#❝ ⚊ I'M USUALLY THE ONE WITH THE QUESTIONS ❞ answered

[dalegendary00]

"Hey, good morning, you're a god now, good luck!"

And then they were gone, whatever just said that gone before I could even open my eyes and process anything. I almost go back to sleep but the realization that none of what just happened is normal makes me shoot up in my bed. It takes me a few moments to think through what happened, and I'm left with more questions than answers.

Like "what am I a god of?" "Who was that?" "Was that even real?"

I end up not being able to fall asleep for the rest of the night, leaving me tired the next morning. I tell my friends what happened, but that I wasn't sure if it was a dream or not. None of them have anything to say about it, and when one of them asks what I'm a god of, I can only answer with "I don't know."

I don't notice anything different until a week later, when it almost seems like my HRT is more effective than it was, or than it should be. My hair seems thinner and softer, my breasts are noticeably bigger, and things just don't seem normal. My normal speaking voice even sounds different, even though I wasn't doing any voice training. I end up pushing it off as just being lucky, and having a growth spurt or something.

After the second week, I can't ignore it any longer. I schedule a doctor's appointment ASAP to see of anything is wrong with me, because I don't think I should be going up 2 cup sizes in 2 weeks. Looking at my body, it also looks more feminine than it should, and almost looks like my bones have been shifting to be more feminine.

I managed to get a doctor's appointment the next day, a miracle these days, and so I went. When I get there, I notice that my debit card and drivers license both have my preferred name, as if I had my name legally changed, which I don't remember doing. I note that down for later, but I'm starting to have an idea to what I'm a god of. When I see the doctor, they seem convinced that nothing is off, and that everything is proceeding as usual. When I get back home afterwards, I talk to my friends, and ask them if I sound any different. They say I sound normal. And that solidifies what I believe I am the god of. I must be the god of trans people. And the moment I think that with certainty, everything unlocks, and I see what I now have to do. What my true job is, as the god(ess) of trans people.

You wake up suddenly to find an androgynous being by your bed, congratulating you on your ascension to godhood and vanishing without explaining your domain or power set. Now you have to figure out what kind of god you are, and why you're a god to begin with

[cece693]

Ok but like imagine both Billy and Stu with a big tiddy goth! male! reader as their roommate lol

Reader looks intimidating but is actually really nice lol

Looks Can Be Deceiving (Stu and Billy x M! Reader)

Hi! So I'm not really that well informed on the big tiddy slang (English is not my first language) but after a quick google search I think I got the idea????? If not, then I apologize, but I hope you enjoy this :)

tags: oblivious reader, realistic billy and stu (I think), pre-relationship, open ended, might be a part 2 coming

Billy Loomis and Stu Macher weren’t exactly looking for a new friend, let alone a roommate. They’d been fine on their own, thriving in the chaos of their twisted little partnership. But when the college housing office placed them in a three-bedroom rental with some random guy, they couldn’t exactly say no. Rent was cheap, the landlord didn’t ask questions, and besides, how bad could it be?

The first time they saw you, though, they realized this arrangement was going to be…interesting.

You were standing in the living room when they arrived, setting up a bookshelf filled with horror novels and occult knickknacks. At first glance, you looked like something straight out of one of their favorite slasher films—towering, dressed in all black, tattoos peeking out from under your sleeves, with silver jewelry glinting against your pale skin. Your undercut only made you look more dangerous. Stu, never one to keep his thoughts to himself, leaned close to Billy and whispered, “Dude, do you think he’s in, like, a death cult or something?”

Billy didn’t answer, but his sharp eyes lingered on you as you turned to greet them. “Hey,” you said, your voice deep and smooth. “I made brownies. Want some?”

Stu’s jaw dropped. Billy just narrowed his eyes. And just like that, their expectations were shattered.

Over the next few days, it became clear that you weren’t at all what they expected. Despite your intimidating looks, you were ridiculously nice—almost unnervingly so. You always smiled when you saw them, greeted them with “Good morning” even if they ignored you, and even asked if they wanted anything from the grocery store before you went out. When you weren’t at class or work, you were usually in the kitchen, baking cookies or meal-prepping while blasting Bauhaus or The Cure from a tiny speaker.

Stu was instantly smitten. He started following you around like a puppy, throwing his long arms around your shoulders and declaring you his “best goth buddy.” He loved pushing your buttons just to see you scowl—like the time he “borrowed” one of your necklaces and pretended he lost it, only to give it back with an over-the-top apology. “Don’t worry,” he said, grinning up at you. “I’ll make it up to you. Wanna watch a movie? I’ll even let you pick.”

Billy, on the other hand, was harder to read. He spent a lot of time watching you from across the room, his dark eyes following your every move. You caught him staring more than once, but he always looked away before you could say anything. Unlike Stu, who was all loud jokes and obvious flirting, Billy was subtle. He’d make sarcastic comments about your goth aesthetic, only to quietly leave a new horror novel on your desk after you mentioned liking the author. He never admitted it, but you had a feeling he stayed up with you that one night you were stressed about your midterms just because he didn’t want you to be alone.

Stu and Billy’s affections, however, reached a dangerous new peak the day they stumbled into your room at the worst—or best, depending on how you looked at it—possible moment. It started innocently enough, or at least as innocently as things ever got with those two. Stu had been whining about needing help finding a charger, and Billy, clearly annoyed, suggested he ask you. Of course, "asking" wasn’t Stu’s style.

“C’mon, Big Guy!” Stu called as he shoved your door open, Billy trailing behind him. “You seen my—oh my god.”

You froze mid-motion, one arm reaching for the fresh shirt you were about to pull on, the other holding a towel you were using to dry your hair. Time seemed to stop as both of them stood there in the doorway, their eyes glued to your bare chest. No shirt. No barriers. Just you, all soft curves and broad muscle, your big tits on full display.

“Holy shit,” Stu breathed, his voice tinged with awe. His jaw practically hit the floor as he stared, unblinking. “Are you kidding me? Those things are, like, illegal.”

Billy, meanwhile, was much quieter, but no less affected. His dark eyes drank you in, his usual mask of control slipping for a moment as his gaze flicked downward, then back to your face. He swallowed hard, shifting his weight like he was trying to keep himself from stepping closer. His voice, when he finally spoke, was lower than usual. “We didn’t know you were changing.”

“No shit,” you snapped, snatching the shirt and pulling it over your head as quickly as possible. “You ever heard of knocking?”

Stu groaned, flopping dramatically against the doorframe. “Aw, don’t cover up! I was just starting to enjoy the view!”

Billy shot him a glare but didn’t argue. He was still staring at you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You’re...built,” he said, his tone almost grudging, like the words were being dragged out of him against his will.

“Thanks, I guess?” you muttered, tugging the hem of your shirt down and crossing your arms over your chest. You could still feel their eyes on you, and it made your skin prickle with a mix of embarrassment and something you couldn’t quite name.

Stu leaned closer, his grin widening. “Dude, do you, like, know how big those are? Like, for real? You could probably drown someone with ��em. You want to try it out?”

“Stu,” you growled, your patience wearing thin. “Get. Out.”

Billy finally stepped in, grabbing Stu by the back of his shirt and dragging him toward the door. “Come on, idiot. Let's leave him alone.”

“But Billy!” Stu whined, digging his heels in. “I wasn’t done appreciating the—”

The door slammed shut before he could finish, leaving you standing there in stunned silence. You could hear them bickering in the hallway, Stu’s voice loud and animated as always.

“I’m just saying, those are a work of art! It’s like the Mona Lisa, but, you know, better.” “You’re an idiot,” Billy muttered, but his voice was tight, like he was holding something back.

From the moment Billy and Stu got an eyeful of your assets, the dynamic in the house spiraled into utter chaos. You’d barely noticed it at first, chalking up their constant presence to boredom or a newfound interest in hanging out. But as weeks went on, their antics became harder to ignore. The snarky comments, the heated glares exchanged when you weren’t looking, the way they tripped over themselves trying to one-up each other—it was enough to make even the most oblivious person suspicious.

But not you.

Whether it was the gym incident, the pancake debacle, or the never-ending movie night arguments, you remained blissfully unaware of the brewing storm. You were too focused on your studies, your workouts, and making sure the house didn’t descend into complete disorder to notice the increasingly absurd lengths Billy and Stu were going to for your attention.

It all came to a head one particularly tense evening. You’d gone out to grab groceries, leaving Billy and Stu alone in the house. The moment the door closed behind you, the gloves came off.

“Just admit it,” Stu said, pacing the living room like a caged animal. “You’re obsessed with him.”

Billy leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression icy. “Says the guy who’s practically glued to his side 24/7.”

Stu spun around, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re just mad because he actually laughs at my jokes. When’s the last time he smiled at you?”

Billy’s jaw clenched. “Maybe he doesn’t need a fucking circus act to enjoy someone’s company.”

“Oh, right,” Stu sneered, throwing up his hands. “Because brooding in the corner like some wannabe vampire is so charming.”

“Better than acting like a hyperactive toddler,” Billy shot back, his voice dangerously low.

The argument escalated quickly, voices rising as they hurled insults back and forth. At one point, Stu picked up a couch pillow and launched it at Billy’s head, narrowly missing. Billy retaliated by shoving Stu into the wall, and for a moment, it seemed like things were about to get physical.

But then you walked in.

“Hey, guys—what the hell is going on!?” you asked, staring at the scene in front of you: Stu pinned against the wall, Billy’s hand fisted in his shirt, both of them glaring daggers at each other. They froze, turning to look at you like two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

“Uh…nothing!” Stu said quickly, plastering on his trademark grin. “Just some light wrestling. Y’know, for fun.”

Billy let go of Stu and stepped back, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “Yeah. Just messing around.”

You raised an eyebrow but decided not to press the issue. “Okay...well, I got pizza. It'll be in the kitchen.”

As you disappeared into the other room, the tension between them simmered, but neither of them made another move. Not yet, anyway. It wasn't until later that night, after you'd gone to bed, that Billy and Stu returned to their conversation.

“This has to stop,” Billy hissed, his voice low and cold.

Stu crossed his arms, still bristling from their earlier fight. “You think I don’t know that? But what’s your solution, huh? Scare him off so neither of us gets him? Not happening, Billy Boy.”

Billy was silent for a long moment, his jaw working as he mulled over his options. He hated the idea of sharing you—hated it almost as much as he hated the thought of Stu winning. But the alternative was losing you completely, and that wasn’t something he was willing to risk. “Fine.”

Stu blinked, caught off guard. “Fine what?”

“We share him,” Billy ground out, his teeth clenched.

Stu stared at him, and then a slow grin spread across his face. “Well, well, well. Didn’t think you had it in you to play nice.”

“Don’t push it,” Billy warned, his voice sharp. “This doesn’t mean I like you. It just means I like him more.”

Stu snickered. “Whatever you say, buddy. But hey, at least now we’re on the same team, right?”

Billy didn’t answer, turning on his heel and stalking off. Stu watched him go, still grinning to himself.

From that day forward, things…changed.

You didn’t notice the difference at first. If anything, Billy and Stu seemed to get along better, their bickering replaced with an odd sort of pact. They started spending more time together, which you figured was just a natural byproduct of living in close quarters. What you didn’t realize was that they were coordinating their efforts.

Stu would distract you with jokes and games while Billy silently took note of what you liked, using that information to his advantage later. Billy would lure you into long, intense conversations about movies and books, giving Stu time to swoop in with grand gestures—like the time he surprised you with a ridiculously elaborate cake “just because.”

If you were confused by their sudden teamwork, you didn’t show it. You just kept being your usual, oblivious self, completely unaware of the quiet, unspoken truce between them—or the way they both watched you like wolves circling their prey.

It wasn’t perfect. Billy still bristled every time Stu got a little too handsy with you, and Stu couldn’t resist making snide comments whenever Billy monopolized your time. But for the most part, they made it work. Because at the end of the day, they both wanted the same thing.

You.

And if sharing was the only way to keep you close, then so be it.

For now.

[deerspherestudios]

Some questions regarding Atom because I absolutely loved this game and I've been non-stop drawing this spaguetti alien...

Are there any other songs you thought of when creating Atom's personality or that you wanted to include a reference to in the game? (aside from Moon Waltz, but that one already fits perfectly).

When Atom said that one day they would like to go "swimming" with the MC, did they really meant float around space or also visit other planets? Places? Maybe their home planet?

(I'm also curious on what Atom meant when they said that "they've seen worse" than the worms)

Is Atom still going to use the suit or is there any other way for it to move around (human-like that is)?

Sorry if something is worded weirdly and for asking so many questions! I'm Spanish but I'm really invested in your games, thank you Cheea!

Waaa I'd love to see your Atom drawings if you're up to sharing them! I usually don't go for stacked questions (just because they take longer to respond to and it's difficult to organize) but these were really fun to answer so I'll put them under a read more! <3

1. Are there any other songs you thought of when creating Atom's personality or that you wanted to include a reference to in the game?

Not a reference per se,,, but if Atom had a playlist I would add Villains of Circumstance by Queens of the Stone Age! QOTSA's one of my husband's favorite bands for the past year so the amount of times I've listened to this in the car has been one too many /lh It's soft and slow and heavy and eurghhh;; I think about the line "I sing only for you" a lot,,, plus a few other lines but you guys can make the connections if you happen to have a listen! Otherwise I'm gonna go off on a tangent that's way too long haha:

2. When Atom said that one day they would like to go "swimming" with the MC, did they really meant float around space or also visit other planets? Places? Maybe their home planet?

Atom being Atom they meant it literally haha! There's nowhere else for them to be other than near you, and they like the idea of a romantic outing floating among the stars. They think it's a lovely activity to do together; like that Wall-E and EVE dancing in space scene. Very cute very wholesome. Plus they're more used to being outside than in. Of course with MC's phobia, it might take a while for them to agree,,,

3. What did they mean when they said they've seen worse?

They've taken over bigger ships than the Bidadari in their search for you. That's all I'll say!

4. Is Atom still going to use the suit or is there any other way for it to move around (human-like that is)?

Considering their characteristics, yes they're still using the suit. Currently, there's no other way for it to move around that could pass as human. The main reason they use the suit is because they didn't wanna scare you on sight. Besides, they're more comfortable with the suit (and they're fully aware you don't like it when they touch you directly, so the suit helps). In fact, they'd be happy to occupy two or more of them so you can have an army of Atoms at your beck and call!

[tthoroughfare]

kerosene (part 2) // ellie williams

*･゜ﾟ･* summary: the one where she breaks up with cat.

