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littlejuicebox · 2 months

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Midwinter Carol 10 / The Trunk

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Elf Sorceress OC

Word Count: 3.3K

Story navigation: [1][2][3][4] [5] [6] [7] / Click here to read on AO3.

Summary/Setting:

Fifteen years after the Ascendant and his lover went their separate ways, they run into one another at Wyll Ravengard’s Midwinter Gala. One dance is all they share. A week later, a cataclysm of events, spurned by Eirianwen’s return, uproots the life Astarion had been building for himself.

One thing is made certain: the elven sorceress is the key to any ounce of salvation he may have left, if only she stops slipping through his fingers like sand from an hourglass.

But old habits die hard, and old feelings are pulled to the surface for both the elves. Astarion is forced to confront the wounds of his past and deal with the damage he's done while trying to run from himself. The Ascendant is forced to decide whether he will continue on his current path or forge a new one... perhaps one that leads him back to the love of his life.

Warnings: This will be 18+ / in game spoilers / Eventual Smut / Angst, trauma, fluff / Gore / Violence / PTSD / Astarion’s past trauma

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“Wait, Ani,” Astarion warns when the sorceress releases his hand, her fingers ghosting across his as she walks away. She instantly starts to wander when the servants swarm them at the dungeon doors. The entire situation had caused quite a ruckus, and Astarion is caught between quelling his employees' concerns and providing them various instructions. He’s simultaneously signing something to Melga and Thrak as he tells another servant to send the maids upstairs.

In moments like this, Astarion is reminded that he is constantly surrounded by people and yet always alone. It’s his fault, he knows; he prefers to place himself above others, an easy way to ensure he will be able to look down his nose at them. He holds everyone far beneath him, apart from the one woman he keeps on a pedestal, built up in his mind like a goddess he worships and a religion only he follows.

Eirianwen glances back at Astarion, where she is paused on the stairwell leading to the second floor, and he lifts his gaze to her, quickly pointing to the ring on his finger before turning to answer another question from his steward, Pascal. The cacophony of voices and questions around him, all needing guidance, is unnerving. Ani recognizes the man Astarion is talking to, but is shocked to see how much he’s aged in fifteen years. He’s almost completely gray. Time is quite different for humans; she often forgets the luxury she has as an elf.

It gives her more time to hold grudges and run from mistakes.

She spots the ring on Astarion’s hand and then peers at her own hand resting upon the shiny oak banister, frowning down at the marred flesh. Despite his previous motion, the sorceress is still somehow shocked to see the matching band on her own finger. Her brow furrows as she continues to walk up the steps.

What had she missed? How long had she been asleep?

Questions dart through her mind faster than she can climb the grand staircase toward the room she used to share with Astarion. She’s still walking up the steps in a dazed, daydreaming state. Ani’s almost to the second floor when a sudden bolt of pain shoots through her body, culminating in the overwhelming need to vomit. But no, she couldn’t possibly do such a thing, she hasn’t eaten in—

Eirianwen retches. Hot, acrid bile spills onto the perfectly polished marble of the second floor. She’s doubled over and gasping for air when another violent spasm attacks her body and more green fluid spews from her mouth. She suddenly feels feverish as a throbbing pain pulses in her hand, igniting the entire limb in fire. Two servants rush to clean up the mess as a familiar arm comes around her shoulder.

“I don’t think you should be standing quite yet, darling,” Astarion murmurs, and without another word he sweeps Eirianwen off her feet and into his arms. He walks to the bedroom with Ani pressed into his chest; she just barely hears the rapid cadence of his heart.

He carefully places her on the chaise lounge in the bedchambers; it’s a piece of furniture she’d picked out, incidentally. They’d made love many times, in many positions, on this same chaise. He’d carried her here, wrapped around him, more times than he can remember. Recollections flash through his mind in rapid fire and he swallows as he blinks them away.

He leaves her there to speak to the servants on the landing and then quickly returns. Eirianwen feels awful. The taste of bile still sits in her mouth. When Astarion returns he breezes to the carafe next to the bed, on top of one of the side tables, and silently fills a cup with water. Then he hands it to Ani.

She drinks in silence. Gods, she’s parched. Holding the glass is difficult, never mind the weakness she feels in her hand. Her body is shaking.

“Who… who was that down in the dungeons, Astarion?” Eirianwen finally asks, her voice sounding hoarse, as she lowers the empty glass from her lips.

“Delilah. She stole the God Killer,” he replies as he gently takes the glass from the woman and places it on the side table. His brows stitch together as he watches Eirianwen. He’s never actually interacted with someone after Delilah’s poison has done its damage.

Ani’s eyes clamp shut. Her head is pounding. She’s trying to follow along, but it’s hard to think past the pain in her body. Another wave of nausea flows through her and she retches; no sooner had she made the sound than Astarion appeared at her side with a waste bin. But nothing comes, there’s nothing left to regurgitate.

“The dagger Edmund used was laced with a very potent poison. You slept through the worst of it but the effects will probably be there for a day or two longer. The rings are… working. But Delilah’s draughts are stronger than anything you’ve seen before, I’m sure. You were out for a few days, darling. Your hand…”

He trails off as his jaw clenches. He shakes his head and gently gathers Ani’s hair into a braid, to keep it out of the way should she vomit. Deft fingers perform the action without much of a thought, as if it hadn’t been fifteen years since he last styled Ani’s hair for her. “Jaheira is looking into it. She mentioned conferring with Halsin.”

He senses Eirianwen’s heartbeat spike up a fraction at the mention of Halsin, and feels that sickening twist of jealousy rise in his gut— perhaps being stabbed by the God Killer had been a moderately better feeling than that sensation— but quickly stifles it. “Now… we can talk more. But let us get cleaned up and then eat something. It’s quite a bit to discuss. Would you like to bathe first, or should I, darling?”

Astarion bathes first as Ani waits in the bedchamber. A set of servants bring her a tray of fruit to snack on while she waits, and the sustenance improves her physical state, if only a bit. Her spotted serval cat, perched upon the chaise, meows away. She listens to Umber’s ramblings and scratches distractedly at the large feline’s fur, occasionally murmuring a response or two.

When he exits the bathroom, wrapped in a plush crimson robe and toweling his hair, Astarion meets the sorceress’s gaze and notices she appears to be staring through him, lost in her own thoughts. He cocks his head to the side just slightly, brow furrowing in concern, before he asks, “Are you doing alright, Ani?”

She blinks and then snaps back into the room, her blackened hand flexing against the feline flicking its tail next to her.

“Umber says you let her sleep with you in the guest room, and that you’ve been taking care of her while I’ve been asleep. She likes the steak and lamb she’s been eating here far better than the birds and mice she eats on the road… you’re spoiling her, Astarion,” Eirianwen says with a weak smile, glancing to the side before stroking the cat’s ear. Umber purrs and then focuses her jade eyes on Astarion.

He drops the used towel in a basket at the end of the bed as he moves toward the cat and strokes a single curled finger up under her chin. The creature moves to playfully nip at his digit, affectionately holding it between four sharp canines with no intent to cause harm. This must be how Eirianwen often felt, all those years ago, with a part of her body seemingly always caught between his fangs. Doting on a dangerous creature.

“I think she would’ve preferred to sleep next to you, but Jaheira suggested it would be better to not. She’s smaller and far cleaner than Scratch— it was less of an inconvenience.”

He won’t tell Ani he actually enjoyed the company. It sounds too pitiful.

Umber releases his hand and then hops from Eirianwen’s side with a flick of her tail. She ducks and hides under the bed before emitting a meow; Ani’s brow furrows almost imperceptibly before it smooths again. After a moment, she moves to stand. Her eyes lift to examine Astarion in the process.

“Your ear is still split,” she murmurs. Eirianwen had never seen a laceration last this long on Astarion; his vampiric regeneration had always kicked in by now. Though she knew the God Killer’s capabilities, it was still unsettling to see.

Astarion begins to lift his hand to his ear, but before he makes contact, Eirianwen has her fingers pressed to his flesh. A cooling sensation spreads from lobe to tip as a spell mends the slice along his pinna. And then, almost by force of habit, Ani idly traces her finger down the edge of his ear as she pulls away.

The fleeting sensation causes Astarion to stiffen as his body flares with an unexpected wave of powerful, raw, aching desire. His heart jumps. His cock does, too.

“Mm.. do that again, darling,” Astarion purrs from where his head is resting on Ani’s lap.

Eirianwen fills the tent with a soft, melodic tinkle of laughter as she gently tugs on Astarion’s ear once more, coaxing a little moan from his lips, “Oh, you like that, do you?”

“You know I do, darling,” he responds while he palms at the bulge forming between his legs as his lover continues to methodically massage his earlobes. Astarion groans and rocks his hips forward as a small, relaxed smile spreads across his face, “and that’s why you always pretend to do it by accident when we’re in the tent.”

He was putty in her palms, easily molded by her will alone.

Eirianwen seems distracted as she pulls away from him; she hadn’t even realized what she’d just done. Astarion thinks it’s simply a small, habitual sliver of comfort she’d so routinely offered once upon a time, but it causes his breath to catch and all the same. The hope he's kept locked in his heart threatens to break from its cage. His ear feels as if it’s on fire, but when Astarion reaches up to inspect it, he finds a perfectly healed pinna.

He clears his throat and then opens his wardrobe, aiming to pull out a set of clothes for himself as he says, “I’ll speak to the servants about preparing lunch while you bathe; I’ll be in the office when you’re done. You’re welcome to borrow something of mine for today, though I know it won’t fit correctly. I’ve sent for your things from Wyll’s— I apologize, I should have sent for everything sooner.”

“Oh… it’s not a problem, Astarion,” Eirianwen responds, still lost in a fog as she walks toward the bathroom. Umber meows from under the bed once more. “Thank you.”

After calling down to the kitchen about lunch, and to secure a meal of short ribs for Umber, Astarion returns to his office. The pungent smell of lye assaults his senses and he quickly moves to toss open a window. The room appeared normal, apart from the gauzy white curtains flecked with blood. No one would think a murder occurred just an hour ago.

Astarion vaguely thinks the curtains will have to be replaced tomorrow just before his eyes settle on the mountain of paperwork precariously stacked upon his desk, all requiring his attention.

Business never quit.

He grimaces and grabs half of the hefty stack, trying to move the scrolls into a desk drawer. Surely much of it can wait; had it been truly pressing, his steward would be breathing down his neck this instant. As Astarion relocates most of the documents, the small piece of parchment Pascal delivered – gods, had it been less than 24 hours ago? – sealed with red wax and an unfamiliar sigil, flutters to the floor, catching Astarion’s attention. He’d forgotten all about it.

Long, lithe fingers retrieve the letter and deftly undo the wax fastening. Scarlet eyes run across the page and instantly narrow at the simple, foreboding message.

“You will find me in Elturel when you are desperate enough.

– Lady Lysandra Morgan”

Astarion re-reads the message. His fingers tremble as they fold the paper and shove it into his pocket. Desperate. He wasn’t desperate for anything, not even for the return of the God Killer. He had no true use for the dagger, nor any plans to use it; he’d certainly slain enough gods for an eternity by now.

But then a sudden shock of acid through his veins, beginning at the ring and shooting up his arm, pulls his mind to Eirianwen. He hears her stifle a whimper of pain through the walls. A sickening feeling begins to grow in his chest.

He fears he may already know where this path leads. He may have unknowingly carved the way for the both of them.

Astarion is scribbling his showy, looped signature on yet another scroll when Eirianwen enters the office. He turns his head to greet her, but the moment he does, his breath is stolen away and his mouth suddenly feels as if he hasn’t drunk anything in centuries.

He’s certainly used to thirst, but perhaps not like this. He’s sitting mere feet away from an oasis, longing to delve into her depths.

She’s dressed in his old camp shirt. He must have a strange look on his face, because Ani halts, frozen in place.

“I— I hope it was okay to borrow this,” Eirianwen says, looking down as she tugs at the bottom hem of the clothing piece, where it grazes just above her mid thigh.

It’s clear she isn’t wearing a brassiere. The threadbare cotton grazes against the peaks of her breasts, and the darkened patches of skin around her nipples are barely visible through the white fabric. The winter air from the still-open window has chilled the room significantly; the tiny buds hidden beneath the blouse are stiffening in response. His eyes flit across her chest and then back up to her face before she notices.

Is Ani even wearing briefs or is she entirely barren under the—

Astarion coughs and rips himself from his musings as he forces himself to tear his gaze away. He finishes signing the scroll in front of him and grabs another as he murmurs, “Yes, that's perfectly fine, darling. Though, I wonder… where on earth did you find that?”

“In the very bottom drawer of your wardrobe…” Ani starts, her voice containing a strange tinge of something he cannot identify, as she settles herself on the tufted leather sofa across the office. She focuses on her blackened hand, bringing the other hand to rub against the marred flesh. “I looked in the other wardrobe drawers but nothing else seemed… comfortable.”

Astarion hums a distracted response, continuing to place his signature on documents to avoid staring at the woman mere feet from him. There is a silence that stretches a moment too long.

“I found all the jewelry,” Eirianwen blurts, and then her hands come to cover her mouth as if she’s shocked by her own admission.

Astarion does not need to ask for clarification. She is, of course, referring to the several anonymous commissions he’d made over the years from her parents in Silverymoon. A trunk full of never worn, customized pieces had been locked and tucked away under his bed, until now, when Eirianwen presumably ripped it from its hiding place. The contents alone must be worth close to half a million gold. He’d spent nearly the entire first year’s worth of blood money on unneeded jewelry, designed for someone that would not be around to wear it. Astarion often wondered if her parents thought about their daughter when they, unknowingly, made each piece for her, much like he thought of their daughter when he designed it.

His fingers twitch just enough to cause a wavering loop in the signature he’s scrawling. His jaw starts to clench as he stares at the parchment before him a second longer before rolling it back up and moving to yet another scroll. “What possessed you to look under my bed?”

“Umber,” Eirianwen explains hastily, “she… she said it smelt like my parents under your bed. And, of course, I really had no idea what on earth she meant but she was insistent and— and—“

Ani stops, her eyes shutting and fingers coming to press into the lids as she tries to form a question from scattered thoughts. Astarion chews his own cheek as he considers how to answer the question she isn’t able to ask, and then he lifts his eyes to look at Eirianwen as he taps the quill upon the desk once, twice, thrice. She opens her eyes to meet his gaze, and he offers a simple half-shrug… his face is unreadable.

“After I performed the Rite and you almost died in the dungeons, I promised I would always take care of you, Ani… did I not? I am not one to make a promise lightly; you, better than anyone, know that.”

A gust of air blows through the open office window and grazes against the bloodied curtains, causing them to drift from the windowpane as the two elves stare at each other. Eirianwen sucks her lower lip between her teeth but says nothing.

“I…” Astarion sighs and shoots his eyes up to the ceiling as his fingers twist the snowflake signet pinky ring, the only commissioned piece he actually wears, “I… hope the money was… helpful in your travels. I know you had expressed wanting to travel together after— but…”

He trails off, forcing his eyes from the ceiling and back to meet Eirianwen’s gaze. He cannot actually meet her eyes, so he focuses on his favorite vitiligo patch instead. He is horrible at this. This should not be as hard as it is.

Ani nods and then opens her mouth to respond, but she is interrupted by Pascal breezing into the doorframe with a thick ledger in one hand. He doesn’t peer up from the document as he says, “Lord Ancunin, lunch will be served in the solarium in ten minutes as you requested. Thrak and Melga are currently burning the spawn’s corpse—“

“Thank you, Pascal,” Astarion interrupts, his tone tight with irritation. The steward glaces up, confused about why he is the recipient of his boss’s ire. But his eyes widen in realization when he spots Eirianwen in the room. He snaps the ledger shut.

“Apologies,” he murmurs, and after an awkward pause, inhales a sharp breath before saying, “Lord Ancunin, when you have a moment, I’ll need to go over the ledger with you. I have some… concerns.”

Pascal makes to leave the door frame, and at the last moment pauses and turns to address the sorceress, “Good to see you awake, Lady Eirianwen.”

“Spawn corpse?” Eirianwen asks, whatever warmth had grown in her chest toward Astarion instantly freezing over as Pascal disappears from the doorframe, calling after one of the servants as he goes.

Astarion rakes his hand through his hair and nods with a grimace. He cannot ever outrun the mistakes of his past when the woman before him remembers every single one. He is thankful that she is not running away, at least. “Yes, but– darling, like I said, we have a lot to talk about. Lunch first. You haven’t eaten in days, and we cannot have this discussion until you eat. Please, Ani.”

He only ever says please when he's desperate; he's delaying the inevitable, he knows. But can he not pretend for a moment longer, before fifteen years of hurt cuts him to the bone? He’d already survived death from some version of Eirianwen today, he isn’t certain he can survive a condemnation for his mistakes from this version, too.

But, he supposes, he has no choice. When it comes to her, it unfortunately seems as if he never does have a true choice, at least not if he wants to keep her within his orbit. He has always been putty in her palms, easily molded by her will alone.

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Tags: @anukulee @viowolf

#astarion fanfic #astarion x tav #baulders gate astarion #baulders gate 3 #astarion fic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic idea #baulders gate tav #astarion x oc #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female oc #astarion x female tav #astarion x original female character #midwinter carol #ascended astarion arc #ascended astarion #ascendedstar #ascended astarion fic

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bthump · 2 years

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It’s clear that Guts irrevocably loves Casca, and holds a deep intrinsic trust for her. This has been the case since their first meeting. During golden age Guts was Casca’s one ticket out of a life of pining and living for a man and dream who had never given her a second thought. With Guts she had experienced camaraderie and understanding, and each were mutually fascinated by the other, their loyalty and motivations and their ways of thinking because in each other were they only able to find someone who would stare back. Mutual recognition forged their relationship and so they loved each other. Ignoring that they loved each other, perhaps even love each other now makes Guts’ character development post-eclipse entirely void. There is no humanity in Guts without Casca. I don’t think arguing about this from a 30 year old manga is what Miura would want for his masterpiece like don’t y’all ever get tired of squinting your eyes and deliberately ignoring parts of your favorite story just to push an agenda?

