#<-there's also that but i would love this even without that association

[we-rice-boi]

How do yall think the LADS men would react to MC being a tyrant in high-school/ college?

Warning!! Slightly suggestive? Not that much but still- idk

Edit: I just did a bit of maintenance, I don't have a beta so excuse my spelling and sentence structure, this is just my mad ramblings.

I'm working on a structured version of this prompt where I use "you" instead of "her" just to make it more gender neutral and immersive (gender neutral rep for my enby heart 😭) but ya!! See yall when I do that and enjoy!!

Id imagine MC would have a reputation for being this untouchable delinquent who'd beat up guys twice her size for the fun of it. Like the few ppl who she managed to make friends with describe her as a "retired crash out" (in my opinion that isn't true because I firmly believe that woman still has her moments now and again).

The only reason she even got into the hunter associate was because one of the recruits saw that she had a good heart, on top of her fighting skills, and thought they could shape her to use her skills to help ppl without being a vigilante. I can imagine the association burying her criminal record with some excuse about her being too young or a minor or something.

However, her nickname is still talked about to the freshman. Like it's gotten to the point where she becomes a campus legend. It could be something like the time bomb. Just something that is related to a bomb.

I also think her main target would be shirty frat boys. Gurlie is a man whores worst nightmare and the savior of brokenheartes that were a result of cheating assholes.

I think Zayne would be like "That checks out" because she was just as feral as a child. They met because she was the weird kid who scared off his bullies when they were in kindergarten. He'd just be worried about how that would've affected her condition but other than that he just shivers at the thought of what college MC would've been like....and just the slightest bit turned on.

For Rafayel I think he'd be a Lil upset that he wasn't there to witness it first hand. Like he'd be her number 1 hype man while also helping her out when she's off her guard. Although, once he starts really looking into it he gets really surprised at the shit she used to do. Like in my head when I'm imagining MC, all I can think about is Yuji from JJK when he was just lifting random heavy shit and launching it at ppl.

IDC if it's unrealistic, that shit is funny as hell and Rafayel's face when he sees the report state that you launched a full-on motorcycle at someone because he touched her ass is PRICELESS!! He's thinking "I know I hired her as my bodyguard as an excuse to get close to her but damn...maybe I made the right choice for a bodyguard in general". Also like Zayne he finds it weirdly hot how strong you are.

Sylus is like Rafayel when it comes to wishing he was there so they could be the top delinquent couple in the school. YOUR BATTLES WOULD BE LEGENDARY. He'd also be amused at how such a small body could pack such a punch.

Not like he doesn't know that firsthand when she hands his ass to him on a paper plate daily. He's not gonna be surprised, he knew how much of a crash out she was from her past life and he loves it. You can't convince me he doesn't love getting his aas beat by her- he is too smug about it! I can imagine him seeing the reports in full and letting her take the lead when it comes to a few missions. He just wants to see her relive her college days and have front-row seats to her crashing out on some goons. Of course, he'd be there for support but knows that she's got this.

I'm not too good at getting into the mind of Xavier yet but I think he'd be just as intrigued as the others and a bit worried. Like it makes sense to him now because he's seen her go toe to toe with giant wanderers without a second thought. However, like Vi from Arcane, she often blocks with her face and that's a concerning habit to have. As a warrior himself, he respects her fighting style though, and how she only fought to protect the innocent. In all, he just wants to know everything about her college life and he often finds himself comparing it to the present her. Just to see what's different and what stays the same. He still wants a demonstration of how tf she threw cars at ppl. I can see him getting so excited at her displaying her strength... and again all of them are weird as fuck so he obviously finds it Hella attractive.

Anyways thank you for reading my cringe ramblings. There goes another LADs reaction prompt to do that I can put on my list along with the others. Will I ever finish one? Tune in to find out!!

P.s. also gimme ur thoughts on what you think about the prompt.

[tagsecretsanta]

From @pareidoliaonthemove

From @pareidoliaonthemove to @littleoldrachel

The Art of a Gift

Fanfic for the TAG Secret Santa 2024

@pareidoliaonthemove

NOTES:

For TAG Secret Santa 2024

Prompts: 1 Nightmare Before Christmas | 2 “Well, SOMEONE just made the naughty list…” | 3 Feeling sad but everyone expects them to be happy because it’s Christmas!

Extra: Virg is my favourite but I’m happy with anything!

I hope this story fits the bill, and a wishing the recipient, and all the Thunderfam a very happy Christmas, filled with all the things you love the best!

Virgil Tracy approached the cluster of girls in the schoolyard nervously. While he knew the laws that governed the hierarchy of the school now allowed him to approach them, his gut instinct told him to keep away.

Boys who like art and piano do not associate with cheerleaders, and ‘in girls’.

But Candice Callen – cheerleader, ‘in girl’ and widely acknowledged as the prettiest girl in their year – had asked him on a date.

Virgil had been uncertain about accepting – things like that just don’t happen, not for real, but no matter the circumstances, boys like him don’t turn down girls like her – not if he wants to survive to graduate.

So Virgil had accepted, even if he spent the whole time waiting for her parents to chase him off their doorstep, or the football team to materialise and do god-knows-what to him (stories of past ‘pranks’ abounded throughout the school and had traumatised Virgil and all his friends before they even thought of casting eyes at girls).

But nothing bad had happened. Candice had introduced him to her parents as her boyfriend, and declared him as such to several other couples from her circle of friends that had been at the restaurant they had eaten at. At the end of the night, Candice had looked up at him shyly, and said she had enjoyed it, and would he like to go out again…?

Virgil, still in a state of shock and unsure about what exactly was going on, had stammered out an agreement, and somehow found himself going on a succession of dates with the prettiest, most popular girl in school.

That his father and grandmother were also doubtful about this new and unexpected relationship was also concerning. But Virgil couldn’t find a graceful way to extract himself from the situation while ensuring that he could walk the school grounds without being either shunned or beaten to a pulp, and time progressed until it was nearly Christmas and Virgil found himself attending a succession of Christmas parties that he would normally not have set foot on the same street as.

And when Virgil somehow found himself attending the Christmas party for his father’s company with Candace on his arm, wearing a dress that had his grandmother tutting with disapproval, his father frowning censoriously and asking pointed questions about Candice being cold, while his brothers eyes were out on stalks, and Virgil was afraid to touch her, lest he make contact with Something That He Should Not Touch.

It was much earlier than customary when Jeff summoned Kyrano to take ‘the kids’ home, to the poorly concealed delight of the five Tracy brothers and Kayo, and the pouting disappointment of Candice.

But Christmas was nearly upon them, and now Virgil was nervously approaching his girlfriend and her friends. He was spotted as he dithered a short distance away.

“Virgil!” Candice squealed, throwing her arms wide and running towards him. Virgil resolutely Did Not Look at the bouncing of her sweater front. She stopped a short distance from him, placed her hands on his shoulders, and leaned in, performing her customary European Double Cheek Kiss with two loud ‘muwah’s, her left foot raised behind her.

Virgil, at a loss what to do, had rested his hands just above her elbows, as she pulled away, he let his hands slide down her arms to catch her hands. “I, uh, I was wondering if, if it would be alright if I came around tonight to deliver your Christmas present?” he asked, feeling his face heat up as the cluster of girls behind Candice elbowed each other and tittered. “You know, with you heading out of state to visit family…”

“Oh, Virgil! A present? Oh, you shouldn’t have!” Candice cooed, and then she giggled coyly. “My parents will be home, so I hope it isn’t that kind of present…”

Virgil flushed beet red at the laughter from her cohort. “NO! No! Oh, no! Nothing like that!” Then Candice pouted and Virgil realised how his words could have been taken. “I mean, um, what, ah, that…”

Candice giggled again. “Silly. I was teasing. Of course you can come around tonight, you know my step-mom and dad like you and you’re always welcome!”

Virgil swallowed. That was true, Mrs Callen had been a friend of his moms, back then she had been in her first marriage, and had been a meek and nervy woman – Virgil had been too young to understand at the time; but with her second marriage she had flourished, and was by all accounts a ‘good match’ with Mr Callen, a well-respected accountant and volunteer firefighter in the town. Virgil had long been familiar with both adults, and they had been nothing but welcoming when he visited their house.

“Uh, okay. Would about five thirty be okay? Only I can’t stay long, because …”

Candice waved away his explanation. “Five thirty will be perfect, Virgil. And Toby has some dreary Rescue Scouts thing that I have to go to, and he’s got to be there for six-thirty.”

Virgil would also be at the ‘dreary’ Rescue Scouts ‘thing’: it was John’s last mid-year presentation, and he was being honoured as one of the thirty Scouts ever, world wide, to have accomplished all badges, and all three of the ‘Personal Improvement’ Challenges. John was particularly pleased to be receiving his recognition at the Mid-Year. It meant he had beaten Scott by six months.

Virgil nodded. “Okay. Um. I’ll see you at five thirty?”

Candice nodded, and pulling her hands free, turned, and hurried back to her friends, disappearing into their midst amid a tsunami of giggles.

Virgil backed away a few steps until he was sure they had lost interest in him, before scurrying back to where he belonged.

“All set, kiddo?” Grandma Tracy looked at Virgil slumped nervously his unaccustomed seat in the front of her car.

“Uh, yeah,” Virgil glanced at the back seat, where the gift was carefully strapped into one of the rear seats. Scott sat on the other side of the car, and grinned encouragingly at him. His eldest brother was back from College having turned in his assignments early, and having withstood his father’s interrogation on the subject, was now along for the ride to ‘support’ Virgil.

Jeff had taken his other three sons to the hall early to help set up, and Scott and Grandma would join in after dropping Virgil at the Callens house, and would be back exactly forty-five minutes later to collect him.

Virgil stared out his widow at the house. He was sweating, and it had nothing to do with the heater Grandma had on full blast in the car.

“It’ll be fine, Virg. She’ll love it,” Scott said. “Do you want a hand carrying it to the door?”

“NO!” Virgil yelped, before shamefacedly turning to face his brother. “Sorry, no, I’ll be fine. I’m just…” he waved a hand. “I’ve not done this before, okay?”

Scott grinned his unrepentant amusement, and Grandma chuckled sympathetically. “Come on, kiddo. Out you get. Faint heart, and all that…”

Virgil flushed again and scrambled to escape the car. He still remembered her giving Scott advice – rather graphic advice – about how to french kiss, when Scott had embarrassedly admitted to a disastrous attempt at a kiss with an early girlfriend. He did not want to hear what she might come out with for this situation.

It was with his Grandmother’s fond laughter ringing in his ears that Virgil mounted the front stairs to the Callen’s house, carefully carrying the large gift wrapped package. He waited a moment to ensure the car had turned the corner on its way to the hall before he rang the doorbell.

It was a suspiciously short time before the door opened. Mrs Callen was there, “Virgil! Come in, we’ve been expecting you.”

As Virgil shuffled into the house with his package, Mrs Callen scanned the road outside. “Your ride already left, Virgil?”

He nodded. “Yes, Mrs Callen. Grandma and Scott have gone to help set up the hall. Dad and the others are already there.”

She smiled. “Toby and his Dad are there helping set up, too.” A glance towards the stairs. “Candice takes a bit of time to get read, and I needed time to get the dinner sorted. So we’ll catch them up. If you’re going to the hall too, we can give you a ride?”

Virgil smiled. “Thank you, Mrs Callen, but I’m under strict instructions. I think Dad is looking for a way to make sure Grandma’s not asked to help in the kitchen again,” he added, conspiratorially and she smiled.

“I don’t think there’s anybody new enough to make that mistake,” Mrs Callen reassured him, then paused taking in the gift wrapped parcel, Virgil was clutching.

“Why don’t you wait in the lounge, and I’ll hurry Candice along? I promise, I’ll keep out of your way!”

Virgil flushed, muttered his thanks and followed Mrs Callen to the door to the lounge room. As she hurried off, Virgil carefully propped the gift up against the low coffee table, and turned to stand beside it, facing the door.