*･゜ﾟ･* pairing: jackson!ellie x reader

*･゜ﾟ･* content: sfw

*･゜ﾟ･* length: 0.8k

this is part two of this series! find part one here

I AM ENJOYING WRITING THIS SO MUCH i literally don't want them to get together because i just love yearning so much sighhh. i'm already up to the part where things finally happen and i know i'm gonna end up posting those, then going back and writing little extra parts to slot in where they're still friends. anywayyy hope you enjoy <3

something about the conversation makes ellie deliberate for weeks. it was the way you’d spoken about your relationship just not feeling ‘right’, the way she couldn’t really verbalize anything she felt like she should say about cat. she doesn’t know if she’s just overthinking everything. cat’s great. sure, she can’t see herself spending the rest of her life with her, but she makes her happy. they have fun. they have things in common. she feels like she starts to make a mental list of all the reasons they’re together, analyzing the relationship, analyzing her own feelings. she can’t shake the notion that now they’re settled in, the excitement of newness gone, she, too, feels like something isn’t ‘right’.

she hopes it just goes away on its own. but when just over a month passes and nothing has changed, she knows she has to just do it. 

it starts off as a regular day; she meets cat at a spot they frequent, stomach churning at the anticipation. she wants to just rip the band-aid off, but she can’t. the words won’t come out. she flounders around for a while, talking about nothing, knowing full well cat can tell something’s up. finally, when she straight up asks her why she’s being weird, she just comes out and says it. she wants to break up.

of course, she feels awful. cat’s confused, and crying, and asking all kind of questions ellie can’t really express any answers to. she’s upset about it, too. but she just knows in her heart it’s for the better.

it’s cemented when she’s walking back home, realizing she feels a little lighter.

she sees you properly again about a week later, when there’s an event in jackson. she really wasn’t planning on going, not wanting to risk seeing cat (not wanting to have to interact with anyone, pretty much), but dina had convinced her, saying she ‘can’t lock herself away forever.’

she walks in late, party already in full swing, and immediately spots you in the corner chatting to jesse. you haven’t actually spoken in a few weeks, just a greeting when you saw each other out and about, but you seem happier than you were before. she kicks herself mentally when she finds herself hoping it’s not because you’ve found someone new.

she awkwardly hovers around, getting herself a drink and sipping it, people watching. these things were never her idea of a great time.

after about ten minutes, dina appears at her side, visibly tipsy. “what the hell are you doing?” she asks playfully, gesturing at the room full of people. “you’re a single woman now, c’mon. get out there.”

ellie pulls a face, rolling her eyes and taking a sip of her drink. “yeah, that's definitely my style.”

dina lets out a short, exasperated sigh, taking ellie by the wrist and tugging her across the room, towards you and jesse. “at least socialize. you’re all… weird. more than usual.”

“oh, shut up,” she retorts lowly, but allows herself to be hauled over to the two of you. her stomach flutters slightly when she gets a proper look at you; you’re a little more done-up than normal, eyes sparkling in the warm light as you greet her.

she doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol or something else, but that night is the first time things start to feel explicitly different. on one hand, it’s similar to how it was before — the odd pleasantness dissipated in the air. it feels more like a real friendship again, rather than two people dancing around each other. but on the other, something just feels… new.

she actually ends up having a really good time. she spends the majority of the night with you, drinking more than you both probably should, conversation flowing easily. and when it’s over, she insists on walking you home, despite you saying dina’s staying the night and you weren’t going to be alone anyway.

she just shrugs and smiles.

on the short walk back, dina’s chatting your ear off, thoroughly drunk, but you can’t really focus on anything she’s saying. not just because of the fuzzy feeling in your head, but because of the way you’re so, so aware of ellie’s presence. you’re walking in between them, noticing the way she seems to gravitate towards you, swaying away slightly, then back in. you cross your arms, not wanting to accidentally brush against her, not really understanding why.

she lingers at the door when you get home, dina heading straight in and kicking her shoes off, flopping down on your couch.

“well… thanks. you’re free to go,” you joke after a small pause.

ellie shoots a lopsided smile, leaning against the doorframe. “welcome.” she pauses, like she doesn’t want to go, like she wants to say something. but she doesn’t. she just taps the doorframe and stands up straight. “see you later.”

dina yells out a ‘bye, ellie’, and you wave goodbye as she turns around to leave, trying not to think about the way that smile sent your stomach all funny. “get home safe. update me on the hangover.”

she looks over her shoulder at you as she walks away, chuckling. “will do.”

you go to close the door, watching her stuff her hands into her pockets and make her way down the street for a moment too long.

[lairofsentinel]

Mourning with the Crows

Warning: I apologise in advance for my bitterness that sometimes spills into the text like the Blight when it comes to the murder of the Lore and tone that Veilguard has done to the DA world.

I've not seen this quest on YouTube or anywhere, so probably it's the only "extra" content you can have for Lucanis, and curiously is the only time where we can ASK HIM about something personal [his opinion on a topic that is not boring coffee or killing].

As it is obvious, it can only be triggered when you let Treviso be blighted.

Before this event, you have to do 3 quests that are the same one copy-pasted three times: go find X, they have became darkspwan, so you have to kill them. This is the fate of 3 crows we interacted with a bit more if you save Treviso: Heir, the crow-trainer [I laugh so much with this character, she can't be less crow at all, what they did to the lore?]; Fletcher, the faction vendor; and Chance Candide, an Orlesian Crow [yes, Orlesian... I'm dying, what's this?!] who gives you some quests about an affair between a Venatori and a Crow if you saved Treviso [and he is totally fine with a Crow abandoning the Crows for love... I'm mourning with the Crows too, for the Crows, for the whole lore]

Anyway, we go to the memorial that has an imposing statue of a Crow, as usual a nice touch of Antivan dramatics, probably the only thing they preserved about the lore.

Teia and Viago are there, and we see them remember the three Crows that we had to kill because they were too far blighted.

No matter what option you pick, Lucanis appears out of the blue with a very sceptical tone:

We are informed [implicitly] here that Lucanis certainly had no friends, just few acquaintances among the crows and local merchants and, of course, cafe workers. Still he wanted to return to that level of familiarity once he recovered his life from the Ossuary, despite the irreversible changes in him.

And here, only here, for FIRST TIME in the whole game, you can ask him something personal, something that makes him a bit more than just coffee jokes and assassin stuff: Do you believe in anything? The most ambitious, brutal question [for dav parameters, of course] we have in this game which has denied us not only the social conflicts of Thedas [and Tevinter in particular!] but also the religious ones. Of course, his answer is as bland as the game in general on these topics: He basically is an atheist, that due to an excess of pain and suffering, "wants to believe" that there is something else hearing people's cries. It's a strange argument to make, since suffering may reinforce the atheist vision of characters, but maybe this small bit of hope he wants to grab was inspired by his own situation in the Ossuary: maybe he found in Rook's action the answers to his pleas for the nightmare of the Ossuary to stop. And maybe he is hoping that after all this pain on Treviso, somehow, some power can help them to heal the city, as his pain was stopped with the presence of Rook in his life. Wishful thinking, Neve would say.

Still, the whole tone of this scene gives a constant atheist vibe to him: he knows there is too much suffering in the world for a big power not to act and help, so maybe, the natural conclusion is that there is no such power at all.

At the end of the scene we have the option to toast for 3 different concepts, each of them "attached" to each of the Crows in the screen: The memory of the dead, to Viago; The future, to Teia, and Vengeance, of course, to Lucanis.

[qqueenofhades]

I bought your 'Empire' the other day (which I am excited about; I haven't started it yet), but somehow completely missed that you had written historical fiction, and about the Plantagenets, my favourite historical dynasty, so I'll be jumping on that.

I was wondering if you had recommendations for historical fiction set during the Plantagenet reign? I've tried Sharon Kay Penman and unfortunately didn't get on with her writing, which is a shame as I've heard good things about her series. I know Philippa Gregory has several novels set during that time period, but her books seem to be verging on bodice rippers, which isn't what I'm looking for. Was just curious if you had any suggestions for well-researched fiction set during the Plantagenet reign.

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for several days (my apologies) largely because I was trying to think of a more helpful answer for you. Medieval historical fiction is VERY hit and miss for me, not least because it is often written by people who, uh, are not historians and thus have Certain Ideas (TM) about what the medieval period is like. Or they want to use various aesthetics, or they want to make some (usually questionable) point about how women were treated in the past, or they just go whole-hog on total nonsense. As an example of all of these things at once, let us all stare in horror at this recently-released book description together:

(The book is called the Stone Witch of Florence, by the way. I took one look at this and ran screaming. WHY.)

A stone witch?? So she channels the power of gemstones like a modern-day Instagram healing crystals influencer??? BUT ZOMGZ WITCHCRAFT. In the middle of the Black Death. "Unorthodox cures" you say. But they also need holy relics for protection, and I totally trust the author to understand about medieval hagiography/cult of the saints. Totally. We definitely won't get some half-baked comparison between Sekrit Women Magical Gems Which Really Work and Dark Ages Church Superstition Holy Relics Which Are A Fraud, or.... something??? And our nobly mistreated protagonist will super definitely be a real physician if she gets these and never ever accused of witchcraft (which LET US ALL SAY IT TOGETHER IS AN EARLY MODERN THING!!!!) Because medieval medicine was just a bunch of gemstone vibes anyway! Makes total sense!

...my head hurts.

Anyway, while not all examples are this egregious, the point is: I love historical fiction, but I almost always can't read it when it's set in the medieval era. I read Sharon Kay Penman a while ago and enjoyed her stuff at the time, though I have assorted gripes with it on a stylistic/historical level. While Philippa Gregory does have real academic credentials, she likewise has gone totally down the bodice-ripper alternate-history crackpot theory Secret Women Magic version of things, which is... fine if that's your jam, but just like you, it is not mine. I thus have to read fiction which is set in other periods or which I know less about or where at least I am more capable of turning off my brain and accepting things for the sake of the story. So as you see, I unfortunately don't have many useful suggestions for you in this field, since the kind of medieval historical fiction that I like to recommend is, say, The Name of the Rose. Which is terrific and written for someone of a professional medievalist's level of knowledge, but is not exactly everyone's cup of tea when they just want something fun and easy to understand.

I am, of course, happy to give other book recommendations if you'd like to broaden your request, and I'll do my best to think -- but yes! As I said, I wish I could be more helpful here. I shall persist.

(Also, of course: thanks for buying EMPIRE! I do hope you enjoy.)

[spiderb00]

Teach me - Megan Skiendiel

Megan Skiendiel X Reader  Synopsis - You've always liked football, so your girlfriend surprises you with the Rams game.  Genre – Fluff  a/n - I don't know MUCH about football, but I think my basic knowledge saved me here. Enjoy. <3  (request)

Sitting and watching the Rams game was relaxing, after days of work you just wanted to sit back and relax. Usually, this was one of the times when Megan wasn't with you, most of the time she would be out with the Kats, or doing something else while you were watching the game.

Today, however, the girl had sat next to you, and asked you to explain in detail how a game worked. You were confused, Megan had never had any interest in games or anything involving sports. But of course you explained everything she wanted to know, after all, all this just gave you more time with your girlfriend.

"So they basically kill each other?" Megan said, looking at the guy lying on the ground.

"They don't kill each other, they just have to stop the other team from scoring points." You said, eyes glued to the television.

"I never asked why you like these games so much..." Megan said, leaning on the couch and laying snuggled against your chest.

"I used to watch a lot when I was little. My family always liked sports, so we always got together to watch the games" You said, putting your left arm around your girlfriend, stroking her back, making the whole environment feel cozy and warm.

"Oh, what is he doing now?" Megan said, pointing to the screen, where the player was positioning himself.

"Ah, he's Kicker, he is responsible for field goals, extra points and kickoffs. He's very important to the team." You said, calmly explaining to the girl who was clearly confused by all the terms.

"Look, not that I'm complaining, but why did you take any interest in all this? You've never seemed this interested before." You said, giggling.

"Well, me and the girls were kind of invited to watch the Rams game, so I kind of wanted to understand at least a little bit..." The red-haired girl said with an embarrassed smile.

"Oh my god, Meg, this is amazing, baby. You're going to love it, it's really cool to be in a stadium, the energy kind of gets to you." You say, happy for your girlfriend.

"Well then I think you'll also like to know that I can bring a date, and I want to bring you." Megan says with a smile on her face. Your face lit up, Megan knew how much this meant to you, and she was happy she could make you feel special.

"No way, babe! Oh my god I love you so, so, so much." You said, as you spread kisses all over the girl's face.

Megan just laughed, the tickling that the kisses made on her face made her heart warm. After exchanging kisses, Megan looked at you smiling.

"Do you know who else will be there?" Megan asked, a teasing smile on her face.

"Sophia's girlfriend?" You asked, your excitement growing even more as you waited for the answer.

"Sophia's girlfriend." Megan stated with a smile on her face, it was really cool to her that you all were friends.

Even though Sophia's girlfriend is a little older than you (you're 19 and she's 21), you've always gotten along really well.

Oh my god, I love that girl, I HAVE TO CALL HER!!!" You said, forgetting about the game temporarily and going to grab your phone to call your friend.

In the end it seems that Manon was right.

The energy in the stadium was uplifting, having Megan by your side made everything better, and being in the presence of the girls definitely made you feel like the little girl watching the game with her family.

Everything seemed perfect, and when the game started, you made sure to watch everything alongside your girlfriend, commenting on everything and answering every question that crossed her mind.

"Thank you for bringing me here." You say into the shorter girl's ear.

Megan, who was clinging to your bicep, lifted her head from your shoulder to look into your eyes.

"You deserve, baby. I love you." The red-haired girl said, standing on her tiptoes and reaching his lips.

bending over a little to get more comfortable, you gave the younger girl another kiss on the lips, that moment was perfect, and every day you knew you fell even more in love with the girl.

I think you've noticed that I love making references to "Fam out", but you can't blame me, I'm kind of obsessed with them

[kchasm]

Ryu Number: Albert Schweitzer

Albert Schweitzer was a German-born philosopher, theologian, and physician. His personal philosophy was based around the idea of "reverence for life": He believed that there was nothing of the objective world itself that evinced any innate meaning or ethical quality, and that the world was composed of life seeking to sustain itself, which occurred at the expense of other lives. Schweitzer proposed a system of ethics founded on a thoughtful and constant awareness of the reverence for life—all living things—from which should result the effort—through actions—to strengthen and develop it. In short: It was good to maintain and further life and it was bad to damage and destroy life, and one ought to commit to the former as much as possible while minimizing the latter as much as could be managed.

…Did I explain that all right? I don't feel like I got that all right, not really. I suspect I'm mangling the guy's principles here in some way, and I can't do a lot more than apologize. I might not have failed my philosophy classes in university, but I can't honestly say I aced them, either. Just sort of floated through while managing to keep my head above water,

Anyway, praxis manifested itself notably in his running of a hospital in French Equatorial Africa (later Gabon)—founded originally in 1913 before World War I broke out and, as a German citizen in French territory, he was removed. He returned to the hospital in 1924, and headed its operation until his death in 1965.

Yeah, all of that was really heavy, wasn't it? If you want to take a moment before crossing the readmore, I totally understand.

If you didn't already know, here's where you learn that both Ryu and Darth Vader show up as guest fighters in Brawlhalla. There's always someone who doesn't know about Brawlhalla, and I love letting them know that Brawlhalla exists. (Rayman is there too.)

