want to keep someone around who has info on their missing best friend?? but just interesting when you think about this in the context of how mike and dr. brenner have been paralleled before. more apparent when they literally show a scene in season 4 of when mike asks el “what did you do?” and they follow up with a scene of papa asking the same thing. all i’m saying is—is that mike and el’s relationship didn’t start because of “love at first sight” like mike claims in his “love confession” to her. we literally see how their relationship came to be. just to rewatch season 1 and you’ll see it for yourself.

when will is missing, the only thing that is on mike’s mind is will. if someone mentions will, he defends him. he spends the entire fucking season looking for him and convincing everyone that he is NOT DEAD. in season 2, when el is “missing” from his life, yeah, he’s concerned, but once again HE IS FOCUSED ON WILL. where is he the entire time in season 2? oh yeah, that’s right by will’s side!! even after el walks through the door, his main goal is still helping will!! i’m not saying this to give some impression he doesn’t care about el because i think he does, but not on the same scale as will!

in season 3, mike and el break up. all it took was max to show el a friendship that is not transactional to realize “oh wait maybe i don’t need a boyfriend?”. mike and el’s breakup is actually pretty significant to both of their characters. watching how they both handle the breakup is a testament to what their characters are actually feeling. the breakup for el shows her yearn for independence once again. the breakup for mike shows that maybe he wasn’t in the relationship for the right reasons? shows how he ONCE AGAIN prioritizes will’s feelings?? el breaks up with him and he lays on the couch burping and farting, but him and will get into an argument and he’s in the rain looking for him?? i thought el was the “love of his life”?? why isn’t he after her in the rain?? HE JUST LOST HER AGAIN AFTER GETTING HER BACK AND HE SITS AT HOME??? in season 4, he explains his insecurity and fear of abandonment. he’s afraid she’ll realize he’s some “dumb nerd” and not want to be with him anymore… um, sorry to interrupt your very real feelings mike, but she kind of did that in season 3??? max tells her there’s more to life than stupid boys, then she walks up to you and says “i dump your ass” and walks away laughing… like the thing you’re worried about already happened and you stayed home?? but you LOSE will and you are up and out the door. in season 4, he TELLS will that he feels like he lost him. he hates losing will. he’ll always be right there to mend things with will because losing will brings a type of pain that he is afraid of and that was his motivation for his love confession. the day he met el maybe wasn’t the best day of his life because he met the “love of his life”, but maybe because he met her and she helped bring back THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE.

#they make me feel so giggly and insane like AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #byler #mike wheeler #will byers #stranger things #stranger things day

[celluloidbroomcloset]

Hey there,

You’ve got a lot of insight into Ed and his whole journey from S1 to S2. Apologies if you’ve covered all this already (and I’m not the most articulate of people so also apologies for any confusion), but I’m interested in your thoughts…

I get the impression that a basic debate here is that either Ed is a psychopathic sadist (who basically ‘reigns in his sadistic tendencies’ until he loses Stede) or he’s someone struggling with his own self loathing and the toxic environment he’s had to live in (or maybe I’ve missed the mark entirely).

If it’s the latter, do you think he becomes at all vindictive in S2? Or is he more going through the motions of what he thinks is expected of ‘the pirate Blackbeard,’ because he’s somehow trying to cut off his emotions or is just tired of even trying to be anything else (ie himself) anymore? Or maybe it’s something else?

Also, to me personally it seems like Ed is stuck in… how to describe it… a depressive stasis at the beginning of S1, like at least resigned to death but doesn’t actively seek it until the end of S1/beginning of S2. I can’t decide though if in S2 Ed wants to take the crew with him (because that at least means not dying alone, like the mother and the cat in Crimes of the Heart), or if he doesn’t mind one way or the other what happens as long as he’s dead, or if the goal is to actively make the crew despise him because he thinks hatred and death are what he deserves?

Again, sorry if I’m beating a dead horse here…

Thanks!

So a lot of people have written a good bit about this. This is just what I think (and my thoughts may change—I'm planning on rewatching "Red Flags" today).

When we meet Ed, I think he is depressive and perhaps passively suicidal—he's talking about how the one thing he hasn't tried yet is death, but he doesn't seem to be really looking to die, and meeting Stede makes him re-evaluate the life he's been living and what he wants from it.