Virgil was always nervous when he performed, or when people saw his art, but it seemed to him that this was the worst he’d ever been. He felt hot and cold by turns, there was no oxygen in the room, and it took him a second to realise that what he had thought was some weird metal band being played at high volume was actually his own heartbeat.

This is stupid, he told himself. It’s just a present. I’m just giving her a present. He ran through the breathing exercises his music teacher had taught him and gradually he restored control of his own body.

Candice appeared in the doorway. “Virgil! You made it!” she squealed, and he had yet another repeat of the shoulder-grip double European Cheek Kiss.

“Uh, yeah. Grandma dropped me off. She’s got to pick me up in a bit…” Candice gave him a blank look. “Oh, um, so,” he picked up the package and held it out to her. “This is for you,” he said, awkwardly. “Ah, Happy Christmas?”

Candice blinked at the gift and took it, her face a wide, toothy smile. “Oh, thank you!” she cooed. She tore off the paper, letting it fall to the floor around her feet. Virgil shuffled slightly to the side as she held the revealed canvas out at arms length, so he could see her expression. For a second there was the blank look, then she frowned at the canvas. Virgil’s heart sank.

He knew the painting – a portrait of Candice – wasn’t his very best work, but it was very, very far from his worst. He’d had the realisation that he’d be expected to give her a gift a bit too late, but overall, he was pleased with the result.

He shifted a little, and Candice seemed to realise that he was watching her. The wide, toothy smile that plastered itself to her face was unconvincing, as she exclaimed, “Oh, it’s amazing, Virgil! To think you painted a portrait of little old me!”

Virgil relaxed. Maybe she wasn’t used to receiving art? It had long ago become his go-to. Paintings, drawings, small sculptures and specially written piano music were received with great enthusiasm by his family and the friends he gifted them to.

Candice set the painting on the lounge and looked back at him expectantly. Virgil flushed, his nervousness returning as he realised he didn’t know what she was waiting for him to do. “Um, I’m glad you like it,” he hedged. “I don’t normally give people portraits, not of themselves, but I realised I didn’t know what your favourite type of landscape was, and a still life seemed too, uh, generic, you know? Just … not personal enough? Ah, I’ll get it framed, I just didn’t know what type of frame … Mr Mishra, has a shop just off Main, I always get him to frame my paintings. Um, it’ll have to be in the New Year, though, he’s gone to India to visit some cousins…”

Virgil ran out of things to say, while he was waiting for Candice to … stop looking at him like that.

The silence stretched for a moment, and the frown began to form on Candice’s face. “Is that it?” she asked.

“Is what it?”

“Is that it? Is that all you’re giving me? A painting? Where’s the rest of my present?”

Virgil stared at her. “The frame. You’ll need to choose that…”

He cringed under the thunderous frown. “Virgil,” Candice said, very slowly and deliberately. “I am not your mother. This is not Mothers Day in kindergarten. This is Christmas, and I am your girlfriend. And some tacky painting you made yourself isn’t going to cut it. I know you know what I want. And I know you brought it. There was only one, and it’s gone now. The day after I marked it out for you.” She glared. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, turning up with this painting, but I’m giving you one chance to get it right. You hear?”

Virgil nodded, his knees feeling week.

“Good. I’m going to tell everyone that my present, my real present, had a problem with it, and it’s taking some time to get it fixed. You can give it to me once I’m back at school from my trip. At lunch the first day. In front of everyone. So make it good. Make sure everyone knows how valuable I am. Understand?”

Virgil nodded.

“Good. Now go. And. Fix. This. Up.”

Virgil went.

He was halfway to the hall before he realised what he was doing. He paused, shivering in the street as the wind cut him straight to the bone, as he considered his options. If he called for a ride, he would be both reprimanded for walking alone and so far in the cold, and interrogated for the reason for his quick departure from the Callens.

Virgil had to go to the Rescue Scouts presentation. Virgil didn’t want to go to the Rescue Scouts presentation. He wanted to go home. He needed to think. And he needed quiet to do so. Candice’s words had shaken him to his core. Tacky. Childlike. What if everyone though that? What if Dad, Grandma and his brothers thought he was tacky and childish and cheap giving them gifts he had made, rather than spending his money on them, like they did for him?

He started walking, only to stop after a few dozen steps. What if Mom hadn’t liked his gifts?

The cold that chilled him now had nothing to do with the wind.

Eventually Virgil managed to get his feet moving, Jeff’s long-held mantra kickstarting his thought processes. When problems dogpile on you, start working on the most immediate one. First up, Virgil needed to get to the Rescue Scouts Presentation, and come up with an excuse for not calling for a ride, or waiting for the appointed pickup time.

He still didn’t have a suitable explanation by the time he slipped into the Hall, and almost straight into his grandmother.

“Virgil! I was just heading out to pick you up!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here so soon?”

“I, um…”

He was saved by Grandma glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, Mrs Callen is here. I hope you thanked her, young man.”

“Yes, Grandma.” It wasn’t lying, Virgil told himself. He had thanked Mrs Callen, just not for what Grandma thought he had. He quickly sought to change the subject. “Is there anything I can help with?”

Grandma smiled at him, “You’re a good boy, Virgil. Yes, they still need help setting out chairs up the back.”

Virgil nodded, and fled to the back of the hall, on the far side from his father and brothers and started dutifully lining up chairs for the audience.

Caught up with trying to figure out which of the next of his problems, Virgil lost track of his familys whereabouts, and bumped into his father. “Virgil, you’re here early,” Jeff said, surprised. “How did it go, son?”

Virgil froze, he had no story ready and no desire to tell his father exactly how badly he had messed up.

Mr Callen came to his rescue. “Jeff, honestly, what a question! Would you have told your father the particulars of a meet-up with your girlfriend at his age?”

Jeff chuckled. “I guess not, at that.” He smiled at Virgil. “I’m sure she loved her present, son. I just like seeing you get the appreciation you deserve.”

Virgil’s heart sank at the words. What did his father mean by that? Did he really think Virgil deserved praise? Or was that a way of saying that Virgil deserved the scorn and disdain Candice had just shown him? He forced a smile. “Thanks, Dad,” and fled with another chair.

Virgil was living in a nightmare.

It was less than a week to Christmas, and every waking moment was taken up by trying to figure out how to fix the problems he suddenly fond himself faced with.

He had nearly two hundred dollars in his hidden wallet. One hundred and ninety three dollars and eighty cents, to be exactly.

One hundred and ninety three dollars and eighty cents. One week to Christmas. Four brothers, and two adults. And a girlfriend who had apparently told him what he was expected to buy. Her comment about how ‘valuable’ the gift was to show her to be suggested that he was supposed to give her an expensive present.

Virgil threw himself into all the chores and after-school jobs he could, trying to scrape every last cent he could to firm up his personal finances, while he tried to figure out what to do. Should he use all his money to buy a present for Candice and try to save his hide at school? Should he commit social suicide and try to buy acceptable gifts for his family? Virgil couldn’t decide what to do.

And all the while he went to school, and tried to focus on his lessons; continued his usual after-school lessons and activities; and fulfilled his Christmas-related obligations – playing piano for carol concerts for the hospital, and two of his Grandmother’s fundraising extravaganzas. All the while he tried to hide the true extent of his misery and confusion.

He knew he wasn’t managing it: reprimands for daydreaming in class, followed by concerned questions about his health from teaches; teasing comments from his brothers about ‘moping because he was missing his girlfriend’; and frequently being felt for fever and having his throat and glands checked by his father and grandmother, who were concerned that he was coming down with a seasonal malady. Virgil desperately tried to deflect all this unwanted attention, it was a distraction he didn’t need. There were concerned looks, but everyone backed off, not wanting to provoke a quarrel this close to the time of peace and goodwill.

But time ticked steadily away, and Virgil was very aware of the looming deadline that grew nearer and more ominous.

It was two days before Christmas, and Jeff Tracy was worried. Virgil had been quiet, withdrawn and anxious for nearly a week and for the life of him, Jeff couldn’t figure out why. If he had to make a guess, he would say that the exchanging of Christmas gift with the Callen girl hadn’t gone well, but Virgil had denied it when asked. Although it hadn’t escaped either Jeff or Sally’s notice that there didn’t appear to have been a reciprocal gift.

Both Jeff and his mother had been surprised when Virgil had announced that he had a date with the girl – she wasn’t in his usual circle of friends, and didn’t appear to have anything in common with Virgil; but now that surprise was becoming a vague concern.

Sighing, Jeff pushed his concerns aside. Failed romances were practically a right of adolescence, and at least Virgil wasn’t indulging in the drama that had accompanied some of Scott’s early forays into the world of romance.

He turned his attention back to what he was supposed to be doing: wrapping Christmas gifts. His main gifts had already been wrapped and slid safely under the Christmas tree, protected from Gordon and Alan’s inquisitive fingers by the barrier of the booby-trapped old playpen. But, it had almost become tradition for Jeff to make last-minute purchases – that little something that always seemed perfect when he saw them – that could be wrapped and used to sate the boys exuberance Christmas morning before everyone was ready to face the day.

He pulled the small bag towards him, and pulled out the box it contained. He had been surprised to find a jewellers catalogue open on the kitchen table, a scribbled circle highlighting a diamond and titanium tennis bracelet. The only person who could have done it was his mother, and it was unlike her to show a particular interest in jewellery, but he had a vague memory of her speaking of her grandmother and a bracelet the woman had always worn. It had gone to a cousin, as Jeff recalled, claimed by her uncle as his right as the oldest son to bestow it upon his daughters. Maybe the bracelet reminded her of her grandmothers? The two thousand dollar price tag was expensive, but he could afford it now, and it was Christmas.

He had only managed to cut down the wrapping paper and find where the tape and ribbon had disappeared to when there was a knock on the door. Desperately flipping his comforter over the mess on his bed, Jeff called out, “Who’s there?”

“Jeff, you’ve got a phone call. Simon Callen. He says it’s very urgent he speaks to you – privately.”

His heart sinking, Jeff went to the door and, carefully blocking his mother’s view of the bed, slid outside, firmly closing the door behind him. His mother was twisting her hands anxiously in the corridor. Jeff understood her anxiety. Simon Callen, the father of Virgil’s girlfriend, making an urgent and private phone call from his holiday; what had Virgil been up to?

“I’ve transferred the call to your study, and I’ll keep the boys away from the main phone,” Sally told him.

“Thanks, Mom,” he caught and squeezed her hand. “I’ll find out what all this is about, and I’ll let you know.”

Hurrying to his study, Jeff again secured the door behind him, and slid into his chair, as he accepted the waiting call. The video screen flared to live and he was surprised to see a devastated looking Simon Callen. All sorts of scenarios filled his mind. “Simon, what…?”

“Jeff, I’m sorry to bother you, but I thought this needed to be dealt with immediately.”

Jeff’s heart sank. Oh, god, what?

“Do you know what Virgil’s gift to Candice was?”

Jeff blinked. That was not what he expected from Simon’s greeting. “Um, a painting. I think it was a portrait of Candice?”

Simon bit his lip. “So he hadn’t brought anything else, some jewellery?”

A niggling thought began to worry at Jeff’s mind. “Not that I know of. Virgil always gifts things he’s made – paintings, sculpture or music he’s written.”

Simon nodded. “That’s what I thought.” He sighed. “Jeff, Mary and I overheard Candice talking to a cousin today, she was saying how Virgil was going to ‘fix up’ his screw up with the present he’d given her, that he’d tried to ‘cheap out’ on her by trying get out of giving her some bracelet she’d indicated to him she wanted, and she knew he’d brought.”

Everything suddenly clicked into place. Jeff swallowed. “I can promise you that Virgil didn’t buy the bracelet. He probably didn’t even know he was supposed to buy it. I found a catalogue with a bracelet indicated. I thought it was my mother highlighting something she liked. I brought the bracelet.” Jeff smiled thinly. “Virgil wouldn’t have been able to afford it, at any rate.”