Lego Star Wars: The Complete Saga includes a trailer for the then-upcoming Lego Indiana Jones video game. Watch it, and you can buy Indiana Jones from the shop. And then play as him, of course.

Dude's a bit clean-shaven, but it's him. He's got the whip and everything.

The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles was a TV show based on, uh, well, the chronicles of young Indiana Jones. These semi-edutainment stories would usually see Indy getting tangentially involved with real-life historical events and meeting momentarily with real-life historical figures. The episodes were later edited and released across three DVD sets as The Adventures of Young Indiana Jones, each the sets including a DVD-ROM that let you install a slightly more educational computer game version of one of the stories in the set.

Quality-wise, these games are a little, uh.

Also Indiana's really blond in these for some reason.

Still counts, though. Including the parts where questionably drawn Indiana gets to meet the various questionably drawn historical figures.

(Incidentally, for his work, Albert Schweitzer got the Nobel Peace Prize in 1952. This makes him one among a surprisingly large number of Nobel Peace Prize laureates with Ryu Numbers. Larger than you'd think, I'd mean. Or at least larger than you'd think if I asked you to guess how many Nobel Peace Prize laureates had Ryu Numbers and then told you you had only five seconds to answer.)

(It's more than ten, anyway.)

[kouudi]

ᡣ𐭩 every path leads back to you — isagi yoichi

warnings: reader has an ex fiancé (not isagi), reader has commitment issues, description heavy, mentions of drinking, kind of proof read but not really, reader feels very guilty

a/n: i'm sorry this took so long ;-; life has been crazy and my job's been requiring me to come in more. turns out i work on christmas eve and day so that's fun i guess? happy late thanksgiving i'm thankful for all of you + my moots :D not sure when i'll be able to post again but i'll try to keep y'all updated and not disappear. also yes this was teased as a reo fic but ignore that...

The air in your apartment smelled like stale beer. The low hum of the refrigerator filled the silence in the background, only broken by the occasional wail of a distant siren outside. You’re perched at the edge of the couch, staring at the scattered beer cans on the floor as if they hold the answer to a question the universe is too afraid to ask.

You’re not even sure how the night started. Bachira called you, telling you that the team was home for a break. You rejected his invitation to go out for drinks, preferring instead to settle in at home with your own packs of beer.

Maybe Isagi called you, or maybe you texted him first—something vague after a few drinks, an invitation he somehow read between the lines. Now, hours later, he’s sitting in front of your couch, back against the edge, a comfortable distance away from you.

You think it should feel strange, having him here like this, so casually. Isagi Yoichi, with his perfect life and effortless charm, is a far cry from the mess you’ve become over the years of your friendship with him. Despite the differences, you feel a strange sense of comfort in his presence, as if for tonight, your loneliness isn’t yours to bear alone.

He’s quiet now, watching you with an expression that’s hard for you to read, his sharp eyes flickering all over your apartment as if they can’t settle on one thing for long. You take a swig from your beer, the bitterness burning your throat, and glance at him. You feel exposed, as if he’s peeling back the layers of whatever shield you’ve managed to build.

It’s that specific look that pulls the words from your tongue before you even realize it.

“Did you know I was supposed to get married last year?” The bitterness and disbelief are laced in your voice.

Isagi arches a brow at your sudden confession, his expression unreadable. The clutter of empty beer cans scattered around the floor brings up the thought of why he chose to end the night at your place, instead of suggesting his own for a late-night drinking session.

His gaze lingers on you, sharp and searching. “No, I didn’t. You’ve never mentioned it,” he says finally, his tone careful and neutral. You wonder if he’s doing it on purpose. “Are you joking?” he asks, his voice calm and even, his expression still unreadable. You force out a dry laugh.

“Yeah, well. There’s a lot I don’t mention,” you snort, lifting the beer can to your mouth. The bitterness in your tone stings your own ears. That wasn’t something you meant to blurt out. The weight of your guilt feels heavier than usual tonight, with Isagi here. His presence brings forth that strange sense of comfort, though it’s almost aggravating to you.

“Why bring it up now?” he asks, leaning back against the couch, still keeping his eyes focused on you. His voice is calm, but there’s a flicker of something beneath the surface—curiosity, or maybe even concern.

You shrug and stare down at the flat liquid in your can. “It’s been on my mind,” you mutter, though it’s only half the truth. It’s not just the memory of what could’ve been. It’s him—sitting here, looking too calm, too collected, as if your mess is just another puzzle for him to figure out.

You take another sip of your beer, the bitter taste doing little to ground you. Isagi’s gaze doesn’t waver, and you can feel the unspoken questions hanging in the air between you. Still, he doesn’t push, but his presence alone is almost like a small nudge, daring you to open up, to say more, to peel back a layer of your life that you’ve hidden from him for so long.

For a moment, you consider brushing it off with a dumb joke or changing the subject completely. But the quiet intensity in his eyes makes it impossible. Instead, you let the silence stretch, the weight of it pressing down until the emotions start to seep in—uninvited and vivid.

The memory floods back to you—the rush of slipping out the back of the reception hall, still in your wedding dress, makeup half-done and beginning to smudge. You remember the moment of freedom amidst the chaos, but the weight of the man you left behind quickly pulls you back.

“I left him at the altar,” you quietly confess, the words heavy on your tongue. The thought of your fiancé waiting for you at the end of the aisle, surrounded by friends and family, lingers in your mind like a shadow.

You never thought you’d be the type of person to run from their own wedding. You and your ex-fiancé had spent the year preparing to make that day meticulously perfect—the music, flowers, decorations, and even the vows that you spent countless sleepless nights perfecting. From everyone else’s perspective, the day was out of a fairytale. But to you, you didn’t belong in that story.

Your ex-fiancé was everything people thought you should want: a kind and successful man. You admit that it was everything you did want at the time. He was a respectable man. But, over time, the relationship became a suffocating routine, rather than one built on genuine love.

Every day that passed, and the wedding date drew closer, you felt more trapped. “It’s just cold feet,” you’d tell yourself over and over again. “Everyone feels this way before committing to forever.”

You remember the morning of your wedding, staring at your own reflection in the mirror, veil perched upon your head, feeling like an imposter. You remember the feeling inside you suddenly snap. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t marry this man. You couldn’t spend the rest of your life pretending to be someone you weren’t.

You can’t fake a thought—that was something you realized the day you met the man sitting beside you. In the last few months of your previous relationship, you started to notice things. It took you longer than usual to answer your phone, you never genuinely smiled anymore, and you only did activities that he suggested because you’d convinced yourself you didn’t know what you wanted to do. No matter how much you pretended not to notice the change in yourself, you did. You noticed it all.

It wasn’t until you and Isagi began crossing the lines between friendship and something deeper a few months ago that you realized what you had been missing. Isagi had a way of filling the empty spaces in your life—spaces you hadn’t even known existed. His presence was effortless yet inescapably consuming. And yet, as much as you knew you should surrender, a small voice kept reminding you of everything you had left behind: the stability, the comfort, the certainty. Isagi was none of those things, and perhaps that’s what drew you to him the most.

He was a force of nature, always moving, always shifting, while you were stuck in place, bound to the limit of the city you were in, caught between the pull of your past and the push toward something unfamiliar. You did try to fight it at first—tried to keep a distance, to protect whatever small sense of self that you still desperately clung to. But every time he smiled, every time he spoke, it was as if your world had narrowed to only show him. And that was terrifying.

You were stuck between staying with what you knew about yourself at age twenty-four or venturing out into the world. You didn’t want to stay stagnant, frozen in a life you felt was no longer yours. But with Isagi, there was no promise of tomorrow. There was no guarantee that things would stay the same. And maybe that was the most frightening thing. You could fall, and he wouldn’t catch you. Or maybe he would, but only for a little while.

A hand on your shoulder pulled you from your thoughts. Isagi’s expression had shifted, his usual calm replaced by something softer, tinged with sadness. His eyes met yours, but there was a distant heaviness in them, as if he were carrying a weight you couldn’t see. You weren’t sure when he got up to sit beside you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched between you, thick and uncomfortable. You could feel the shift in the air, like something unspoken had settled there, pressing down on the two of you.

Isagi opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but he hesitated. His brow furrowed slightly, and he seemed to be grappling with his words, as though he knew what he wanted to say wasn’t going to come out right. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than before, softer than his usual tone of confidence.

“I knew you were getting married. Bachira told me,” he confessed, his eyes flickering down for a moment before meeting yours again. “I didn’t want to make things... harder for you, so I pretended not to know.”

There it was—the guilt in his voice. You’d expected it, but hearing it now hit you harder than you thought it would. Isagi, who always seemed so composed, so untouchable, was suddenly vulnerable in a way you weren’t sure how to handle.

“I knew you would’ve told me if you wanted me to know.”

You swallowed, unsure of what to say, the weight of his words settling in. You weren’t prepared for this—this side of him. But before you could second-guess yourself, the words came out anyway. “I didn’t want you to know,” you said, your voice quieter now. His eyes softened, and you could see the faint shadow of regret in them. “You were always so busy, always out of the country… I just wanted to move on.” You paused, feeling the heaviness of it all. “We’ve been in this strange place for months now, but honestly, I’ve been here even longer.”

Isagi’s gaze intensified, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “What are you trying to say?”

You turned your head away, suddenly embarrassed to meet his eyes. “Isagi,” you whispered, the confession slipping out before you could stop it, “I’ve liked you for a long time now.”

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, the kind that made you want to sink into the couch and disappear. You felt exposed, as though everything that protected you had been stripped away. But Isagi didn’t say anything, not at first. His eyes never left yours, and his silence—rather than pushing you away—seemed to be drawing you in further.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled slowly, his breath shaky. “I don’t know what to say to that,” he admitted, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “You’ve always been so distant. I didn’t think I stood a chance.”

The words hit you in your gut. Isagi, a man who always seemed composed and confident, had been uncertain the entire time? The realization made you feel both relieved and guilty—you had been blind to everything for longer than you thought.

“I didn’t mean to push you away,” you said quietly, your throat tightening. “I thought that if I just kept going, kept pretending, it would get easier. But it never did.” You paused, your heart racing. “And now… I don’t know how to fix it.”

Isagi’s expression softened again, the sharp edges of his usual demeanor fading into something gentler. He leaned forward, his voice steady but full of something deeper. “You don’t have to fix it. You just have to tell me what you want. I’m right here. I’ve always been here, but you’ve got to let me in, too.”

His hand finds its way to your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your lips. “We can be a team, but only if you’re comfortable being one together.”

You lean into his touch, as if it were muscle memory. The warmth of his hand on your skin, his thumb pressing gently on your lips—everything about this moment feels like something you should’ve known before, something that was always there, just out of reach. For a split second, you let yourself believe that it’s real, that it’s something you deserve.

But then, as quickly as you let yourself forget, the weight of everything you’ve kept buried presses down on your heart again. The guilt. The confusion. The silence between you, stretched thin over the last few months as you both tread the line between friendship and something more. You pull back slightly, enough to break the contact between you, but not enough to distance yourself completely. You feel colder without the warmth of his hand on your face.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you say, the words escaping before you can stop them. You feel the uncertainty creeping back in.

Isagi doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t let the space between you grow too wide. His eyes are softer now, though you can still see the same intensity in them. He studies your face for a moment, but it feels like he’s seeing past you, into the deeper parts of you, weighing your words carefully. Then, in a voice as low as a whisper:

“No rush. We take things slow, one step at a time.”

The way he says it—the calm certainty—makes your heart race. It’s as if he’s offering a lifeline out of the mess you’ve made of your life. And for the first time in a long time, you start to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

You meet his gaze, your breath catching in your chest. “Are you sure?” you ask, the vulnerability in your voice tightening your throat.

Isagi doesn’t hesitate. “I’m sure.”

And for the first time, you believe him.

written by koudi

tags: @sarahforever

[amber-tortoiseshell]

Hello!!! I'm working on a project that visualizes phenotypes of all kinds, but I've hit a minor road bump in copper and sunshine. I know they're on the same locus and I have bases for homozygous of both-- left is a black copper classic tabby, right is a black sunshine classic tabby.

If a cat is genetically sunshine and copper, would that be a case of co-dominance or will the cat only express one of the alleles while carrying the other? Should a cat be cop/sh or sh/cop?

Secondly, say a cat is widebanded and is expressing sunshine or copper, would that cat be, say, black golden? Black sunshine/copper? Black golden sunshine/copper? What if that cat is also silver?

Lastly, I know it doesn't happen on black-based self cats, but would any golden genes express on red self cats, even if the phenotype wouldn't point it out?

Any answer helps!! Thank you so much.

I have a confirmed compound heterozygous copper/sunshine cat for you! (The order of the alleles is pretty irrelevant, i think. Use which one you like more.)

To Fugaku de Nekobaa

The cattery is specialized to golden, and they have a lot of corins and corin carriers, both copper and sunshine. I found two good articles of theirs about the golden colors here and here (both in french).

You may notice that these cats, even if they are just carrying copper or sunshine, look very golden. I suspect there is some other type of wide band here; quite honestly, i'm convinced almost if not all reported copper cats are not purely copper but copper + non-corin wideband. (And there are probably more unknown corin alleles too.) Until we have a good grasp on the golden genetics, i think it's very hard to say anything about the effects of mixing genes and alleles. The wideband phenotypes (including non-corin golden, copper, sunshine and every combination) are just too variable and close to each other to answer questions like these.

Sidenote: that said, in my opinion intermediate instead of co-dominant would be a better term here, because the phenotype is probably somewhere between the homozygotes.

As for silver, I got the impression that copper+silver gives something like bimetallic too. (The resulting pale color is called rather confusingly sunshine by british breeders.)

Copper+silver cats are usually a lot more white than sunshine+silver ones; my theory is that this is mostly because the golden british lines are much more focused on golden shaded/shell than siberians, who are more likely to be golden tabbies.

And lastly, based on how red usually interacts with these kind of things, i'd say yes, likely red self and red tabby would behave the same under the influence of any kind of wideband.

I hope i could help at least a little, good luck for your project! It looks very cool so far.

[sugawhaaa]

🕯LEE KNOW ONE-SHOT🕯

🗡The birth of a demon🗡

Warnings::MENTIONS OF RELIGION If you are faithful I highly recommend not reading this and if you do I do not take religious criticism. PTSD and war description.

Genre:: ANGSSSTTT, fantasy, ✨️mystical creatures ✨️, AU, slow burn

Pairing:: demon!Minho x fem!angel!reader

A/N:: this one is angsty as hell but what can you expect from the lord of wrath? But like the endings got me giggling

Taglist:: @velvetmoonlght @lattyjiji

🎧::

As Minhos sturdy form stood before you, you found yourself thinking about Felix's warning.

"Never be alone around Minho," Felix's tone was sincere but heavy. Moments after your conversation with Felix you found yourself in front of Lee know, alone.