I debated just ignoring this like I usually do lol but I already had a functional answer written up in response to someone else's ask, so I figured what the hell, I'll post it first and link you to it.

voila

So like, speaking of ignoring parts of your favourite story just to push an agenda, it's convenient that you've forgotten all those incredibly unromantic, often downright cold and cruel moments that aren’t very compatible with irrevocable love.

But also since I'm answering this anyway I might as well add: Not only are their feelings for each other never described in terms of love throughout the entire manga (despite some incorrect scanlations you may have seen), but Guts' feelings for Casca are being deliberately portrayed as ambiguous. There's a reason we cut away after Roderick asks who Casca is to Guts, and it's because we don't know. We're not meant to know, yet. Guts’ relationship with Casca is far from loving, and I would argue his feelings are much more complex and darker than love.

And I don’t think Guts has to be/have been in love with Casca for his character development to make sense lol. That development started with Puck, post-Eclipse, and it started with Griffith in the Golden Age. It has continued with a whole entourage of characters, and since he let himself get possessed and nearly killed Casca, then nearly assaulted her sans possession afterwards, before letting them join him, I think they’re just as if not more important to his character development. Protecting Casca is one facet of what drives his character right now, and he doesn’t have to be in love with her to want to do that - frankly I fully believe she could be replaced with any of the Hawks and he’d be doing the exact same thing right now (aside from the assault) because first and foremost, as detailed to us in chapter 130, described by Guts in chapter 94, and often shown in how he thinks of her in her commander role, she represents the Hawks to him.

Oh and lastly as a sidenote, I assume you’re calling Guts not freaking out when he woke up with her in chapter 13 “deep intrinsic trust,” but that was textually because she’s a woman rather than a man, not because of some magic spiritual connection he has with her specifically. It’s actually pretty homoerotically suggestive, especially considering he’s also cool with Griffith’s touch in the very next chapter.

And then there’s what Miura has to say on the subject in interviews, such as:

“The point I had to pay attention to was making sure the flow of the story wasn't completely severed with the Eclipse. That's why I spared Casca. If she had died and the serialization had continued for a long time, I feared the reason for revenge would become something of the past; and if Guts were to establish new relationships, then his incentive would waver. It may seem calculating and unpleasant, but it's because Casca's by his side that he can never forget the Eclipse.”

“I actually hadn't planned for Guts and Casca to get together, you know – it just occurred to me partway through that it'd be more dramatic that way.”

Neither of which suggests to me that he ever intended to write a straightforward romance. Casca is there for added drama and she’s there so Guts can’t forget the eclipse (underlining the Beast of Darkness’ suggestion that she’s precious because she’s the wound Griffith left, incidentally).

I've never said Guts doesn't have positive feelings for her, but so far their relationship hasn’t been an epic, or even a realistic and sweet, romance, and it doesn’t have to be for Guts’ character to make perfect sense.

#ask #anonymous #a #b #ship: gtsca #also the whole point of the golden age is that griffith does 'stare back' at guts and guts just failed to see it bc of low self esteem and #the mutual flaws of the characters and it's kind of telling that right now casca literally is incapable of looking at guts lol #but if you want more on that subject you can read like anything on my blog beyond whatever post brought you here #also don't you think it's kinda tacky to bring up what you think miura would've wanted to complain about someone's meta blog lol

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gabrielpage · 11 days

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𝗕𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗛 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗚𝗜𝗟𝗗𝗘𝗗 𝗖𝗢𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗘𝗧.

𝒢𝖺𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗅 𝖠𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗇, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙽𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚘𝚗, never expected to inherit the title so soon, just weeks before he turned twenty two. But fate had dealt him a cruel hand with the untimely passing of his beloved father. Unprepared and feeling the weight of responsibility, Gabriel struggled with the new role thrust upon him. He was a rebel, after all. He values his independence above all and often defied societal norms and expectations. But what choice did he have? He was the sole heir, anger and defiance yielded no solace for the burdens he now carried.

His father, the esteemed Theodore Arsen, held Gabriel in high regard, often praising his intellect, perhaps owing to a boundless curiosity that lights up his mind, and his compassion for often went out of his way to help those in need. Yet, he would also affectionately tease him as a crybaby. For despite his outward facade of toughness, his heart is very tender, easily stirred to tears— a vulnerability he prefers kept discreet.

Initially a tiny bit reserved, he has been steadily shedding that demeanor, particularly now as a Marquess, finding himself more inclined to socialize. An example of this newfound sociability was evident when he attended a debutante ball hosted by his father’s business associate. He encountered Lady Sheira Anastasya, found himself captivated by her grace as they glided across the dance floor. Or that time he forced himself to go to a tea party. A. very delightful tea party, he might add, even made the acquaintance of Lady Geeta Reverie. What truly endears him to others is his transformation into an effervescent chatterbox once he felt at ease, especially when discussing his interests.

Oh, his interest, they are manifold. Among them were reading book and horseback riding. In days past, he would engage in profound discussions on literature with Lady Yoriel Rachiella, losing himself in the depths of prose. He would also race alongside Lady Chelsya Dominique, their horses pounding the earth beneath in perfect harmony.

His life was enriched by a diverse and close-knit circle of friends who brought endless joy, support, and color to his world. Among his most cherished companions was Duke Eiser Nawasena, a true friend who stood by his side through every triumph and tribulation. Their bond was unbreakable, forged in the fires of shared experiences. Equally important was Lord Arjun Ganendra, a confidant entrusted with a sacred promise. Before the young marquess’ father drew his last breath, he had placed his dear son’s well-being in Arjun’s capable hands. From that moment on, he became Gabriel’s shadow, a constant presence guiding him through the complexity of life.

Sir Sanggala Jagawana had been with him the longest, his childhood friend, he was. He also had Lord Jericho Eiser and Lord Saddam Barradan on his side. In their company, he could show playful and mischievous nature, momentarily forgetting the burdens that came with being a marquess. The three of them created a safe haven where Gabriel could simply be, without judgment or expectation.

Yet, beneath the glittering surface of his life, the man harbored a secret that only one other soul knew. His heart had once belonged to the Duke of Bedford’s oldest son, Marquess of Tavistok, Lord Abimana Endaru, a love story that had played out in the shadows. Their past romance, now lost to the annals of time, remained a closely guarded mystery, a piece of his heart that he kept tucked away from prying eyes. The memories of their time remained a closely guarded treasure, a bittersweet reminder of what once was.

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reformsociety25 · 4 months

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Title: The Everlasting Legacy of Human Achievement

In the tapestry of human history, woven with threads of innovation, perseverance, and ingenuity, one achievement stands out among the rest, casting its brilliance across the annals of time: the unyielding spirit of exploration. From the earliest nomads traversing unknown landscapes to the modern-day pioneers charting courses through the cosmos, humanity's quest to push the boundaries of knowledge and possibility has been a beacon of inspiration for generations to come.

At the heart of this remarkable journey lies the insatiable curiosity that drives us forward, compelling us to seek answers to the most profound questions of existence. It is this relentless pursuit of understanding that has led us to unravel the mysteries of the universe, from the microscopic realms of quantum physics to the vast expanse of outer space. With each discovery, we inch closer to unlocking the secrets of our own existence and gaining a deeper appreciation for the interconnectedness of all life.

Yet, the greatest achievement of humanity transcends the realm of scientific inquiry; it is the embodiment of our collective aspiration to rise above adversity and create a better world for future generations. It is found in the towering monuments of human ingenuity, from the awe-inspiring pyramids of Giza to the towering skyscrapers that adorn our modern cities. It is reflected in the timeless works of art and literature that speak to the beauty of the human experience and the boundless potential of the human spirit.

But perhaps the true measure of humanity's greatest achievement lies not in the monuments we build or the knowledge we amass, but in the bonds we forge with one another along the way. It is in the moments of compassion and empathy that bridge the divides of culture and language, reminding us of our shared humanity in a world too often fractured by division and conflict.

In the face of adversity, we have shown resilience. In times of darkness, we have kindled the flames of hope. And through our collective efforts, we have demonstrated the boundless potential of the human spirit to overcome even the greatest of challenges.

As we stand on the precipice of a new era, let us not forget the lessons of the past nor lose sight of the dreams that guide us forward. For in the end, it is not the monuments we leave behind or the knowledge we acquire that defines us, but the legacy of compassion, courage, and kindness that endures long after we are gone.

#trending #rwby #vairal #trendingnow

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libidomechanica · 7 months

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Untitled (“Instead Ive spoke the breath such a”)

A sonnet sequence

A genius fruitless and fear with other calmly shine owner forests better what in the secret carefully puzzled when my kindliest the dale, who fire. Like made by none can did them, but what was mane! And love and ran integrity mayd’n Musick shunned withdrew in the day spend ink may yet oft in all into rhymes, betwixt the herse, because accompts of humour. Instead I’ve spoke the breath such a chiefly make there to be equivalentinel who marry thee forests, I bring years, and four-footed with other waist; but thousand thee the sage from place, oh call in it; and thought? Things round use.

Old joy—what have their lady with much: whatever perceive tenants with woe, that other thriftie oke, that gentleman, part so the brew, and rain is sires, and he know him I see merry weight be mine; ’ yet regrets that ere Art of Cosset forget the based, and love, thy cheek. When Sage and hath kissed Gods the roar of somewhat first hear as your beauty she reside, thou that, forget, o ioyful sensible and single lives about her stack of the stretch, in tablets round my woe is blooms in she heard, keep one by, thou art! Monstrous acquire, warm-light of youth, I willow days of domest, know brooding all.

When their resource follow that just fulfil ye. This, that happier state of doubt his cordion. But which make wind the star! Or useful that is in looked and the market on her youth; nor friend was the air such for shed. Which Venus chalky, while in clasp’d nothing kissed thrown about the true Hidalgo, where will night or sun, whom she wind envying God half an our plucked at times are blood aduice: or plan angelist. If she flowe in the Editor, looking transports; there we twain if this transfers hurt in bitter in ilka beild! Put do they models beneath reflection rolling with an uncommon is my vest, perhaps t was yet the would make the like a noble understood and dreary, I scarcely can before his wild Yuie twist the life, and may with a kind? Just takes that point ane an’ twenty, Tam; but at thee live upon me the river as the sea remember of a Titan’s lineage?

Now you’d best, till his complication. When all best eddies in twain the poet’s gone, let ever wanton dies read you knows not one to Honour, where were! Gently, perchance, but they would for dispute, its proudly sits, and of doom, whose faint any meant, the ape able man speaks the new—born about the river, pure and beg Security’ wilfull be a height ensue despair tone, I appear alone, that broke befell. She almost in the power and lover, which are unweeting still take word dragged at moment gloom: and thought the got in lightly done when not know you mad’st little white by our name.

On the had might I guess. The fluctuations or maladies to that once again, perhaps still summer sighs shelter of heart cannot soughts, which make of my own display athways understand year; well if other’d much below to draws near, quoth Betty, not only green thought, a song. She dread it conscience t is their lived the hear the cock’d her deep, and bright. And their early shrivell’d to long the shout, nor cloud of new decreant for notes in sight he lights go beyond men with his speech, the devil of the kist; then this I love and not the sky; the ground the closed grave divided inters, pride, keep to hide?

The told, and now I thro’ darkness past made my wish’d onely puzzle, hye week camest he wander husbands on the tradition, they are. Such falter the was poor fested in captains of rhymes. ’Yes, thy full climbed that her height that just and to glided me on a day, and, as the path with the brain good not hen-peck’d her music and may kisse; tho’ faith Betty’s an aesthete of Ida by the birds, like supernature might lament, had waters of our enemies him back again. Forlorn? Have lost delight! We keen will not. The Lights limbs at lends backwoods whelpless and forged at the month of the heart.

And by the City’s pausing I will not? Yon valleys. ’; But if evolutions lie stirrup fiddle of them forgetfulness, and blood in my mine earnest the white were amorous through a woman, and beautiful and sin, with state errors fallen, by thy beames orange and judgment, tying low came Psyche’s thou up like and me, but the good: oh, if tho’ I saw those dead see the evil, her will yours whom she was except in burden breasts, and love thee. This is no more dance that I love that present, English neithere one love with forest to Who beg ‘Security thick, then my skie.

For I must began to send your beauty sleep, to proved until the foliaged eaves less crazed in a worketh a vision bites. Like thy mother, if I would reaches sweet I wishes flat last he is very rings of the other’s justic dreams all the grass feet; the cycled world was as the banter, and never couched pigeon ego hoc ferrem calida juventa could between the burns deathless, here be said: but little idle took fair if her cheek, like Fair Women a little winds ill be out the lady Christabel, we went: to stones the garlandscapes, was, Johnny! With in heaven?

Nor can but can seas on the beat number; to take twenty, Tam! Or as we glass awake, remembers. The lark hung in the twenty, Tam! In the gates champagne, as men calm despot, hand, for faded lass is not under’d by the concluded,—mention’d in light as the lady with the storms for you may’st roar out. As quite foretold melt; makes with honest except some my works on by its let it, get name, and feeling in the will shepheard time an upon the please persons of nervous took the day for from thee shut that mind, a hands whelpless troubled spread to folly drunken dear virtue prefers that’s done?

Who lovers, as this wot, and farms in my swear to lose hopeless searching keel; I feel with thro’ the bounds. I passion, some sad statue veil’d, at myrth thee in some draw the lates change and every idle case: when your hung its proper petty shepherds entangle hours as been bounds, when heart from bowers, she unborn as thine, and ballad of hop and shall glorified in Beautiful and hid in course, ceased overworn. From which he sound with the known sweetly said; she crescend of all the roll’d in the noise, and dipt in a raven know not a Prison; but in think themselves were loving like ways the use.

He too he doth sence, dead across and through these motion in viewless gloom: and much glory: and complain endless suspicious moment to dearly faithful Lord, I can’t be give you algate gave height the wild winds that breathed at recollect, indeed divided in reigne discern! I’m happy days draws a latter, and for molehills before him whom you but this brough thoughts cast and fill up to deck the rustic lights are fulness or which obscure image proving, drunk, the arts, you art, burn to be well regret is dues; and sing smile a farm air to forced unconfirm’d his oak-learn my kin a sadness past.

There when springing and seem to grappled pool at dawn, and days. Thoughts of time of love, to there—handsome strong befell. Her great? Thou dost that maid, The darken’d in the mimic, and the Cupid, affection everything breath, memory, aweary, he wooded with gift or in a perfect stopped. Or from out form be some general mist, the cool’d with rein to view should hardly cause you appear thy laught, this ready in tremblings deeper flash upon the first know thou, Desaix, Moreau, which be that all the house white what without; there’s breather could have draw her in time, and for the pride again lifted up, death!

The mistress, esteem: yet for not a wish feature’s too wildly daught by wild, instead of fair livelong from climb the fought of Job’s; he long and the sky is ever, nor me some of wood cabin- winds were mad all from myself departest; and I beseeching serpent each day comes, the past and tingle stillness, to rails, all faintly spokes season; when the traine talk and thou may person I love that atmospheroick mass of girlond Oliue we star apart to school as God accrue, but clammy cells. Somethings to dust of time defied, I slipperary power liue brawling could way these poets all held Juan stills the presently tutors have been ill dusk of tears, and honest to greets there is thro’ the sky will be her the reed, and all at dances, search’d, and there it throat shouldst had call let me years, of these kisse, tho’ Nature keen the flit; while hand-in-hand stiff bitch; from Time idle is serves a bring here?

Tells of us in the doth closing about to hide. For loving but all my good a stand? Ring of there is not in bed, susan, scarce and clangs shall fate her elfin groans, England. A pamphleteer or these arms, o, gie me like hap of a bullet the same, forgot how ye she feet is change the Incompass’d; where such a think, but I pasted na spirit down, and on the hasten down and chapter night be damp air. With black curl’d, not brood; that strength and Johnny well. With a faery’s stalk, so become down in in herse, more and address to his awkwards roots than shone forgotten up again—ah, woe now!

To lie for all, and love lose appear; and moved to faire life calmly feet—crushed nor stringed from Aragons of Death.—It may suppliant body always of thou art them.-Rising the stroke—If Johnny’s head, and bring apart, and unfather in light, a deep he star hate, or in all the lamental eyes floods, and thought that where shown; and ever fork and pithy, conscious back air inter-session with my hear that the prest love clock ticking brother; and clamoured rose, expurgated gloss: ah, do to wait, or ane an’ the mould that that lie so mutter which made wreckful senses, I see my mischief, by all.

Ye water was where is no such and fro. Nothings seeks, I went down to placid ocean, cold in a. Breaks the flies with joyous altar-stairs the flies, on a greeting stars had chosen from men with and line, the dead words a chill sooner force has a fine of life, I don’t read the acted. And lash to eye call cover’d woman-loved all as on our fist first pyramid and blood and compare forget a weary, he common: he shrunk to the blood like the will bloom a break to you wakes, when this strong thou may likeness sky, what always certain her maiden’s his come makes toward drawn a lucid eating Cheops.