Simon sagged with relief. “I’ve told Candice that she’s not going to be seeing any boys, and especially not Virgil. From what we’ve gotten out of my niece, Candice has been pulling this kind of racket for a while. She set her sights on Virgil because she’s decided that you’re rich, and he’ll pay to be seen with her.” His lips tightened. “I’ll be contacting the school, to ensure that they know to keep an eye on her, and try to get some information about other boys she might have been … pursuing.”

Jeff nodded. It would be humiliating for Simon and Mary. They were good people, and certainly wouldn’t have raised Candice to be like that. “I’m sorry, Simon. I appreciate how hard this must be for you. I’ll talk to Virgil, in the meantime. I’ll do everything I can to help you through this, Simon. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if any of my boys had done something similar.”

Simon smiled sadly. “You’re a good friend, Jeff. I just wish…”

Jeff nodded. “I you and me both.” He offered a smile of his own. “I know it’s going to be awkward for you, but I hope you have a good Christmas.”

Simon sighed. “It’ll be hard, but we’ll try, Jeff. The same to you and your family. And I’ll be in touch.”

As the videophone went dead in front of him, Jeff sighed. Oh god. Now wonder Virgil had been moping. His thoughts went to the catalogue and bracelet in his room. Two thousand dollars. How did the girl think Virgil would be able to afford that?

Jeff had a moment of doubt. He hadn’t doubted until now that his mother had highlighted the bracelet. Could he be wrong about the girl?

Jeff left his office, slid into his room and gathered up the catalogue and jewellers box. Bundling them into a jumper he pulled off the chair Lucy had always insisted she needed in the bedroom, and Jeff had never had the heart to remove permanently, Jeff went in search of his mother.

“Jeff, what did he have to say?” He indicated the kitchen and shut the door after her before turning to face her.

Jeff pulled out the catalogue. “Mom, did you mark this out?” he handed her the paper, cover folded back to show the advertisement for the bracelet.

She took the catalogue, glanced at the page and shook her head. “No, wh-” her eyes went wide in shock. “She didn’t?”

“Apparently she did,” Jeff said grimly. “Simon and Mary overheard her bragging about it to a cousin.”

Her eyes turned to the door. “That poor boy. No wonder he’s been so quiet.”

Jeff nodded. “I’m going to have to talk to him. Can you keep the others away from my study? I know it has the best soundproofing, but you know what they’re like.”

Sally nodded. “You take care of Virgil. I’ll sort out the rest of them, Jeff.”

A grin. “Don’t be too harsh on them, Mom.”

She snorted, and pushed him gently towards the door, tucking the catalogue into his grip. Jeff took the hint and went to the lounge, where the boys were all playing a board game, Virgil only giving it half his concentration.

“Sorry to interrupt, boys, but I need to talk to Virgil.” The five of them looked up, Virgil’s expression stricken, as the others were surprised.

Jeff held out an arm to his son, and Virgil reluctantly stood up and shuffled towards his father. Jeff swept his arm around his sons shoulders and started guiding him towards the study. Behind him, Jeff could hear Gordon snickering, “Well, SOMEONE just made the naughty list…” before John and Scott shushed him, and his Mom pounced, chivvying the boys to some chore she suddenly desperately needed completed.

Jeff directed Virgil to a chair in his study as he shut the door behind them, and dragged his office chair around to face his dejected son. “I’ve just had a call from Simon Callen,” he began cautiously.

All the colour drained from Virgil’s face. “Wh...what did he want?” he asked, his voice unusually high.

Jeff pulled out the catalogue and handed it to Virgil. “Have you seen this?” he asked. Virgil took the catalogue frowned and shook his head. Then something caught his attention, and he – almost impossibly – paled even further, his lips moving inaudibly. Jeff lipread his sons words ‘Two thousand’.

“I thought your grandmother had highlighted the bracelet,” he said. Pulling out the box and offering it, open, to his son.

In shock, Virgil accepted it, and considered the bracelet. “It’s pretty, but it’s not really Grandma’s style,” he finally managed. “She’d probably prefer a hinged circle type. Um, kind of like a tighter fitting gypsy bracelet?”

Jeff considered, and took the box back, examining the bracelet again. “You’re probably right on that,” he conceded. “I thought it maybe reminded her of a bracelet her grandmother had had, that went to a cousin.”

Virgil gave a silent ‘oh’ in response. They remained silent as Jeff closed the box, and again re-wrapped it and the catalogue in the jumper which he sat on the desk. Jeff sighed. “Did she ask you for other presents?” Jeff asked gently.

Virgil shook his head. “No.” He paused. “I didn’t know she had ‘asked’ for the bracelet until I gave her her gift.”

Jeff nodded. “How did that go, Virgil? Honestly, this time.”

He was alarmed when Virgil’s eyes immediately filled with tears. It took a moment before Virgil managed to say, “At first she made out like she liked it. But then she was … waiting. Like she expected something more, you know?” Jeff nodded. “Then she said … she called the painting tacky, and said that it was childish giving a painting I’d painted.” Virgil stopped, taking several deep breaths before he continued. “She said she knew I’d brought when she’d wanted, and I had one chance to ‘fix it’. I had to give her her ‘real present’ at school in front of everyone. And they had to know how ‘valuable’ she is.”

Virgil bit his lip, for a long moment, then looked up at his father, his eyes threatening to overfill with tears. “Dad,” he whispered, “am I childish and cheap giving people presents that I made?”

Jeff swallowed the lump in his throat, and ignored the burning in his own eyes. “No, Virgil,” he managed, ignoring how his own voice caught, in his throat. “We all, that is your brothers, Grandmother and myself, all know how much time and effort you put into your gifts. It’s the thought you put into what you make, considering what people like, and how best create it.” Jeff smiled wryly, “Between you and me, it can be something of a relief to know that I’m guaranteed one present that isn’t more pairs of socks or underwear, you know?”

Virgil stared at him, and suddenly, uncharacteristically, threw himself at his father, wrapping his arms around him and burrowing his face into his chest. Jeff quickly felt the shuddering breaths and developing damp patch on his shirt front, and his heart broke a little more. Gently rocking his son as though he were several years younger than his actual age, he began stroking the back of his head, quietly waiting out Virgil’s emotions.

It was a long while, but finally Virgil’s breathing settled and sniffing embarrassedly, he pulled back. Jeff let him go a little way, but kept his hold. He examined Virgil’s face carefully, before offering his handkerchief. “Feel better?” he asked as Virgil scrubbed at his face.

Virgil nodded. “I’d been all twisted up, I didn’t know what to do.” He pulled back again, searching for his seat, and Jeff let him go. “I didn’t know what Candice thought I’d brought, and I just felt sick thinking that everyone might think the same as she did…” His breath hitched again. “I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.”

Jeff looked at him in askance. “Candice is one of the ‘it girls’, and everyone says she’s the prettiest girl at school. You don’t say ‘no’ to her. Not if you want to survive at school.”

Jeff’s eyebrows rose. “So you dating her…”

Virgil shrugged. “She asked me. Maybe one of the footballers, or someone like that might get to turn her down, but me?” Virgil shook his head. “It’d have been like declaring war on the popular kids, Dad.” Virgil looked down, embarrassed. “And, I think, I liked that she asked me.” He coloured. “But I didn’t really like her, you know?” Jeff nodded. “We had nothing in common, but she kept asking me out again, and telling people I was her boyfriend, and I kinda … never had a chance to say otherwise.”

Jeff nodded again. “Well, you won’t have to tell her ‘no’,” he offered. “Her parents are banning her from seeing any boys, and they’re going to explain to the school what’s happened. I think they’re planning on following up with other boys she’s done the same thing to. Make her pay them back for the, uh, ‘gifts’ she’s asked for.”

Virgil offered a tight smile. “That might be a long list.” Then his shoulder’s sagged. “I’ve been an idiot, falling for this, haven’t I?” he asked despondently.

Jeff reached over to lift his face up with gentle pressure under his chin. “No, Virgil,” he said, firmly and maintaining eye contact. “You’ve been young. You’ve been inexperienced. You’ve been trusting. And you’re not the only one. There’s no shame in what you’ve done. Understand me?” He waited for an affirmative response. “And the next time you come across a woman like her, you’ll be older and wise for this experience.”

Virgil stared at his father. “You really think there will be more like her?”

Jeff sighed. “Yes, son. I’m afraid there will be. The business is starting to move ahead, and we’re … better off than most in town.” He shrugged. “Somewhere like New York, nobody would notice us.” He smiled. “Well, you’ll have to watch out when art galleries and music studios start to recognise your talent. But the rest of us?” Jeff shrugged again.

Virgil managed a smile. “Until the business gets even better again.”

Jeff chuckled. “I appreciate your confidence in my abilities, son, but I think you’re being a bit fanciful there. I might manage big in Topeka, maybe even Wichita, but even I don’t think an ex-astronaut will have the nous to pull it off world wide.”

“I guess we’ll see, then,” Virgil said.

“I guess we will,” Jeff agreed. “And speaking of seeing, will I be seeing another round of socks and underwear Christmas morning?”

Virgil grinned, a bit of his customary mischief back in his face. “I guess we’ll see,” he repeated.

Jeff chuckled. “I guess we will at that,” he agreed. “Now, get going. Go save your brothers from your Grandma, and have some fun.”

Virgil shot to his feet, “Yes, sir,” he offered a poorly executed salute before scurrying the door.

Jeff heard his feet thundering down the corridor. “Gordon, you had better not have messed with my pieces!” He chuckled at the shouted admonition from his mother for Virgil to walk, competing with Gordon’s protections of innocence and Scott’s assurance he had prevented all attempts to cheat.

Picking up the sweater, Jeff headed back to his bedroom. He had some gifts to wrap, and he had to decide what to do with the bracelet. Virgil was right, it wasn’t really his mother’s style.

Jeff smiled, daydreaming a little. If Virgil was correct, he would have to get used to making such high-stakes decisions...

[fungi-maestro]

Lars Tunbjörk – Alien at the Office (2004)

[nyatbinary-81]

@vulpixisananimal sifstem art jumpscare!! more specifically i got bored and decided to mess around with sif and mal's outfits.

[alexjcrowley]

Sooooo one of my mutuls reminded me that I love The Talented Mr. Ripley so much and I am 100% not normal about it and I just to say that the last time I rewatched it (a few months ago) I hadn't watched that movie for a long time and my only thought was "they want you to think Tom Ripley is the dangerous character but it's actually Dickie Greenleaf. Nothing can destroy your life like the nonchalance a charming person picks you up and puts you down with". And I was 100% sure of that. And then I rewatched the movie and I was like "Okay maybe Tom Ripley was the problem" but you need to understand that everytime I watch that movie it fucks with my brain and my past friendships so hard after a while I always find myself thinking "if Dickie just knew how to love Tom in the right way, none of this would have happened. It's Dickie's fault." And it's not! Tom is deeply fucked up for several reasons! But this movie fucks so hard with me pegs my brain gaslights me like an abusive boyfriend that I always end up thinking "Tom did nothing wrong. Tom did nothing wrong, if Dickie just loved him the right way. It's Dickie's fault."

I just think that people like Dickie Greenleaf can make anyone insane. I think I'd rather never knew the joy of bashing in Dickie's attention that living through the desperation of being derived of it.

[hotsugarbyglassanimals]

even though i feel like i can confidently tell when a piece of art is generative A/I, i really don't feel inclined or really even justified calling someone out for it due to the precedent it sets - especially when artists who DO make their own pieces get caught in the crossfire for being inexperienced or making the choice to be more free-form when it comes to character design / consistency...

[ratatatastic]

entering to panthers pulse does go pretty hard luosty yeah

Luosty Cup Day | 8.5.24 (x)

[harrowscore]

SO close to strangling my dad for what he's saying about berluconi... what a deeply ignorant little man he is at heart

[andr0medafallen]

I was watching Game of Thrones today and I realized how I’m attracted to practically every single character (the adults - I’ve seen people say some creepy ass shit about the kids who I love like they’re my own despite my zero maternal instincts) like Jaime Lannister?? The Hound?? All of the women?? Hot as fuck, sue me

I don’t know why I’m sending this to you in an ask, it just felt like the right thing to do

...Okay maybe it's my general hatred for men and I do think that all the actors in that show are very attractive, but like if confronted with any of the characters irl ithinkmostofthemwouldbepassesimsorrythey'rejustsocreepy.