There was this aura surrounding Minho that made your body shiver but you had no real reason to point it out. You caught yourself staring at him before looking down.

"Sorry, I didn't notice you," you apologize but Minho doesn't respond. He stares at you for a moment before nodding.

"Do you fear me?" He asks softly with a tilt of his head. His question didn't seem threatening but more genuine.

"Uhm...I'm not really sure," you answer honestly and Minho smirks.

"Good to know," he nods before walking off, his cape gently drifting as he walks. That energy surrounding him wasn't just that of negativity but it lingered of something stronger. Being the lord of wrath there's no surprise he's drowning in negative energy. The day goes on as usual, you spend time in your room, eat dinner with the demons, and try to learn more about them. While sauntering around the building you stumbled upon a dimly lit room filled with paintings, scultpers and books.

You scanned the hallway before making your way into the room. As you examined the room you realized the paintings were clawed at, the canvas tattered. The sculptures were cracked and also had claw marks through them, mostly faces. You went over to the bookshelf next to a grand clock that ticked back and forth.

You then felt an uneasy presents behind you.

"Get out," Lee know growled before roughly grabbing your arm. As your skin made contact images flashed through your head of what seemed to be Minhos memories. You roughly shoved you away with a hiss. "Stupid angels, I forgot you could do that," he puts a hand to his head.

The cries of terror echoed through your ears as you looked into minhos burning eyes. You know you shouldn't press further but you couldn't help it.

"was that...you?" You ask softly and he scoffs.

"I don't have to tell you shit," he pushes you back again before grabbing your wrist, dragging you to the door. You pull against his grasp but he's too strong. The images roll through both of your heads again but Minho is used to the flashbacks, they don't scare him, however he doesn't want you being all up in his business.

Just as he gets to the doorframe you find a memory hidden deep in his soul. Lee know had been crying, his vision blurred with tears, and his mom lay in front of him. He cried out for her but she didn't respond, then he was roughly picked up and dragged away. You gasp softly as you witness the scene. Minho lets go of you and his head falls.

"Minho, it was an accident I'm sorry," you put a hand to his chest and you expected him to slap it away but he just stood there. "So...you were..."

"I was born from human war," he explains. "That technically wasn't my experience. It was a young boy named Dean. That scene you saw, that glimpse of a memory was..." Minhos voice croaks as he tries to speak. "That was his last memory," Minho sighs and you find yourself shaken up at his words. "You should leave," he turns away from you.

"I can't now, not after I dug up something like that," you try to get through to him and you see his jaw clench before relaxing.

"Please Y/N," his voice is laced with desperation and you look down. You turn to leave and grab the door handle.

"I'm sorry," you apologize again and close the door. After taking a few steps you hear a cry from his room and the sound of shattering pottery. There goes another statute....

Bangchan comes running from the sound before seeing you.

"What did you do?" He asks worriedly with a hint of anger.

"I...I accidentally brought up some past trauma," you explain and chan sighs.

"Let me talk to him," he puts a hand to your shoulder. "This isn't your fault okay? Don't blame yourself for minhos emotions," Bangchan looks into your eyes and you nod. You wait at the corner of the hall and listen in on their conversation again. Lee know sounded like a whole other person but when you listened carefully you could hear multiple people's voices were in his.

In the room minho throws a painting at Chan to which Chan catches it, gently setting it down. You can't see what's going on but you can bangchan has done this before. "I know you're in there Minho, you need to wake up. You're being weak," Chan states coldly and the room falls silent. You hear one last hiss from Minho before silence.

You decide this is a good time to leave. Minho has calmed down and Chan will probably make his leave soon, you don't him to know you were listening.

《Minho ending》

"I want to hate her," Lee know hisses as he goes over to the book shelf wear a skull rests, a candle inside it. "But..."

"You can't?" Chan smiles softly and Minho punches the wall. "You usually handle your emotions so well. She's got you...conflicted. doesn't she?" Bangchan leaves that note with Minho before leaving the room. Minho sighs and looks at the dent in the wall. He laughs to himself.

"How can you hate an angel?" He finds tears running down his cheeks as he laughs. "I hate this feeling...I'm not used to it," he caressed the skull softly on the cheek.

Demon skz masterlist

[awriterinthenight]

"I Think I Love You More"-Five Hargreeves

requested: anonymous

words: 1769

warnings: swearing, Klaus being weird and just himself, that's it

summary: While planning a birthday party for the Hargreeves siblings with Lila, you don't know what to get Five, until you think of the perfect gift

In most families birthdays were usually celebrated with parties, balloons, cake, and presents. Unless you were one of the Hargreeves siblings, in that case birthdays were just another day.

You and Lila were both shocked to hear that none of the siblings ever had a true birthday. Luther was always busy with his dad or a mission, Diego was apparently "too manly" to celebrate, Allison did celebrate her birthday with Claire and Patrick, but it was never the same as a real birthday party, Klaus was...well Klaus, Five was stuck in the apocalypse for most of his life, Ben died young never experiencing one, and Viktor was always saddened when the day came around. This meant you and Lila had to take things into your own hands and give them the best birthday ever.

"Should we do it in the house, or rent a place?" you asked Lila, as you two sat on the couch a notebook in front of both of you to plan out details.

"If we rent somewhere it'll have the crappy birthday feel, but nothing beats a questionable house party with even worse decoration," she said, scribbling down your decision.

You two continued to talk and work out details, and in the midst of your planning you didn't see Diego and Five sneak up behind you two, "Their scheming something, this can't be good," Diego said, making the post of you close your notebooks and jump from being startled.

"When one is involved it's never good, but the both of them together might cause the end of the world," Five joked, standing behind you on the couch, "What are you doing anyway?" he asked, his tone was softer when he talked to you, and he was much less arrogant too.

You shrugged trying to act normal, "Nothing, me and Lila were just talking," you said, gaining a bit of courage to ask your next question, "You're guy's birthday is coming up right, is there anything you would want?"

Diego being who he was spoke up first, since you tried to phrase the question to both of them, but also more pointedly at Five, but Diego isn't the brightest crayon, "Personally I would like for you to stop eating all the damn cookies," he complained.

"I'll take it into consideration," you said, definitely not going to stop eating the cookies, "What about you?" you asked, turning towards Five, noticing how he was missing his signature watch he always wore.

"Nothing really, never really got anything ever, so it really doesn't matter," he said with a shrug. That was just so helpful, I'm being sarcastic can you tell, or is it that obvious?

"Oh," you said, a bit surprised at his answer, "Okay, then."

Once Five and Diego left, Lila went out to pick up some things for the surprise party, leaving you to ponder why you had to like the most annoying Hargreeves sibling. It was nothing truly against him, more that he was impossible to shop for, and him saying you didn't have to get him something made it even harder. But lucky for you, you ran into your favorite Hargreeves sibling.

"Hey Klaus, what do you think your brother would want for his birthday?" you asked, optimistic that he could help you.

Klaus' interest seemed to have been piqued by your question, "Hmm, with Five he could want anything from a lobotomy to old grandpa clothes," he said, being of no help.

You let out a long breath, "Unless you have any actual suggestion, thanks for wasting my time," you muttered, as you started to walk away from him.

"Wait," Klaus said, stopping you, "Just get him something practical that he'll like. Or, hear me out here, give him, yourself," he said, raising his eyebrows weirdly, putting his hands out in front of him.

"I'm sorry w-what," you stuttered, confused as to what he was saying.

"Oh, don't act all oblivious. It's so obvious you two are in love with each other. I mean it's agony to watch you two," he explained, laughing while he talked.

You tried to hide the look of shock on your face, was it really that obvious. "T-that's just...that isn't, we aren't," you stuttered out, frustrated with yourself for being so flustered by the mention of your small (massive) crush on Five.

Klaus let out a hearty laugh at your flustered state, "You are so in love with him it's crazy. Seriously you could give him anything and he would love it. By the way what are you getting me?" he asked, batting his lashes and acting dramatic.

"Something from a lobotomy to drugs," you said, annoyed at his antics.

He just giggled like the insane person he was, "Well, I bet it will be nowhere near as good as Five's gift," he said, now getting on your nerves.

You let out a sigh, walking away from Klaus, since you were not winning that conversation. You'd spent the next half hour trying to figure out what to get Five, but had come up with nothing so far. Fortunately you seemed to grow a brain cell and knew exactly what to get him. You immediately ran up to Klaus' room, since you were going to need a bit of help.

"Hey Klaus, how willing do you think Ben would be to help me with a little scheme?"

***

It was the day of the party, Lila had taken the siblings out to lunch to keep them away from the house while you and Pogo decorated the house. You had balloons, streamers, birthday hats, a pinata, and even a decent tasting birthday cake. It was, as Lila called it, all the essentials for a shit-tastic party. All the gifts were in a pile, except for your gift to Five since you wanted to give it to him personally.

You saw them enter the front door and into the living room, "Surprise," you said, smiling while using one of the party blowers (yes I had to look up what it was called, and yes that's what they're actually called apparently).

Everyone was surprised you and Lila had put together a whole party for them, but was excited to start celebrating. Everyone had put on party hats, especially Klaus who had 4 on his head, and had cracked open the champagne Lila bought.

The party went on for a few hours with music, cake, playing classic party games, and even everyone opening their gifts from you and Lila. However one person did notice a certain someone's gift to him wasn't in the pile.

"So what did you get me?" Five asked, now that the party was winding down and everyone was doing their own thing.

"What makes you think I got you something?" you said, crossing your arms, "You said not to get you anything."

He smiled at you, "I know you, darling, I know you got me something."

You let out a long breath, "Maybe I did," you said, uncrossing your arms, "But in my defense you're hard to shop for, so please don't hate it."

"I promise I won't," He said, excited to see what you got him.

You held the small box behind your back, "Close your eyes, and hold out your hands," you said, and he followed just as you directed. You placed the box in his hands and waited anxiously for him to open his eyes.

When he opened his eyes he looked at the box before opening it. Inside the box was a simple watch with a leather band.

"You got me a watch," he said, looking up at you through his lashes.

You couldn't tell if he was disappointed or surprised about the gift so you tried to play it off, "I-I just noticed your usual one was missing, and I remembered you said something about it being broken, so I just thought you could use a new one. I hope you like it," you rambled, not noticing how he was looking closer at the watch.

"F.H.," he said, running his finger over the initials, "And are those..."

You were nervous as to what he would think about this part of the watch, "My initials. I just thought it would be more personal if I added it. I can probably get it removed if you don't like it, but-" you once again rambled before getting cut off.

"Who said I didn't like it?" he said, once again looking at you like you were everything to him.

"Oh, I just, I didn't know how you would react so I didn't know if you would like it, sorry," you said anxiously.

He took a step closer to you, barely inches apart now, "This must've been expensive, how did you afford it?" he questioned, shocked that you would get him something so nice, and also trying to fight his urge to kiss you right then and there for it.

You swayed a bit, still nervous, "Actually I had it customized, then had Klaus have Ben steal it for me," you told him, explaining the heist you pulled earlier.

He let out a small laugh, something that was very uncommon for him, "So you customized a watch for me, then had a ghost steal it for me, and you threw an amazing party?"

"Yes, that's basically the whole story. I know it sounds crazy, but you know your family," you joked nervously.

Five smiled, looking at you once again, "I don't know what I love more, you or the watch," he confessed.

You were flustered by his confession, "I- y-you, love me?" you questioned, since you thought that he didn't love you back.

"Of course I do," he said, leaning in closer to you.

"Well, I love you too," you confessed, leaning in closer till your lips touched. Your first kiss was soft, but once you pulled away Five pulled you back in. This time the kiss was more passionate.

"I think I love you more," he said in-between kisses, making you laugh softly at his antics.

You two were so enthralled with each other, that you didn't notice Klaus celebrating in the back. Klaus had been so excited that his plan to get the two of you together worked. He had distracted Five and "accidentally" broke his watch. Since he knew you were very observant, he knew you would notice, get him a watch, but would personalize it, then Five would realise how in love you were with him, and would lead us to this point. Klaus was a real mastermind when it came to playing cupid.

Current Taglist for all fics (ask to be added)

@almost-gabrielle @scarlett-8 @sarahskywalker-amidala @atashiboba @that1deerpersondownstairs @herondale-lightworm

[rita-repulsa-ke]

The Hundred Temples of Agatha Harkness

"Why are you picking this to get insistent about?" Agatha complained. "I mean, it's a flower crown, Rio."

Agatha and Rio, on the road, in love. Agatha is annoying, Rio is romantic and long-suffering. Business as usual, really.

"Rio, stop that," Agatha snapped at her as she absently grew flowers along the side of the road, then plucked a handful of the prettiest ones. Her perpetually-annoyed beloved was in a worse mood than normal, something about the heat, everything taking too long and very possibly the time of the month.

Rio glanced over at the woman she loved, absently working the flowers into a circular shape. "Do you know people used to worship me as a god?" she asked conversationally.

"I didn't," Agatha answered, barely paying attention, then seemed stop and consider that. "Are any of them still around? Because I can think of several ways that could be useful."

"…Agatha, are you suggesting that we scam people who worship me?"

"I mean," Agatha said, pursing her lips as though she seriously needed to consider the question. "…Yes?"

"Do you have any shame?" Rio said, which only made Agatha laugh, a surprised cackle that made an answering smile tug at Rio's lips.

"I wasn't aware you were so invested in morality," Agatha admitted. "Given that your favorite hobby is watching people die."

"It isn't really a hobby, Ags. More like a full-time job."

"Still."

"Death isn't wrong," Rio said. "It's a part of the natural cycle."

"Right, sure. And the part where you love when I murder people?"

Rio's eyes fell half-closed and she licked her lips, savoring the idea of getting to watch Agatha do what she did best. "Well, then it becomes their time to pass beyond the veil. Ags, is there a coven where we're going?"

"Yes, and I will, I promise, but don't get too fired up about it, I want to stay for a few days and do some other things first."

Rio pouted slightly, pressing herself closer to Agatha. "It sounds nice, though. I want it."

Agatha patted her on the shoulder. "It will be just as nice in a few days, I promise."

Rio glanced at the hand on her shoulder. "Whole temples in my honor."

Agatha snickered. "Feeling how far you've fallen?"

"Mm. Every once in a while. But you know, I'd rather be walking down a dirt road with you than have a hundred temples in my honor."

"Right," Agatha said, the compliment sliding off her like water off an oversized, aggravating duck. "…Any chance any of those temples are still standing?”

"No idea," Rio said, trying to decide between exasperated and affectionate and settling on both.

"Shame."

Rio put the completed flower crown on her own head without comment and Agatha glanced over, then shook her head. "…A god, huh," she said, snickering slightly.

Rio considered, then motioned, grew more flowers only to pluck them, feeling them begin to wither and die as soon as their roots broke away from the ground, minuscule deaths but still pleasant, like warm sunlight on her skin. She began to weave them together, choosing only the best and brightest.

"…Surely you don't need that many flower crowns," Agatha pointed out.