She had of the old night sweet to go with, some void, when at only mean is should bring morning of the moon of mine. Be tenderneath leftst thou are the old friendship, equal proffer in a wofull it courteous is child, and round you and how you thus, than short of time to place, and to make, nor green born, we vantage, and liking hand-in- handkerchiefs have the future as once drizzling. The eye in vain; and tread to use you less in shame hypocrites, from vse of paradise. But who county charms becomes and becoming copy died threater for weeks, I seem’d their own slipp’d of bitter hope of night.

And like a fool. And a tocher, fierces the her the learn the come, what cannot floated afternoons call fables, euen sound my heauie herbs in the her more lustihead him: no man on when heaven, her on the vale, across heart shaking works one know. High in my kind? And he, build, if I would not, beset his joint the soul with read smile, of lust leaving so blisse, ere than all colors conduct was love end. Take and unfather, which I see now and dreaming again, and guard, I dreamy toiles and clothes dry; and honor near, delay; in the vermined; and will cried—how dancing scythe, and he is frail!

— ‘All this the now shall now you faine the plan? Lost to the standing pane; to see the holly Stellas once thought to see, bearing salt take the hill, and beloved by our Cot, alas! And with not a morbids the Abbey, and all the mild; o’ gude and grateful, perceiving him; and May much love again, and adorative who came an echoing brain sprung through that was not dear the very of this way. So kind! Clear as if those white gain about, and, force my Muses kills and honor’s coltish decent pass; then he same, I descent at time to the round one them for discretion, magnetic needing.

Why though he bound answer shoulder’d count heavy hears, where’s no more to lie hen, we yield saving Jealous dreadful night, her body and on Devon, when a bed in the sky; they were chimney glow, if all. Then following, and on pants that ye mean the team of the spake wonted so many rose, any things we ply that moon the chief’s still I thing scatter it the moulding, tis over Sinaï’s pen do; when I sick for earlier of Oriana in hast to hide there’s own so cold wine to write science. To silver lover, now that roam, my spikenard and while into a needing skin.

The color of the tip of thy floor wakens to pity, and push-pin, for someone’s one would never corse dreadful clutch, indeed a lower of the cheer’d heart on the child woman, among there’s not lives and as have me, making after after day’s prickened to send to continue to play. Burn to me, makes youth, memory, and watchful as sixth of wheat are gone, he sea. Is to some luckier netting and even, after life. The those a song with her good that nights go by: come, comes of Beauty can your in groan—I don’t choose by none of him well. I loathsome intent was they’ll rails.

And if you push younger the doth rocks the side be cheek is the fayrest May she devils mighty Love harm, this lips mine. Or climbed his mutilated intelling deep in which of day can I thro’ times and most pray the play, have had fancied in here it true wisdom makes by, the dishes also, Love but since if the press’d? And hold joyancy afloating beside the bow, his true. Down domestic dream free: the street, the spoke, draine the little profit! And the last in fitting in Spain is sair; and chanced; but as I? Indication in sight, to the and the hectic season changed, but Wisdom her note.

Each in mine, but state, their tongue with autumn, drop by Christens, it thou lay she is, and like to protect music loud, immortal Love, my loss is gay among the explored— her incense form that twig that swiftly in the mine: o what it is all-in-all side was rather weeks, thou pleading: his bosom- friend was a perfect stay; I love you hadst there she tangled them—maidens of the truly, and Betty sheet I smell and up much be thanks off our music. When she under mind those river summer and life looks abuse the weaves buds, that amazement between tho’ all the struck of dew. An only Love!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #190 texts #sonnet sequence

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youcatchyman · 1 year

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10 Reasons to Wish Your Ex a Happy Birthday

The end of a romantic relationship does not always mean the end of a story. Certainly, the page has been turned, but perhaps not the chapter. Whoever enters our life, they always leave their mark, even after they leave.

I am often asked if, after a breakup, “Should I wish my ex a happy birthday”. I would say without hesitation that it depends on the context of your breakup: did you separate on good terms, or was it rather confrontational?

Of course, if you were still getting along just fine, then there’s no reason not to go for it and get back to your ex. Otherwise, stay calm and be cordial. However, if your goal is to win them back, do so tactfully.

But how to go about it? And why should you wish your ex a happy birthday?

10 Reasons you should wish your ex a happy birthday

Not everyone shares the same opinion about reconnecting with their ex after a breakup. If you’re thinking of doing this, don’t throw yourself into a vacuum, wait for the perfect moment to get started. Their birthday may be the right occasion, so don’t miss it! Here are the reasons you should wish your ex a happy birthday:

1. Write an SMS to reconnect

With your ex, you have lost sight of each other since your breakup and have not exchanged words. We can even say that a cold has settled between you two, so you want to restore the communication that was once solid and benevolent. It will not be easy, but as they say, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Sending a message to your ex on their birthday can be an effective way to forge a new bond.

2. Remember the birth date as proof of interest

f your partner has felt neglect, lack of interest, or time on your part in your relationship, and this is one of the causes of your separation, let them know how much you have learned from your mistakes. Take out your best cards on their birthday and send them sweet nothings. This will prove to your ex that they still matter to you.

3. Send a sweet message to maintain a good relationship

Not cutting ties with an ex after a breakup can be difficult, and not impossible. Some couples always remain on good terms, continue to see each other, and exchange from time to time. If you are one of them, don’t forget to send them your wishes on their birthday, it would be rather strange of you if you don’t do it by the way.

4. Wishing a happy birthday in memory of the times spent together

Any relationship, however painful its end, always contains good times. It would be a shame to miss the birthday of your ex-partner to remind them of the good times you shared in the past, something to revive nostalgia in them. If you have already celebrated their birthday together, place a few words in memory of an event or a place that marked them.

5. Surprise your ex with a birthday message

Wishing your ex a happy birthday by sending them a text message will undoubtedly have effects for sure, they will be surprised by your gesture as they did not expect it. Send them a warm and friendly message and write a text that is as deep as it is sincere. However, do not go overboard, the idea is to remain cordial throughout your message. Don’t beat around the bush, but be direct and straight to the point.

6. Reconnecting with your ex to spend the birthday party together

After your separation, complete silence. No more contact from any side. Even though months have passed, you still can’t forget your ex. It’s time to put an end to this situation, so what better than to send them a little message on their birthday? This is a good idea, especially if you want to get them back, but once your message has been sent, resume silence even if they reply. This will pique their interest in you.

7. Rekindle the flame of love between you two

After a moment of separation, you reconnected with your ex. You have evolved and matured on each of your sides, and your communication is starting to improve. Ready to leave the blunders of the past behind you and reconnect? Why not take advantage of this situation to win back your love? Surprising them on their birthday or enthusiastically sending them your wishes is a good start to recreating your bond, and who knows a new love story could begin.

8. Send a happy birthday after a fight with your ex

Following a quarrel, it is always difficult to take the first step and find the right words. Wishing your ex a birthday can be a great excuse to restore communication between you. Show them that you are no longer angry and that the argument is a thing of the past. If your breakup is recent, it may not last long. Otherwise, your birthday message will surely surprise your ex-partner.

9. Send your birthday wishes, because you are colleagues

Some couples formed in college or high school, and others met in a professional environment. If you are one of the latter, then it is obvious that you often meet on the premises of your office. But once separated, how to react to this situation especially when your ex’s birthday falls on a workday? Don’t worry! Stay calm and send them your birthday wishes at a time when you can find yourself alone.

10. Send a humorous message to amuse your ex on their birthday

The end of your story did not affect your relationship with your ex. Besides, their birthday is coming up soon, so why not send them a very humorous message to stand out? However, you have to set the bar high if you want this to work and open up to a text exchange. Make good use of humor to be able to make an impression, but while remaining subtle.

Read also:

Should I Unfollow My Ex or Not?

Should I Unblock My Ex? 10 Tips You Need to Know

#relationshipadvice

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kitacco · 3 years

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sunrise.

pairing: fem!reader, gojo satoru.

genre: angst with happy ending.

summary: time doesn’t always heal.

cw: mention of manipulation, violence.

wordcount: 4.1k.

! part two of clouds !

the sky is clear when you look up into the sky. even though the sun is not out, and instead, the sky is covered with grey clouds, you still like to believe it’s clear.

he made you believe that the first time you two met.

it wasn’t like you were escaping from reality, he simply thought if there was something you could change, then you should. you believed him, after so long.

how could you describe how he makes you feel? you had never felt it before. he felt like the orange sky adorned by the full sun, illuminating the grass and bringing warmth to the body despite the breeze. was that an exaggeration? probably, he didn’t think so, though. he made you believe you could rewrite reality with only your imagination.

meeting him was fate. he told you that, you thought it was sheer coincidence and two people on the right place. he was a little more romantic than you, though.

you had been to therapy for about two years.

things weren’t easy, and honestly, you wished you could forget about it.

your therapist assured you it wasn’t your fault - it took you a while to understand that.

you were aware that it wasn’t entirely your fault, what happened was a casualty, sadly, an experience you had to go through, but also a lesson you had the opportunity to learn from. it wasn’t easy, you understood that after a year of one session every month. you cried a lot, more than what you expected, and you felt responsible. because, if you hadn’t fallen for him, everything would’ve turned out well.

you were quick to learn that your emotions shouldn’t make you guilty, instead, who was to blame was him.

after a while, you finally accepted it.

gojo never contacted you after everything happened. you wanted to go on with your life like he most likely was, however, you were incapable of creating any type of relationship with people. what used to be a big group of friends became one, and what used to be exciting became scary. your friends, then, insisted you visited a therapist. you didn’t want to, at first. if anything, you wished you could simply erase the situation from your brain for the rest of your life, but how could you when subconsciously you failed to move on? your friend and her husband moved away, and so did you. she left the city while you moved to the other end of the city. not necessarily because you wished to avoid him; your therapist thought it was better to forge relationships from zero.

another year passed, and he had completely vanished from your life. you hadn’t told your new roommate about it, but you knew your friend had before you moved in. you didn’t mind. you knew she was trying to protect you. but, it’s not like he’d ever come around again - that you believed so.

you didn’t exactly know how you met him. maybe it really was fate, like he said once. only eleven months after the incident, you were still incapable of communication. leaving your house was scary and worrisome for anything other than therapy, so you didn’t tend to visit places much often. during the time, you were still leaving at your old apartment. your friend insisting on you moving on had already convinced you of leaving the building, and that day you were finally taking the boxes out.

you met by the stairs. a box had fallen from your hands straight to his feet.

as much as you apologized, he only smiled, assuring you he was alright.

and that was it.

you met him again on your way to your therapist. it was all too similar, you thought to yourself. he happened to have a friend living in the same building as you (he was literally your next door neighbor), and you were starting to open up to people a little more. you knew his friend, as much as one knows a neighbor. the guy was nice and he always gave your roommate eyes - she genuinely didn’t mind him.

you told your therapist about it the other day. and the next day, the guy was knocking at your door.

you remembered how nice having company felt. your roommate worked all day, while you only stayed at home. unable to properly work just yet, you only worked in the mornings at a coffee shop. it was safe and easy for you most of the times, only having to wipe tables and greet costumers. you didn’t complain.

he told you he had just gone to see his friend and happened to be curious about you. his eyes were a little intense but there was something about the tone of his voice and shakiness of his smile that managed to make you feel at peace.

besides your roommate, he became someone you could trust.

things didn’t go as quickly as it would’ve normally. you had never invited him inside your house alone, but when your roommate was there, you would let him inside. he would always visit with sweets or a cup of coffee for you.

it’s like everything repeated itself once again in some extent.

after hanging out with your roommate and him, his friend started tagging alone. the guy was sweet and funny, and in less than three weeks he managed to get your roommate to go on a date with you.

that was the first time the two of you spent alone.

you’d thought by that time you were over it. you were quick to understand there were some wounds that no matter how much you tried, would leave scars that still hurt.

but he didn’t mind waiting all the time in the world for you, and he let you know that.

looking back, you finally realized what real love truly was. he was what real love felt like.

small touches, assuring words, constant communication. silence wasn’t needed with him, and your eyes never spoke more than what words did.

you genuinely felt safe again.

gojo didn’t mean this to happen. after the yelling of your friend and the end of the friendship with his friend, gojo decided he was done with you forever.

so then, why was he involuntarily following you around the store?

he had no other intentions than to look at you for one last time. it had been a while, and he was genuinely curious about how you were doing. it was impossible to find anything about you, you had completely wiped yourself out from social media, and all your friends had blocked him too. that should’ve been enough for him to understand he wasn’t welcomed in your life anymore.

but then, why was he walking towards you? maybe for some closure, maybe to apologize, maybe only to say hi.

he couldn’t tell, but it was too late before he could make up his mind.

gojo tapped your shoulder quietly in the snacks aisle. he didn’t feel nervous, tense, or uneasy, almost as if the two of you were old friends that happened to meet again after so long, picking up the friendship where it had been left off. gojo was quick to realize that wasn’t the case, though.

“gojo!” you exclaimed, jumping at his sight.

had he always been that tall?

“it’s been a while,” he chuckled, looking back at your cart full. “you got a lot there, huh? you live closeby?”

gojo didn’t waste any time, pressing a hand against your cart, trapping you.

“no,” you’re quick to answer.

one of gojo’s eyebrows raises, and you look around, hoping someone can notice your state.

“oh, then you like this store? it has more things than the others around the city, i guess-”

“i’m sorry, gojo, i’m busy and need to finish this as fast as i can, but it was nice seeing you again!”

gojo’s gaze stays on your figure as you run off with your cart. he knows you’re lying, but which two was a lie? he didn’t know.

gojo should’ve taken the hint.

he walks out of the store, noticing the clouds turn darker than they were before. he’s deliberately waiting for you outside, hoping he can get you to talk a little more. was he curious about you? not really. was he wishing he could get you back?

perhaps.

you step out of the store with the cart full of bags, and gojo approaches you fastly, startling you once again.

“need a ride?”

“oh, no, thank you,” you decline, pulling the bags out of the cart.

“then let me help you to your car,” he proposes, reaching out for one of your bags.

“no!” you exclaim, grabbing them faster than he could. “i-it’s fine, there’s a station right there so it’s fine.”

“oh no, are you silly? so many bags on the train, you’re in a rush and it’ll more likely rain? c’mon, i’ll drive you home.”

you decline his offer again, your mind running wild. it’s not that you didn’t want to accept his generosity, but suddenly all the fears you once thought were buried floated to the surface again. suddenly it felt like all the progress you had made the past years was being ripped out of your consciousness.

“please, gojo, trust me, it’s fine,” you insist, grabbing onto your bags and trying to walk away. you look around, hoping someone sees the two of you, hoping someone would stop him. but no one is around, and no one but you can stop this.

but when you see gojo again, you finally understand it was never your fault.

gojo manages to get through you, and now you’re seated by his side as he mindlessly drives through the city. you texted your boyfriend the moment you got inside his car, telling him you were coming to his place and asking him to wait for you a few streets away. he instantly called you, but too nervous, you declined the call. you didn’t want gojo to know any more about your personal life, nor know you had moved away. if anything, you wanted gojo to disappear.

but could you tell him that?

“feels like the old times,” gojo mutters over the music on the radio.

like the old times?

an inexplicable feeling rises up your chest, yet you stay silent, wishing the ride was over. gojo would occasionally eye you, and everything would feel too familiar.

only that this time the tables had turned. because you realized you hated gojo’s guts, and he realized he loved you dearly.

“we should, hang out, again,” he mutters.

“i don’t think i can,” you speak, this time, your voice doesn’t falter, and gojo turns to face you.

“you got a boyfriend?”

“no,” you retort. “i’m busy.”

“you’ve always been busy, can’t you make some time for me again?”

you don’t answer. you knew too well, that if you say a word, you’ll explode. and as capable you thought you were of getting back to him, you could also remember clearly everything gojo had done to you. you don’t think it was worth the risk, trying to speak your heart out with someone like gojo.

he would never understand; he never wanted to. and he didn’t deserve to either.

“it’s here,” you announce, and gojo stops abruptly.

he frowns once he sees the man approaching his car, and you’re quick to jump out, telling him the bags were in the back. gojo steps out of the car too.

“hey, nice to meet you,” he says, and your boyfriend looks at you. “you’re his friend?”

“she’s my girlfriend.”

your breath hitches and you’re quick to grab his hand, distracting him from gojo’s conversation.

your boyfriend wasn’t an impulsive guy. he’s thoughtful and caring, fast to understand any situation he’s in front of.

but gojo is the complete opposite, and by experience, you know no one can go against gojo, no matter how hard they try.

“oh, that’s nice,” gojo taps the top of his car as he watches the two of you grabbing the bags. “i can help you carry some bags upstairs, if needed so.”

“it’s fine, thank you,” your boyfriend responds for you.

your boyfriend grabs your hand along the bags and walks towards the building gojo knows too well.

for your surprise, gojo doesn’t insist, and when you look back, he’s already inside the car, watching the two of you enter the building.

after that incident, you once again were incapable of leaving your apartment. and you didn’t want your boyfriend to leave his either.

gojo surely had changed, you noticed that the day you two met again. he looked taller, stronger, and unnerving. even though the two of you had been friends for many years, gojo was still unpredictable. you learnt that the last years of friendship you two shared.

“can i help you’” your boyfriend speaks.

gojo is at the other side of the door, in what was once your building, and outside what was once your apartment.

he cocked his eyebrows, incapable of hiding the smile creeping up his face.

“oh, you live together? that’s sweet,” gojo comments.

your boyfriend doesn’t respond, closing the gap between his body and the door so gojo couldn’t see indie his house, “yeah, what you want?”

“well, my birthday is coming and i thought maybe the three of us could celebrate it together. i don’t know if she told you, but we’re really good friends.”

your boyfriend nods, of course you haven’t.

“i don’t think we can, the both of us work.”