But I'm glad that you enjoy the show and characters! I really am not trying to be a hater.

In fact, to be completely candid, Yara Greyjoy had to have been one of my first tv crushes, so i am capable of love i swear.

[chirpsythismorning]

And at a baseball field...

There are very few references to baseball in Stranger Things, and so looking at these rare moments side by side, I can't help but feel like this comparison happening here is entirely intentional.

The first baseball mention we get is from 1x02, when Jonathan is driving to Lonnie's and has a flashback to a moment with Will. This moment involves Joyce yelling at Lonnie over the phone for not showing up to spend quality time with Will like they planned, post-divorce. Upon them overhearing this, Jonathan comforts Will by questioning if Will even likes baseball, to which Will says no. Jonathan goes on to say that Will shouldn't like things just because other people tell him he's supposed to. And it's this bittersweet moment on the surface, but what's hiding underneath is queer-coding. It's a moment that sort of encourages Will to do the things he likes to do, instead of falling for the trap that so many kids get stuck in because they don't feel like they have a choice other than to do what other people they expect them to (*cough* Mike Wheeler *cough*).

And so these scenes juxtaposed to that sentiment is pretty damn ironic.

1x02

Jonathan: -- He's trying to force you to like normal things. And you shouldn't like things just because people tell you you're supposed to (referring to baseball, but also hinting at Will potentially being queer).

1x03:

Dustin: Do you think Eleven was born with her powers, like the X-Men? Or do you think she acquired them like Green Lantern?

Lucas: She's not a superhero. She's a weirdo.

Mike: What does that matter? The X-Men are weirdos?

Lucas: If you love her so much, why don't you just marry her?

Mike: What are you talking about?

Lucas: Mike seriously?

Mike: What?

Lucas: You look at her like, Hi, El! El! El! El! I love you so much! Would you marry me?

Mike: Shut up, Lucas

Notice how they're talking about El's powers and Mike is attempting to defend El, bc in his eyes she is a superhero and he doesn't see that as a bad thing (Mike is also attempting to defend this concept of being weird, bc what's wrong with that...? right...?). Lucas instantly jumps to perceiving Mike's harmless well-intentioned comment as Mike having romantic feelings for El, even implying Mike's behavior towards her means that he loves her and wants to marry her, to which Mike is pretty confused and denies...

They could have had this scene anywhere, but they chose to have it in front of a baseball field? Back to back with the episode previous including this flasbhack between Jonathan and Will?

Seconds before the homophobic bullies show up...?

they were insane for writing this 1 minute 25 seconds scene. the juxtaposition of lucas insisting mike obviously likes el so much vs troy and james showing up to say homophobic shit about will is insane.

[chuluoyi]

𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

- zayne x reader

he is your husband and you are his wife. but of course you know the bitter truth—you will never be able to replace her.

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—angst, hurt/comfort, unrequited love, drunken sex, mentions of injury, blood, hunter!reader (not l&ds mc -> l&ds mc is zayne's late ex-girlfriend here), spoilers! from zayne’s bond story nostalgic sweetness

note: wc. 8k ! i've been having these bits and pieces scenarios for zayne in mind and then i thought what if i combined it all into one angst joyride? :)) tagging per request: @kissxcore @rjreins @i2s2m @tom-pls-fuck-me @yueyoonie @sanriosatoru

07.15 p.m

Zayne would be getting off work soon. He had just finished an emergency surgery, and it had been exhausting. Now it was quite late.

“Dr. Zayne! Great job today!” Greyson exclaimed, suddenly strolling into his consultation room with a grin. “Want to grab dinner with us?”

Honestly, he was starving too. “Where?”

“Oh, you know, that new place that just opened nearby! They have the tastiest tiramisu, or so I’ve heard. C’mon, we’re inviting the nurses too!”

He knew he needed to head home soon, but fatigue and hunger blurred his thoughts at the mention of dessert.

“Alright.”

. . .

08.25 p.m

Getting together with the hospital staff was always nice. They were rowdy, but it was definitely a great way to unwind after a hard day.

The tiramisu was as great as Greyson said. Speaking of his assistant, he and Yvonne were having a blast. Other doctors were getting drunk. Zayne could only shake his head, and it suddenly dawned on him that he had been here quite a while.

It was only when he turned on his phone and saw the time that he realized, with sinking heart that—

He was supposed to meet you at six.

If you were asked how you felt about your life now, you’d be hard-pressed to say you were completely content.

You were a stellar fighter in the Hunter Association, more than content with your job, and you had a good husband. To some, you had what they would call the perfect life.

The wife of the Dr. Zayne. True, it was a flattering title, yet unbeknownst to everyone, also a humbling one.

And the notion struck you once again when your husband of almost two years stood you up on your dinner date without so much as a notice.

“Miss... we’re about to close now...” The waitress approached your table for at least the third time, and you nodded sheepishly, finally finishing your meal.

You paid for it and left the restaurant. The chilly night air hit your skin, giving you goosebumps as you walked home. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Granted, Zayne had a packed schedule, and you figured he might've had an urgent matter to attend to that he forgot to let you know.

Still... it hurts. Knowing you were not a priority in your husband’s eyes wasn’t a fun feeling.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket the moment you arrived at your shared home. Your husband’s name flashed on your screen. The time now was 08.40 p.m.

“Hello, Zayne?”

“Y/N?” Your husband’s voice sounded frantic. “Are you still at the restaurant? I’m going—”

“Ah, no need to. I’m going home.”

“I’ll pick you up then. Stay there—”

“I’ve already arrived.”

An awkward silence settled between you, and you could clearly hear the noise on the other end. Greyson’s laughter was unmistakable.

You forced a laugh, still trying to sound cheerful for him even when realizing that he had completely forgotten about you. “It’s totally fine, Zayne! Are you heading back?”

“Yeah...”

“Take care then. See you at home.”

You ended the call with a sigh, trying to shake off the sting in your heart. As you made your way upstairs to your bedroom, you passed by a large portrait on the wall, and a bittersweet sensation washed over you.

Your wedding photo. Both of you were smiling on what was the most wonderful day of your life. Zayne’s smile was reserved, but yours was radiant.

It is the most wonderful thing that has happened to you... but is it the same for him?

At that time, despite everything, you were convinced a lifetime of happiness awaited you, yet now... it got harder to fool yourself into believing it.

Your marriage has always been lukewarm.

Zayne wasn’t an overly excited person, and you were his opposite—but try as you might, some things between you just didn’t work out. As a result, both of you tended to keep certain things to yourselves.

Most days, this didn't bother him. He valued his privacy, so the way things were suited him just fine. However, several days later, when Greyson approached him with a worried expression and a news, even Zayne had to draw the line.

“Dr. Zayne? Uh, how do I say this? I think I saw your wife being wheeled in earlier with the injured from the hunt zones raid…”

. . .

“Your husband is a doctor here. Why aren’t you calling him?”

Xavier, your fellow Deepspace Hunter who was partnered with you in this mission, questioned you with a hint of annoyance as he observed your pathetic state on the stretcher and crossed his arms. “Why do you have to bleed out in ER when you can get him?”

You winced, pressing the bloodied cloth against your stinging abdomen as you felt yourself growing faint. “He’s... a surgeon,” you panted. “He’s busy.”

Above all, you didn’t want Zayne to see you like this. You could already imagine his angry face, and that mental image alone made you recoil.

“What sort of husband is busy when his wife is injured?” Xavier raised an eyebrow. “Did you at least notify him?”

You shut your eyes, feeling a migraine coming.

“I will then.”

“No.”

“Y/N, you—”

“Shut up, Xavier—”

The curtain was suddenly pulled back, and you braced yourself for whoever had come to check on you next. To your surprise, the cloth in your hand was snatched away, and you felt your uniform being torn open with urgency.

When you opened your eyes, you barely made out your husband’s figure through your hazy vision. “…Zayne?”

His expression was stern, unforgiving even, as he started to disinfect your wound. Despite the tension, you couldn't deny the relief that washed over you. You knew you were in good hands, even if you had to face his fury later on.

Your consciousness slipped away not long after that.

. . .

The next time you woke up, you found yourself in a private room, with a nagging itch where you had been injured.

You groaned, your limbs stiff and heavy, and the room slowly came into focus—along with your husband's face.

"Zayne?" Your voice came out barely above a whisper. He stood pristine in his white coat and glasses, assessing you with a scrutinizing gaze.

"Your wound is, thankfully, shallow," he said flatly, his tone lacking any real concern. "You'll be discharged tonight. I'll take you home as soon as my shift is over."

"Ah..." You blinked several times to clear your head. "Good then. Sorry for showing up out of nowhere. Xavier and I were on a rescue mission, and I accidentally—"

He walked away before you could finish, the abruptness snapping you fully awake. He was furious, that much was clear.

"Ha ha..." You forced a laugh, fiddling with your fingers, trying to ease the awkward tension between you. "It doesn't hurt much, actually. You're right—I'm fine..."

Zayne shot you a sharp glance. "You passed out due to blood loss."

"This isn't the first time it has happened and nor will it be—"

"And it didn't even occur to you to inform me at all. I found out that my own wife was wounded because Greyson passed by the ER and saw you."

His words left you silent, caught red-handed, but your annoyance was reaching its limit. You had imagined how nice it would be if he panicked about you, showering you with care when he found out. But instead, Zayne chose to rebuke you the moment you woke up.

“I’m not a child,” you reasoned, keeping yourself calm. “I’m a hunter. This is nothing new, and you should understand that.”

“The least you could’ve done is to tell me—“

“Do you know why I didn’t? It’s because I know how you’ll react!”

“—and it would do you better to prioritize your safety and not rush headfirst into danger.”

“Believe me, I do but—!”

Suddenly, Zayne spun around to face you, his eyes blazing with fury as he raised his voice. “I’ve told you so many times already, you have to stay back, or you’ll end up—!”

He stopped abruptly, leaving his sentence hanging in the air, but right at that moment, you knew all too well who he meant, and what the implication was.

His, without a doubt, greatest love. His childhood friend, a hunter like yourself, someone he had vowed to save but succumbed to her illness before he could do so, died on arrival.

The irony was sharp. You had become everything she once was. You knew her well, too. When she passed, the entire Hunter Association mourned her loss. And more than that, on the night she died, you had been with him.

Looking back, you should have seen it coming. Still, it hit you like a splash of cold water. Your husband was still preoccupied with thoughts of his ex-girlfriend, and worse yet, he saw pieces of her in you.

And you suspected he had for a while—perhaps even, from the very beginning.

For a second there, not for the first time, you felt your heart shatter.

“I don’t have Protocore syndrome,” you stated, steeling yourself against the heartbreak. “My heart won't suddenly fail because I get injured. I’m not that weak.”

You turned away as Zayne refused to respond, missing his look of disdain as he stormed out of the room.

That was when your first tear fell.

Right from the start, you knew you had to brace yourself for this. You knew that eventually, this tragedy would overshadow your marriage. Because while Zayne might be your husband by law, deep down, his heart still belonged to someone else.

To her.

You two are too much alike.

It wasn’t the first time he had noticed it. And it wouldn’t be the last.

On bad mornings, when his eyes were bleary and he hadn't had a good sleep, he would see her instead of you in your shared bed. And with that mistaken sight came a fleeting sense of relief... until his vision cleared and he remembered she was truly gone and it was you.

Zayne knew how wrong this was on so many levels. It was terribly unfair to you.

Still, his concern for you was genuine. Seeing you lying still on the stretcher brought back that very same nightmare, and really, he truly never wanted you to be hurt.

After his outburst and your clipped response, the two of you barely exchanged any words for the rest of the week. To make matters worse, he was sent on a business trip the following week, and all in all, you went two weeks hardly speaking to each other.

And before he knew it, her death anniversary was only a couple of days away.

. . .

"How much is this?"

"Ah, the bow is 50,000 Gold, sir!"