Stede and the space of the Revenge make Ed feel safe to express the parts of him that he’d concealed within Blackbeard in order to survive (the whole bringing out of his mother’s silk and Stede giving him the space to wear it openly on his heart). He tries to find this again with the crew after Stede leaves him, and it is Izzy who tells him that he is not safe unless he is Blackbeard (by directly threatening him and telling him that he would be better off dead than being the person he is).

I think a lot of what he’s doing at the end of Season 1 and into Season 2 is malicious compliance - “You wanted the caricature of Blackbeard, well HERE HE IS!” By the time we pick up with the Revenge in Season 2, he's moving from passive to active suicidality - he has been unable to correctly perform (Izzy invoking Stede and the fact that Ed's feelings are what have made the atmosphere on the ship toxic - quite literally his inability to conceal those feelings have poisoned everything around them, according to Izzy. Ed's feelings themselves are poisonous). Ed cannot reconcile his past with what he wants to be with who he is, and he has lost the safe space to be Ed.

I don’t think he wants to take the crew with him - his first move is to try to get Izzy to kill him; when that fails, he tries to get the crew to do it. If anyone actually just pulled a gun and shot him, he'd not try to stop them. He’s goading them until they’re forced into a space where they either have to die themselves or take the initiative and kill him (hence his “finally” right before his death).

Ed has been working to become all the monstrous/demoniacal stories about himself, the ones that have been told by the English and by his trio of monstrous fathers. He hates them but he also wants their approval, and he’s transforming himself into the monstrosity that others say he is. His love for Stede and the things that he was allowed to access via his relationship with Stede are the soft, genuine parts of himself that he has been told are not him but that he's also now incapable of concealing. He’s not worthy of that softness, he’s not worthy of love, and so he tries to kill it.

He’s going to die on Stede’s ship, with Stede’s cravat around his throat, murdered by Stede’s crew, as a final confirmation that all the things he wanted to be, and all the love he felt, he wasn’t really worthy of, that Stede was right to leave him because look at what he’s done, and that the people who loved him should never have loved him. He’s dying like all his monstrous fathers have died, murdered by people who once cared for him and whom he should have taken care of, but failed to because he's a monster.

#reply #ofmd #tw: abuse #tw: suicide #our flag means death #edward teach #ofmd meta

[revasserium]

prompt 5 + kita shinsuke

send me a number or a prompt and character and i'll write you a thing

100% love (05. love as one of the dead languages)

kita shinsuke; 3,086 words; just fluff, bc i rewatched the inarizaki match and caught feels during the kita ep LOL

the first time you meet him, it’s in detention, though you can’t for the life of you figure out why he’s here — after school, cleaning the classroom when he doesn’t have to be.

“wait — what do you mean, you didn’t get in trouble?” you blink at him, your arms propped on your mop handle, watching as he methodically dips his own mop into the water, pulls it against the strainer, and then sets it to the floor again, dragging it through in strong, solid motions.

“exactly what i mean. i didn’t get in trouble.” kita barely looks up as he redips his mop, strains, mops. dip, strain, mop.

“so… you’re here because you want to clean up the classrooms?”

“yes.”

you bite your lips, chewing on them as you watch him work his slow way across one half of the classroom.

“if you want to leave, you can,” he says it so simply, so matter-of-factly, with no resentment or any hint of ulterior motive, “i’ll take care of it.”

but something about that digs itself into your lower belly and twists, and later, atsumu might tell you that’s what a gut feeling is, so you huff, shove your mop into your water bucket a bit too hard, splashing the floor even as you pull your mop through the strainer and smack it onto the floor.

your mopping is nowhere near as good or thorough as kita’s, but you get the job done.

when he gets made class president, no one is surprised, but you do find your eyes drawn to the back of his head as he stands up to bow and accept the position. when he enlists your help for the school athletics fair, you grumble about having to do the extra legwork, but he simply blinks at you.

“you’re good at that kind of thing, so i know you’ll get it done.”

and really, you shouldn’t have blushed so damn hard at such a terrible line but… you did anyway. and the fact that he hadn’t meant it as a compliment — well. you might’ve liked that too.

“ah — here are the bandanas for kibasen… and i think we’ve got the teacher-student relay sign ups all done,” you drop a bagful of brightly colored bandanas onto kita’s desk during lunch before plopping down on the seat in front of him, straddling the back of the chair to watch him as he opens up his meticulously crafted bento box.