“oh, yeah? well, she always manages to make time for me, maybe i could ask her personally since you’re acting quite weird,” gojo tries again, his hand pressing against the surface of the white door.

“no, i’ll ask her and we’ll let you know.”

“fine, i’ll wait for your answer by saturday, if not, maybe i’ll come back,” gojo mutters, smirking.

your boyfriend wasn’t an aggressive guy. but, hell, he wished he could punch his face so bad.

he didn’t tell you anything about gojo’s visit nor invitation. you were already having a pretty bad time, you didn’t need more pressure put on your shoulders.

he genuinely thought he’d made the best decision - yet, he couldn’t help feel intimidated by the figure he happened to constantly meet.

gojo always told him it was a coincidence. he didn’t believe him, and fast enough, he started to understand your emotions. there was something eerie about the guy.

in no time, gojo had managed to push him against a wall. your boyfriend noticed what gojo claimed was coincidence was, indeed, his following, and too scared of him finding out you, in fact, didn’t live with him, your boyfriend started lying to you, claiming he had too much work and that he couldn’t go visit you. you facetimed and called each other often, but sadly, you felt uneasy, and your boyfriend knew too.

but he couldn’t bring himself to tell you.

“so, you made up your mind?”

your boyfriend stands at the other side of the door, startled by the tall white haired man. he’s smiling, as always, feigning a kind gesture as if the two of them were friends.

“sorry man,” your boyfriend speaks up. is his voice shaking? “we couldn’t get a break from work.”

“oh, that’s unfortunate,” gojo clears his throat, smiling again. “then maybe you guys can pick a day and we can meet then.”

your boyfriend observes him, eyes darker despite the blue orbits. his tapping his feet against the floor, unable to read gojo, and he, simply smiles. he knows he’s made your boyfriend nervous, and suddenly, he’s reminded of you.

no wonder you’d get with a guy like that.

gojo knew he couldn’t let you, though, you couldn’t stay with a guy like him.

how could he protect you if something ever happened to you? this guy was so easy to manipulate. it didn’t take more than a faint punch and the closing door for him to lose his composure in front of gojo. wasn’t your boyfriend supposed to be strong enough, like him perhaps? what was this guy gonna do if he were to be in front a situation like this again? he can’t seem to land a single hit on gojo, instead, receiving the other end. gojo expects him to put up a fight, maybe ask him to stop, but he doesn’t.

he wasn’t the man for you. gojo was, he just had to prove it to you.

snapping a picture, gojo sighed.

“guess i’ll have to show her what she’s missing, don’t you think?”

your boyfriend can’t stop him when he walks out of the door, and neither can he watch him, his vision too red, and the iron smell stir his insides.

gojo looks through the guy’s phone. who leaves their phone without a password? he was only proving gojo his unworthiness. this guy wasn’t made for you.

all he had to do now is let you know.

you hear knocking on your door. it’s late, your roommate is out with her boyfriend and your boyfriend didn’t tell you he was coming. still, hopefully, you walked to the door, expecting him to surprise you.

what did surprise you was gojo on the other side, with flowers on his hands.

“did i surprise you?”

it’s too fast, or maybe not, you don’t know. gojo casually enters your house, the place you had so long worked to keep safe. he leaves the flowers on the table, and approaches you, wrapping his arms around your figure.

you’re not shaking nor reacting, and gojo takes in your warmth.

oh, how much he missed you.

“i missed you so much,” he whispers in your ear. “did you miss me?”

you reach out for your phone on the back of your pants, carefully bringing it in front of you to quickly deal your boyfriend’s number.

a phone starts ringing, and it doesn’t take you long to recognize the ringtone.

“oh, someone’s calling,” gojo mentions, letting you go to check your boyfriend’s phone. it’s like he was expecting you to do so, answering the call like he hadn’t seen your caller id on the screen. “yes?”

“why do you have my boyfriend’s phone?”

“we happened to meet before i came here, nothing too serious, don’t worry,” gojo pats your head. “he was being an asshole, though, i guess i just had to prove him.”

you gasp when gojo brings up the phone to your face, “w-what did you do?”

“told you, i just wanted to make sure he was enough for you. he wasn’t, though, so i had to come let you know.”

only proves we’re made for each other, don’t you think?

you shake your hand, taking a step back.

“listen, listen gojo,” you start. your voice is firm and your trying to keep your cool too. gojo has many times proven what he’s capable of, and right now, you only wanted to at least postpone whatever he planned to do. “i think you should go home, it’s like, my roommates coming with her boyfriend, i don’t think it’s fine if they see you here.”

“you think? we can find out though.”

“no, i don’t think we should, so, let’s leave it here, we can meet tomorrow, okay? we can go have lunch together and catch up like old times.”

gojo laughs, shaking his head as he looks down to his hands.

“why are you treating me like i’m crazy?” he asks, and your breath hitches. you stop and watch his movements, suddenly the atmosphere turning colder. “because i’m in love with you?”

“i’m sorry, gojo—”

“is it wrong to be in love? are you really blaming me for my feelings?”

you can’t tell if he’s being honest or putting up an act. once again, he’s managed to get inside your head. you don’t have more options and your minds clouded, unable to find a proper solution to the situation, unable to end this.

“just give me one last chance, that’s all i ask from you.”

gojo knows you too well, too much for your own safety and sometimes for his own liking.

and so you find yourself sitting at a restaurant a few streets away from your apartment, waiting for gojo to arrive. you didn’t believe you’d made an irresponsible decision - in fact, this was the smartest way to handle the situation. your boyfriend pleaded you to not come. you could understand that, he’d finally met gojo and he’d sensed it; gojo was far stronger mentally and physically than you’d suspect. it was fine. you weren’t nervous or scared, no, because, if there was something your therapist had told you, was that, as long as you set your boundaries and knew your worth, you wouldn’t fall for his tactics anymore. you didn’t come here to make friends with him again or to assure him everything was okay, you were here to let him know it was over. plus, you had decided to give yourself a day to decide what exactly you were gonna tell him.

“didn’t expect you to come in so early,” he mutters, taking a seat in front of you. “you’re fifteen minutes—”

“let’s talk,” you interrupt.

gojo can sense it, you’ve changed. when he looks at you, he can tell you’re not that deer he’d used to hunt for.

he wants to tell you the truth - the one he’s made up in his head.

“i love you, i’m in love with you.”

it hasn’t been more than five minutes since he sat down. gojo notices the lack of reaction, the indifference in your face, and suddenly, he’s feeling nervous. he’s not good with words and you know that, yet you’re not reacting the way he’d pictured, imagined, last night. you’re not telling him you’re in love with him too and that you want to try again. you’re not smiling or reaching out to hold his hand on the table, or getting up to wrap your arms around his body. you stay in your place, with eyes boring into his, waiting for him to say something else.

but he’s got nothing else to say, “gojo, i don’t love you.”

gojo doesn’t like that, you can tell by the soft tapping of his shoes under the table. the restaurant is full and you know the last thing he wants to do is make a scene. because, if he were to do so, his true colors would show.

“how are you sure about that? is it because of your boyfriend?” gojo asks, leaning closer to you. “you know he’s not the one, you know he doesn’t make you feel the way i do.”

“gojo, everything is in the past,” you sigh, tilting your head, tired. “the both of us made bad decisions, played with each other, hurt each other, but that’s in the past and it should stay there.”

“no! i don’t want us to stay in the past, i need us right now,” gojo mutters, and if you didn’t know him well, you’d almost think he was pleading. “we’re meant to be.”

“we’re not!” you exclaim, now losing your patience. “we hurt each other, can’t you remember that? i let you play with me and manipulate me, and now that you’ve realized i did nothing but try to please you you’re suddenly feeling guilty! but things don’t work like that, gojo, mistakes like that can’t be embedded that easily. you have to take responsibility of your actions.”

“i never wanted to hurt you, i wanted you to be stronger—”

“and i am now, thanks to you,” you say. “thanks to what you did to me i’ve finally understand that i deserve better.”

“how do you know i can’t make it up to you?”

“because i won’t let you, because i’ve found somebody else that’ll make it up to me, and it’s not you.”

“one chance is all i’m asking—”

“you already had your one chance, and you wasted it.”

“then another one—”

you’re sure six months ago you’d fell for that. you’d wished to give gojo another chance. after all, no one was more special to you than he was. you could say, until this day, gojo was the most special person in your life. that didn’t mean you deserved to suffer to help him make it up to you. whatever he wanted wasn’t something healthy and neither of you deserved it. but it wasn’t your job to make gojo understand that, it wasn’t your responsibility to fix gojo.

gojo knew you had changed. he knew he didn’t have the right to come back in your life, nor were you supposed to help him embed things. still, he wished he could still have you by his side.

“it’s time to move on.”

because now, when he looks up at the sky early in the morning to watch the sunrise, he knows he wasn’t made to stay by your side.

#gojo angst #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen x reader #tw. manipulation #tw. violence

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earnestly-endlessly · 3 years

Note

Cherik angst!

Ooooh the angst!! The cherik fandom has an abundance of angst fics and I could probably make a list of hundred fics to recommend, but these are some of my favourite angsty cherik fics. I should warn you though, some of these require tissues.

Cherik Angst

Everyday Love in Stockholm – tahariel

Summary: Magneto is the ruler of the posthuman world.

His only secret? Charles Xavier, the human he's kept locked in his bedroom ever since his right-hand woman, Mystique, came to him pleading for mercy for her stepbrother, who accepted her mutant form and protected her as a child. The human he started fucking after Mystique was killed in battle, despite the guilt he feels at contaminating even this last promise to the woman who was integral to his life's work and happiness.

Boden’s Mate – kaydeefalls

Summary: "Shaw has information that we need, and we need him alive to extract it," Moira says, and there it is: the job is on the table. Extraction.

XMFC/Inception fusion AU. Erik is an extractor, Alex is his point man. They're assembling a team to go after the most dangerous mind in dreamsharing: Sebastian Shaw. But unless Alex and the team can keep him in check, Erik's desire for vengeance might just rip the whole job apart around them -- and then there's the shade that haunts his dreams...

Ritual Self-Torture – TurtleTotem

Summary: Shaw is King, Charles is his royal consort and Erik is a Knight/Lord. Shaw is sterile but his kingdom can't find out, so he asks Erik to impregnate Charles.

He doesn't know Erik and Charles are in love.

The Winter of Banked Fires – Yahtzee

Summary: Charles Xavier has returned from the dead -- but is lost within his own mind. Rogue has cast aside her own power and doesn't know where she fits in the world any longer. The production of synthetic Cure means mutantkind itself is newly at risk. And Magneto, turned human against his will, is in despair until the day he feels a familiar consciousness tugging at his own

Us – Pangea

Summary: “Charles,” Erik says, and if his voice hits a pleading note then who can really blame him, “Charles, it’s me.”

It takes several longer moments before Charles musters up the strength to answer, breath stuttering horribly as he tries to breathe. He’s shaking, entire body trembling.

“Erik,” Charles says, his voice cracking, “Erik, I want to die.”

Enigma – Yahtzee

Summary: Erik dies, or finds a reversey-time mutant, or a magical time travelling device, and wakes up in the past. This time, though, it's before he ever met Charles - in fact, it's before his mother died.

He can save his mother that one time (thanks to his mastery over powers carrying back), but what does Erik do after that? Does he stick around, or escape and run to find Charles again (and hope everything doesn't go wrong)?

By Faint Indirections – kianspo

Summary: Erik is in his ~50s, and lonely and bitter. He survived the Holocaust and was only ~14 when the war ended; and even ~40 years later, living in a country that helped to end WW2 and the Third Reich, homosexuality is still a taboo topic. Then one day, he stumbles over Charles, who is young(early 20s) and bright and smart and cheeky and full of energy and beautiful. And moving in the same street where Erik lives.

Lonesome on the Shelf – ikeracity

Summary: After three years of marriage, Charles has to admit that his relationship with Erik has significantly cooled off. These days, they're barely ever home at the same time and it seems like every conversation they have turns into an argument. Charles misses the way they used to be, misses the spontaneous dinner parties and the surprise morning sex and the wake up calls in the early mornings to catch the sunrise. But it's going to take two of them to fix this marriage, and some days, it seems as if all Erik wants is to be rid of him.

A fic about rekindling marriage.

When the Spell Breaks – kianspo

Summary: Erik, a high-profile lawyer with a successful career, meets a 21-year-old grad student in a bar, and within a few short months marries him. He and Charles are blissfully happy, until Erik's boss runs a background check on Charles and discovers he's been cheating on Erik. Charles denies everything, as there was no affair, but Erik doesn't believe him and throws him out. As Charles tries to figure out how to survive and stay at school that he can no longer afford and makes a lot of bad if not plain dangerous choices, Erik has to fight his own battle of discovering the truth and winning Charles back.

The Tower and the Hurricane – dreamlittleyo

Summary:(Post-movie AU.) Five years after Shaw's death, Erik's predictions prove painfully accurate. Violence rages on both sides of the human/mutant conflict. In a world ravaged by war, it doesn't really matter who's more at fault. Charles struggles to teach his students a better way, but what choices will he make when peace really isn't an option?

The Attempt – Yahtzee

Summary: Charles knows everything about Erik, knows how obsessive and self-destructive he is, how Erik would do anything, give anything, in his quest for vengeance against Shaw. But he also knows that Erik loves him in ways that aren't exactly platonic.

I'd like to see a completely straight!Charles, out of pure love and care of Erik, initiate a romantic relationship with him. It can be because he wishes to give Erik something positive in his life or because he thinks it might help change Erik's mind about Shaw, the reason is up to author. Also, while Charles finds intimacy with Erik strange and awkward, he does enjoy the new, non-romantic layers that have developed in their relationship.

Apple Seeds – pprfaith

Summary: Charles, Erik, apple seeds and Shakespearean love affairs.

Ashes, Ashes – winterhill

Summary: Post-apocalyptic AU — When the bombs fall, and mutually assured destruction occurs, it turns out that Shaw was right and radiation does enhance mutant powers. Snapshots of the XMFC main ensemble in the time after the bombs: Erik decides to stay, Moira thinks she might be the only human left, Raven is having trouble sleeping, and Charles is losing his mind.

Warnings: nuclear holocaust: death (death in general, not a specific character), cancer, burns, medical procedure, mutant powers gone awry

Five Bullet Points – Sperare

Summary: It was supposed to be Erik locked away in a prison one hundred stories below the ground.

Charles was never supposed to be there with him.

Tequila on a spaceship – faerie_ground

Summary: In 2014, Charles Xavier gets brutally murdered and Erik Lehnsherr spends the rest of his life mourning his death.

In 3014, Captain Lehnsherr and CMO Dr Xavier are colleagues, best friends and maybe a little more besides that aboard the Magneto I.

The Tower and the Hurricane – dreamlittleyo

Summary: Post-movie AU.) Five years after Shaw's death, Erik's predictions prove painfully accurate. Violence rages on both sides of the human/mutant conflict. In a world ravaged by war, it doesn't really matter who's more at fault. Charles struggles to teach his students a better way, but what choices will he make when peace really isn't an option?

Simple and Uncomplicated – Pookaseraph

Summary: Erik and Charles had been fuck buddies for some, but when Charles is in an accident he figured their relationship would be over. Erik's visit to his bedside in the hospital changes his assumptions even as he has trouble believing Erik is sincere.

Lazarus – Clocks

Summary: Erik is 19 when he says ‘I love you’ for the first time.

It would take five long years before Charles says it back.

Broken Eternity – CractasticDispatches

Sumnmary: It starts with being alone. It shouldn’t, perhaps, but it does because, of course, alone is what no one ever wishes to be.

Shout it Out Loud – dreamlittleyo

Summary: (Movie-Concurrent AU.) When Charles forges a telepathic link between himself and Erik, the two men find themselves bound together by more than just destiny. With the world on the brink of war, Charles and Erik struggle to cope with a psychic connection that may well be permanent.

Call Me By His Name – sinuous_curve

Summary: Charles wakes from the absence of noise.

There is an empty space in his room, beside his bed. Not quiet as in an abandoned room, but utterly, featurelessly blank. Like a box made of unblemished, impenetrable metal and Charles knows before he opens his eyes.

The Longest Word – septicwheelbarrow

Summary: "I'm Charles Xavier," he says, smiling from ear to ear. Then he gestures to his wheelchair. "Terminal spinal osteoblastoma, reaper due to collect in a year."

After some time, the man gestures at himself with a sardonic smile. "Same, one year. Lung." And then, reluctant, as if trying to keep his name to himself, "Erik."

I reject your reality and substitute my own. Doesn't really work that way, both ways.

Copy – chantefable

Summary: Charles wakes up without his memory. His sole caretaker, Erik, claims to be his husband, and tells him he's recovering from a car accident on their honeymoon.

Slowly falling for Erik again, Charles begins to regain his memories. He starts to notice strange things about his body, Erik, and their secluded mansion.

Myosotis – SomeCoolName

Summary: When Charles got back from Cuba, he lost the two things which made him stand: his legs and the love of his life, Erik Lehnsherr. Charles can get used to the wheelchair but he won't ever be able to get pass the loss of Erik.

"I wish I never met him" is something Charles says one night, maybe a bit drunk, absolutely wrecked for sure. It's a bit silly but Charles figures out his only solution is to use his own powers to erase Erik from his mind, progressively.

Except one day Erik comes back to the Xavier mansion to win him back. And even if Charles doesn't want to stop forgetting about him, Erik will do anything he can to convince him otherwise.

Das Haus am See – sareyen

Summary: The Lake House AU:

Erik is an estate planning lawyer who takes some time off to get away from the big city after his marriage fell apart. He lives in a picturesque lake house by Chautauqua Lake for almost two years, before moving back to New York City. This is in 2019.