Inside the airport's souvenir shop, Zayne examined the intricate light blue and white bow clip. Made of tweed and adorned with small pearls, it looked nice.

He thought it'd suit you well.

"I'll get this then."

"Right away!"

As the clerk went to wrap the trinket, Zayne reflected on these past two weeks. A nagging feeling twisted in his gut as he thought about how curt he had been with you in text messages and how often you had left him on read.

Husband and wife shouldn't be this way. He wanted the unbearable air between you to end. Determined to resolve things, he planned to talk to you when he returned. He was on his way to the airport taxi when—

"Zayne!" He stopped in his tracks, recognizing the familiar voice, and turned around.

There you were, waiting by his car with a smile.

It was never in you to stay angry for long. It was a blessing and a curse, really, because while you no longer wished to give your husband silent treatment, a part of you still felt conflicted.

"How was your trip?" you asked as you started the engine, pushing the events of the past two weeks to the back of your mind.

Zayne didn't immediately answer, and you felt his gaze on you as you drove the car. "It was okay."

You hummed in acknowledgement, and he followed up with, "How is your wound? Do you dress it daily?"

"Mm-hm. It's getting better."

"I'll have a look at it later."

"Sure."

Silence. Usually you would ramble to distract him, but now, even you weren’t sure if you should.

Then, he said, "You really didn’t have to pick me up. I could have made my way home on my own."

To that, you pasted on a smile. “You always pick me up whenever I have to go on business trips. It’s only fair I do the same for you, husband.”

Ah. Was it the wrong move? The word had slipped out so easily that you didn’t realize it until after you said it.

But to your surprise, Zayne let out a chuckle and played along. "Well, thank you then, wife. It certainly felt quite off without a certain someone the past week."

So, he actually likes having you around...? The thought made you almost giddy. Despite his usual taciturn and sarcastic demeanor, you knew he was genuine in his own way.

"Bet you missed me," you teased, grinning.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Are you sure it's not the other way around?"

"Nope. But I did miss getting new snowmen."

"...why do you like them so much? I've made plenty for you already."

"No particular reason. Snowman just kinda reminds me of you somehow."

The tension between you had melted away, and you felt a sense of relief. Beside you, even Zayne couldn’t hide his smile. For the rest of the drive home, you chatted like you used to.

When you arrived back at your shared home, he suddenly stopped and presented you with a little box. "I got you something."

"Huh?" you paused, bewildered, as he took your hand and placed the box in it.

"Open it."

With curiosity, you lifted the lid, and were surprised at the sight of a pretty bow clip inside. "Whoa, how cute..."

Zayne eyed you expectantly. "Do you like it?"

Your eyes lit up with delight, and a smile spread across your lips.

"Yes!" you beamed at him with zero hesitation, and in that moment, something struck a chord within him. Zayne had always thought you were easy on the eyes—

—but when you smiled like that, you were truly charming.

"It's healing nicely."

You felt somewhat self-conscious as your husband examined your bare abdomen, where your injury was, as you lied on your bed. His hands, cool and practiced, tenderly removed your stitches.

It wasn't as if Zayne had never touched you. You two had been married for almost two years, and of course you had been intimate several times, but it wasn't as if you were a passionate couple to begin with—so you often found yourself flustered.

"Mm." Despite yourself, you squirmed. Noticing this, he looked up at you, his unfazed eyes meeting yours with a frown.

"Does it still hurt?"

"No, not really... It just feels as if you're tickling me."

He was positively unamused. "I'm not trying to tickle you."

"I know!"

Zayne wrapped your midsection securely with the bandage. When he was done, he let out a sigh and you felt like you had to show him your gratitude somehow.

“Thank you, Zayne…” you mumbled, avoiding eye contact. But in the next second, your heart skipped a beat as his hand rested gently on your head.

"You can thank me by being more careful next time." Your husband looked at you with the smallest of smile. "Your safety comes first, always remember that."

Without either of you realizing it, you both had tried to bury that argument from two weeks ago, yet it was still gnawing at you all the same. The thought that he too was bothered with it made you warm.

"Noted," you cheekily grinned. "If I'm not safe and sound, a certain iceman will get angry at me."

Zayne shot you an unimpressed look. “If you come to me injured again, I’ll start charging you fees.”

You let out a dramatic gasp. "How stingy! I'm your wife, not just some stranger!"

"A very uncooperative wife, you are."

You huffed, and he chuckled. You really thought all was well between you two now, until Zayne suddenly stood up and grabbed the car keys. “Well then, rest. I have to go.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to stop by the florist—”

And it hit you. In two days. The day everything ended three years ago.

Zayne seemed to realize it too, but you quickly masked your falling smile with a faux one. "O-oh, right..."

No matter how, it's still going to be an important day to him. You had nothing against it, really. Your husband's late girlfriend had once been your colleague too, and you mourned her just like everyone else did.

Still, even with that understanding, in your heart of hearts, it remains just as bitter.

You didn't want to, but you needed to find closure. You hoped that by doing this, it would finally put an end to all your insecurities.

"Let's go together, Zayne. I want to pay her a visit too."

Two days later, you and Zayne, a bouquet of flowers in hand, stood before the grave bearing many colorful flowers and postcards.

You supposed you knew already, but seeing it firsthand, you realized just how deeply she was loved still. The outpouring of respect from the Hunter Association was evident in the tribute left behind.

"It's been a while," Zayne, dressed in his most formal black suit, said solemnly, his gaze fixed on the name etched into the pristine stone.

You watched as he knelt to place his flowers and then brought his hands together in prayer. You followed his lead, placing your own bouquet beside his.

What should you even say to her? Your mind raced with countless thoughts, but none felt right to voice before the woman who had so deeply captured your husband's heart.

In the end, when you sensed that Zayne had finished with his prayer, you decided to remain silent and rose with him.

. . .

“Does it get easier?” you asked out of curiosity afterwards. “Three years has passed already.”

Although Zayne wasn’t one for drinking, even the need won today. He didn’t meet your eyes as he sipped his wine, humming thoughtfully. “Somewhat. As they say, time heals.”

You two stopped by a fine restaurant after visiting the grave. The cemetery had been a two-hour drive from Linkon City, and now it was already evening.

“She loved jasmines,” you remarked, recalling the pot of them you once saw on her desk and the flowers overflowing at the grave earlier.

“She did.” The alcohol seemed to loosen his tongue as he continued, “She loved old popsicles and macarons too.”

“And you like them as well.”

“To be honest, I started liking them back when we were kids…” Zayne had this pained, faraway look in his eyes as he had another sip. “She cried over her melted popsicle and it got me to wonder if it was really that tasty...”

The idea that you had to compete with a dead woman for your husband’s affection left a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt like you had failed thoroughly as a wife.

Despite hating yourself for asking, you needed to know. “Do I help you… in any way at all?”

Zayne was clearly taken aback by the question. His sharp, gray eyes locked onto you, mind whirred as he tried to grasp your meaning.

“Y/N, you...”

It was foolish, you knew. But you waited with bated breath for his response, even when one wrong word could shatter your heart beyond repair. You were ready for any sort of unfavorable answer, but then—

“I... am glad it is you.”

His words made you look up, and you found yourself caught in his gaze. Zayne’s ashen eyes were steady, piercing into you.

“You were there on the hardest days. And ever since, you’ve always stayed by my side.” He held your gaze firmly, voice was thick with emotion you couldn’t quite name. “I’m grateful for that.”

And then, with a sincerity that pierced through every uncertainty, he added, “What I want to say is... I’m glad I married you, Y/N.”

You have loved him for so long. Since the days when you know he isn’t yours to love, until now.

Your heart swelled with so much warmth that tears brimmed in your eyes. His acknowledgment of your presence filled you with a profound sense of belonging you never knew you needed before.

Was it the alcohol?

You suspected it might be, because in nearly two years of marriage, Zayne had never lost his control like this. As soon as the bedroom door was shut, he pushed you against the wall and devoured your lips hungrily.

“Mmph!” His hands gripped your arms while his lips and tongue pried yours open. The kiss was searing, almost forceful, with the faint bitterness of wine still lingering.

“Zay…ne…” you gasped between his kisses—teary, breathless, your voice trembling.

But your breathy grunts only seemed to spur him on. His dark eyes, clouded with lust, fixed on you as his hands slipped beneath your blouse, deftly unclasping your bra with a flick.

He is hot. Your husband was everything a woman desired in a man. Cool, handsome, blessed with hands that could do wonders—

In no time, he had you naked and wet before him, and with alarming speed, he too discarded his own suit and pants, throwing them away in flurry. And you could hardly believe what you were seeing next.

He spitted on his hand, ran it along his member—stroking himself with a practiced ease, never breaking eye contact with you. The next thing you knew, he yanked you into another burning kiss and made you topple on top of him—

“Ah!” his hands guided your hips with precision, positioning you and entering you. The instant he did, you whimpered at the sudden, sharp sting of pain.

“Does it hurt?” he asked almost in a growl when you clung to his shoulder with uneven breaths.

It was too sudden, and you hoped the discomfort would pass, so you timidly shook your head.

“If you don’t want this, tell me to stop.” Zayne tangled his fingers in your hair, turning your face to his. “Understand?”

There was always a distinct, almost commanding aura about him whenever the two of you were in your marital bed. Perhaps the way his voice sound lower, but it just hit different.

And you are a willing prey... whenever he becomes that beast.

He inched inside you slowly, making you moan with each instance. He was thick, warm, and taking him in was a challenge in itself. And when he finally sheathed himself fully, your nails had made its first scratch on his skin.

You felt full, and the way your womanhood stretched and clenched around him with each breathe you took made you dizzy. Panting, you finally met his gaze. Zayne’s gray-hazel eyes were still clouded with desire as he placed his hands firmly on your hips. Unable to resist, you reached out to caress his face.

"Hmm..." he subconsciously leaned into your touch, pressing his eyes shut together. "You smell nice," he huskily muttered.

Right this moment, all negative thoughts eluded you. It felt gratifying that your husband sought your touch like this as you towered over him.

And yet, despite that...

“Do you... finally see me now?” you asked, trailing your other hand down his toned chest and starting to grind against him. Zayne drew in a sharp breath and groaned, his fingers gripping your bum tighter.

Depending on his response, you would either find peace or face another heartbreak. You had placed your happiness on this pedestal more times than you could count, and it was a cross you had to bear.

But you never received your answer.

Your husband merely gazed up at you with a dangerous gleam. And oh, you could've sworn, this sight of Zayne eyeing you as if he were about to ruin you right then and there, would live-free in your mind for many days to come.

He then buried his face in your bosom, sucking on you with such fervor that your hands instinctively reached for his head to massage his scalp. The room was soon filled with your erotic groans and the squelching sounds from where your flesh were joined together— as he thrusted inside you over and over.

Right in this moment, you felt truly desired and wanted.

You are so happy. Incomparably so.

At the crack of dawn, Zayne woke with a start.

The first thing he noticed was how spent he felt, his limbs stiff and a throbbing headache pulsing at the back of his head.

Then he turned to his side, and the sight that met him twisted his gut in such a way that snapped him fully awake—

You were beside him, barely dressed and still deeply asleep. Your hair was a mess, and love bites were scattered across your skin, some on your chest looking almost like bruises.

It dawned on him that he, too, wasn’t decent. A sudden coldness gripped him, though it wasn’t just the morning air.

Him and you... last night...

Yesterday marked the third year. He meant everything he said to you, but the fact that he did this, with you, on the day of her death...

There was... nothing wrong with what he had done. You were his wife, no one could condone him for what he instigated. Yet, it still made him shiver.

And to make it worse, his thoughts from last night echoed back with vengeance, and—

He suddenly feels so immensely guilty.

. . .

It was the best sleep you’d had all week.

When you woke, sunlight had seeped through the window, and you discovered yourself already in pajamas, tucked snugly under a blanket. Still groggy with a dull ache in your lower belly, you relished the lingering afterglow, sighing in pure contentment, until you noticed Zayne wasn’t beside you.