“thank you,” he says, moving the bag to the floor.

you cock your head, “kita-san… do you ever eat junk food?”

he bows over his lunchbox, pausing as he considers your question.

“not really. i’m not that fond of things that aren’t good for me.”

“hm… but y’know — some things could be bad for the body, but good for the soul, right?”

he blinks as you grin up at him, your cheek pillowed on your arm, your eyes bright as sunrise.

“hm. i’ve never thought about it like that. thank you.”

you consider him as he considers you. and for a moment, your entire world is the size of a homeroom class, your heart clattering inside your chest like loose crayons in a box, your stomach empty as the rows of afterschool lockers. kita smiles then, and it shakes through your whole body like the last bell in the afternoon, letting spill a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies into the world beyond the school gates, their wings flickering orange against the afternoon sun.

three days later, you arrive in the morning to find something tucked into your shoebox, a white plastic bag with a note tucked in. a box of pocky along with a sheath of vitamin c tablets — something good for the soul and something good for the body (it’s getting colder out, please be careful) - kita.

you break into laughter so hard you scare the two girls standing behind you, chattering about a cute new cafe in town.

a week later, kita arrives at school to find a similar white plastic bag shoved into his own shoe box with a chocolate orange and a bottle of pocari sweat, a note written on glittery pink stationary states — if the unhealthy thing is in the shape of a healthy thing, does that make the unhealthy thing healthier? (also, is pocari sweat named pocari “sweat” because it tastes a little salty?)

he stares at the note for a full five seconds before smiling and folding it into quarters, tucking into his uniform pocket.

that day at lunch, you’re halfway through your second onigiri when a slice of chocolate orange appears in front of you, carefully offered on a bright white napkin.

“did you know that dark chocolate is actually quite good for your heart in small amounts? there’s been a lot of research done on it’s link with improved cardiovascular efficiency.”

you blink at the slice of chocolate orange before your eyes slowly flicker up to meet kita’s, his expression open, his smile small but sweet. you grin, quirking an eyebrow as you take the slice and pop it into your mouth.

“yeah, but i got you the normal milk-chocolate ones.”

kita laughs, a light, wonderful, skin-tingling thing, and drops into the sat in front of you, unpacking his own bento box on your desk with a nod.

“yeah, you’re right.”

you have lunch together the next day, and then the next day. that friday, you flick open your phone and turn it around to face him during lunch, shoving it wordlessly towards him. he pauses mid-chew and stares for a second before swallowing and reaching for it, punching in his number and equally wordlessly handing it back to you. you both take a breath and like a hitched breath or skipped frame, the world continues to spin, but somehow, everything is just a little bit different.

you mention a movie you want to see; he tells you that he’s been meaning to see it too.

the following tuesday, you find a single movie ticket in your shoebox.

wednesday afternoon, after volleyball practice, kita flicks open his phone to find a text from a number he doesn’t know. it just says — caramel or chocolate popcorn?

he finds himself smiling as he hits the reply button, someone is already peering over his shoulder.

“oya! kita-san is texting a girl!” atsumu’s voice is much too loud in the clubroom, full of half-dressed boys, and of course, everyone instantly pauses to look over.

“oi, oi, tsumu that’s none of your —”

“wait, is it that girl you’ve been having lunch with every day?” atsumu’s face presses in and kita sighs, methodically buttoning up his shirt.

“yes. it is.”

“ah! kita-san has a girlfriend!”

kita hoists his backpack over his shoulder, turning to slate a look at atsumu before heading out the clubroom door.

“she’s not my girlfriend yet. please don’t forget to lock up again. see you all tomorrow morning.”

everyone bows and says their goodbyes as if on autopilot. it isn’t until the door swings closed behind kita that omimi frowns, turning to aran with a confused blnk.

“wait. did he say she’s not his girlfriend… yet?”

saturday afternoon finds you both outside the local movie theater, you fidgeting with your phone charms, him showing up with a light smile. you have to stop yourself from staring at the simple white tee he wears over a pair of well-worn jeans, a single hand raised in greeting.

“so. the popcorn,” you say as you both make your way to the front of the concessions counter.