"Just one more," she said.

"…Hey, Rio," Agatha said, catching on and immediately beginning to protest. "No. They're very pretty. Very, very pretty. But it's just—it's not my thing."

She didn't answer, humming off-key to herself as she worked the stems together, held up the finished product with a pleased smile. Even better than hers.

Then she quirked a finger at Agatha. "Beloved, come here."

"Noooo," Agatha said, speed-walking away like she was ever going to be able to outrun Death. Rio let her get a few steps ahead and then appeared in front of her, so close Agatha almost ran into her.

"That is an incredibly petty use of your powers," Agatha said, taking a fast step back. "It’s very pretty, love, I'm just not really a flower person. Or a whimsy person. Or whatever that thing represents."

Rio let out a deep, pained sigh, realized that was the first time she'd remembered to breathe in a while. "Agatha."

"Why are you picking this to get insistent about?" Agatha complained. "I mean, it's a flower crown, Rio."

Rio gave the other woman a smile that would have cowed lesser women, the wild, exultant, smile of a being that could have watched the world die and still remained unsatisfied.

It only made Agatha cross her arms and try to stare Death down.

"It represents that every once in a while, my love, I want to win," Rio said.

Agatha searched her expression for a moment, then snatched the flower crown and put it on her head, arranging it neatly. "Are you happy?" she snapped.

"Euphoric," Rio said, catching Agatha's wrist and tugging her into an embrace. "Ecstatic."

"Great," Agatha drawled, her arms looping around Rio’s waist. “So happy. But just so you know, this has nothing to do with your former status as a god. If the Mother herself came and tried to force me to wear this ridiculous thing, I’d tell her no.”

Rio raised an eyebrow. Agatha rarely invoked the Goddess and never in play, the deity was one of the few things she seemed to take seriously, far more seriously than she often took Rio. “Then why?”

Agatha couldn’t quite meet her eyes. ”Because apparently you care,” she murmured. “And I want—you know.”

“To make me happy?”

Agatha inclined her head in agreement. “That.”

“Ags, do you know what would make me very happy?”

Agatha tugged her closer, pressed an overwhelmingly gentle kiss to her lips. "I love you," she said. "I must, right? I'm letting you win."

Rio couldn't help but melt against her lover, always delighted by Agatha managing to be momentarily romantic. "More than a hundred temples," she murmured.

"But consider, my sweet, that we could probably gain more benefit from the temples," Agatha said, slightly too smug with her own amusement.

"Oh, well, if you want me to go off and start a religion…"

Agatha's arms tightened hard around her waist, dragged Rio tighter against her. "No," she said and sometimes Agatha really did get it entirely right, looked at her like the last thing in the world she wanted was for Rio to go anywhere, even if that anywhere might benefit her. "Stay right here, on a dirt road with me."

Rio kissed her in answer, kissed her and kept kissing her until Agatha's cheeks were as red as her mouth. "Always, beloved," she murmured.

Agatha cleared her throat, flushed down her neck. "…We should get going," she said, sliding her fingers through Rio's.

"Sure, Agatha."

It took longer than Rio had expected after they had set off again, hand in hand, for Agatha to glance at her and ask plaintively, "Rio, how long do I have to wear this thing?"

"A little longer, please. It suits you," Rio said, and couldn't stop herself from giggling at the pained expression on her lover's face.

"You would make a very petty deity," Agatha complained.

"Agatha Harkness, you should talk."

That made Agatha burst into delighted, cackling laughter. She bumped her shoulder against Rio's. "…Now there's an idea. I'd take a few hundred temples in my honor.

"If you like," Rio said. "I don't mind if you scam people who worship you."

"Want to start a religion?"

"I want to do almost anything, so long as its with you."

Agatha squeezed her hand, perhaps in acknowledgement of the compliment, a sign that Agatha might be capable of learning after all, then began to workshop a possible religion as they continued their walk down the road together.

[gremlin-girly]

Thin Walls

BBF!Lloyd Hansen x f!Reader

Part of @steviebbboi 's 200 Follower Submissions 💥💥

Prompts: Then I guess we gotta be quiet, huh? + "Nope. Again." + "Aw, does it feel good right there?" + BBF!bb + Daddy/Princess kink

Warnings/Tags: SMUT, oral (f recieving), p-in-v (wrap it), almost quickie sex, rough-ish sex, wall sex, dirty talk, pussy spanking (just one), Daddy/Princess kink, praise (good girl), a hint of possiveness (my girl), petnames (it's Lloyd so there's so, so many... sweet thing, princess, gumdrop, baby cakes), secret relationship, alcohol consumption (brief), orgasm denial, brat taming, begging

Not beta'd. MDNI. I do not give permission for my work to be copied, reposted or translated (or put through AI)

Summary: Your brother's wedding rehearsal and wedding would be a lot more exciting if you didn't have 20 questions about your relationship; luckily Lloyd has all the answers for you.

Word Count: TBA (I'm on mobile and my computer is being a shit x I imagine it's over 3k knowing me tho)

A/N: Hello, hello! And welcome to the second installment. Took me longer than imagined and I'm guess ing the word count is in the 3k zone (rip my computer). I'm working deftly to get the final story for this challenge (more on that in the notes after the fic!!) Enjoy! - Love, Grem x

Dividers by: @/cafekitsune

Ionian Sun | Bubbles | Masterlist

You'd spent the hours of your morning rushing around with the women of your family, fussing and cooing over the bride, the dress, all of the excitement. By the afternoon, you were already mentally drained and the thought of the rehearsal lunch sat next to your cooing mother and father filled your bones with dread. Worse yet, you were seated next to your brother's best friend Lloyd Hansen, who seemed more smug than usual.

You gritted your teeth as you made your way through your starter, Lloyd and your dad chatting and drinking away. Your mother leans over to you, her eyes gleaming mischieviously as she looks between you and Lloyd.

"He's quite handsome," she says keeping her voice quiet as she sips her wine.

"Mom-" You hiss back at her warningly. You did not need this right now.

"I'm just saying!" She rolls her eyes dramatically and taps her hand over yours. "Handsome, good job, we've known him all his life pretty much." She takes another sip of her wine, eyeing Lloyd as you narrow your eyes at her. "You always used to say you'd marry him."

"I was five years old." You grit at her, feeling your cheeks burn with embarassment.

"And it was so cute." Your mother sighs wistfully, remembering exactly how adorable you looked in your princess gown, declaring your intent to marry your brother's friend. More than once. "And he'd be so proud about it. You were his princess to rescue when you'd play together."

Lloyd’s piercing blue eyes meet yours across the table and you shift in your seat uncomfortably and clear your throat.

"Can you not do this-"

"Lloyd!" Your mother leans her elbows onto the table and his gaze moves to hers, giving her a grin. You sigh and rub your temples, wishing you could be anywhere else. "You're single right? No important woman in your life?"

"No," Lloyd says casually, his moustache twitching upwards. "Not particularly."

Your mother nudges you under the table and you fight the urge to combust on the spot.

"What about coincidence! Y/N isn't either. I thi-"

"I think you've had enough to drink." You say curtly, scowling at her but your mother ignores you.

"We were just reminiscing about when you were all kids." Your mother says brightly. "Playing knights and make believe."

"You were all such troublemakers." You dad chimes in, shaking his head with a chuckle. "I had to close up my study more than once to stop you kids stealing my 'treasures'."

Lloyd chuckles lightly before glancing at you. "I remember.... And I remember princess here was always intent on marrying me."

"I could hardly marry my brother." You snap, sending a glare his way but Lloyd sneers over at you. But your parents don't listen to you, only laughing at Lloyd’s comment.

"We thought you'd end up together. The family all had bets." Your mother adds, nonplussed. Her hints were the furthest from subtle but one of the major cons of a secret relationship was that no one knew you were together. And keeping up the act that you didn't want to lunge across the table and sit in his lap was tiring at times like these. Although, maybe interrogations about your supposed single-life and setting you up with your lover was better than probes about marriage and kids.

"Mom!" You balk at her. At least you could be embarassed by her meddling and use that for your top tier acting skills; much to Lloyd’s annoying amusement.

"What?" She says, waving a hand dismissively at you. "We did! You were both so cute together."

"What do you mean were? Oof." Lloyd bites back a yelp of pain and glares over at your smug, sneering face as he nurses the shin you kicked under the table.

You don't really remember how the secret relationship started, or why you'd fought so hard to keep it a secret, but Lloyd was your favourite person. Always had been, always would be. Maybe it was because you thought your meddling family wouldn't be as open to you dating your brother's best friend, especially your brother, as they so claimed.

Your brother's wedding only added more stress to the mix.

"I'm going to get a drink." You pull a face as you stand from the table making a bee-line to the bar. Lloyd excuses himself quickly not long after and follows after you, ensuring to stop by your brother's table for a quick chat so not to arouse suspicion.

When he finally joins you at the bar, you're already sipping at a rum and coke and slide a glass of the same over to him. You're half slumped in defeat on the counter, elbows aching against the hard wood as your rest your chin on one of your palms. You glance over at Lloyd with a small, wry smile.

"I'm sorry about that." You huff, brushing hair from your face. "She would not let up."

Lloyd shrugs, taking a swig of his drink, smacking his lips at the sweetness. "It's alright. I know your mom. Nothing I couldn't handle, princess."

You give him a withering look but he only gives you a shit-eating smirk in response.

"You didn't help things along either." You point out, standing a little straighter.

Lloyd shrugs, leaning his back against the counter. "What can I say? Weddings make me emotional."

You glance down at the opaque brown liquid in your drink, studying it for a moment. Your mind wanders, an almost excitable feeling rises in your chest and you quash it quickly.

Annoyingly, you couldn't always tell what Lloyd was thinking. The initial elements of secret dating (the sneaking around, the quickies) had ignited all of the dormant feelings you'd possessed for him eleven-fold but as time progressed, they hadn't waned and only left you wanting... something. The sneaking and quickies seemed to do Lloyd just fine but whether or not he was thinking of next steps like you had been made you wonder whether the entire relationship had been one sided. Even if he had flown you out to luxurious hotels across the globe multiple times to stay with him.

Downing your drink hurriedly and slamming your glass down with an audible thwack, you whistle a breath. Lloyd’s eyebrows raise as he watches you but he doesnt flinch. He sips at his own drink, saying nothing.

"Don't you have any best man duties to attend to?" You ask, pushing away from the counter to stand straight. "I don't think you're supposed to be hanging around the groom's sister all night."

"I'm right where I want to be, honey. You know that." He picks up a peanut from one of the bowls that litter the bartop and pops it into his mouth. "Besides I've been dismissed until tomorrow."

"Ah." You finally look over at him with a nod and clear your throat awkwardly.

Lloyd doesn't waste a moment more to speak what's on his mind.

"You look radiant tonight, gumdrop. And I can't wait to see what you'll look like in your dress tomorrow." His eyes roam over you shamelessly and you can see his tongue darts over his lips. "And I can't wait to see both of them on my bedroom floor."

"Lloyd," You warn under your breath.

"You know I love it when you get all riled up, cupcake." He teases, grinning at you over his glass. "Serves you damn right for kicking me earlier."

"You deserved it." You say firmly, fixing him with a glare.

Lloyd casts a glance out over the guests. All of them were too busy talking with one another, intermingling and excited for the ceremony and celebration tomorrow morning. No one, not even your parents, is paying attention to you and Lloyd.

"Will I get a dance off of you tomorrow?" He says still overlooking the dining hall. The hotel had been a great choice of venue, save for the fact the groomsmen, bridal parties and close family were situated on the same floor. Lloyd's slightly furrowed brows indicate he's making a mental note of something but you don't know what of, though you could guess.

"I don't see why we can't dance together." You say lightly but your heart is beating up a storm again knowing you'd love nothing more than to dance with Lloyd for the whole day, not just one measly dance.

"Just checking it's all ok with your plan," He says as little curtly and offer a dejected sigh in response.

Your eyes dance around the room, to your smiling brother and bride-to-be, to your parents and family, then back to Lloyd whose blue eyes are fixed on you again. You take in a long breath your chest heaving slowly before murmuring,

"So... nothing else on your agenda this evening?"

"Lloyd, the walls are thin. Everyone will hear."

The cool wood of the door presses into your back Lloyd’s form crowds around you, kissing at your face and neck, his hands wandering to find the zip of your dress.

"Then I guess we gotta be quiet, huh?"

You click your tongue and roll your eyes, trying to unbutton his shirt; why are you not surprised that would be his answer?

"God, you looked good today." Lloyd murmurs, kissing down your neck. "Couldn't wait to have you all to myself, princess."

The sound of your zip rolling down your back fills the silence as you pry three buttons free while kissing Lloyd. Warm fingers tug the straps of your dress over your shoulders, peeling your dress from you until it's a slinked pile of tule on the floor.

"Same to you, daddy." You murmur against his lips, smirking when you yank the bottom of his dress shirt out of his slacks and he gasps softly.

"Hey now, I was careful with your dress." The chide is half-hearted as Lloyd undoes the last of his buttons to remove the shirt entirely. "This shirt was expensive."

The shirt is quickly discarded into a creased pile next to your dress and you take a moment to admire Lloyd in all of his moustachioed glory. His muscles are taut and the hair on his chest matches his 'stache; dark, thick and well-groomed. He flexes slightly when he catches you staring, not bothering to hide the smug satisfaction he has knowing you're admiring him. That hasn't changed from when you were kids.

Reaching out, your fingers slip over his belt and tug him closer to you. Warmth radiates from Lloyd his strong arms wrap around you, his lips attached to yours again. He's left enough space between you for you to skillfully undo his belt and slacks, pushing them down to join the clothes pile growing at your feet.

Ditching his shoes Lloyd pushes against you, pinning you against the wall with his body. You can already feel how excited he is through the thin fabric of his (expensive) boxers and grin smugly into the kisses.

"Don't think you're going without punishment, cupcake." He murmurs against your neck, one strong arm hitching under your leg to squeeze at your ass and press the outline of his cock against the damp heat between your legs. You gasp quietly and roll your hips upwards loving the feeling of friction against your folds.

"Patience princess," he chuckles, grinding into you. You pout your pretty lips at him and he has not choice but to kiss them.

You can feel Lloyd’s hand dip between your bodies,tugging your underwear to the side and swiping upwards gathering slick to press against your clit. You sound a heated curse, watching as Lloyd rolls his finger over your clit, making your body heat almost uncomfortably and pressure in your core grow. You needed him inside you badly. Lloyd changes the grip of his hand, feeding two fingers to your pussy and rubbing at your clit with his rough thumb whilst you mewl his name.

"Aw, does it feel good right there?" Lloyd sneers, grinding against you as his thumb lazily swipes over your clit. "Is it gonna make you cum, princess?"

"Yes daddy," you roll your hips onto his fingers and your eyes flutter. But just as soon as the delicious pressure is building to overflow, it's gone.

You pout at Lloyd whose busy sucking his fingers clean and shucking his boxers down.