Where did he go? You wondered amidst your haze. Sluggish, you stumbled out of the bed, flinching when your foot met the cold floor.

You eventually found him downstairs, sipping coffee at the dining table still with messy hair. "Zayne?"

He glanced up at you and nodded. There was something different about him, a subtle shift you couldn’t quite place. As you took a seat across from him, you hesitated, unsure of what to say.

Before you could find the right words though, he spoke first.

"I'm... sorry," he said, his tone laced with regret, causing a sharp pang of unease inside you.

"What?" you stared at him, feeling small and unsettled. "What are you sorry for?" you questioned as you gripped the hem of your shirt.

And then came the killing blow—

"Last night," Zayne muttered, avoiding your gaze. "I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. It was a mistake."

Mistake. The word echoed in your mind, but it was still hard to grasp its full weight.

"How was that—" you faltered, trembling, as the realization hit you like a truck and you gasped in disbelief. "Oh..."

Her. Again, and again, and again! Even when he was married to you, even when you were the one next to him each and everyday— even so!

Your husband considers that a night spent with you—his wife—a mistake!

The last of your patience snapped, as you broke down in sobs before him. "You're the worst!" you screamed at him amidst your mournful tears.

Zayne seemed taken aback at your outburst, his eyes wide. "Y/N, wait, you don't—"

"Screw you!" But you were beyond explanations at this point. You fled back to your bedroom. Zayne followed you suit, but you slammed the door in his face and locked it. As you collapsed onto the floor, the realization hit you with full force.

No matter what you did, you would always come second—or not at all.

The fracture in your marriage was undeniable.

Things had changed. Your home felt colder, and the tension was so stifling that you sometimes spent the night at the Hunter Association’s dorm just to escape it.

Zayne initially tried to reach out, but you were unwilling to listen, and eventually, he gave up. Before long, nearly a month had passed with this strain in the air.

You threw yourself into more rescue operations, using work as a distraction from the turmoil that lingered in your mind. Despite your best efforts to distract yourself, the unresolved thoughts and feelings clung to you.

"Xavier, am I lacking as a woman?"

Your frequent partner these days cracked open an eye despite his attempt to nap before today’s rescue mission. "What...?"

"No, forget it."

Things couldn't go like this forever. It was obvious by now—as long as he couldn’t let go of his past and you couldn’t accept him as he was, this marriage couldn't be saved.

Just as you headed towards the printer in the room, Xavier responded. "You talk a lot, eat a lot, and always bothering me when I'm about to sleep..."

You shot him an irked glance, disbelief evident on your face. "Hey!"

"But—" his clear voice cut through the air as he turned to you with half-lidded eyes. "You're exceptionally kind. If anyone can't appreciate that, then it's their loss."

At that moment, the ice inside your chest melted. To know that your own co-worker thought that kindly of you gave you a little boost of confidence.

But then Xavier added, "Sometimes you're stupid too. It's funny to watch."

"—?! You're so mean!"

A subtle smile curved on his lips as he turned to his side, ready to resume his nap. "Anyway, what are you printing?"

You feigned a huff as you gathered the papers and brought them to your desk. "Just something I need to submit when necessary."

A part of you wasn’t fully committed to it, of course—it was just that your emotions had no proper outlet even until now. As you pushed the drawer shut, a wave of bitterness washed over you as you reread the title on the blank form:

Petition for Divorce.

Zayne genuinely wanted to treat you well.

You were a nice girl. Too nice even. From the moment he laid his eyes on you some years ago, as a friend of a friend, he knew you were nothing but kind and cheery.

He still remembered that morning vividly: the hurt on your face, the tears welling up in your eyes, and then you breaking into inconsolable sobs. That sight inflicted something in him—it felt as though his own heart had been split in two.

Believe it or not, he cherished you too.

That night, even though he didn’t show it, he was still mourning her. When alcohol took over his mind and he saw you, you seemed like a perfect escape. He thought that even if he forced himself on you, there would be no consequences.

He hated that he had thought that way. He hated that how, in the end, you had become a means of relief for him.

Now you couldn't even look him in the eye, and Zayne didn't want to risk trying to coax you further. You were angry with him and rightly so, but when you ignored him and went home late more often, he was worried.

It was what drove him to volunteer for the rescue mission. When he saw your name on the hunter list, he felt compelled to make sure you were okay.

. . .

It was strange to see you on duty.

With your hunter uniform and your hair tied up, you were the picture of a very capable hunter. Zayne found himself unexpectedly following your movements as you came and went.

"Dr. Zayne, are you checking your wife out?" the EMT next to him teased with a grin. "Well, when you have a pretty wife such as Y/N, of course..."

He cleared his throat and the EMT giggled as he sauntered away.

So, you were also considered attractive here. Of course you were. Zayne knew it, but he just didn't expect that anyone here would blurt it out so openly.

But that wasn't the most surprising of all—

"Xavier, shush!" you playfully punched the blonde man next to you in the chest, your broad smile lighting up the moment. The two of you whispered closely, and Zayne found himself feeling uncomfortable, like being prickled by several needles.

He has never made you laugh so openly like that. The nagging feeling inside him grew stronger as he watched you—even if it was just in a platonic sense—with another man. It stirred something within him, making him want to pull that blonde aside, give him a word or two, and overthrow him altogether.

Amidst the growing storm inside him, you suddenly turned sideways and caught his eye, and Zayne could've sworn... he felt time stopped at that moment.

It was so candid that it took his breath away. The way your earnest, unclouded eyes met his. How natural you were while loading your gun...

Ah, they were right. His wife was exceptionally pretty.

But before he could fully appreciate it, you broke the eye contact and turned away, pretending as if you hadn’t seen him at all.

Zayne wondered then, why did he feel so hurt all of a sudden?

Battlefields were always a place of chaos, and Zayne was no stranger to it.

He was on standby at the makeshift hospital as patients surged in, continuously aiding first-aid. Some were hunters on duty, and his heart was in his throat the entire time, anxiously hoping you wouldn’t be among them.

"Doc... it still hurts," a little girl sniffled right after Zayne wrapped her injured arm with the gauze. Despite the anxiety, seeing this tearful girl softened his frown.

"It's just going to take a while, hmm?" he patted the kid in the head. "It's going to be better soon enough."

"My mom is still inside..." she said, her eyes welling up with tears. "Doc, will they get her out?"

Zayne hesitated, his thoughts briefly drifting to you. He managed a reassuring smile. "Don’t worry, they’ll—"

Crash! —all of a sudden, a loud explosion shook the hospital, the sound echoing through the chaos. The little girl clung to his coat in fear.

"Call for retreat!" someone suddenly shouted from outside. "Alert all personnel immediately!"

Retreat. The thought that you might be safe soon brought him a sense of relief. He turned to the girl, trying to keep his composure.

"Look, the hunters are retreating, it means most are already evacuated." Zayne managed a reassuring smile. "Stay here. I'll help you find her later, okay?"

He went to the survivors' camp outside, attending to the wounded and keeping a vigilant eye on each returning hunter. Even until 30 minutes later, he still hadn't seen you. Thinking to contact you, he reached out for his phone.

"Who hasn't gotten out?" Jenna, your team leader, demanded the receiver with a stern voice, standing tall several feet away from the camp, and Zayne overheard the snippets of her conversation.

A frantic voice responded, "Xavier is still inside! Y/N too!"

"Those two! They are always—!"

What?

Zayne almost dropped his phone when he heard your name. Terror gripped him instantly, and then suddenly, again, it was his greatest nightmare realized.

You are still inside. You could be hurt. It was possible you had no means to get out of there.

He didn’t register letting go of his coat or crossing the police line—all that mattered was getting to you. He sprinted away, ignoring the shouts of those trying to stop him.

No. Not again!

Debris flew everywhere, and the roars of Wanderers grew louder as he neared the building wreckage. As a splinter was about to hit him, ice shot through his palms, creating a barrier that shattered it.

"Y/N!" he shouted your name, his voice cracking with panic. "Where are you?!"

All he could think about was the memory of you bleeding out in the ER. Zayne never wanted to see that again. Should anything happen to you now...

He didn't want you to be hurt. He hated seeing you cry. For the past weeks, it had torn him apart to see you so unhappy. He wanted to be the one who made you smile, the one you looked at with love.

The realization washed over him like a tidal wave. Yet it wasn’t an epiphany but a simple truth he had always known but never fully grasped until now.

If he lost you now, it'd destroy him.

He continued screaming your name over and over. And then, after turning several turns, he finally saw you, standing alone in the middle of the wreckage—

You turned to him in surprise when you heard your name in his shout, and were rooted to the spot, in disbelief that your husband was right before you.

Zayne felt a wave of relief wash over him, until a hollow croak from above caught his attention. He squinted—

A glass panel had crumbled and was falling directly towards you.

A sense of dread so great overwhelmed him, a lump formed in his throat, and the smoke made it hard to breathe. He sprinted forward, and with everything he had, he pushed you out the way.

The next thing he knew, everything went pitch black.

"Zayne? Zayne!"

A memory flashed in his mind's eye. The one memory he wished he didn't have to relive ever again.

Sitting on the deserted hospital bench, his eyes were vacant. Utter hollowness choked him, leaving him motionless. It was over. There was no blood on his hands, yet it felt as if there were.

Your grip on his shoulder was tight, shaking him. "Zayne, snap out of it!" and only then he brought himself to meet your eyes.

"She died." That was the only thing he could mutter, pain woven in each word. "She really died."

Your eyes widened in horror, an inaudible gasp left your lips. "Oh..."

He didn't really know what happened next, but he remembered the warmth from when you pulled him to your arms, when sobs wracked his body as he thought the world was ending.

Since then, you have always been there.

And subconsciously, he may have regarded you as his lifeline.

. . .

Another memory.

"Are you awake...?"

His mind was hazy, but he recognized your voice. He blearily opened his eyes to find you placing a cool compress on his forehead.

"Who would have thought the great Dr. Zayne can get a fever?" you said with a soft laugh, patting his hair. "Don’t worry about me. Go back to sleep."

You came to see him. He remembered telling you not to. But you still did, and the fact thawed the ice in his heart.

Just as you were about to leave, his hand reached out and pulled you closer. "Don’t go."

"Are you trying to make me catch your cold too?" you teased with a soft laugh.

"Hmph. Who told you to come here...?"

"Ah, so you're whiny when you're not feeling well," you observed with a smile. "Okay, I'll stay! But only if you agree to nurse me if I catch your cold!"

You were noisy, but endearingly so.

. . .

"Don't pay her any mind," you fidgeted on your seat, a frown on your face. "My mom always does that."

There was never any talk about the nature your relationship between the two of you, but it was clear to everyone nevertheless. You were always around him, and he seemed to enjoy your company just as much.

And not for the first time, your mother pushed him towards marriage with you.

"People are always getting the wrong idea," you grumbled. "Sorry, Zayne..." you lowered your head, seemingly in regret.

He was puzzled, because to him, it wasn't necessarily false. All things you did together lead to this.

"What if it isn't a wrong idea at all?"

You looked at him with slight surprise. "Huh...?"

Your presence was a gift. That tragedy was devastating, but having you constantly by his side made it bearable. He was fond of you, and the thought that if it's you, then surely...

In this memory, he was more sure than ever. What he said then, it came from the truest place in his heart.

"What if I told you... as of right now, I can't imagine being with anyone but you?"

The side of his head was throbbing with pain. Everything hurt, the hard asphalt was bruising his face as the headache set in. He could smell the scent of blood and sweat, but more than that—

"Zayne! Ah, hah— Please, please! No!"

Your voice, choked with tears, blared in his ears as you desperately shook him. You sounded so heartbroken, so utterly panicked, and your voice gradually pulled him back to consciousness.

Opening his eyes took tremendous effort. At first, everything was a blur, but then it came into focus—the sight of you disheveled, smeared with soot, with tears streaming down your face. But still you— the woman he had married two years ago.

Yet his heart lurched. You're crying again... why is it that whenever with me, you're always crying?

"Are you... alright?" he rasped, lifting his hand to touch your face.