“yes,” he says, grinning as you purse your lips, eyes gliding over the various flavor options before settling back on him. there’s a blush on your cheeks the color of peach blossoms that kita sort of wishes he could take a picture of and keep forever — tucked into the pocket of his school uniform or perhaps sewn into the lining of his jacket.

“did you mean it?” you ask.

at this, kita laughs, nodding as he turns to the cashier, “can we get the large popcorn combo please — both caramel and chocolate.”

the cashier bows and someone behind the counter starts to scoop out equal amounts of each flavor into a large divided popcorn bucket. you resist the urge to squeal as the overflowing bucket slides across the counter. kita picks it up and motions for you to follow him.

after the movie, you’re wandering around the bustling streets of amagasaki, the early evening air warm as it settles around you both, already a little humid, weighted with possibilities.

“be honest, have i been a terrible influence on you?”

kita is quiet before letting out a small laugh.

“hm… that depends on what you define as a ‘terrible influence’, no?”

“and… what would you define as a ‘terrible influence’?”

you peer at him over the ice pops that you’d both bought in a nearby convenience store.

“objectively speaking… i’ve been eating things that aren’t the best for my diet, but i’ve been careful to balance them out with other, healthier things,” he says, his eyes trained on his own ice pop before he gives it a tentative lick. a shiver chases down your spine as his eyes slide over to meet yours.

“but i think i’ve been feeding my soul a lot of good things since we met. and i think that’s really important too.”

you feel that familiar twist in your lower belly, the rush of warmth as it rushes up your chest, cresting into your cheeks in a great wave. you feel your heartbeat like a hummingbird’s wings, fluttering against the base of your throat, your mind a freshly cleaned chalkboard with only one sentiment — ah… if we kissed right now, i wonder if our lips would stick.

you decide to find out.

and the answer is, they do. but neither of you feel the need to talk about it in any depth, instead preferring to press in closer, and then closer, till both your popsicles are forgotten, dropping onto the pavement at your sides.

“ah… what a waste…” you sigh, a little bit breathless as he finally lets you go, both his hands cupped around your face.

“i don’t think so,” he says, and his voice is light, his smile even lighter, but the brightness shining behind his eyes tells you more than anything that he’s eager for more. and who are you to deny him, anyway?

“yeah, you’re right — we can always get more ice pops…”

he leans down to press his lips back to yours and neither of you think to mention that well, you can always have more kisses too. but. priorities, right?

he tells you he loves you three weeks later, your fingers laced, the night already full and dark. you’d waited for him after practice, waving at his the rest of his team as they hooted and hollered at you from the 2nd floor clubroom. your breath catches in your chest as you turn to look at him.

there’s that light, easy smile on his lips, and for a second, you wonder how someone who’s so serious all the time can say something like that so lightly. but then, his eyes meet yours and you feel yourself caught like a kindling to a flame in the intensity of his gaze. you blush and look back at the empty street before you, the summer night a blaze of humidity and cicada song.

“you don’t have to say it back but… i thought i should let you know.”

you squeeze your eyes shut — don’t say that like you’re talking about the weather this weekend!

but it’s kita, and you know him well enough by now to know that he wouldn’t lie to you. not about this; not about anything else either.

his fingers in yours never tighten or loosen either, and for a beat, you’re stumped by his certainty, by the casualness of it all. by his unwavering belief that this, of all things, is true.

it takes you three whole months to say it back, but when you do, he only kisses you like rain, like certainty and sunrise and he smiles.

“i know,” he says.

you frown, just a bit, pursing your lips.

“you… knew?”

kita laughs, and this time, it’s a real laugh, full-bodied and weighted, rumbling deep in his chest, shaking his entire body as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer on his bed, you slotted between his legs, the latest copy of jump! splayed over his stomach. and in another time, in another situation, the position might’ve been something less casual, less innocent, but he only grins as he recovers from his bout of laughter, reaching out to trace the line of your cheek with a gentle finger.

“yes, i did — i do. of course i do.”

“but… how?”

he closes leans down to close the magazine, sitting up to hoist you over his lap. you let out a small squeak, a now too-familiar warmth curling in your stomach as he easily maneuvers you into a comfortable position. you’d long since gotten used to the strength in his body, the long sinew of his limbs, his movements, the ease with which he could, he if chooses, to manhandle you into any position he likes — a concept that, admittedly, neither of you had brought up to explore fully just yet. but soon, you think.

he takes his time, running both his hands up the length of your back, drawing them back down to rest on the curve of your hips, his movements unhurried.