"Don't look at me like that princess," he pouts mockingly back at you, pumping his thick cock a few times in front of you. "I'm giving you something better than my fingers."

Lloyd lifts you leg again but instead of teasing you, he pushes the hard head of his cock up into you. Your walls pulse as you take him at this angle; it was a gorgeously tight squeeze that you couldn't enjoy for long as Lloyd began to fuck you brutally into the wall.

Your breathing hitches and your hands fly to Lloyd's shoulders in an attempt to steady yourself. The furious push and drag of Lloyd's cock was second to none, the filthy hushed moans and cries that emanated from your mouth only added to the ecstasy.

You bit down onto your bottom lip, gripping Lloyd tighter, as your orgasm threatened to spill yet again. Lloyd watched you with a smirk, continuing to pummel your back into the wall.

"Oh, does my princess wanna cum again?"

"Yes, fuck, daddy please." You beg breathlessly, your legs trying to squeeze around him as your cunt milks him hungrily. Lloyd grunts but halts his movements as he's balls deep inside your pussy, making you throw your head back with a short-lived moan as you remember yoi should at least make an attempt to be quiet.

"Too fucking bad." He grits out into your ear, and with one hard squeeze to your ass, your other leg lifts from the floor. You squeak but wrap your arms around Lloyd's neck to steady yourself as he lifts you and half-carries-half-rushes you to the bed. "You're not cumming yet. You don't get to be a brat at the rehearsal and get away with it."

Splayed on your back, you relish the soft covers for a few moments before Lloyd begins to fuck you again. In comparison to the wall - they're much more preferable, but strangely not as hot.

Lloyd’s hands grasp your wrists, using you as anchor as he fucks into you. Your legs obediently wrap over his hips and you fight back a few pitiful mewls of pleasure before giving in entirely. Moaning louder, you let your eyes roll, your pussy clamping down on Lloyd's cock harder than before. You don't need to look at Lloyd to know he's smirking triumphantly. It never took long to break you but he enjoyed doing it all the same.

"'M gonna cum," you whine, balling your fists as you meekly try to focus on holding back your orgasm. But there's a swift, wet smack to your clit that makes your back arch from the bed.

"Nope. Again." Lloyd huffs impatiently. "You know I want to hear you say it."

"Daddy," you whimper, your crescendo fast approaching. "Please, please, please let me cum over your cock!"

Lloyd pretends to mull it over, enjoying how you wait patiently for his answer as his sac slaps against your wet hole.

"Hmm... how could I say no to this sweet cunt. Cum."

You cum with a choked shout. Your body obliges his command by gushing over him, your pussy sucking his cock hard as he fucks into you just as brutally as before.

"That's my good girl," he coos watching you writhe in pleasure on his cock as you cum, sighing at how well you squeeze him. There's a moment, as Lloyd pins your hands above your head and gazes down at you, where Lloyd’s face softens slightly. A twisted contrast to how hard he's fucking you.

"How would you like to be mine forever, sweetheart?" His voice is just above a whisper, his lips and moustache tickling the flushed skin of your cheeks. "Pretty ring on your finger, perfect white dress?"

"Oh," you can feel yourself grow light headed at his words, second orgasm bubbling to the surface. Your chest heaves and you try to chase Lloyd's lips but he only allows you one peck before tutting delicately.

"Oh no princess." His voice is still quiet, gentle enough to lure you into sweet obedience. "Not till you tell me your answer."

"Yes!" You cry out, palms opening and closing rapidly trying to hold something to anchor yourself as your second orgasm begins to descend upon you.

"All mine. Forever?" Lloyd presses with a growl. The wet, echoing slaps are longer now; almost languid but you know from the twitch of Lloyd’s cock deep within your pussy that he wants to cum.

"Yes daddy yes! Please Lloyd - forever-" Your last word is clipped with a loud gasp as the floodgates of your second orgasm wrack your body; your pussy convulsing and gripping Lloyd's cock so tightly he has no option other than to paint your insides with a groan.

"Fuuuuuck," he curses, his hips still slowly driving his cock into you slowly and he watches proudly as his and your cum coats his cock. "You're amazing as always, princess."

Lloyd slowly pulls himself from you fully and chuckles at the pout you give him before settling beside you. Tugging at your limp body, he pulls you towards him, and you happily comply. You nuzzle into his chest and entwine your legs, the room silent apart from your breaths.

"So...?" Lloyd begins playfully.

"So?"

"How about it?" He peeks down at you, tickling your lips with a soft kiss. "You. Me. Forever?"

"Are... Are you proposing to me?" Still hazy and fucked out, you glance upward, your one eyebrow quirked to hide your wide eyes.

"No," Lloyd says grinning down at you. "I'd need a ring for that. I just want to get your thoughts. See if it aligns with your plan."

The wedding goes off without so much as a hitch, which was surprising.

The ceremony was gorgeous and many tears were shed, among stolen glances at Lloyd who was stood off to the side behind your brother. Your brain rattled from your brief conversation the night before and you gripped at your small bouquet of bright flowers tightly. Maybe Lloyd was on the same page as you after all; maybe even a few chapters ahead.

When it came time for the bouquet toss, you sneakily edged away from the other women and bridesmaids, intent on finding Lloyd. He was watching the excited trills of the women with a smirk, growing into a teasing grin when he spotted you approaching.

"Oh? No bouquet toss for you, sweet pea?"

You roll your eyes at him, stepping to stand by his side and watch the brawl that was about to happen for a bunch of flowers. "Not really my thing; and I'm worried that old biddy with a cane would do damage."

You nod at your Aunt Ethel, who was armed with her cane ready to thwack anyone who came near her for the bouquet. Lloyd snorts.

5

"Did you mean what you said?" You ask suddenly, surprising yourself. You should have confronted him after round one, maybe even after this morning, but your tired fucked out brain was too elated and excited by the prospect and the day to care.

Even though your brain was full of questions and distracting thoughts of Lloyd the whole day, you'd still managed to be a good bridesmaid and sister.

"When?" Lloyd wiggles his eyebrows at you and you give him a sideways glance.

"You know when." You huff impatiently.

4

"I just wanted to hear you say it." He chuckles, straightening his pocket-chief. "Last night."

"Yeah. Last night."

3

"Of course I did." Lloyd’s gaze fixes on you again. "I'm not anything but a man of my word, sweetcheeks."

"Right." You nod.

2

Your heart thuds against your ribs and a tingling sensation from the tips of your toes to the top of your head rushes over your body before you repeat three words that had only ever been spoken in hushed murmurs in the security of the bedroom or the comfort of your home.

"I love you." You say quietly.

Lloyd stiffens for a moment. It's brief but you notice in you peripheral, feeling a little smug you caught him off guard. But after the moment passes, he relaxes like butter on a hot day.

"I love you too, princess."

1

The boquet careens in the air, perfectly arching semi-circle. You new sister-in-law seemed to have a real gumption for tossing bouquets. In fact it careened closer, and closer. On impulse, you reach out your hands and bend your knees slightly, catching the bouqet upside down.

Silence falls for a moment and you glance at Lloyd, whose grinning ear to ear. Red rushes to your face as cheers erupt around you.

Maybe you'll let your parents take credit for pushing you and Lloyd together at your brother's wedding.

Or maybe, Lloyd will finally tell you that he'd asked your brother permission to marry you months ago.

A/N 2: HELLO

How are we feeling? You good?

I have been writing a lot for Jake and Lloyd recently (for both Kinktober, and other WIPs). I tried avoiding making this 5k this time unlike Ionian Sun, however, the final installment that I'm trying to finish for this challenge may miss the deadline.

But if it doesn't that's okay as it is actually part of a 5 part collection! But you will have @steviebbboi to thank for the prompts ;)

Thay being said...who wants to talk merpeople with me?👀

[batmanlovesnirvana]

Chapter ten | tick, tick, boom.

masterlist

pairing : bruce wayne x fem!oc (can be read as x reader)

words : +7k

A/N : New chapter is here!!! I hope you all enjoy it :) Apologies for the delay—university has been keeping me busy. Also, English isn’t my first language, so I appreciate your patience with any mistakes.

previous chapter | next

MARYAM WAS STILL DAZED, the world around her a cacophony of panic and motion that she could barely process. 

The freezing air of the parking lot behind City Hall bit into her skin, sharp and unforgiving, as if trying to snap her back to reality. Grey, clunky cars lined up like faceless sentinels, their dull metallic sheen muted further by the overcast sky. 

People flooded out of the building in a chaotic tide, their hurried footsteps echoing off the asphalt. Some were running, others briskly walking, heads down, jackets pulled tight against the cold, all desperate to escape.

Her family surrounded her, their voices a frenzied blur.

"Mar, are you okay?!"

"Have you lost your mind?!" "What happened in there?" "Was that Bruce Wayne?!" "That white boy is crazy!" "Maryam, answer me! Are you even listening?!"

The questions came like an onslaught, each one louder than the last, but Maryam couldn't register a single word. 

She stood there, mute, her mind a foggy labyrinth of recent events, her body swaying slightly as if the world beneath her feet had shifted off its axis.

Warda, her sister, gnawed at her nails, her other hand protectively cradling her swollen belly. Alma gripped Maryam's arm so tightly it began to hurt, her phone pressed to her ear as she barked orders or pleaded with someone Maryam couldn't identify. Sherine's questions poured out relentlessly, her freckled face a storm of worry and frustration. Rania, pacing in small, frantic circles, muttered to herself, shaking her head as if to dispel her own disbelief. 

Aunt Jamila, always the caretaker, tilted Maryam's head this way and that, examining her face with clinical precision. Her hands were warm but firm, her scolding muttered in Arabic, sharp and cutting: "Stupid girl. Careless like always. What were you thinking?"

"Ya Allah, what is happening?" Aunt Meysa's voice rose in the background, her phone glued to her ear. She was practically shouting into it, probably to Uncle Fawzi, rattling off a mix of Arabic and English in a flurry of panic.

The chaos was suffocating, but it was Ryan who finally broke through. His voice, usually calm and soothing, now carried an edge of command that silenced the crowd.

"Guys, we need to get out of here—now," he said, his arms wrapped protectively around his pregnant wife, dark eyes scanning the parking lot with the sharpness of a man used to anticipating danger.

Maryam blinked, her senses snapping back into focus like a camera lens sharpening its view. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "No," she said, her voice hoarse but determined. "I'm not going anywhere. I need—"

"Maryam!" Ryan interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Now is not the time for this. There's a bomb in there. Do you hear me? A bomb! We need to leave—all of us."

His words hit her like a bucket of ice water, clarity piercing through the haze of her shock. 

The DA was inside, a bomb strapped around his neck. A psychopath was loose in Gotham, playing games with riddles and lives. She wasn't the only one in danger. Her family—her family—was here, vulnerable. That realization settled into her chest like a weight, heavy and cold.

She nodded, swallowing hard. "You're right. Let's go. We'll head to Aunt Meysa's. If that bomb goes off, it could take out the whole block."

Warda protested immediately, her voice trembling. "No, you need to go to the hospital! Look at yourself!" Her hand gestured wildly at the gash on Maryam's forehead, where blood trickled down the side of her face in crimson streaks, stark against her pale skin.

"I'm fine," Maryam insisted, though the dizziness creeping into her vision said otherwise. She barely flinched when Aunt Meysa whacked her arm with a closed umbrella.

"Leh! You are not fine!" Meysa snapped, her accent thick and sharp, slicing through the cold air like a blade. Her voice trembled, caught between anger and worry. "Look at you! You're about to faint, bleeding out like this!"

"Khalas, Amti," Maryam said softly, forcing a tired smile. "I said I'm fine. It's just a cut. I'll clean it up and put some ice on it. Nothing to worry-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence!" Meysa interrupted, her eyes blazing with worry. "You think you're invincible? Wallahi, Maryam, I've had it with you acting like you don't need help!" She grabbed Maryam's chin, tilting her face toward the light. "You need stitches, not ice! Jamila tell her"

Aunt Jamila only shakes her head, a hand a gains her own cheek, too tired to even speak.

"Khalas, Amti," Maryam murmured, her voice soft but insistent. She gently pried her aunt's hands away and motioned toward the car. "We don't have time for this. Just get in. We need to leave before anything else happens."

"Before you collapse, you mean," Warda muttered, her hand resting protectively on her belly. "You're not convincing anyone, Maryam."

Maryam opened her mouth to argue, but Ryan stepped in, his voice low and commanding. "Everybody needs to calm down. We're wasting time. Meysa, she's stubborn—you won't win this one." He ushered Warda toward their car, his hand never leaving her back.

"I don't care about winning," Meysa huffed, still glaring at Maryam. "But mark my words—if she keels over, I won't be the one to pick her up. Let her explain herself to God!"

Maryam rolled her eyes, more out of habit than defiance, and turned to Sherine just as she grabbed her arm. "Listen," Sherine began, her voice calm but her eyes filled with concern, "Perry needs me. The team's waiting at the front of City Hall, and I've got to cover this. Don't worry—I'll be fine."

"Me too," Rania chimed in, barely pausing as she typed furiously on her phone. "Bella's expecting me, and it's important. I'll update you, okay?"

Maryam gave them both a weary nod, her chest tight with unease. "Just... be careful."

"Always am," Sherine said, blowing her a kiss before calling over her shoulder, "And I'll try not to get blown up!"

"La hawla wa la quwwata illa billah!" Aunt Meysa hissed, glaring at Sherine. "Don't joke about that!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry!" Sherine called back, her voice fading as she disappeared into the crowd.

Maryam climbed into the driver's seat, ignoring the relentless throbbing in her head and the sticky warmth of blood trickling down her temple. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white against the worn leather, as she stole a glance at her family in the rearview mirror.

Meysa sat rigid, her lips moving in whispered prayers, beads of worry etched deep into her brow. Beside her, Jamila leaned against the window, her face pale and drawn, tears threatening to spill over. Alma clutched her phone like a lifeline, her fingers trembling as she scrolled through what Maryam could only assume were frantic messages or news updates.

The doctor shifted her gaze to the empty parking spot outside her window, her chest tightening at the absence of Warda and Ryan's car. At least they were gone, safely on their way—she hoped. The hollow space where their car had been felt heavier than it should, a stark reminder of the chaos they were leaving behind.

"Everyone buckle up," Maryam said quietly, her voice cutting through the tense silence, steady despite the searing pain that made her vision swim. "We're getting out of here."

For a moment, no one moved, the weight of unspoken fears hanging thick in the air. Then, with a rustle of fabric and the soft click of seatbelts, her family obeyed.

Maryam exhaled slowly, her breath fogging up the windshield for a fleeting second. She turned the key in the ignition, the engine sputtering to life with a low growl. This wasn't over. Whatever horror was brewing back at City Hall would follow them in one way or another—she could feel it.

But for now, she had one job: get her family to safety.

For now, nothing else mattered but the people in her car and the faint hope that they'd be out of harm's way before the next storm hit.

They all arrived safely to the apartment.