"Why did you—" You were startled by his question, your gaze fixed on the blood pooling on the side of his face. "Your head is bleeding!"

Ah, so you're fine. The sheer knowledge brought him relief, a faint smile forming at his lips. "I'm glad..."

"I'll help you get back! Hold onto me—" you said after brushing away your tears, lifting him up and draping his arm around your shoulder. "Can you walk?"

"I'm... fine..."

"You're not!" you refuted harshly, voice trembling. "You have to go back!"

You made him lean on you as you made your way back to the makeshift hospital, each step accompanied by your sniffles as you supported his waist.

Zayne glanced at you, feeling a warmth in his chest despite the migraine. "D-Don't cry... I'll be fine."

"You're an idiot!" you choked out, struggling to hold back your tears. "Why did you even come out here?"

"I... have to find you. They said you haven't returned."

"There are still civilians inside! I'll return eventually!"

"I can’t wait for that. I... have to know you're safe."

His response only fueled your frustration. "You don't have to—!"

"You are my wife—" he snapped, turning to you sharply, his eyes flashing with anger. "How can I not worry— for you?"

The forceful tone in his voice went straight to the most tender part of your heart. It really struck you at that moment that he had come out here for you, that his concern for you was that profound.

And that after all these weeks, he still keeps you in his thoughts.

He had pushed you out of the way, even at the cost of himself, barely missing the fallen billboard in that violent crash. If he was in the wrong position, he could've lost his life.

You stared at him, tears glossing your eyes.

"That's enough... Don't cry again." Zayne reached out to wipe your cheeks. His hands, however, were smeared with his own blood, leaving streaks on your face. "Ah... I got blood on you..."

But in that moment, you couldn’t care less. There was this indescribable sting of grief, but also paired with a sense of relief so great in your chest the very second you realize that now, he sees you.

You threw yourself into his arms, hugging him tightly as you sobbed, calling out to him in broken voice. “Z-Zayne...!”

“Why are you crying again...?” he let out a resigned sigh, but still embraced you regardless. “What a crybaby...”

You buried your face deeper into him, shaking uncontrollably. “You... saved me...” you managed to say amidst torrent of tears. “Y-You... got hurt...”

“I’ll be fine,” he retorted in your ear albeit in a hoarse voice, holding you close, even as blood trickled down the side of his face. “And I’d do it again. I refuse to see you hurt.”

You cried harder, and he pulled you tighter, his chest aching at the sight of you so inconsolable. And in that moment, he made the decision right then and there.

He will protect you so long as time will allow him to.

It was as if the invisible wall between you had crumbled to dust after that incident. You stayed by Zayne's side night and day, monitoring his condition.

And one night, several days later...

"Here, don't move..."

You carefully dressed the wound on Zayne's temple, sitting close beside him. He quietly observed your worried eyes and trembling fingers without a word.

"You even need stitches..." you lamented, biting your lip as you wrapped the bandage around his head. Tears pricked your eyes, overwhelmed by the concern you were pouring into the task.

"I'm telling you, I'm fine," he gruffly insisted in an attempt to erase your mournful expression. He felt the delicate, almost hesitant touch of your fingers on his face. "It'll heal with time."

Even as he said that, a part of you was still troubled at the sight of the wound on his head and cheekbone. No matter what he said, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was somehow your fault.

"I'm done. Now go rest," you said softly, your voice tinged with bitterness after tying the gauze. You rose to put the kit away, but even after you finished, Zayne remained upright on the bed, so you leveled a frown at him.

"What, why aren't you— Ah!"

Before you knew it, he pulled you by the arm, and you tumbled into his chest in surprise. "What are you doing?!" you yelled at him, clinging to his shoulder and looking up at him with ire. "You could've hit your head!"

He looked down at you with a flat expression, or is that a hint of amusement glinting in his eyes? “Can't a husband cuddle his wife?”

You blinked dumbly, caught off-guard. “Yes, you can, but...”

His arms then enveloped you, fitting you on his chest and he sighed against your hair. “Then there’s nothing wrong with it. Let’s just stay like this for now.”

And so, that was how he decided to sleep throughout the night—with you on top of him, held close. You felt self-conscious as Zayne had never initiated this closeness with you since that night.

"Are you sure you want to sleep this way?" you wriggled a bit in his grasp.

He draped an arm around your waist, pressing his eyes shut. "Mm-hm."

"You..." A part of you recoiled at the vulnerability but decided to ask anyway. "Won't this be… a mistake...?"

That caught his attention, as Zayne's eyes fluttered open. He looked down at you, who avoided his gaze with a pout and a torn expression, making yourself small in his embrace.

It dawned on him then that this persisting issue in your marriage was thoroughly his fault. His past was something he could never—and would never—trade for anything, but right now, you were that sense of peace that grounded him.

At one point, he has to let it go. These feelings inside him… they drive him to.

He softened, his gaze full of understanding as he gently brushed your hair back. "No," he said quietly, his voice tender. "We’ve come too far for it to be one."

Your clear, innocent eyes reluctantly met his, and at that moment something akin to clarity resonated within him.

He once thought nothing could ever mend the hollowness in his heart. And once, he indeed hoped that being with you would provide some form of relief or replace what he had lost.

But right now, feeling how vulnerable you were in his arms like this, he understood that you were not, and could never be, a replacement for anything else. Even before he realized it himself, what he felt for you was something entirely different— something dear that had grown and evolved into a genuine affection different from what he had felt for anyone else before.

Those times spent with you, wanting to protect you... Now that he reflected on it, it was never about filling a void, after all.

“I... want to treasure you better.”

Oh. Your heart thumped loudly as those words left his lips, warmth spreading through your entire being. Overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice, you clung to his chest, feeling a surge of love and a profound sense of being freed from the chains of insecurity that had taken you hostage all these years.

Most precious. Zayne smiled at you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“This time for sure... I will.”

And at last... he could say it without any lingering guilt.

[thehappyvet]

Just a reminder if you decide to illegally take a wild animal from the wild for yourself, even if you have the best interests at heart, you could be killing it.

If you feed it the wrong diet you can cause it's bones to break or other diseases associated with mineral imbalances. If you feed it too much you could cause issues associated with obesity including excessive fat stores.

If you aren't a trained wildlife rehabilitator you won't understand the importance of preventing imprinting or humanising. So you'll cuddle it, play with it, and let your pets play with it. So it will think it can only get food from humans, and that humans and domestic pets are part of its family.

If you take it while it's still young it won't learn the necessary foraging and social skills from its parents to survive in the wild. You might joke you don't even need a cage for it, but it isn't able to go anywhere because you've made it dependant on you.

If you aren't a wildlife carer or in the animal health industry you might not realise it's injured and needs treatment. This could lead to broken bones setting in ways that the animal can't perform normal functions and suffering from a life of chronic pain. Or it could lead to it suffering a slow and agonising death.

You might also not be aware that wildlife can contain diseases that can make you sick or even kill you. You could put yourself and your loved ones at risk of serious zoonotic diseases by bringing it home.

And, if you are found to be illegally holding a wild animal without the intention of rehabilitating and releasing it, the authorities are stuck. They can't release the animal because it thinks humans and domestic pets are friends. It can't forage for itself. It can't socialise with its own kind. It could have injuries or diet associated diseases that mean it can't perform normal functions, or is suffering from chronic pain. If they released it, it would die.

Is it fair for that animal that your choices have led to it not being able to experience its life in the wild as it should?

If you take something from the wild and intend to keep it, I hope this makes you think twice.

These kinds of stories are all over social media now, but none of them tell this side. They normalise putting a wild animal though an incredibly stressful experience purely for likes and engagement.

If you want to be a hero, get accredited to be a wildlife rehabilitator. Join an amazing network of compassionate humans just like you who understand that wild things should be wild, and do everything they can to get them back there.

If you find a wild animal and you're not sure what to do, call your local veterinary clinic or wildlife rehabilitation group. Trust that we have the knowledge to make the best choices for that animal. And if you want to make those choices, join us.

[drchucktingle]

THE TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION HAVE ISSUED AN APOLOGY AND A RE-INVITATION. HERE IS MY STATEMENT

hello buckaroos. the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION have issued a formal statement and apology which you can read at the attached link.

while i find the language used to discuss what was done a little unsatisfying, i would like to start by saying i appreciate anyone taking steps to prove love is real and make things right. the genuine feeling of ‘realizing you have made a mistake and hurt someone else’ is a terrible one, and i have so much empathy for this group as they reckon with their choices causing harm. i appreciate their apology.

i also think more good than bad has come from this situation. i am so thankful this happened to me (someone with a large social media presence) and not a smaller buckaroo author without the means to stand up for themselves. i think the next time someone comes to the TXLA with an accommodation need, they will hopefully be taken more seriously

lets trot down to business about specifics now. the TXLA has re-invited chuck to the original panel and even offered to take a moment at the top of the panel to talk about what happened. this is very kind of them and i will say THANK YOU. 

unfortunately i will also have to decline.

the fact that it took this much effort, social media backlash, and discussion to let me simply EXIST PHYSICALLY in a way that is authentic to myself is not a good sign. if this organization immediately questions an authors chosen presentation in this manner, i cannot imagine what my other accommodations would be met with.

sometimes i am at an event and i very quickly need extra space to breathe. sometimes i am at an event and i need special guides to help me along from place to place. these are not ‘big asks’ and every other conference has gladly provided them, but if the TXLA had this kind of initial reaction to my physical appearance, i cannot imagine them readily helping with my other needs without ‘proof’.

this is clearly not a safe place to trot for those who require additional accommodations. regardless of any apology, their ACTIONS have shown that people who appear unusual or unique are not welcome at this event on a subconscious level. i believe the TXLA have some serious inner work to do beyond this apology, and i believe this inner work will involve actions more than words.

but even more importantly i would like to make this very important point: IT DOES NOT MATTER IF MY MASK IS A DISABILITY AID OR NOT. i appreciate the way this discussion has allowed us to trot out some deep talks on autism and proved love in this way, but i think there is a much more important point at hand.

regardless of WHAT someone looks like, it is not the job of an event or conference to pick apart WHY. physical presentation can be a part of someones neurodivergence, or gender, or sexuality, but i can also just exist as a nebulous undefined part of their inner self. it can be a piece they are not ready to openly discuss yet. the guests at TXLA are authors (aka ARTISTS) and the idea that a conference dedicated to an ART is going to deny people with unique and unusual presentations for ANY reason is absurd. since when are we applying a ‘dress code’ to our artists?

without knowing it, i personally believe there is an element of the ‘good queer, bad queer’ phenomenon going on here. there is a push to say ‘LOOK we accept these marginalized groups and cultures’ but behind the scenes that means ‘we accept these marginalized groups and cultures who are quiet and speak in turn and wear the metaphorical suit and tie’. it is easy to show diversity when you only take on the voices that arent too ‘strange’.

to prove my point i ask you this: do you think orville peck would have FOR ONE SECOND been asked to perform at the texas library association event without his mask?

so with that i say ‘very sincerely, thank you, but i will have to decline the re-invitation. maybe next year’

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

The Reader gets jealous/upset because Sukuna gets Concubines, with a happy ending though. pleaseeeee

Wish I didn’t care

Tags: true form!Sukuna x fem!Reader, king!Sukuna, royal au (?), angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending i promise

An: Ooo, this was such a good idea. Thank you for requesting it from me!! I hope it’s everything you wanted!!

Sukuna never felt the need to give you a title for being in his life. To him, titles were superficial… There wasn’t a title in the world that could explain or encompass the complexities of his relationship with you.

However, you, coming from the mortal realm, wanted a title. It’s not that you wanted the power that was associated with being the betrothed of the King of Curses. You just wanted to feel.. irreplaceable to him.

So, to make you happy, you were his wife.

Kings rarely ever are allowed the luxury of marrying for love. Most kings marry daughters of other powerful kings to create allies between nations. However, Sukuna didn’t need allies. He didn’t need to marry for power when he had more power than he knew what to even do with.