“they say that 93% of human communication is nonverbal,” he says, like he always does, his words steady and strong.

“right…” you say, amusing yourself with tangling your fingers in the hairs at the nape of his neck, tugging on them slightly, almost absently.

“so what do you think you’ve been saying to me these past three months when you wait for me after practice, when you stay after school to help me clean the classrooms, when you blush like this… just sitting with me?”

and it’s then that you notice, the slight hitch in his voice, the more-than-usual sharpness in his eyes, the way his fingers are digging into your hips just a bit more than before. in return, you feel your own skin simmering up with heat, your stomach roiling inside you, your heart racing as if it were trying to escape your chest, leap from you mouth and perhaps into his —

“i — “

he smiles then, a raw quirk of the lips that sets your whole body ablaze.

“you’ve been telling me this whole time,” he says, leaning in to ghost his lips along yours.

“yeah… but that last 7% still means something right?” you fist your fingers in his hair, gasping as he rucks you up into his lap, just a bit further, the heat between your bodies condensing like water against a frozen glass, beading along your skin as he grins against your lips.

“of course it does… but now that i have all 100%, what do i still have to complain about?”

you puff out a laugh before he catches your lips between his and you’re lost to the warmth, to the desire calcifying inside you. after a good few minutes of kissing, of lips and teeth and tongues and gasping, he flips the pair of you over, pinning you beneath him as he trails a searing line along your jaw, down your neck.

“i love you,” he says, in that earnest, all-too-sincere way of his, but there’s nothing soft about the way he looks at you, nothing innocent about the way his knee presses up between your legs, making you hiss. you let your eyes flutter shut, arching up into the liquid fire of his touch.

“i love you too,” you say, your words cut off by a high whine in the back of your throat as he inches a hand down to tease at the skin of your thigh beneath your skirt, the hard calluses on his fingers and palms chasing desire through your veins.

“i know,” he says, nodding as he presses another kiss to your collarbone, “but… will you let me show you instead?”

you gasp out a laugh, nodding as well, glancing up at him through glazed-out eyes, the expression on your face one that he think he’ll never forget, all pink-cheeks and kiss-swollen lips, your hair a halo on his pillow, your clothes mussed and rumpled.

“h-haven’t you been doing that all these past months anyway?” you breathe out, your chest heaving as he traces abstract circles into the tender skin of your inner thigh.

kita laughs, bobbing his head as he pulls back slightly to pop the first few buttons of his shirt. he watches as you swallow, the way your entire body seems drawn taught, how this is all for him — and he can’t help thinking that ah… love looks good on you.

he wants to see more, to see all of it, to see all the different ways that this love can be played out against the milk of your skin. and he wants to be the one to do the playing. so he leans back down over you, kisses you sweet and deep and thorough, kisses you till he is unsure of which breath is yours and which is his, till he himself is dizzy with the taste, the feeling, the mere thought of you. and he knows that it's at least a little irrational, that there's no guarantee this will lead to a future with you, that in all likelihood, it'll end with one or both of you with your hearts broken, that it'll end, but that doesn't matter. it's never mattered to him -- not really.

because he knows that even if in the future, it might break him, that it might not be good for him, that right now, this is what he wants -- his body, his soul -- he wants to sink himself into the abyss of you and hold his breath without thinking about the drowning. he wants -- god he wants. because this journey is so much more important to him than where either of you end up, though he can't help hoping that you'll end up with him anyways.

he wonders -- no, he knows that at least for him, this is what "love" is.

“yes, i have… but i can think of a few more ways,” he says, tugging lightly at the material of your skirt.

you reach up to tug at the hem of his shirt in return and he knows he’s lost.

you smile, catching your bottom lip in your teeth as you watch him.

“alright then… show me.”

and so, he does.

#kita shinsuke #kita shinsuke fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyuu fluff #kita shinsuke x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #kita shinsuke scenarios #kita shinsuke imagines #haiCUTIES #floofy floof floof #bRO bro bro brO why is it that this time around -- i mean this rewatch/reread im finding myself suddenly into like... #a whole dif cast of characters??? like kita?? bro. im kinda here for it.