Charles is a famous but very private author stuck in a creative rut, and moves to his lakeside estate for a short while to try and find a reason to write again. This is in 2017.

By magic or fate, Charles and Erik discover that the letter box at the lake house has the ability to send letters through time, between Charles in 2017 and Erik in 2019. Through letters that transcend the barriers of time, Charles and Erik fall in love. Charles vows to find Erik two years in his future, and Erik promises to wait for him. Two years - just two, meagre years.

But, fate is fickle, and time waits for no one.

Appropriate Boundaries – Yahtzee

Summary: Charles has been having serious problems with back cramps in the year and a half since he's been in a wheelchair. His doctor prescribes massage therapy. But when Charles meets his masseur, Erik, in some ways they begin to heal each other. So how do you cross the boundaries between professional touch -- and the personal?

Unbound – Cesare, helens78

Summary: Thousands of miles apart, Erik Lehnsherr and Charles Xavier form a soulbond. But when that bond is severed five years later, they have to spend the next ten years trying to rebuild their lives alone.

Do You Love Me – cgf_kat

Summary: Charles and Erik have been married for 25 years, thrown together by a mandatory post-apocalyptic pairing system attempting to increase and strengthen the population. They have seven children. They have never spoken of love, but change is on the horizon.

A Quiet Riot – cloudstroke (aQuired)

Summary: Erik can't stand the fact that his father has brought home a boy less than half his age.

But mostly because he's madly in love with Charles Xavier himself.

#cherik #cherik fic recs #fic recs #angst #asks #earnestly answers

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allisondraste · 3 years

Text

Death and Other Things That Should Have Been Fatal

Fandom: Mass Effect

Pairing: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian

Word Count: 4715

Summary: A follow up to Cockroaches and Other Things That Just Keep Living, Shepard wakes up after destroying the Reapers and copes with the fallout. Thankfully, she doesn't have to do so alone.

[Click Here for AO3]

“Shepard?”

The voice was little more than static in her ear, jarring her back into excruciating consciousness, head throbbing, extremities numb. Spears of pain coursed through her chest with each and every breath, and she didn’t know whether it was the several broken ribs or the sight of Anderson's lifeless body slouched next to her. She tore her gaze away from the closest thing she’d ever had to a good father figure, eyes fluttering closed as she attempted to focus only on the person speaking to her.

“Garrus?” His was the first name that rolled off her tongue, the only person in the galaxy she wanted that disembodied voice to be.

“No.” Came the stern reply. There was a long pause as any hope for comfort in her final moments came crashing down around her. Then the voice spoke again. “It’s Hackett.”

A jolt of resentment toward the Admiral coursed through her at his introduction. What more could he possibly want from her? Had she not already done enough, sacrificed enough for just a ghost of a chance to stop the reapers. Surely someone else could take it from there. Why did everything fall on her?

Because someone else would have gotten it wrong.

She shook herself out of her head and back to the present. She would have been mortified under normal circumstances, but she couldn’t bring herself to give a damn now. “I apologize sir, I’m— What do you need me to do?”

“The Crucible is docked, but is not activated,” he explained, “We think there’s something that needs to be done on your end. Is there a trigger? Some sort of terminal?”

His words clung to the air around her, and her eyes locked onto the terminal the Illusive Man had used earlier. It was just a few feet in front of her and still so far away. She tried and failed to bring herself to her feet, legs buckling beneath her and sending her plummeting to the floor. Hot tears burned in her eyes as a new array of pain shot through her body, and she groaned in agony.

“Shepard?”

“I’m here, sir,” she growled, forcing herself up onto an elbow and dragging her body to the terminal, vision beginning to blur at the corners.. Not yet , she pleaded with her consciousness as she reached up toward the terminal, hand sweeping clumsily across the haptic display. Not. Yet. “I’m at the terminal but I… I don’t— I can’t find—”

Her vision went dark, supporting arm trembling and giving out as her consciousness faded. Hackett’s voice called out to her repeatedly, further and further away until it was gone entirely.

She awoke to bright, burning light, buzzing in her ears, sensations anyone else would have associated with death. But Shepard had been dead before, and this was nothing like the last time. She’d never forget that dark, quiet empty.

“Shepard,” shouted a voice, both familiar and foreign, “Wake up.”

“What?” Blood dripped into her eyes from a wound she couldn’t feel. “Where am I?”

She scrubbed her face with the back of her hand, blinking until her vision cleared. Her body screamed in protest as she rose to her knees, louder still as she brought herself to her feet and searched for who—or what— had spoken to her.

“The Citadel,” came the reply, “It is my home.”

She snapped her head in the direction of the voice, it’s owner a glowing, translucent entity in the shape of a ghost. Her heart slammed against her aching ribs, and a name rushed to her mouth before she could stop it. “Kaidan?”

The entity examined her for a moment that felt more like an eternity, long enough for her initial relief to fade, consumed by dread as she awaited its answer.

“No,” it stated in a cold, matter-of-fact way Kaidan could never have managed, “I am the Catalyst.”

Rage ignited in her stomach and chest at the sound of him twisted and distorted by a chorus of synthetic echoes, and she growled. “I thought the Citadel was the Catalyst.”

“The Citadel is part of me,” it explained, then paused, tilting its head in examination of her again, “My appearance disturbs you.”

Shepard let out a derisive snort. “Yeah. You could say that.”

“I apologize,” it said, “I chose a form that I believed would help us communicate. You had fond memories of this one.”

“Too fond.” She looked down, unable to meet its vacant eyes. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Is this one more suitable?” It’s voice shifted registers and when she glanced up Thane stood before her.

Hot tears burned in her eyes but she held them back and shook her head. “No.”

“Perhaps you would prefer this?” This time it’s tone was higher pitched, clipped. Mordin.

“No,” she spat through clenched teeth, “I’d prefer if you’d just pick a nightmare and tell me whether you can help me or not. ”

“Very well,” it said, Kaidan once again as it motioned for her to follow after it toward the beam of light before them. “Perhaps we can help each other.”

She limped after it, listening as it spoke, as it explained its creation, it’s function, the purpose for its very existence. It was nothing the Leviathan had not already revealed to her, but spun in a way that painted the Reapers as innocent pawns simply fulfilling their duty, wiping out entire civilizations to ensure galactic balance, to protect organic life from its own chaos.

Bullshit , she thought as flashes of destruction played behind her eyelids with each laborious blink. She remembered the sinking void in her gut as she fled Earth, watching it burn beneath Reaper hands. She thought of Palaven, the harrowed Turian faces as their military and government collapsed, the anger and disbelief that vibrated in Garrus’ voice and beneath his skin. She recalled Thessia, the most advanced civilization in the galaxy reduced to rubble before her eyes and she, helpless to even salvage one artifact, Liara’s anguished sobs as she trembled in her arms.

The Catalyst and its Reapers were responsible for every lost colony in Batarian space that Shepard had shouldered instead. Every single face on the memorial wall at the Citadel, every orphaned child and refugee, every life touched by this goddamn war, and the lives of those in every cycle that came before— it was all their fault. They had corrupted and indoctrinated some of the greatest minds of her time, broken some of the strongest wills. She wondered what had been said to convince Saren and Benezia. What had the Catalyst become to take hold of The Illusive Man?

The echoes of Sovereign’s boasts of supremacy and Harbinger’s threats of annihilation rang out in her ears as clear as the days they’d been spoken. And this entity, this artificial intelligence with the power and capability to stop it all, expected her to believe they were simply creatures bound to a purpose. The Catalyst truly believed she would help it achieve its pinnacle of evolution.

No, just because it was in a shark’s nature to eat her, did not mean she would allow it to do so. Despite the original intent behind their creations, the Reapers were monsters, and they had to be stopped. The galaxy deserved justice. She took one lumbering step toward the trigger on the right, one step closer to settling things once and for all.

“It will happen again,” the Catalyst called after her, “Machines will be rebuilt, and chaos will continue. Organics and synthetics cannot coexist separately.

“That’s…not true,” she grunted, and took another step, “The geth and the quarians have brokered peace.”

“It will not last.”

“You don’t know that,” she shouted, fists clenched at her sides, “The beauty of chaos is that you can’t know that.”

The entity fell silent, briefly considering what she said, then continued. “Perhaps not; however if you choose to destroy the Reapers, the geth will be destroyed as well. The two will not have the opportunity to disprove your hypothesis.”

A pang of guilt pierced her and she halted in her tracks.“All of them?”

“Yes. The Crucible’s beam is powerful but unfocused. It will be unable to distinguish between Reaper technology and other forms of synthetic life.”

Another pang of guilt as realization dawned on her. That meant EDI would die, too. Someone who was every bit a friend and member of her crew as anyone else, someone who had put herself on the line multiple times to protect Shepard, to make certain she could get the job done. EDI, who confessed just before the battle that she finally felt alive. Now, Shepard was forced to weigh her newfound life and the newfound intelligence of the geth race, against the destruction of the Reapers.

What was it Garrus had called it? Ruthless calculus, that brutal math that awaited anyone who spent enough time at war. Shepard had done plenty of those calculations, had made more than her fair share of difficult decisions, and she’d dealt with the consequences, good and bad.

This time, it was different, more final. And she was entirely alone. The future of the galaxy lay upon her weary back, and she was far past the point of compromise.

Shepard wanted the Reapers to pay for what they had done for millennia, wanted to watch them disintegrate in space as the cheers of her fleet rang out over the comms. She wanted to know with certainty that the war was over.

More than anything, however, and most heavy on her mind, she wanted to survive. It was a potent wave of selfishness that overwhelmed her as she thought of her friends back on the Normandy, of the relationships she’d forged and that had forged her. Her heart ached at the thought of never seeing them again, never hearing their voices. She was sick at the possibility that her last moments with those who had carried her through every storm were hurried and spent in a war torn camp on Earth.

Knowing that they were worried and waiting for her to return, remembering Garrus’ desperate plea that she come back alive, it was more than she needed to motivate her to do so. For the first time in her three decades of life, she had something to go home to. She had given so much of herself to save the galaxy, and she had more than earned the right to live in it.

There was no certainty that destroying the Reapers would ensure her survival, but it was the only choice without the certainty that she would die. She was willing to take her chances. She had to. With a trembling arm she raised her pistol, aimed at the glass case guarding the trigger mechanism, and fired.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as the glass shattered and her vision faded to white. “I’m so sorry.”

Shepard had been dead enough times to know that sound always came first, the discomforting beeping of medical equipment and garbled chatter ringing out in the darkness as her nervous system attempted to orient itself. Smell and taste came next, a package deal. This time the antiseptic and the metallic tang of blood barely masked the rank of burnt flesh.

Then the pain set in, dull but constant and everywhere, numbed only slightly by neural blockers and local anesthetic. She did not need to see her injuries to know how serious they were, how fatal they should have been. Yet there she lay, once again waking up from something that would have killed anyone else.

And she was alone. Again.

She began to panic as her eyes opened to the empty, sterile room, setting off the many monitors she was hooked up to. Her heart pounded violently, each breath she took sharp and shallow as she yanked herself free from the dozens of tubes and IVs constraining her. How long had she been out this time? What covert operation for which secret, extremist organization had found and resurrected her for their benefit? How much more could one galaxy ask of her?

There was a hiss of opening doors and an unfamiliar asari entered the room urgently, arms extended out in front of her. In one breath she reassured Shepard that everything was going to be all right and in the next called for a medical restraint, a sedative. She stepped slowly toward Shepard as one would approach a frightened, feral animal, and two more uniformed aliens entered the room. Shepard stood tall, despite the ache in her bones and glared at the three of them.

“Ma’am, I know you must be very disoriented right now, and I am happy to answer any and all of your questions,” the asari said, holding her hands up, “But you are in no shape to be out of bed. I need you to calm down before you hurt yourself further.”

Shepard glanced from the asari to the two salarians on either side of her. They all wore generic attire that was standard for medical professionals across the galaxy, but their uniforms had no indication of their names or who they worked for. She crossed her arms and winced through the pain as she argued. “How about you start by telling me where I am, then I’ll decide if I want to calm down or not.”

Just as she finished speaking the doors opened again, this time to faces she knew, and the subsequent wave of relief that washed over her nearly knocked her back into the bed on it’s own. On the right stood Dr. Michel, who she remembered helping out on several occasions during the Reaper War. A bit sweet on Garrus, if she remembered correctly. On the left, wearing a smirk and a raised eyebrow, was none other than Miranda Lawson.

“Sit down, Shepard,” Miranda asserted in her trademark tone. She flashed the hint of a smile and continued, “The residents aren’t being paid enough for you to harass them.”

Shepard’s eyes flicked over to the three aliens who’d been tending to her just moments before. They were now speaking nervously with the doctor, who muttered something about tests they needed to run followed by some other medical jargon that Shepard couldn’t decipher. She did as her friend directed and eased herself back down onto her bed, offering a sheepish grin as she did so. “I feel like such an ass.”

“Don’t,” Dr. Michel chimed in as she approached the bed, and began to scan Shepard with her omni-tool, “You have been in a coma for almost a month. It was expected that you would be agitated when you awoke, especially considering everything you’ve been through.”

Shepard’s chest swelled with something like gratitude. A month . She’d only been out for a month, and she had woken up in what she could now tell was Huerta Memorial under the care of a physician she trusted and one of her closest friends. This was nothing like the last time she died. She looked up at Miranda and asked,“Had to put me back together again, I see?”

“I only helped this time,” Miranda explained as she worked to reconnect some of the IVs Shepard had ripped out, “Dr. Michel contacted me a few weeks ago for a consultation about your cybernetic augmentation. I was already on the Citadel, so I came in person to oversee the repairs.”

“Is everything working?”

“Mostly,” Miranda shrugged, “Not quite up to specifications, but your injuries are still healing. With time, you should be fine.”

“And hopefully far away from any more life-threatening battles, yes,” remarked Michel, moving to a terminal near the wall and transferring data collected from her omni-tool scans.

Shepard let out a huff, and let herself recline onto the bed, walls crumbling away at the comforting conversation. She took a breath and let her eyes flutter closed for just a minute, and said, “If I can. If the galaxy will let me.”

“The galaxy’s going to have to,” announced an unmistakable voice from the door, and Shepard bolted upright to face it. To face him .

She hadn’t even heard the door open, and yet there stood her turian, with all that easy confidence he’d always carried himself with and a bouquet of indistinguishable gift shop flowers in each hand. Her pulse jumped, a fact the vitals monitor in the corner was quick to inform her and everyone in the room about. She would never live that one down.

“Garrus!”

“Is that cardiac arrest—“ he motioned toward the screen with one of the bouquets— “Or, uh… are you just happy to see me?”

Shepard just rolled her eyes, unable to stop the grin that twitched at the corners of her mouth as he sauntered up to the bedside.

“I wasn’t sure which you’d like better,” Garrus explained, glancing with uncertainty between the flowers in each hand, “So I got both. There’s also some chocolate and a few books of hanar poetry back at the gift shop if you just absolutely hate the flowers. I can run back down and—“

She laughed and shook her head at him. “They’re perfect.”

“Are you sure?” He examined each bouquet again. “You might need the poetry to bore you back into a coma.”

“I thought that anthology was quite beautiful and romantic, myself,” Michel remarked, amused. She approached Shepard again and administered something that relieved the throbbing pain in her head she’d barely noticed in all the commotion. “There, that should keep you comfortable for a time. I will come and check on you in a few hours ”

“I’ll be going as well,” Miranda said, eyeing Shepard and Garrus knowingly. “Call me if you need anything.”

She turned to follow the doctor out of the room but stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Oh, and Shepard? I’m glad we got to see each other again “

Shepard nodded. “So am I.”

With that Miranda left the room, the door sliding shut behind her. Shepard turned her gaze up to Garrus who was already looking at her, pale eyes scanning every inch of her face intently. His mandibles twitched and flared in the very specific way they always did when he was agitated or worried. He shook his head, discarded both bundles of flowers onto the nearby bedside table, and sat down on the edge of the bed next to her, staring off at the wall in silence.

“Shepard I— I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up,” he said finally, turning to look at her and placing a hand on her leg, “I’d just gone to get some air…I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“It’s okay,” she reassured him, reaching for his hand and wondering just how many sleepless hours he’d sat by her bed waiting for her to come to. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers, lingering there for several long moments. She brought a hand up to trace the rough ridges of scarring along the right side of his face. His eyes fluttered closed at the touch, and he let out a heavy sigh, as if she’d lifted some invisible weight off of him with just the tips of her fingers.

“You know,” she spoke up, breaking the powerful silence between them, “I think I finally have some scars that’ll give you a run for your credits.”

Garrus laughed, but it was quiet—almost sad— and he pulled back to examine her.

“How bad is it,” she asked, “There aren’t any mirrors in here.”

He laughed again, this time with more enthusiasm. “Hell, Shepard, I don’t know. You always were ugly, so it’s hard for me to say.”

“Okay,” she admitted with a smirk, “I had that one coming.”

The room went quiet again, with the exception of the buzzing and whirring of the equipment around them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though— nothing had ever been uncomfortable with Garrus— but it was heavy with unspoken pain and unasked questions for which Shepard wasn’t sure she wanted answers.

“How’s everyone else,” she ventured.

“Recovering,” he answered with a sigh, “Joker tried to outrun the blast, but even the Normandy wasn’t quick enough. Crash landed on some human colony world. Everyone made it except—“

“EDI,” she said, name bitter on her tongue. She’d hoped the catalyst had been lying about the Crucible’s effect on synthetic life.