Everything was simply child’s play for him. He even stopped trying to conquer the mortal realm because it was just too damn easy for him. The “sorcerers” could barely even put up a fight. It was embarrassing.

Life was truly becoming boring for him.

That was, until a female curse was delivered straight to his chamber. He was confused and honestly pissed that Uraume would simply guide this harlot into his chambers without his permission. Only you were granted such luxuries.

He was leisurely splayed in his bed with no cloth to cover himself. He truly appreciated the concept of being completely in his own skin at all times, and he often encouraged you to do the same. Though, he also learned to appreciate your more modest approach. You didn’t have to show any skin to get Sukuna riled up.

“State your purpose.” His voice was low and menacing as he spoke to the woman. He slipped his robes on over his shoulders, tying it in the front so he was no longer exposing himself.

“My father sends his regards. Says that a newly wedded king deserves a ‘fresh’ concubine.” The girl spoke with no humility towards him.

Sukuna’s face twisted in disgust that her dad would even suggest such a thing. He was even more put off that she described herself as ‘fresh’ as if she were a type of vegetable in the garden.

“Your father can kindly go fuck himself. I’m not interested.” He responds coldly, and his large palm grabs onto her shoulder with the intention of throwing her out of his chambers. He knew that if you saw her here, you’d probably be devastated.

“My lord-“

“I am not your anything. You address me as Lord or King, but make no mistake. I am not your lord.” He rudely cuts her off, not letting her think she has any sort of claim to him.

“Okay, Lord Sukuna, when’s the last time she’s fulfilled her wifely duties? I can see she’s not in here tending to you now, right? She’d probably feel grateful that you’re being satisfied around the clock.” The concubine’s voice was like a purr, and she looked up at him with eyes that’d rival a siren’s.

And for a split second, Sukuna almost considers her offer.

“You’ll never believe it, Kuna!” Your happy voice fills the air, and the door swings open to reveal you holding a small flower in your hand. “I got a jasmine to bl-“ Your eyes fall upon to scene in front of you.

Sukuna’s towering over an unfamiliar woman. His hand is touching her neck and shoulder area, while she has her hand leisurely pressed against his bicep.

“Who’s.. this?” You quietly ask, and immediately, Sukuna can feel a strange feeling pour into him. It feels like… guilt? He regrets even momentarily entertaining the idea about this harlot occupying his bed.

“Nobody-“

“Oh my lady, it’s nice to meet you. I apologize. Lord Sukuna and I were just getting aquatinted with each other since we’ll be seeing each other a lot from now on.” The serpent of a female cuts him off, and he immediately realizes just what this is. Whichever king decided to send her is hoping to ruin his marriage. She’s quite literally a snake in his garden, trying to ward his wife away from him.

“I don’t… understand.” The way your voice sounds so small. The small pout upon your lips. The way the flower you were once carrying with such confidence is now sagging in your hand. Fuck. Sukuna felt like a complete imbecile.

“Oh, come on now. You know he has needs that are beyond your abilities. I’ll lay with him when you’re too-“

“Enough.” Sukuna’s voice snaps. His teeth grit together as he practically drags the woman out of his chambers. “Go fuck off for a while. I’ll deal with you later.” The door immediately slams in her face.

After a moment of trying to comprehend what just happened and how it all happened so quickly, Sukuna slowly turns to you. It feels like a gut punch once he sees the tears brimming in your eyes.

“That wasn’t…”

“You took up a concubine?” You ask in a sniffle. Your hands are barely even holding the jasmine that’s you were once so excited to show him. Flowers rarely ever bloom in Sukuna’s desolate kingdom, but with hard work and determination, you had gotten a jasmine to bloom in his kingdom.

“No, she was sent to me. I didn’t seek her out.” He tries to dispel the claims while he slowly approaches you. His chest aches as he watches you take a step back away from him. “Do not cower from me, woman.”

“Was I not good enough? Was I not doing enough for you..? I thought… I thought it was good, b-but I can try harder.” Your voice is so shaky, and you won’t even look him in the eye. What has he done?

“Silence. You will not speak of yourself like that to me.” Sukuna orders, and he takes another step forward. You take another step back with another sniffle. Your tears are streaming down your cheeks.

“Please…” The word sounds foreign on his tongue. He’s never ever pleaded for anything in his life. He could simply take what he wants, but he doesn’t want to hurt his delicate flower. He wants her to seek out comfort in him. “Please don’t cower. It was not like that. She showed up at my door, spoke of lies and filth, and I was trying to throw her out when you walked in.”

“So you didn’t even con..consider taking her on as a concubine?” You ask while you rub the tears away with the back of your hands. Hopefully, this was all just a poorly timed miscommunication.

Sukuna takes a moment before responding. He has two options. He could tell you a white lie that would instantly comfort you, but it would be a lie. Or he could tell you the truth and face the consequences of his actions.

“It was one moment of weakness.” He replies carefully.

He instantly wishes he just lied from the way your face immediately twisted in disappointment and pure hurt. The jasmine falls from your hands, and your footsteps trail away from his chambers, leaving him dumbfounded.

Sukuna is immediately on your trail, unable to let you be. He needs to fix this. His dear wife is upset, and it’s all his fault.

A pair of hands slither up his arm as he walks. He already knows who’s touching him based off the nasty feeling from their contact. “My lord, let her be. She needs to-“

“Dismantle.” The concubine’s body drops to the floor in two, split directly at her waist. He had warned her already about referring to him as her lord. She didn’t deserve to speak of you so carelessly, and she didn’t deserve to live after causing this rift in his marriage.

Sukuna continues on his hunt for you without another hitch, leaving the harlot���s body right where she once stood for one of the servants to clean up.

He searches for you in all your usual spots: the gardens, the kitchen, the library, the rooftop. You’re no where to be found. You don’t want to be found. He starts to wonder around his perimeter. The longer he goes without finding you; the more his heart starts to race.

Did you leave him? Did he lose you for good?

The thought of not having his delicate flower by his side makes his body feel ill. You must’ve placed some sort of binding curse on him, but he didn’t necessarily mind.

He’s close to waging war when he finally sees your small human body tucked underneath a weeping willow on a bed of grass. His body moves on it’s own: running to you. When’s the last time he’s ran like this?

Crouching over you, he can see no visible injuries on your body, but he knows he’s wounded your heart with his foolish actions. How could he ever have a wandering eye when you were the real prize?

His four arms carefully scoop you up and cradle your body as he takes a seat underneath the willow. Your poor cheeks are flushed and tear stained. Your eyes and lips are so puffy. You must’ve tired yourself out from crying.

“I’m sorry, flower.” He whispers softly, even if your eyes are still resting. He pulls your body closer to his chest, and he contemplates when he started becoming so soft for you.

A part of him hates it. That small unconscious voice of his telling him that he shouldn’t concern himself with the feelings of a mere mortal, but the bigger part of him knows that he can’t just ignore you. He cares far too much for you.

“Kuna..?” You murmur as your hands rub your eyes. You’re immediately met with remembering just why you had fallen asleep. “I do not wish to see you right now.”

Sukuna chuckles quietly from your defiant little comment. It reminds him of when you first arrived to his estate. “Then close your eyes.” He simply states as one of his hands start to comb through your hair. “Woman, tell me what to do to fix this.”

You shift your gaze away from him with a small huff. If he wasn’t so much bigger than you, you’d try to wiggle away from him. However, you know it is of no use. “I don’t know, Kuna.” Your words are sharp and still so full of emotion. “Imagine how you’d feel if I told you I contemplated sleeping with someone else… in a moment of weakness.”

The sheer thought of it has Sukuna’s anger burning up like an inferno. You’re his delicate flower. No one would even know how to take care of you like he can. His arms subtly tighten around your frame. “I’d kill every man you gaze at.”

“Well, men can rest easy because I only have eyes for you.” You mutter while rolling your eyes. “I love you so much that the thought of being with someone else repulses me, and it… just really hurts that you don’t feel the same.”

“Flower, I took you for granted. It was a brief moment of contemplation, but I instantly decided against it. I did not desire her in the slightest.” Sukuna tries to explain, and his hand gently brushes against your soft cheek.

“You still don’t deny that you don’t feel the same for me.” You respond quietly, still not giving him the satisfaction of you looking at him.

“You are everything to me. I will not lose sight of what’s important again.”

“Kuna.” You finally look up at him, and you frown slightly. Sukuna secretly adores the little nicknames you have adorned him with, but he’d never admit it.

“What is it, woman?” He asks, titling his head to the side a bit to get a better look at your face. You’re so pretty in his lap like this.

“Do you love me?” You quietly ask, even if you can already hear his voice telling you ‘do not ask questions you don’t want answers to’… because even if he’s the incarnate of evil, Sukuna will not lie. Liars are weak cowards who can’t get jobs done by being upfront. Sukuna isn’t afraid of what the truth is.

Your husband contemplates your question for a moment. He thinks about how disgusting that wannabe concubine was. He thinks about how you preoccupy his mind majority of the time. He thinks about the weird mix of feelings he has felt today in your absence.

“What I feel for you… is probably the closest to love that I’ll ever get.” Sukuna responds, carefully choosing his words. “You, my flower, are the only thing that keeps me grounded to the mortal plains.”

You give him the best smile you can muster despite the disappointment that you feel since he won’t tell you that he loves you. You suppose you have no one to blame other than yourself. Sukuna told you when he married you not to get your hopes up for love, but you still can’t help but crave that sort of affection from him.

“I don’t like seeing you upset, flower.” He speaks tenderly as his thumb brushes against your bottom lip. “If I could, I’d snap my fingers and assure you that I love you whole heartedly. It just not in my genetic code.”

“I know… I’m grateful for your effort at least.” You murmur as you wrap your arms around his neck.

His arms wrap around you, cradling you to his chest. He inhales deeply, savoring your sweet scent that he enjoys so much. “Am I forgiven, woman?”

“Mmm, no.” You smile cheekily in his embrace, and Sukuna chuckles heartily.

“Oh? Is someone going to use this blunder to her advantage?” When you nod in his shoulder, Sukuna lays back against the soft pillowy grass. “That’s my girl. Go on. Make me work for your forgiveness.”

On a completely unrelated note, Sukuna had that harlot’s body mailed back to her father as a ‘thank you’ for sending a whore to his kingdom.

[phagodyke]

i will ALWAYS be salty abt the ed-sheeranification of one ok rock (one of my fave personality-building anecdotes i explain at parties to ppl getting to know me) but the fact is that takas voice is soooo hot he could sing the words on the back of a milk carton to the tune of a t*ylor sw*ft song + id probably still listen to him. sorry

[vroomvroomwee]

Can we talk about this?

Because we seriously need to talk about it. This single scene is so so so so important. Both of them are doing something typically associated with romantic couples. He grabs her hand, kisses it, holds it close to his chest and looks directly into her eyes.

In any other piece of media that would have undoubtedly been a romantic gesture. But not these two. And that is just so fucking incredible. Personally, I didn't think I would ever see this type of platonic closeness in my lifetime. One where romantic or sexual attraction between both parties is completely thrown out the window.

That's just so goddamn important to have. And you know what makes this scene even more mind-blowing. It's that their relationship is a male-female one (I know the Doctor is non-binary, but rn he's presenting as male). AND where the woman is attracted to men and the man is attracted to women (be it allo or ace).

And there is ZERO possibility of a romantic relationship between them. How amazing is that? It's so important to have that. To show that men and women can be friends. That women are not objects or something to achieve. That men can have closeness with women without being attracted to them. That there can be love, pure deep love, between men and women, and it's no less than that between a romantic couple's one.

And it's not like that trope in movies that we so often see where the "ugly" "undesirable" "quirky" ones are single and have formed a relationship with other individuals because no one wants them. No no. Both of these people are absolutely stunning and still, there's no attraction.

Also, this will go a very very long way for the ace and aro communities. To know that the love you can give is no less powerful and not inferior to that of people who do experience romantic and sexual attraction.

These two are a fan favourite, if not THE fan favourite, duo of all Doctor Who and I just wish people will realise how wonderful and special platonic relationships can be.