Maryam perched on the armrest of the couch, her arms tightly crossed over her chest, hazel eyes fixed intently on the screen. She didn't blink, barely breathed, her focus riveted to the unfolding nightmare.

Aunt Jamila shuffled in quietly, a tray of hot tea in hand, the soothing aroma of mint curling into the warmth of the living room. She set the tray on the coffee table with care, though no one reached for a cup. 

Without a word, she handed Maryam a cold pack wrapped in a towel. 

"Here," she said softly.

Maryam murmured her thanks, pressing the ice to her cut. A sharp sting made her wince, but the pain was easy to ignore compared to the tension tightening in her chest.

Aunt Meysa sat nearby, fingers working over her prayer beads in a constant rhythm. Click. Click. Her lips moved soundlessly, prayers spilling forth like a lifeline. Across the room, Uncle Fawzi was hunched forward in an armchair, his leg bouncing with restless energy as he muttered under his breath, glancing repeatedly between Maryam and the TV.

On the couch, Alma gnawed at her bottom lip, her phone clutched in one hand like it might deliver answers. Beside her, Warda sat with Ryan, her hand protectively resting on her growing belly. Their attention, like everyone else's, was glued to the TV.

Sherine's face filled the screen, her windblown red hair flicking against her cheeks as she held the mic with a steady hand. The scene behind her was chaos—cops, military personnel, and reporters swarmed the City Hall steps, their movement a stark contrast to her composed demeanor.

Uncle Fawzi leaned forward, waving a hand at Alma. "Put the volume up, binti! We can't hear a thing."

Alma complied without a word, turning the volume dial until Sherine's steady voice filled the room, cutting through the heavy silence.

Ryan shifted uneasily, his arm a fortress around Warda's shoulders. Her fingers curled instinctively over her growing belly, as if shielding the life within from the horrors unfolding on the screen. Aunt Meysa's whispered prayers grew faster, the rhythm of her beads clicking frantically in her hands.

Maryam barely noticed the ice pack slipping in her grasp, the cold water trailing down her arm like phantom fingers. Her hazel eyes stayed glued to the screen, unblinking, as though the pixels might rearrange into answers she couldn't find herself.

"Yes, Olivia," Sherine said, her voice cutting through the crackle of the wind. It was calm, measured, but underpinned by urgency that sent a chill through the room. She pressed her finger against the earpiece, steadying herself against the chaos around her. "I can confirm that a bomb collar is involved, though the extent of its power is still unknown. Negotiations are ongoing, but so far, Gotham PD has not issued an official statement. There is—"

Sherine broke off, her gaze shifting off-camera, lips pressing into a thin line as she listened to something in her ear.

Maryam's grip on the melting ice pack tightened, the sting of cold and the ache in her temple a distant afterthought. Half an hour ago, she and her family had been there, caught in the thick of the storm. It felt surreal, like time had folded in on itself. They had escaped—but only just. And the threat hadn't gone anywhere.

No one moved toward the tea. The cups sat forgotten on the table, their heat spiraling into the air in thin, ghostly wisps. Comfort was there, within arm's reach, but the room was too tense, too brittle for anyone to take it.

"Allah yustur," Aunt Jamila murmured, breaking the stillness, her hands clasped tightly together.

Sherine's voice came back into focus, the microphone trembling slightly in the relentless wind. "As we speak, the situation remains volatile. Crowds have been evacuated to a safe perimeter, but tension is high, and..."

She hesitated, glancing behind her at the swarming police vehicles and barricades. Her composure faltered for a brief second, and in that fleeting moment, Maryam's chest tightened.

The room was silent, save for the low hum of the television and the faint clink of Meysa's beads. It felt as though the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting for what would come next.

Maryam didn't speak. She couldn't. Her gaze stayed locked on the screen, unblinking, as if the sheer force of her focus could pull Sherine away from the chaos. The knot of dread in her stomach tightened, coiling into something almost unbearable.

The TV feed flickered, cutting from Sherine's wind-swept figure to shaky footage from a SWAT camera. The dark, unmistakable silhouette of Vengeance moved through the room, his cape rippling like a shadow given life. No, not Vengeance. Bruce.

"He actually came," Warda murmured, her voice low but sharp, the disbelief clear as she leaned forward. Her husband, Ryan, tightened his grip around her shoulders, his jaw set like he was bracing for something inevitable.

The entire room seemed to tilt forward as if gravity had shifted. Aunt Meysa shook her head slowly, her fingers flying over her prayer beads with rhythmic precision. "Ya Rabb," she whispered, "keep us safe from this madness, and guide us from what we don't understand..." Her voice cracked slightly, but she didn't stop.

Maryam's eyes never wavered. Her jaw tightened as the camera focused on Bruce—on the deliberate way he peeled the tape from Gil Colson's mouth. The prosecutor's face was a mask of terror, his every breath shallow and labored. The screen flickered again, splitting into two: Bruce on one side, and Colson on the other, with the distorted voice of the Riddler filling the room like a sinister melody.

"...You give me the answers, and I'll give you the code for the lock..." The Riddler's words were taunting, sing-song, and dripping with sadistic delight. It was a voice that seemed to revel in the chaos it caused, every syllable a dagger meant to twist.

Alma gasped, her face illuminated by the glow of her phone. "He's live—on Instagram!" she exclaimed, shoving the screen toward Maryam, as if she could do something about it. "Look at this!" 

The chat scrolled in a blur, a storm of reactions:

@cclods : OMG, he's insane!!! @jakepplew : This guy's got no chill, fr. @dytmq : HE'S A LEGEND. @liabvjj : he's crazyyyyy @gfdyy : somebody stop him helloooo ??? why isn't anyone stepping in? @vcxz : He's literally speaking the truth; y'all can't handle it  @heljooop : best live of the decade !!!

The stream had millions of viewers, every one of them watching the madness unfold like it was some sick, dystopian reality show.

Maryam blinked, her lips pressing into a thin line as the Riddler's livestream filled her vision. Her stomach churned at the thought of how many people were not just witnessing this but engaging with it, feeding the fire.

She finally exhaled sharply, the sound cutting through the tense silence. Standing, she moved with purpose toward the kitchen, the weight of everyone's eyes trailing her.

She grabbed a glass and filled it with water, the soft trickle of the faucet almost drowning in the thrum of her own pulse. Her hand tightened around the glass, but she didn't bring it to her lips. She just stood there, staring into the water, her reflection distorted by the ripples.

Her mind raced. She could still feel the familiar sting of cold nights, the adrenaline, the darkness of Gotham's streets. As The Wraith, she had always been in the thick of it—observing, planning, acting. But here she was, removed, confined to the safety of her family's warm apartment.

It was maddening. She felt disconnected, like a thread pulled too taut, on the verge of snapping. Watching Bruce—Vengeance—on that screen, risking everything, stirred something deep inside her. A part of her itched to act, to be out there again. Another part of her hated herself for even thinking it.

In the living room, the voices of her family rose and fell, mixing with the tension of the broadcast. 

Meysa prayed louder now, her voice cracking as she begged for divine intervention. Alma's eyes darted between her phone and the TV, her fingers shaking slightly. Her thumb hovered over the screen, like she was about to type something, but the words never came. She just stared at the broadcast, as if it might hold the answers.

Warda was pressed against Ryan, her fingers digging into his arm as if she could anchor herself in his calm, but there was nothing calm about the way her eyes darted from the screen to the other family members. Her face was pale, her lips drawn tight, as if she were holding her breath in a room where the air was getting thinner by the second.

Aunt Jamila, ever the commentator, bit her nails down to the quick, her eyes glued to the screen as she muttered under her breath. She occasionally shot a glance at the others, shaking her head with disbelief at the riddles, the twisted game that Riddler was playing with them all.  

Uncle Fawzi, ever the grumpy presence in their family, was now unmistakably restless. He waved his hand dismissively at the screen, the gesture slow and deliberate, but it spoke volumes. The man who usually sat back, unimpressed by anything, was now on edge, his patience fraying. He was no longer the man with the answers, the one who held everything together—he was just as uncertain as the rest of them. 

But Maryam just stood there, gripping the glass tightly enough that her knuckles turned white. She couldn't shake the feeling that, despite the chaos they had fled, she hadn't truly escaped. She wasn't just watching this unfold. She was still in it, whether she liked it or not.

Aunt Meysa's voice rose again, trembling with disbelief as she stared at the countdown on the screen. "What kind of sick man enjoys this? Making puzzles out of people's lives?! Ya Allah, how have we come to this?" Her beads, clutched tightly in her hands, her knuckles white, as though holding onto them might ward off the ugliness of what they were witnessing.

Maryam's phone buzzed against the counter, jolting her attention. She glanced down, the glow of the screen revealing a message from Sherine: Riddler's insane, but he's not wrong about the corruption.... Are you seeing this???

Maryam clenched her jaw, swiping the message away without replying. Her focus snapped back to the screen just as the bomb detonated. The room went silent as the screen flashed white, followed by static crackling in an eerie aftermath.

"Astaghfirullah," Uncle Fawzi muttered, shaking his head, his hand hovering over his heart as if steadying himself. "When people lose their faith in justice, they start looking for it in the wrong places." His voice, usually a source of calm, carried an edge of unease that mirrored the expressions on the faces of everyone around her.

Riddler wasn't just playing games; he was dismantling lives. 

But not just any lives—lives of power, privilege, and corruption. A small voice deep inside her stirred, a younger, angrier version of herself. That voice whispered congratulations, a twisted kind of gratitude for the reckoning he was forcing on people who had long escaped consequence. These were the same people who had thrived while others like her family had suffered, watching their hopes erode under the weight of the system's sins.

But now? Now, she wasn't so sure.

Maryam shifted uncomfortably, the conflicting emotions pressing against her chest. She wanted to feel satisfied, even justified. But the reality unfolding in front of her wasn't clean. It wasn't justice—it was chaos, and it left her feeling more hollow than vindicated.

She couldn't help but wonder—what if the Riddler was exposing a truth no one wanted to face? What if this was what justice looked like now, messy and terrifying?

Then she thought of the bomb. The flash. The deafening silence that followed.

It hit her like a wave she'd been bracing for but could never quite withstand. But most of all, It felt disgustingly familiar—like the echoes of wars she had tried so hard to bury. Wars that still crept into her dreams, twisting them into nightmares. The sound of crumbling buildings, the smell of ash, the sight of faces frozen in shock and fear—it all came rushing back, raw and relentless.

Her chest tightened, the weight of it almost unbearable. She clenched her fists at her sides, grounding herself against the rising tide of memories.

This wasn't justice. It was vengeance wearing a mask of righteousness, and it reeked of the same devastation she had spent her life trying to escape.

Aunt Meysa's prayer beads fell silent in her hands, their rhythmic clicking ceasing as if her whispered invocations had been tied to the bomb's ticking. Her lips moved soundlessly, her hands gripping the beads tightly.

The medical examiner didn't flinch, her hazel eyes glued to the television as the live feed resumed. The footage shifted to the chaos outside the city hall—SWAT officers rushing in, the scene a whirlwind of lights and movement.

Sherine's face appeared on the screen again, her voice steady despite the chaos. "We are live just outside the city hall. The bomb has just exploded—I repeat, the bomb has exploded. Authorities have cut all live feeds from inside. The Riddler's livestream has been taken down, along with all other feeds."

Maryam didn't hear the rest. 

Her sister's voice faded into background noise as she absentmindedly touched the delicate pendant around her neck, her fingers tracing its outline. Her mind was elsewhere, consumed by a singular thought that made no sense, yet refused to leave her alone:

Bruce.

Was he okay? Was he hurt? ...Was he alive?

A shiver ran down her spine, a chill that no amount of logic could dispel. The man she barely understood, who had dragged her into his world of shadows, now consumed her thoughts. And for what reason? She didn't know.

Just as Maryam reached for her phone, intending to contact Gordon for any information, her screen lit up with a notification from him: MEET ME AT THE GCPD ASAP. URGENT.

Maryam's fingers moved quickly, typing a simple reply: Coming.

Without hesitation, she grabbed her long black coat draped over the back of a chair and slipped into her heels. She didn't have time to change out of her funeral clothes—her tailored, somber attire felt like a second skin now.

Aunt Meysa's voice broke the tense silence in the room, soft yet pleading. "Maryam... where are you going?"

Maryam froze momentarily at the door, her hand resting on the handle. She didn't turn around, her back to them, her shoulders stiff with the weight of the moment.

"Out," she replied, her tone firm but distant. Grabbing her bag, she added curtly, "Gordon needs me."

She didn't wait for a response. The door clicked shut behind her, cutting off their worried murmurs and the muffled sound of the TV still narrating Gotham's descent into chaos.

Outside, the cold night air hit her like a wave, sharp and unyielding. 

Maryam descended the stairs quickly, her heels clicking against the pavement as she disappeared into the shadows, mind racing.

The city was unraveling, and she had no choice but to be in the thick of it.

Chaos pulsed like a living, breathing thing, and tonight it seemed to have found its epicenter inside the GCPD station. 

Maryam felt it in her bones as she entered the station, her heels clicking sharply against the linoleum floor. The air carried the sharp scent of tension, stale coffee, and a faint undercurrent of sweat.

Officer Martinez stood near the doors, his familiar mustache twitching slightly as he adjusted his belt. His stance was stiff, his usual lazy air replaced by a readiness that made Maryam's stomach tighten.

"Hey," she said, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

"Hey," Martinez replied faintly, giving her a once-over with raised eyebrows. "You were at the funeral?"

"Yep," she said, popping the p with forced nonchalance. "So, what's so urgent?"

"The freak's down here," he muttered, gesturing for her to follow.

Maryam froze mid-step, narrowing her eyes. "What do you mean, 'the freak'?" Her tone was sharp, though she already suspected the answer.

"You'll see for yourself." Martinez didn't elaborate, leading her down a flight of stairs into the precinct's basement. The air grew colder with each step, the sterile, fluorescent lighting casting long shadows against the walls.

As they approached the interrogation room, a low hum of voices filtered through the heavy steel door. Martinez opened it without a word, and the scene inside hit her like a brick.

A cluster of officers surrounded a long table, their postures varying between hostility and wariness. At the center of it all was the unmistakable figure of Vengeance.

He lay motionless, his armored frame still intimidating even under the harsh light. The bat ears of his cowl caught the glow of the overhead bulbs, but the mask was still intact, shrouding his identity. 

The air in the room buzzed with tension, officers exchanging wary glances and hushed whispers that darted like shadows. A charged, uneasy energy filled the space, as if the very walls were holding their breath.

Maryam weaved through the sea of blue uniforms, her heels clicking against the linoleum as she approached Gordon, her pulse quickening with every step. Grabbing his arm, she hissed, "Gordon, what the hell is this?" Her voice was low, sharp, though her wide, searching eyes betrayed her unease.

Gordon turned to her, his expression grim, his eyes flicking toward the table where the Bat lay still, his imposing figure reduced to vulnerability. "Ah, good. You're finally here," he said, voice tinged with relief. "I need you to check on him."