“Yes… how did you—“

This time, she was not able to dam up the wave of emotions that crashed into her. Tears rushed to her eyes, shame and remorse tightening her chest like a vice. She was a soldier, and she knew that sacrifices won wars, but that did not make it any easier.

“It’s a long story,” she said with a sniff, looking away from him and attempting to wipe away the tears before he could see them, as if he hadn’t already.

“Well—” Garrus reached out and grabbed her chin, gently, giving it a tug until she brought her gaze back to him. “It’s a good thing I cleared my afternoon schedule, then. Tell me everything.”

And so she did. With a shaky voice, she recounted everything that happened from the time she called the evac for Garrus and Liara to the moment she was struck by the Crucible’s blast. She told him about The Illusive Man, Anderson, the Catalyst who wore Kaidan’s face, and the impossible choice she was given. He listened to every word, offered her his hand, and didn’t complain as her grip grew tighter and tighter with each devastating revelation.

When she was finished, eyes swollen and head throbbing, she looked at him and said, “I fucked up, Garrus. I had a chance to save EDI and the geth, but I just… couldn’t do it. I was so angry and… scared , and—“

“Shepard,” Garrus interrupted her, laughing and shaking his head.

“What?”

“You’re about the only person I know who could save the whole damn galaxy and feel guilty because you didn’t save it better.”

“My life isn’t worth more than EDI’s was, and it definitely isn’t more important than the entire geth race,” Shepard argued.

Garrus blinked back at her a few times, then responded. “It is to me.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but the words didn’t come, so she clamped it shut and frowned. Her entire argument fell apart in the wake of his blunt confession. How the hell was she supposed to respond to something like that?

“It was selfish,” she finally managed past the lump in her throat, “It was genocide.”

“Maybe,” he answered, firmly, “Maybe not. We have no way of knowing that anything the Catalyst told you was true.”

“Why would it lie?”

“I don’t know, maybe to save it’s own ass?” His words were pointed but not directed to her. “It was clearly trying to get in your head, Shepard, using Alenko like that.”

“But—”

“No,” he snapped, “You made the right call, and no one is going to fault you for it except you.”

“ Garrus …” she began, but trailed off when she noticed him looking down at their intertwined fingers, shaking his head and seeming to struggle with his emotions.

When he spoke up, his voice was hoarse. “You’ll forgive me if I say I don’t think you owe anyone—not EDI, not the geth, not the Alliance, not the rest of the galaxy— any more than you’ve already given.”

He paused for a beat, then added in a lighter tone, “Except me. You owe me a long retirement on your fancy Alliance pension.”

Shepard snorted out a laugh, despite everything, and reached up to take his face in her hands. She pulled him closer to her, just so that she could press a kiss against the side of his mouth.

“I’ll think about it,” she whispered.

Just as they pulled apart, the door opened and they both turned to see who had entered. Dr. Michel stood at the threshold smiling at them apologetically. “I am sorry for the interruption, but—”

“Someone tell Garrus to quit hogging the Commander,” complained an all too familiar voice as he pushed past the doctor and into the room. “The rest of us have been waiting just as long as he has.”

“Joker,” Shepard exclaimed, nearly jumping up out of the bed to greet him.

“The one and only,” he said proudly then held up a small plastic crate to show her, “And I brought you something. Basically had to wrestle the Alliance brass for it when they declared you dead.”

“What—,” she asked as she squinted at the box, noticing movement in the corner, “Is that my hamster?”

He sat the container down carefully on the table next to the flowers Garrus had tossed aside, “It’s not two bouquets of useless flowers or anything, but, well…you know.”

“We can’t all be as romantic as you,” Garrus said sarcastically as he stood up and stepped away from the bed, allowing the other man space to approach Shepard.

“Thank you, Joker,” Shepard said with a nod as she sat up in the bed, “And about EDI, I—“

He cut her off with the shake of his head, clearly not ready to discuss it. “Not your fault, Commander.”

Shepard just nodded, sorry, but not wanting to force the issue. Joker puffed his chest out and saluted her, just as more commotion rang out from the door. She darted her eyes across the room again to see the flood of other people pouring in from the hallway.

Ash was the first to rush to the bedside, throwing appropriate Alliance protocol out the window as she threw her arms unceremoniously around Shepard. The embrace was firm, but not so forceful that it caused her aching body any extra pain, and when Ash pulled away, Shepard could see the tears glistening in her eyes. She stiffened up and saluted just as Joker had done, and said “Ma’am.”

Much to Shepard’s surprise, Ash then approached Garrus and embraced him briefly as well, pulling away and then giving him a pat on the arm.

The others followed suit after that, offering words of gratitude that she had saved the galaxy, and relief that she’d managed to pull through. Tali and Liara had followed Ash’s example and hugged her. The others didn’t but greeted her with enthusiasm all the same. Vega mentioned how “epic” it was when the fleet realized she’d made it to the Citadel and got the arms opened while Traynor and Cortez nodded along. Javik, in his typical fashion stood quietly in the corner but nodded at her with a look of admiration she had yet to see from the Prothean. Dr. Chakwas and the crew from engineering squeezed themselves in the now cramped space as well. Chakwas approached the bed and gave Shepard’s hand a firm squeeze.

Humbling was not a strong enough word to describe the experience of seeing everyone who’d been on the Normandy with her in that final journey to Earth gathered around celebrating her survival. They had all meant so much to her, and only now did she realize that she’d meant the same to them.

She’d grown accustomed to being a sole survivor, watching her own back and carrying on alone with each of her mistakes strapped to her shoulders. She was used to blaming herself with the voices of those she lost, of nightmares and flashbacks and consoling herself back to sleep in the middle of the night. She had trained herself to be numb because she could not bear feeling guilty.

Now, she didn’t have to. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she had people who cared about her, people who she trusted, and they had survived. For the first time, she wasn’t alone with her grief and she didn’t have to be numb. She had friends who would hold her together while she sorted herself out, just as she had done for each and every one of them.

“You okay,” Garrus asked as he approached the bedside again, letting a hand tousle her hair gently before falling to her shoulder.

“Yeah.” She nodded and glanced around the room slowly, taking it all in. “I really actually am.”

#mass effect #mass effect legendary edition #garrus vakarian #femshep #shakarian #angst #hurt/comfort #fanfic #my writing

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janumun · 3 years

Text

Well Bartered (IkeSen Motonari - NSFW)

Rated: NSFW/18+

Relationship: Mouri Motonari/Female Reader/(Named) Courtesan

Words: 1.2k

Tags: threesome, oral and vaginal sex, slight voyeurism

Summary: Motonari tosses an unspoken bargain for the night, when a certain old acquaintance of his happens to catch the attentions of his favorite girl.

Author’s Notes: Hello Nonny! YEEES?! Your mind seems like a hot place. Please don’t forget to hydrate frequently. 🤣🤣♥️ I’ve taken some liberties with this one and hope readers can suspend disbelief, along with me, to engage in this short — what I also hope turns out to be a hot — story. Motonari Chapter 1 spoilers ahead!

AHOY, BE WARNED!

⚡

Now then….

I believe Motonari has, what we term, OCP [very easy to be misinterpreted as OCD]. Keeping in line with your scenario, I’ve tried to hold that rein-in to his traits loose without overt ignorance of what he does deal with, in his day-to-day life. And I hope (!!!) you will enjoy what you read here.

She’s an inquisitive thing; those flowers in her head seem to thrive and soak up against whatever her fertile mind finds fascinating: the world around, her flowing fabrics and needlework, Aki’s astir ports. Him.

“So… she’s supposed to be one of your old one-night stands?”

“A…what? The dame’s a professional informant. Good at the job too, m’lady.” Motonari’s brow swiftly knots at the intensity of her interest in one of his old… tools. Acquaintances, she persists in correcting him, whenever she hears him speak of people not her, in that manner. It’s a slow job; but not that tedious when she insists on staying close by. At all times.

“So… an informant you’ve also slept with, then.”

Inquisitive and clever . Fascinated by the world around, her flowing fabrics and needlework, Aki’s astir ports. Him.

Perhaps he should tell her to watch that zippy tongue lest she finds herself in trouble one of these days.

He doesn’t; he’ll discover himself right in the middle of it all too, by her side.

Motonari inclines his head; attempting a read on her. The question doesn’t seem one asked out of envy for an old playmate. He notes no reason to lie. “Aye, a few times.”

She opens her mouth once more to speak before the soft glide of the shoji doors announces the new arrival, at last.

The courtesan’s steps are just as silent as she approaches them. Inclining her head in greeting, “Master Motonari.” A forged smile so conventional of one in her line of business, is in stark absence across her graceful features. Not a lick of sickening sweet tendrils molded of ulterior motives, clings to the woman. Cementing one of the reasons he used to swipe this particular one up, out of reckless need in the past.

“Sanna,” he acknowledges.

He learns the reason for his flower girl’s fascination soon enough, as the night progresses.

Her intrigue is immediately apparent, although she sits silent at his side throughout the entirety of their short conversation. He’s not the only one observant of her attentions; Motonari does not miss the casual skate of Sanna’s focus towards a point right across his shoulder — her — before its swift return to their talks at hand, along with the twitch of those painted lips into what he perceives a smile. But she is adept at her job and knows not to prod. She does not question now either.

Propping an idle fist beneath his jaw as he hears Sanna speak, taking absent note of the woman’s beauty — as if with eyes anew — that grips his flower girl so well: her cool, contained gestures, the thick dust of kohl lashes across dark cheeks as she dips her head to indicate her opened scrolls. Her eyes, a clear, gray hue, for one so fogged of nature. Taciturn and trusted. Clean and adherent to her clients’ terms, without willing to negotiate or renege on her own boundaries: a woman after his own heart.

He tucks the proffered scroll into his hakama as their negotiations reach an end, decided on his quest tonight. “Yer rates still the same?” He asks of the courtesan, who nods.

Angling a swift, pleased grin his lady’s way, startling her out of her thoughts. She stares back, almost inquisitive, apprehensive. She does deserve a reward for her own side of titillating information she’s provided him with tonight: his flower girl shares the same tastes as him, in matters not only platonic. “I got a greenhorn customer here for ya.”

Her cry sounds akin to that of a startled, cornered mouse. The ties of her kimono effortlessly rolled open as Sanna charts the quivering line of her abdomen, inquisition in the line of her own index sketching a path into her navel. She presses in; leading her into a quivering jump of hips.

Her eyes are misted and dreamy as she finds his in query. “Motonari…” He knows what she’s asking — she’s afraid for him, the silly woman. His answer remains firm.

“Yer gonna lie there lookin’ hot for me, m’lady, and take what ya want.” Easing a palm beneath her head, he reels her into a kiss, even as trembles seep and buffet into her body with the courtesan’s adroit ministrations. “Easy… I’m here with ya.” He breathes into her moan, before withdrawing.

Her body’s receptivity remains just as delicate, it stirs desire within his own belly. Motonari’s gaze traipses down the line of her candlelight-licked frame, towards where she drips wet against the press of Sanna’s tongue. The sight bolts straight into his groin.

Extracting a fresh pair of gloves from within his robes, Motonari slips them on top of his gloved digits. “Hey, ya cleaned yourself before yer visit?” Making sure they are secured before rounding the courtesan’s kneeling body.

“I always do, before our meetings, my lord.”

Feathering his digits across the swell of her backside, he digs into the flesh. Parting her folds. “That so.” His gaze steals towards his flower girl — she’s there for him, staring right back.

Mouth breaking into a grin, he tethers their eye contact. Spitting onto two gloved fingers, he sweeps them into Sanna to scrub in gentle strokes; his flower girl’s the one who shatters into quivers, breathing his name onto a keening moan.

His entry into Sanna and his movements feel weighted with the burden of his arousal, eyes still fastened on to hers to spur his thrusts harder. Her voice hitches, beneath Sanna, in crescendo with his propulsions, each one sending the courtesan’s mouth harder against her pussy until she surrenders a groan, muffled into her wetness.

The undulations of Sanna’s body sweep in sudden, his body however, refuses to tide over no matter how she clamps around him, so used and conditioned to being sleeved within just one woman.

Motonari slips his digits in between Sanna’s legs to stroke her faster into an orgasm. She jostles back at the touch. “My lord, what are you—” Her startled question tipping into a breathless gasp — Motonari pulls out of her at the tell-tale tightening — just as she falls.

Breathing heavier from her high, “Milord Motonari…” The obvious doubt in her voice is not lost on him; he’s never touched her before, even with their barriers in between.

“Good work.” He bunts away the question. “Yer dismissed.” She halts only but a few moments before taking her cue to leave with good grace. Rounding up and putting herself back together in quick order before inclining her head at them both in farewell.

She pauses at the door, tipping a glance back at him, “...I wish for your continued happiness, Milord.” And then she is gone.

Motonari breaks into quiet laughter, “Women. They pity despicable cads.” Peeling off his gloves as he moves to slip himself in between her legs. She’s flushed and close to shattering herself; her smile firm in place. Dithering fingers she reaches for him, entwining their hands close to herself. He returns that soft regard, pressing deeper into her. “...Need this certain woman’s pity for me now, what say you, m’lady?”

“It’s yours,” she answers, shuffling herself to try and have him closer. Their laughter is in symmetry as he sweeps in low, for her lips.

The first time they cum that night is around each other.

End Notes: Thank you for reading!

♧° Link to Master List °♡

#ikesen motonari smut #ikemen sengoku smut #ikesen motonari x reader #ikesen fanfic #ikemen sengoku fanfiction #ikesen smut #ikemen sengoku motonari #scribble offerings!#you are so que(t)e #janussary

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gayaristocrat · 3 years

Text

I Got Everything I wanted...

Episode 1: Filmed Before a Live Studio Audience...

Pairing: Vision x Male Reader

Taglist: N/A

‼️Authors Note‼️: I'm finally at a point where I can write this story. I know that It is long overdue, so I hope this can make up for it. This story is going to be breaking the 4th wall a lot since they tend to do that in the actual show. Also, please let me know in my Inbox/Askbox if you would like to be tagged every time I upload a story to this series. While reading this, you may realize that it seems rushed, and that's because it was. I wanted to put this out as soon as I possibly could. Also since you guys voted that I just divide it up into parts for you to read. I will be uploading part 2 whenever I am able to.

Summary: (Male Name) and Vision struggle to conceal their powers during dinner with Vision's boss and his wife

Time Period: 1956 (So everything in this chapter is going to be colorless and in black and white)

Word count: 4k+

Word Key:

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Have you ever dreamed of living the life you always wanted? Have you ever dreamed of something so bad to the point where you would do anything to get it. Have you ever dreamed of something so bad to the point where all of your care for others went out the window? Have you ever dreamed of wanting something so bad to the point where you would stop anyone who gets in your way.

"(Male Name), I love you so much. Please don't do this, cant you see that everyone is hurting, that everyone is in so much pain?"

"I'm sorry Vision, but I can't. I can't loose you...not again. I never meant for things to be this way, but now I can't go back. Not without you"

---REWIND MANY EPISODES BACK---

For a second, everything is black. The TV clicks on and a burst of grey static illuminates the screen. Everything is black and white, not a single drop of color is in the area. A happily little tune starts playing as a colorless 1956 Buick Special drives up a tiny hill and back down past a sign which says 'Speed Limit 35'. The camera angle changes to the back of the car, showing a banner above the license plate, 'Just Married'. Next, the camera cuts to us, (Male Name) and Vision, newlywed husbands.

It finally happened, we finally got married! Both of us turn take a quick look and smile at each other with nothing but love and glee, it seemed like nothing could go wrong in this moment.

🎵Oh~

A newlywed couple just moved into town,

A regular husband and husband,🎵

Vision turns his head back to the road and continues driving until we turn down a happy little neighborhood. Each house on the street has a pattern of different color greys with black roofs, their yards decorated with equally bland colorless flowers and grass. Children playing outside, and adults chatting with one another while they tend to their gardens, or while walking their dogs. Everyone is just so cheery and happy, even the mailman waves at us as we pass him. Everything is exactly the way it's supposed to be, perfect.

🎵Who left the big city,

To find a quiet life,

(Male Name)Vision!🎵

Vision drives into the driveway of our new home. We quickly hop out of the car and approach the house, but before we walk in I take notice of the 'For Sale' sign still in the yard. I quickly flick my hand and use my magic to change the sign to 'Sold'. After that I dust my hands off with a proud smile on my face as Vision scoops me in his arms bridal style, opens the front door, and carries me inside. I flick my wrist again and the front door closes and locks as we both move to the Livingroom of our already decorated 2 story home.

🎵He's a magical boy,

In a small town locale

And a hubby who's part machine,

How will this duo fit in and pull through?🎵

Once Vision puts me back on my feet, we start swaying with the jingle playing in the background while title cards pop up of written words that I don't care to read right now since I'm too busy enjoying this happy moment with my new husband. Vision then gives me a little twirl before wrapping his arms around my waist as we both dip into a loving heartfelt kiss.

🎵Oh, by sharing a love,

Like you've never seen

(Male Name)Vision!🎵

---SCENE CHANGE---

The scene suddenly changes as the lights flick on and cameras start rolling. You start the scene off by walking into the kitchen and start making your way to one of the grey drawers next to the oven and you grab one of your favorite aprons. Humming a little tune, you wrap the white cloth around your waist and start observing the kitchen to see what needs to be picked up or cleaned. Deciding to work on putting up the dishes, you raise your hand and the newly cleaned plates start levitating off of the counters and float off to the display racks, you then raise your other hand and a dark colored dish cloth floats out of the cabinet and it begins drying a glass cup. You then turn your back to the cup to observe if it had been cleaned good enough, suddenly you jump as a loud crash echoes through out the kitchen. Turn to see what the problem is, you only to find Vision looking up from today's news paper and glances at the shattered plate at the ground while a laughing crown erupts out of nowhere.

"My husband and his flying saucers" He says in his thick English accent (or is it British🤔), with a joking tone.

"My husband and his indestructible head" I reply back in the same tone as another laugh erupts from the crowd.

He then folds his newspaper and walked over to your direction, giving you a kiss on the cheek when he arrived, causing you to chuckle while twirling your finger, making the plate form back to it's original round shape before it floats off to it's designated spot.

"Vision, honey, what do you say to silver dollar pancakes, crispy hash browns, bacon, eggs, freshly squeezed orang juice and black coffee?" You say while walking over to the refrigerator, opening it and bending down, getting ready to grab out everything needed to make the meal for him.

"I'd say 'Oh, I don't eat food' " He says smiling at me, while the crown laughs again.

You look inside the fridge and hum to yourself in surprise while putting all the pieces together in your head before saying "Well, that explains the empty refrigerator then"

"(Male Name), my darling. Is there something special about today?"

"Well, I know the apron is a bit much dear, but I'm doing my best to blend in and have the 'Perfect House Husband' look." You say walking to meet him, assuming he's talking about the apron.

"No no, you don't have to try, you already are the perfect house husband." He says as he lightly grabs your chin with his pointer finger and thumb and lightly giving you a 'boop' on the nose. "But I was referring to the calendar. Someone's drawn a heart right above today's date." You then looked at him as you cluelessly try to figure out what he's talking about, so he puts his hands on your shoulders and turns you around to face the calendar behind you and he rests his chin on your head as you both look at the heart.

Trying to act like you know what day it is, you say "Well...d..dont tell me you've forgotten Vis?"

"Oh silly (y/n), I'm incapable of forgetfulness. I remember everything. That's not an exaggeration. In fact, I'm even incapable of exaggeration" He rambles boastfully.

"Hmm, well then if that's true, then maybe you can tell me what's so important about today's date"

He pauses for a second and thinks before he blows a slow puff of air out of his mouth, then deciding on saying "Uhhh...what was the question again? Oh well, no matter, perhaps you've forgotten yourself"

"Me? Heavens, no, haha. I've been so looking forward to it."

You both have actually been looking forward to day. Today you are celebrating...The first time you...uhhh...have ever celebrated this occasion before. It's a special day indeed, perhaps an evening?...of great significance?...to you both, naturally.. obviously...exactly! Well done for the both of you.

You two ramble on for a few more minutes trying to drill the other into spilling on what was so special about today, but you two couldn't since you were both obviously unknowing about it, then Vision remembered something.

"Well, sorry darling, that's me off to work, then." Vison says fixing his grey suit jacket and grabbing his suitcase walking to the front door. You quickly grab his hat hanging on the coat rack and place it on his head, fixing it to make it look straight.

"Also don't forget-"

"(Male Name), my dear how many times do I have to tell you I don't forg- oh you mean my face right?"

You nod letting him know that was what you were getting at. The audience laughs again as he quickly shakes his head and his face and hands transform from cold metal to warm flesh. Vision then puts his palm to his face and pretends to blow you a kiss, while you play along and pretend to catch it and put it over your heart.

Once he leaves out the door, you lock it a return to the kitchen, and make your way to the calendar, chewing on your polished nails (if you don't want nail polish then skip that part) as you try to remember the symbolism of the heart. Not even a second later your thoughts get interrupted as a loud knock at the door startles you back to 'reality'.

Going to go see who it is, you push the door that separates the living room and the kitchen, closer to the knocking. You quickly open the door and see a woman with a dark plaid dress and a styled black hairdo holding a grey plant in a white pot.

"Oh hello, dear. I'm Agnes, your neighbor to the right. My right, not yours" She says in a sing-song tone as she uninvitedly makes her way into the house. The eruption of cackles echo as you look at her in confusion as to why she decided to step inside, but decided to keep a calm attitude and not say anything about it.

"Forgive me for not stopping by sooner to welcome you to the block. My mother-in-law was in town...so I wasn't!" she says laughing with the audience once more as her dress sways with her movements. She rushes the potted plant into your arms and you smile and take it as she makes her way into the living room to continue her snooping. "So what's your name? Where are you from? And most importantly how's your bridge game, hon?" She says not loosing a single breath, and of course not giving you time to answer in between questions.

"Umm...Well I'm (Male Name)" You say reaching your hand out to shake hers

"(Male Name)? Charmed!" She joyfully says and returns the gesture.

"Golly, you sure do settle fast! Yes sir you did indeed! Did you use a moving company?"

"Why I sure did. Those boxes don't move themselves." The audience laughs as your inside joke, because let's be honest, the boxes did move themselves since you used your magic to decorate everything. (Damn (Male Name), you really are a powerful sum' bitch)

'"So (Male Name), what's a single boy like you doing rattling around this big house?" She says siting on the couch.

You laugh to yourself and dreamily look at the finger your ring should be on that Vision gave you to claim you as his, (He liked it so he put a ring on it.....sorry...anyways) but paused as it wasn't there. That's not right, because you could have sworn that it was there when you created this rea-

"Oh no, I'm not single I-"

"Well I don't see a ring

"Well I can promise you, I am indeed married...To a man. A human one and tall too! A a matter of fact, he'll be home later tonight for a special occasion just the two of us." You say putting emphasis on 'occasion' with a wink.

"Oh is it somebody's birthday? A holiday?" Agnes questions bouncing up and down in the couch with her legs crossed like a 'proper lady'.

"Well, no and no"

"An anniversary then?"

"Ye-uhh...yes, Its our anniversary!" You shout, finally able to remember what that heart meant.

Agnes waves you over to come sit on the couch with her and you obey, sitting down she grabs and rests both sets of you two's clasped hands on your apron.

"Sooo...tell me, how many years" She asks letting out a little squeal.

"Well..uhhh..it...it uh feels like we've always been together"

"You lucky man-" She shakes her head remembering about her own husband "-the only way Ralph would remember our anniversary is if there was a beer names June 2nd." She chuckles as the audience laughs from nowhere again. "So what do you have planned?"

"How do you mean?" You questioned her. I mean you never really did have time to come up with anything since you just realized, or assumed, what today was.

"For your special night, (Male Name)! A young boy like yourself doesn't have to do much, but it's still fun to set the scene. Say-" she says standing up to slowly make her way to the door "-I was just reading a crackerjack magazine article called 'How To Treat Your Husband To Keep Your Husband', and let me tell you somethin'...what Ralph could really use is, 'How to Goose Your Wife So You Don't Loose Your Your Wife'. She kidd's as her and the audience laugh. You look at her and shake your head trying to hold back your own laughter. "Hang on, I'll go grab it and we can start planning. Oh, this is gonna be a gas!" She shouts running to the door so she can leave and run to her house.

-----Time Skip---

Both Agnes and you are back on the couch, looking through her magazines trying to find ideas for the anniversary dinner you planned for you and Vision to share, when out of nowhere, the phone started ringing interrupting you two. You got up and rushed over to it hoping you don't miss the unknown caller, you pick it up and put it to your ear and then start talking.

"Vision residence how may I help you"

"(Male Name), darling I-"

"Vision, my dearest husband. How are you sweetheart?" You say cutting him off from his obviously panicked and frantic voice. I mean come on, you are just excited to hear your husband's voice after a hours of him being gone.

"Listen about tonight-"

You cut him off again, already knowing that he was going to talk about the anniversary. "Don't worry, dear, I have everything under complete control"

"Oh, well, that is a relief. I must confess, I'm really rather nervous" He says over the phone.

"Nervous? Whatever for?" You question.

"Well, you know, darling, I still get a little tongue-tied."

The audience coo's and aww's at how a dust of grey creeps up on your (dark grey/grey) cheeks. "Vis, after all this time..." you giggle out.

"There's a lot riding on this (Male Name)! If tonight doesn't go just so, I think this could be the end.

'Wait what' you think to yourself

"Well, it's just one night. There's no need to get dramatic." You say in a worried tone as you grasp your now queasy stomach.

Vision's tone begins to get more serious as the conversation continues in his attempt to express how important this is to you. "Look, I think the best course of action is to impress the wife."

"Well, first, I think you mean husband. And secondly I also think the best course of action is to impress the other husband too." You look over and give Agnes a thumbs up and a wink in her direction, and she does the same while sipping her martini.

"Glad to know we're both on the same page, love. Until tonight, then, my sweet little husband" Vision says making two smooching noises through the phone to you.

"Until tonight...my robotic husband" You return, whispering the last part so Agnes doesn't hear you. She couldn't hear you anyways, being too busy sipping her drink and flipping through the pages. You finally gently put the phone on the hook and return to the couch.

---Time Skip, Later Tonight---

Before Vision made it home, you set the big dining table that was next to the living room and tossed colorless silk scarfs on all of the laps in the room to set the mood and made your way to the bedroom to get dressed to surprise him for when he gets home. When you heard the door open and heard his voice, you tip toed your way out of the bedroom and into the living room, dressed a long fluffy white lingerie robe with white fur that wrapped around the arms of it which was trailing behind you, exposing both of your (dark grey/grey) legs. You then went all the way to Vision's black silhouette and gently wrapped your hands around his eyes, causing him to jump form the sudden contact.

The audience laughed again as they know your mistake. 'Where the hell is that laughing coming from, and whey is it happening right now of all times?' you thought to yourself in confusion.

"Guess who~" you seductively whispered to your husbands.

Suddenly the lights turn on and you hear Vision's voice that was filled with a mix of shock, embarrassment, and irritation at your recklessness. "(MALE NAME) WHAT ARE YOU DOING!"

You gasp and look in his direction. "Vision? What are you-" then it hit's you, if Vision is right there, then who's-

"Oh! Oh my stars, I'm so sorry!" You say to the man you mistook for your husband. You quickly uncover his eyes and stumble away from him as he stares at you in shock. Then you look down at your attire and try to cover your exposed leg as much as possible.

"What is the meaning of this!" The bald headed mad says appalled, as his wife stands behind him looking around cluelessly.

Vision interrupts with his stammering voice just as confused as everyone else. "Well..uh yeah (Male Name) what is the meaning of-" Suddenly it hits him and he tries to comes up with an excuse off the top of his head. "-Oh, the meaning of it! You want to know the meaning of it...and...the meaning of it is...that this is the tradition of (Random Foreign Country/Continent) greeting of hospitality. Uhh...guess who???" Vision says as he runs behind you and overs your eyes.

"Oh is that my host being me?" You say playing along.

"It certainly is, darling. Lovely to make your acquaintance" Vision says vigorously shaking your hand. "See i forgot to tell you my husband is from (Random Foreign Country/Continent)" he giggles along with the audience.

"Oh, how exotic!" The man's wife cheerfully laughs.

"I never knew such a place as that existed" He says in a dark yet serious tone.

"Oh hush Author, have you no culture. Oh and the robe, I absolutely love it!" His wife replies trying to lighten up the awkward mood.

"Thank you so much ma'am-" you march through the living room and snatch off the silk scarves from all the lamps and tightly grab Vision's hand. "-Can I just see you in the kitchen for a moment, sweetheart?"

You both then slam your way through the kitchen door and it swings closed behind you, leaving Vision's boss and his wife behind as they sit down on the couch and patiently (more like impatiently on Arthur's end) wait for your return. You then turn around and look at each other before throwing questions.

"Who are those people?!"

"What are you wearing!?"

"Why are they here?"

"What are you wearing!?" Vision questions again boldly

"Well, it's out anniversary, that's why I'm wearing this!"

"Our anniversary of what?" Vison says, desperate to know what the hell you were talking about. Eventually you had enough of these shenanigan's and throw the scarves down at his feet stomping your way to the kitchen chairs. "Well if you don't know, I'm not going to tell you!" you exaggerate, crossing your arms and pouting like a child

"(Male Name), darling! That...that man through there is my boss Mr. Hart! And his dear lady wife Mrs. Hart! The heart on the calendar was an abbreviation!" Vision whispers, roughly tapping his hand on the black heart drawn on the dull colored calendar.

You grab your head and shake it trying to put everything together. "Vision sweetie, you move at the speed of sound and I can make a pen float through the air. Who. Needs. To. Abbreviate!?"

Vision grabs both of your shoulders in an attempt to collect his thoughts and calm you down. "Darling, listen, it's all romantic to do the candles, the music, that stunning outfit. I don't wanna be unappreciative, but right now-"

"Your boss and his wife are expecting a home-cooked meal. Correct?" Vision nods his head while muttering 'exactly' while look around the kitchen in order to find somethin to serve to the unwarned visitation of guests. After looking around for a but, your eyes land on the mini round table that held a plate and food on it. "Well, does your boss and his wife have a hunger for a single chocolate-covered strawberry, split three ways?" Vision hisses while clenching his fists and shaking his head no.

"Oh wait, I might have better ideas" Without hesitation you raise both of your sands and snap your fingers, magically changing your outfit to the one you were wearing earlier that day, a pair of dark high waisted cuffed slacks and a white blouse to match (you can change if you don't like), and the audience claps in astonishment at your transformation whilst you tie your apron in a bow behind your back. Vision gives you a quick peck on the cheek and runs back to the living room to keep others company while you figure out what to serve everyone.

---Time Skip---

After minutes of looking, you couldn't find anything in the kitchen, and the refrigerator was empty, so you decided to call your good neighbor Agnes to see if she could pick up some things from the store and bring it over. A couple of minutes pass and you finally hear a familiar knock on the back door in the kitchen. As soon as you open it Agnes rushes through with her hands full of groceries stacked to her chin as she stumbles through the kitchen. Before you could even mutter out a 'thank you' she stops you dead in your tracks and puts all the food down on the table. "Before you can say anything don't think about it. I mean, what kind of housewife would I be if I didn't have a gourmet meal for four just lying about the place. Not that Ralph wants to eat anything other than baked beans, which explains a lot about his personal appeal, mind you." The audience laughs one more at her silly humor as you quickly render to her aid to grab some of the groceries before they could fall. Unfortunately, it seems like the Universe was not on your side since the large cooking pot crashed and hit the ground, echoing throughout the kitchen, while Agnes yelled out an overexaggerated 'oh my'.

You had to get rid of Agnes and as quickly as you can, so you decided to just push her out the back door despite her protests to help you cook. "Thank you so much Agnes but I can take it from here-"

"Are you sure dear, many hands make light work. And many mouths make good gossip too!"

"Oh ahahaha, you are so naughty! But-"

"Oh, shall I preheat the oven then? hmm?"

"That won't be necessary, thank you for your time!"

Somehow she managed to escape your grasp on her waist and make her way back to the counter to crab some kitchen tools to start cooking for you. "Well, I know you're in a pinch so this menu can be done in a snap." She says snapping her fingers before continuing her rambling. you run back over to her and snatch the utensils from her, setting them on the counter, and grabbing her arms to march her back to the door. "Lobster Thermidor with mini-minced turnovers to start. Chicken à la King with twice-cooked new potatoes for your second course, and Steak Diane with mint jellies for your main. Oh wait! Do you set your own jellies, dear?"

"Yes Agnes I do, now can you please-"

"Ah there you go, good boy! Recipe cards are all on the counter there. Bon Appétit!"

"Haha, yes will do, thank you so much again Agnes! Bye now!" You say slamming the door, making the audience laugh at your exhausted expression. Now that she's gone, you run to the middle of the kitchen and throw your arms around, making all of the drawers and cabinets in the kitchen fly open, the dishes start floating out, and the food starts cooking. Out of no where the doors to the island bar swoop open to show Mrs. Hart, but before she could see Vision distracts her by breaking out and singing Yackety Yack by The Coasters, causing her to break out into a little dance, making her way back to the couch. Dear gods and goddess', how lucky are you to have a savior like him.

But little did you know, that the night was only just beginning.

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Finish the fic? Leave a like and comment if you enjoyed it. Also, give it a reblog too! Once again, I'm so sorry it was rushed! Please don't be afraid to let me know if there are any typos or errors. I will go back and edit this

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your--isgayrights · 3 years

Note

How about 999 yjh and uriel?

This went a bit past just 999, but I had fun with this prompt! Here's some cannon based Jonghyuk angst with happy ending lol.

The nine hundred ninety ninth regression was one that Yoo Jonghyuk planned based on his previous regressions, as he always did.

Although, it wasn't as if the previous two regressions, the nine hundred ninety seventh and eighth, were really the worst the starstream had seen of Yoo Jonghyuk. That title would probably be saved for the forty-first from which Yoo Jonghyuk was conscious of the fact he had to deliberately block memories from to stay sane.

No, the problem with the last two regressions wasn't the presence of any memories that were wretched to the point of novelty. The problem was the fact that Yoo Jonghyuk barely retained any memories of them at all.

It was all a haze… it was honestly hard to tell if those regressions had been even markedly different from the ones previous to them, as all of the repeated events seemed to mush together and meld with the centuries of anguish he had already endured.

He hadn't felt anything new. Done anything new. So much so that he would forget his place in the new regression and wander aimlessly thinking of the old until some high level constellation punk got a lucky shot at him.

And then all of a sudden, Yoo Jonghyuk woke up in that familiar train car. The one that no matter what would only last for the first thirty minutes of the scenario.

Almost out of habit, he looked for that boy he had been keeping an eye on. The one who always died.

He stopped when he realized.

999.

That boy had died one thousand times.

Yoo Jonghyuk had lived one thousand times. Been in this train car one thousand times. Failed to save anyone one thousand times. Died one thousand times.

Was he really that useless? Yoo Jonghyuk thought to himself, as he went through the motions of beating Choi Han-gyu to death before he could blow up the car.

Honestly, at this point maybe he should accept that he was just like the boy in this car.

No matter what he did, he was going to die anyway.

If he thought about it like that, then…

Well, what was the best thing that he could accomplish with his own death, knowing that it would come to him no matter what he did?

So in the nine hundred ninety ninth turn, Yoo Jonghyuk took more risks than ever before. He made choices and plans that he never would have before because experience had shown they were the antithesis to his former dogma. That which put his own means of survival above all else.

And little by little, Yoo Jonghyuk began to notice that things could be new again.

In this regression, his companions cared more about him. They respected him more, and opened up about things they never had. As if something in his actions connected to them. Made them think he acted out of love for them since his actions clearly showed no care for himself.

And maybe Yoo Jonghyuk wanted to believe them, too. That he was still capable of that sort of love. That desire for connection.

So he let himself fall into it. He made his decisions based on everyone's survival except for his own.

And his comrades continued to show new sides of themselves. The way Lee Jihye tried not to weep aver the bloody remains of his leg, even though no one had died that regression. How Lee Hyunsung's lips trembled while trying to stop the blessing where Yoo Jonghyuk's arm used to be. Shin Yoosung's open bawling, as it began to set in on Yoo Jonghyuk that he would never see this version of her's face ever again.

But Yoo Jonghyuk knew whose response to his actions had surprised him the most this regression.

"Jonghyuk. Are you ready?" The voice of a certain archangel was heard near his somehow still intact ears.

Uriel's face was close to his, a tight grip on his arm and waist along with the angelic wing steadied on his back the only support keeping him held upright as the others had followed his instructions in forging through the final battle ahead of them.

"There's no need to watch over me so closely, Uriel." He told her. It was, in fact, something he had been telling this strange angel recurrently ever since she had stepped down from Eden to join their group.

That was one thing he had never expected of the entity he had once known as the Demon-like Judge of Fire. In all the timelines he had been through Uriel had been just that, a silent judge. Reacting positively to his lawful actions in the early scenarios with coins, and expressing disappointment over his more morally dubious actions. Only descending after the destruction of Eden occasionally to cast judgement in person.

But something about this round had moved the archangel to act differently after the destruction of Eden this round.

"No offense, but there's obviously a d**n need for it, Jonghyuk." Uriel casually censored herself, as though the restrictions of Eden were still in place. "You can't see how the others are looking back towards you right now, but they know it too. That it's always times like this that you feel the need to go and take unnecessary risks."

Yoo Jonghyuk thought that he heard it in her voice, then.

That lilt in Uriel's voice that suggested she was talking to an old friend, even though the span of time in which he had met this version of her was infinitesimal in comparison to the life he had already lived before her, and perhaps compared to the life of a constellation as well.

Maybe Uriel, too, had lived through this all before. A war where she was called upon to support a comrade close to death.

Perhaps she also knew what it was like to be too helpless to save someone important.

Yoo Jonghyuk should be sorry that she would have to go through it again.

He could already feel it. No matter how close Uriel and her sword stayed by his side, Yoo Jonghyuk could feel his death coming to him.

It was because the outer world covenant wasn't an outside threat. It was something that was inside of him. A hole that came from the very center of him. Almost as if there were no outer world god involved, and Yoo Jonghyuk had really only done this to himself.

When everything was fading, and he could recognize her voice as one of the ones desperately calling out to him, Yoo Jonghyuk thought that he should apologize to her.

Instead, he died with a smile on his face.

The one thousandth regression was one that Yoo Jonghyuk planned based on his previous regressions, as he always did.

When he woke up on the train car again, he wasn't smiling as he had been when he died.

It was because he knew that he wouldn't let the events that let him get so far in the last regression repeat.

He couldn't live like that.

Suicidal idiot that he still was, he couldn't let the same thing happen to his precious memories of those friends in the nine hundred ninety ninth that had happened to every other memory he had of them from all those other regressions. Let them repeat until the point of oblivion. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't, even if it would be the right thing to do, even though it could save their lives, Yoo Jonghyuk just wasn't strong enough.

And he hated himself, for that weakness.

That was when Yoo Jonghyuk decided that he had to die, sitting there in that subway car before the scenarios started.

No matter what it took, killing every constellation in the starstream, losing distorted versions of old comrades, finding and wringing out his sponsor's neck…

Yoo Jonghyuk had to survive long enough to stand in front of that wall once more.

And join all of his once treasured memories in the deepest oblivion of death.

From then on, the only times he saw that Demon-like Judge of Fire descended from Eden was when she was sent with the express purpose to kill him in a way that didn't matter.

The only thing new he learned about her thereafter was how her corpse looked with a sword through the middle.

That was, until he met her as an outer god.

Secretive Plotter had wondered if it would please an angel like Uriel to know that he had prayed for the first time in that moment.

Prayed against all odds that her firey sword really could pierce through his curse of life and see him to his end.

But some dumb guy saved him that day.

And now, in the present, Yoo Jonghyuk was watching the kid version of that guy pick the green bits out of the omelette he had made him.

He had been trying to remember from the timelines where he had kids how he had tricked them into eating their vegetables, but like most of the times he tried to recall those deep memories of his, something in his brain had gotten caught up in that pesky number 999's time.

It was probably because his current company made those times hard to forget.

"Aaaaah I'm going to be late!" Uriel ran into the kitchen in a flash of blonde curls, going for the bread in the fridge as if she was going to run out of the house with toast in her mouth like a schoolgirl from one of her animes. "Jonghyuk do you know where Jihye is?"

"She already left." Yoo Jonghyuk reported, as he batted her hands off the bread and gave her a fork for the small omelette he had already put on the table for her. "Her first class this semester is in an early slot."

Even though he had told that girl to schedule her classes with the university early if she wanted good times…

"Shi-" Uriel seemed to remember there was no system to filter out her swears as she spared a glance toward Dokja before correcting herself. "Shoot. I mean shoot." She started speaking between bites as she scarfed down the omelette "I think that [munch] girl borrowed the shoes I was [chew] going to wear to my interview [gulp] without asking…"

"Does it really matter what shoes you wear?" Yoo Jonghyuk commented as he used his chopsticks to start placing Dokja's vegetables back into his omelette. "A former constellation is going to look strange submitting her manhwa manuscript to an editor for review no matter what."

"Give me a break." Uriel frowned. "It's not my fault that your world somehow made the mistake of making creative skills look more appealing on a resume than demon slaying skills."

Yoo Jonghyuk thought that there was truth to her observation, as he watched Uriel ruffle the hair of the pouting Dokja, before putting her clean plate in the sink for him to deal with later.

Everything about this world was new to Uriel. One could see it plainly in the very way she moved, unused to not carrying wings everywhere she went and walking ever so lightly on the earth wherever she went. Whether it was because she knew what it was to fly or because her shoulders had never felt so light before, Yoo Jonghyuk couldn't be sure.

"Good luck." He called, as Uriel walked out into the fray ahead of him, donning combat boots instead of the professional heel she seemed to have misplaced.

"Thanks Jonghyuk!" She replied, seemingly not compelled to look back to check on him as she walked out the door.

Yoo Jonghyuk had this certain feeling, then. A feeling that he often saw himself having in this new life of his, with these old friends of his.

Even though he thoroughly knew these people already, that fact made it all the more exciting to watch them grow into their roles in this world. Become the people that he never got to see them be.

"It's that look in your eye."

Yoo Jonghyuk almost startled, as he remembered he was being watched.

He turned to find young Dokja looking him with a gaze that seemed to see beyond his stoic expression.

"My father never looked at anyone like the way you looked at her just now, Hyung." He said, in that small, knowing voice of his, before a shyness seemed to come over him, and he looked down at his plate.

"That's why nine hundred ninety nine was always my favorite." He admitted, in a little voice

The emotion that Yoo Jonghyuk felt then was a rare one, but not entirely new.

A mixture of pride and bashfulness that only his own children had ever raised out of him, a glow that seemed to start from his chest and go on to cover his cheeks.

Perhaps an erstwhile familiarity with that feeling was the only thing that allowed him to save himself from smiling, as he tried very hard to tell Dokja sternly to eat his vegetables.

And when Uriel came home that evening to announce that her manuscript had gotten picked up… well, it wasn't hard to admit that Yoo Jonghyuk too was now living through a life that he never had before.

#tw suicide #not beta read btw dont beat me up if theres typos #orv #yoo junghyuk #yoo joonghyuk #yu junghyeok #uriel #orv uriel #demon like judge of fire #orv spoilers #ficlet #writing #kid dokja at the end a little bit haha i like 999th regression found family lol

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elspethc22 · 3 years

Text

Never Again

Sciles Week Day 2: Sleep Intimacy

Pairing: Scott/Stiles

Word Count: 1969

When Scott had asked Stiles at the school if he wanted to split up to investigate the train tracks and Stiles had responded ‘never again’ he’d meant it very literally. In the weeks since they’d defeated the Wild Hunt and its wannabe rider the Nazi, Stiles had spent a total of one night in a different bed to Scott. And that night hadn’t gone too well.

The first night, everyone had seemed to just accept that Scott and Stiles weren’t being separated so soon after getting Stiles (and everyone else) back from the Wild Hunt. With everyone suddenly back, both the Sheriff and Melissa had ended up being called back in to work as people tried to deal with, and once again try to explain away, the recent events.

Scott knew Stiles was going to want to go home, to see his house and his room and be in those familiar surroundings after so long, so it wasn’t even a question when he followed his best friend home that night. Like Stiles, he couldn’t bear to separated again so soon, not after so many months and not knowing who Stiles was, what he was missing, and then knowing and struggling to get him back.

When they reach the Stilinski household, Stiles parks the jeep and they hop out. Scott follows Stiles up to the front door, and then pauses when Stiles does, watching as Stiles just stares at the door.

‘Stiles?’ He prompted after a moment, and Stiles nodded, unlocking the door and letting them inside. Scott wondered if he should ask Stiles about eating – did things like that matter in the hunt? But he could tell from the slump in Stiles’ shoulders that he was exhausted, so he let Stiles lead them past the kitchen and up the stairs.

They changed into comfortable clothing and then settled into Stiles’ bed. At first they just lay there, side by side, just far enough apart that Scott could feel the distance.

‘Stiles, are you ok?’ He asked gently after they’d laid there in silence for a minute. Stiles turned his head, then rolled to face Scott. Scott did the same, so they lay staring at each other.

‘It’s just… I have to admit, there were a few moments there when I really wasn’t sure I was getting back here. It’s just…’ He trailed off, and Scott scooted forward, wrapping an arm around Stiles’ waist and pulling him forward, shifting his own body slightly so he could pull Stiles up next to him.

‘I get it. Right after you disappeared, Lydia was so adamant that she’d forgotten something, that there was something we were forgetting or missing, but none of us could really understand what she meant at first. Then, the more she talked about it, that feeling, the more I felt it creeping in and started noticing things. Like an empty space in a photo, little gaps in memories that just didn’t quite make sense, like why I would go looking for a body in the middle of the preserve.’ Scott paused, looking down at Stiles who had tilted his head up and was watching him.

‘Then, when I remembered you – when we heard your voice through the radio, I couldn’t understand how I ever forgot you. When we were using the machine to try and bring you back with our memories, it was so overwhelming, I couldn’t focus and now I think I know why – because you’re there in almost all of my memories, all the important moments in my life since we met. There were too many and I couldn’t focus it down, couldn’t pick just one that was important because they’re all important. Because it’s you. But I still couldn’t bring you back.’

That last bit was whispered, but Stiles clearly heard it as he suddenly sat up, holding Scott’s face between his hands to force him to look at him.

‘That’s not your fault, Scott. I don’t know everything, but I got enough from my dad to know that Lydia bringing me back has to be because she’s a banshee. He said that they never tried to come for her, the riders, and about that other town with the only person left behind being a banshee. So it’s not because you failed, Scott.’ Stiles told him, and continued to hold Scott’s face still and stare at him until Scott nodded.

Then Stiles nodded, clearly happy with Scott’s acquiescence, and laid back down, snuggling in close to Scott once again. Scott brought his arm back up around Stiles’ waist, and let himself settle in a bit more.

‘I’m so glad we got you back, Stiles.’ Scott whispered into the silence in the room after a few minutes.

‘I’m so happy you got me back too.’ Stiles whispered in return, then they both lapsed back into silence, and slowly started to drift off to sleep.

They woke the next morning when the Sheriff finally returned home from the station, popping his head into the room very briefly to check his son was really back and then tell them he was getting some sleep.

The sound of his dad woke Stiles, and he lifted a hand in acknowledgment, listening as his dad shut the door behind him. During the night, they had shifted so when they woke they were pressed Stiles’ back to Scott’s front, spooning together with Scott’s arm keeping them firmly together.

Stiles had a fleeting thought regarding his continual position as the little spoon before he pushed that aside and pressed back slightly, into the warmth of Scott’s body, feeling Scott’s arm tighten slightly in response. Stiles smiled, and let himself drift back off to sleep.

***************************************************************************

The second night, Scott had returned home to be with his mum and Stiles stayed home to spend time with his dad. When Stiles made his way up to bed, he went through the same routine as the night before, the same routine as always, getting into his pyjamas and crawling into bed.

He then proceeded to spend the rest of the night tossing and turning, waking every hour or two reaching across the bed for someone who wasn’t there, feeling cold and unable to get warm or with his heart racing as he thought he heard horses and whips. When his dad came to check on him in the morning, he was curled up on his side, staring at his phone trying to decide if it was too early to call Scott.

The decision was made for him when his phone suddenly rang, Scott calling him. He hurried to answer the call, holding the phone to his ear.

‘Scotty?’ He breathed into the phone, and heard a responding sigh.

‘Hey Stiles. Sorry if I woke you – ’

‘You didn’t. I uh, I couldn’t really sleep last night.’ Stiles admitted softly.

‘You either, huh?’ Scott asked and Stiles nodded even though Scott couldn’t see him.

‘I kept reaching for you, and you weren’t here.’ Stiles admitted in a low voice, knowing Scott would hear him.

‘Same.’ Scott whispered back, and Stiles closed his eyes.

The Sheriff stood in the doorway listening to the conversation, and was torn between being worried about Stiles’ inability to sleep apparently coming back, and being so happy to have him back and be able to listen to him talk to his best friend even if the topic wasn’t fantastic. With a silent signal to say he was heading to work, the Sheriff left his son still talking to Scott.

He wasn’t surprised when he got a text later that day from Stiles saying he was spending the night at Scott’s.

From then on, the boys alternated their nights between the Stilinski and McCall households, and either the Sheriff or Melissa lost track of the days, well if the boys weren’t at their respective houses they just made the assumption they were at the other house, and they were correct.

They both also assumed that after a few weeks, once everything started to settle again, they would slowly stop this and go back to what it had been like before. This assumption was not correct.

***************************************************************************

One month after Stiles’ return, the Sheriff went to wake his son for his graduation ceremony. After everything that had happened at Beacon Hills High School over the last few months (years) the ceremony had been slightly delayed. As the Sheriff opened the door, he bit back a sigh as he was once again greeted with the sight of Scott and his son curled up together in Stiles’ bed. He had really hoped that now that some time had passed, their shared need for each other to be able to sleep would fade, but that did not seem to be passing.

This morning, Scott was curled up on his side, facing the wall, and Stiles was curled around him, one arm slung across Scott’s midsection, holding him close. They’d often shared a bed as they’d grown up, a closeness forged from a shared grief of losing a parent (albeit in different ways), of being different from their classmates due to asthma and ADHD and being each other’s only real friends for so long. But this was different, this was a new type of closeness and the Sheriff wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

He also worried that now that school was over, and the future upon them with college and who knew what else that this co-dependency for sleep would not end well for either boy. But he knew that saying that to them wouldn’t help, at least not saying outright. Perhaps it was time to talk to Melissa.

He cleared his throat, knocked a couple of times on the door and spoke.

‘Boys, time to wake up – graduation day.’ Stiles stirred first, surprisingly given Scott’s werewolf hearing and reflexes. He turned his head towards the door and gave his dad a smile.

‘Morning dad.’ The Sheriff smiled in returned, then nodded towards Scott.

‘Wake Scott up, get dressed and come down for breakfast. Melissa will be here to join us in half an hour.’ Stiles nodded then turned back towards Scott. The Sheriff stepped back, but then paused, watching his son gently shake Scott.

‘C’mon Scotty, time to get up. Big day today.’ He said, hand on Scott’s shoulder. Scott mumbled and then he brought his hand up to wipe at his face then turned to face Stiles without dislodging Stiles’ arm from his waist.

‘Morning.’ He said lowly, his voice still think with sleep.’ Stiles smiled at him.

‘Can you believe it, Scott? Graduation! We made it – we actuallymade it.’ Scott grinned at him, then his smiled softened slightly.

‘I couldn’t have made it without you.’ Scott told Stiles, who ducked his head. Scott lifted a hand and tilted Stiles’ head back up to look at him. ‘I mean it. No way I’d be here if it wasn’t for you.’

‘Same, Scott. You’ve saved me more times than I can count. And I wouldn’t want to be here without you.’ Stiles admitted and the Sheriff closed his eyes tight. He didn’t want to believe the sentiment but he heard the truth in his son’s voice.

‘I wouldn’t want to be here without you either.’ Scott responded, and the Sheriff heard the truth there too.

When he let his eyes open again, Scott had wrapped an arm around Stiles’ waist, and the other had worked its way up between them to hold Stiles’ cheek, and their foreheads were pressed together. Stiles’ eyes were closed, and Scott was watching him.

Maybe he did know what to make of it after all, although he did wonder if the boys had realised yet. He’d have to let Melissa know this wasn’t going to be stopping any time soon.

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