Her gaze snapped to the unmoving form, then back to Gordon. "So... he's alive?" she asked, her voice a notch softer, almost tentative. Her fingers fidgeted with the strap of her bag, the chill from outside still clinging to her skin.

"I hope so," Gordon muttered, running a hand over his face. "That's why you're here, kid."

She hesitated, her throat tightening. "I'm not the right doctor for this."

"Maybe not," he admitted, leaning in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But you're the only one I trust right now."

Behind them, the cluster of officers grew louder, their agitation bubbling into sharp-edged murmurs. Gordon's jaw tightened. "Come on," he said, gripping her arm as they pushed through the throng.

When they reached the table, Maryam stopped short, staring down at him—Bruce, she reminded herself, though his armor, his mask, everything about him screamed Vengeance. The blood smearing his cape, the shallow rise and fall of his chest, made the sight all the more jarring.

She glanced at Gordon, her hesitation dissolving under his steady gaze. There was no need for words. She nodded once, her determination settling like a weight in her chest.

From her bag, she pulled out a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and doused her hands, the smell sharp and sterile. She wasn't dressed for this, wasn't prepared for this, and yet here she was. For him. For Bruce.

"Give her space!" Gordon barked, his voice slicing through the tension in the room like a knife. The officers reluctantly stepped back, their muttering fading to a low hum.

Maryam took a breath, the cool air of the basement chilling her lungs.  Her hands hovered over him for a moment before she pressed her fingers to his clothed neck, searching for a pulse. As she worked, the room seemed to blur around her. 

All that mattered now was this man.

Her brain worked in overdrive.

Hours ago, she'd learned the truth behind the mask. Now, she was the one keeping him tethered to life.

The tension in the room was suffocating as Maryam slung her bag over her shoulder, her sharp eyes taking in the scene. His suit was scuffed and torn, battle-worn, but it wasn't the visible injuries that worried her—it was the ones she couldn't see, hidden beneath the armor and the stoic stillness of his body.

The officers circled like restless wolves, their collective hostility thick in the air. One of them, a burly man with a permanent scowl etched into his face, folded his arms and muttered, "Why're we letting her handle this? We should just take off the damn mask and be done with it."

Maryam didn't flinch, didn't even look up. She stepped closer to Bruce's still form, her movements deliberate. With a click, the flashlight on her phone flared to life, casting a cold, white glow over his battered face. She leaned in, checking his pupils, her hand steady despite the crackling tension around her.

The officers craned their necks, peering over her shoulder. "Who do you think is under there?" one of them asked, his curiosity thinly veiled under a layer of skepticism.

Maryam kept her focus razor-sharp, her voice cool and detached as she said, "Take it easy." Beside her, Gordon cut in with a firmer, "Back off, all of you."

"I wanna see," the burly officer scoffed, his impatience flaring. He stepped forward, reaching for the mask, but Gordon intercepted him with a sharp shove. "Don't even think about it," the lieutenant warned, his tone like steel.

Maryam sighed, her breath misting in the cold basement air. "He's breathing steadily. No signs of a concussion so far," she murmured, her words measured but firm. "But I need more time to—"

"Time?" The burly officer's voice cut through hers like a blade. "This is a waste of it. He's just some vigilante. Not a hero. Take off the mask—what's he gonna do, stop us?"

That was it. 

Maryam snapped. 

Without looking up from her task, she spat, her tone ice-cold, "Touch him, and I'll break your filthy fingers."

The room froze. The burly officer's face flushed with anger, his mouth opening for a retort, but another voice cut in before he could speak. "What's he got on his eyes?" someone asked, his curiosity tinged with suspicion.

"Who cares?" another younger officer hissed. "I wanna see his face."

Maryam ignored the growing noise, her world narrowing to the flashlight beam and the faint movement of Bruce's chest. His pupils responded sluggishly to the light, their gray-blue depths striking even in their dulled state. She frowned, her mind calculating the possibilities—shock, exhaustion, blood loss—but her face remained impassive.

She could feel the hostility swirling around her, but she didn't let it touch her. She worked with the precision of someone used to chaos, her hands steady as the storm of egos and suspicions raged behind her. 

This wasn't about them. It wasn't even about her. It was about him.

In this moment, the man under the mask was hers to protect, and she'd be damned if she let anyone compromise that.

The room was a powder keg, and the burly officer struck the match.

"What are we even doing here?" the officer grumbled, his impatience evident as he leaned over the unconscious Batman. "Let's just take it off."

Before anyone could stop him, his hand reached for the edge of the mask, fingers brushing the cowl.

Maryam stiffened, her hand halting mid-motion. Gordon's voice cut through the air like a crack of thunder. "Don't—"

But it was already too late.

In a heartbeat, the Bat came alive, shooting up from the table like a coiled spring. His eyes snapped open—sharp, wild, electric with fury. The room erupted into chaos.

With an almost inhuman fluidity, he was off the table and on his feet, dropping instinctively into a fighting stance.

Maryam's heart jolted as her phone slipped from her hand in the commotion, the sharp crack of its screen shattering against the linoleum floor barely registering over the chaos around her.

"HEY—RELAX, GODDAMMIT!" Gordon bellowed, rushing to position himself between the towering vigilante and the startled officers. The burly man stumbled back, his bravado giving way to wide-eyed panic.

"You're protecting this guy, Jim?" Chief Mackenzie spat, his tone laced with disdain. "This freak interfered in a hostage situation. Colson's blood is on his hands."

Maryam rose from her crouched position, retrieving her fractured phone, her unease growing as the verbal sparring escalated.

"Maybe it's on yours," the Bat growled, his voice low and lethal, a rasp that cut through the air like the scrape of a blade.

"What'd you say?" the chief snapped, stepping forward, his voice dripping with challenge.

The Bat didn't even blink, his steely gaze drilling into the cop. "He'd rather die than talk," Batman said, his voice cold and steady, every word dripping with accusation. "What was he so afraid of? You?"

The tension was electric, unspoken threats coiling in the silence. Chief Mackenzie stepped forward until their faces were inches apart, his voice low and venomous. "You son of a bitch. Do you know the kind of trouble you're in? You could be an accessory to murder."

Before the charge could detonate further, the same burly officer made another attempt at the mask, lunging from behind. Batman moved like a shadow given form, twisting effortlessly and shoving the officer back with a force that sent him crashing into the wall with a heavy thud.

Another officer surged forward, but Batman sidestepped him with a precision born of instinct, flipping him onto the table with a resounding crash. Papers and coffee cups scattered, the room descending into bedlam once more. Maryam was jostled in the melee, but she planted her feet, refusing to be pushed aside.

"BACK OFF! BACK OFF!" Gordon shouted, his voice commanding but desperate as he wrestled two officers away from the towering vigilante.

Mackenzie glared at Batman, his anger boiling over. "Right now, I've got you on assaulting an officer."

Batman's voice dropped into a growl, the barest hint of a smirk in his tone. "You've got me on assaulting three." He took a deliberate step forward, his presence oppressive, as if the room itself was bending to accommodate him.

But Gordon had had enough. He surged forward, slamming Batman back against the wall with a force that echoed through the room.

"HEY!" Gordon's finger jabbed toward the Bat's chest, his voice sharp and biting. "What's the matter with you huh?! This isn't the way to do this!"

The two men stared each other down, the chaos around them momentarily stilled. Maryam, clutching her broken phone, watched with bated breath, her pulse pounding in her ears. The night was unraveling faster than anyone could catch it.

The Bat's piercing gaze locked onto Gordon, cold and detached. His voice came low and measured, a blade wrapped in shadow. "You too now?"

Gordon didn't flinch, his finger still poised, the weight of his frustration clear in his stance. He kept his eyes trained on Batman, his tone clipped but resolute. "Let me handle this, Chief."

Chief Mackenzie crossed his arms, his sneer practically audible. "You're seriously gonna put yourself on the line for this scumbag, Jim?"

"I'll get him to cooperate," Gordon replied, unyielding. "Just give me a minute."

The room fell into a tense silence, every officer waiting for the Chief's call.

Finally, with a begrudging grunt, Mackenzie relented. "Ok. One minute. Clear the room."

A wave of discontent rippled through the officers as they exchanged glances and grumbled their protests, but none dared challenge the order. 

Slowly, the room began to empty.

Gordon eased his elbow off the Bat's chest, stepping back. His voice dropped, steady but firm, as he spoke over his shoulder. "Doc, you stay. Keep checking him for injuries."

Maryam, who had instinctively moved toward the door with the others, paused mid-step. She turned, nodding silently, her lips pressed into a thin line. She clutched her bag tightly as she moved back toward the table, nerves coiled tight.

The last officer shut the door with a heavy click, leaving just the three of them in the room. Through the glass, every officer who had been forced to leave now stood watching, their eyes glued to the scene like vultures circling prey.

Maryam stole a quick glance at the throng beyond the glass, their scrutiny suffocating, then turned her focus back to the towering figure of the Bat. 

His broad frame loomed like a statue carved from fury, yet his breathing was shallow, controlled. He hadn't moved a muscle, his presence filling the room as if he were still the only one in it.

Inside, the room felt oppressively still, the hum of the fluorescent lights amplifying the tension. 

The medical examiner set her bag on the table, the crack on her phone screen glinting under the harsh glare. Gordon adjusted his coat with a sigh, the sound heavy with frustration and resolve.

"Alright," he said, his tone measured but commanding. "We need to talk. Maryam, keep going." He gestured toward Batman.

The Bat stirred slightly. "I don't need—"

"Shut up and let me work," Maryam interjected, her voice sharp as a scalpel. She placed her phone carefully on the table beside them and pulled on a pair of gloves.

The silent onlookers behind the glass loomed like an audience in a theater. Gordon, sensing the need for a show, suddenly slammed his hand on the table. The sound cracked through the air, startling even Maryam.

"Now you listen to me!" Gordon snapped, stepping closer to Batman with a pointed finger. But his voice dipped lower as he leaned in. "We need to get you out of here."

Maryam huffed, her breath fogging slightly in the cold air. She grasped Batman's gloved hand, turning it over with clinical precision. "If you don't stay still, this'll take longer," she muttered, her fingers brushing over the armor. 

The suit made it almost impossible to see any real damage, but she kept her hands busy for the sake of appearances.

Batman's voice was quiet, yet it carried a weight that filled the room. "They'll put a lot of heat on you."

"Punch me," Gordon whispered, shaking his head slightly. "Make it look real."

Batman tilted his head, a flicker of dry amusement breaking through his stoicism. "Huh."

Maryam snorted softly, pressing her fingers near his ribs as if she could feel for injuries through the thick armor. "You two are ridiculous."

Gordon discreetly pressed a small key into Batman's hand, leaning close enough that it seemed like a continuation of his supposed reprimand. "Take this. Go through that door, head for the stairs to the roof."

Batman's gaze shifted subtly to the door, narrowing when he spotted a familiar figure in the crowd of officers behind the glass. "Who's the mustache?" he murmured, barely moving his lips.

Gordon followed his line of sight. "Kenzie, narcotics."

"He's one of the guys I got into it with at the Iceberg Lounge," Batman said evenly.

Gordon frowned. "What are you saying? Kenzie moonlights for Penguin?"

"Wouldn't be surprising," Maryam added, crossing her arms as she stepped back.

"Or," Batman said with a sharp edge to his voice, "he moonlights as a cop."

Kenzie's face shifted when he noticed Batman staring, his discomfort visible even through the glass. Maryam tensed as she saw the realization click in Batman's eyes.

Without warning, Batman turned, his fist connecting with Gordon's jaw. The lieutenant went down hard, groaning in exaggerated pain.

"Oh my—" Maryam yelped, stumbling back as chaos erupted around her.

Batman bolted for the stairwell, his cape swirling behind him like a shadow swallowing the light.

"Stop him!" one of the officers shouted, and the hallway filled with the sound of pounding boots as the cops surged after him.

Maryam crouched to help Gordon up, her hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

Gordon winced but gave a faint smirk. "He didn't pull that punch, did he?"

She shook her head, raising an arched brow. "You said to make it look real."

     Night had fallen by the time Maryam returned home after bidding Gordon goodbye. 

Vengeance—or rather, Bruce—had vanished, according to Martinez. Apparently, he had leapt off the roof with his wings.

The doctor didn't press for more details; she was too drained to even try to make sense of it. Her feet throbbed from the unforgiving high heels she'd been trapped in since the early hours of the morning. 

Every step sent a fresh wave of discomfort shooting up her legs, but she forced herself to keep moving. Tomorrow would bring another relentless day of work, another endless stretch of tasks to bury herself in. 

She needed sleep. Or at least she needed to try. 

But the weight of the day, of everything still pressing on her mind, made even the thought of rest seem out of reach.

All she knew right now was that Gotham was a crucible of madness, where reason bent and fractured under its weight. She didn't want to waste energy unraveling the absurdity.

Her thoughts were a tangle of fog, heavy with the strain of Gotham's relentless turmoil. It was as if her mind was drowning in the city's madness, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't rise above it.

But then, as she stepped through the door of her apartment building, the familiar scent of sandalwood and aged wood greeted her. It was a sharp contrast to the chaos outside, cutting through the haze that had clouded her mind. For a fleeting moment, Maryam allowed herself to breathe, to exist outside the suffocating grip of the madness that had defined her day.

She barely had to glance around before spotting a familiar figure—one that was anything but unwelcome. No, this presence was a balm for her frayed nerves, a quiet anchor in the storm. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, one that had already begun to form without her even realizing.

Ahmed's presence was like the steady hum of a lullaby, a soothing melody that softened the sharp edges of the world. His skin, kissed by the sun of Senegal, had deepened over the years, carrying the warmth of distant shores. His once-full Afro had long since faded to a gentle silver, now framed by the quiet wisdom of age. His face, etched with time, spoke of stories he'd lived and places he'd seen, yet his eyes—soft and kind—held an unspoken peace, a warmth that wrapped itself around her, like a familiar embrace.

Dressed in a flowing khamis, the fabric rippling as he moved, he was the kind of man who felt like home, like an old song sung in a language only the heart understands. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he caught sight of her, and in that moment, she was transported back to the days when life felt simpler, when the world outside her doorstep wasn't quite as heavy. 

He was a familiar sight, reminding her of Uncle Fawzi on his way to the mosque, of family, of home, of the kind of love that is rooted in tradition and unconditional care. 

Being near him was like stepping back into the warmth of her childhood, a warmth that, no matter how far she traveled, would always call her home.

He stood by the mailbox, moving through his mail with the deliberate calm of someone who understood that the weight of life wasn't always found in its grand moments, but in the quiet ones that slipped by unnoticed. The soft scent of sandalwood clung to him, blending with the musty, weathered air of the old building—a strange pairing, yet one that somehow fit perfectly. 

Ahmed lived just a few floors above, and his family had always been a part of her life in ways that felt like second nature. His daughters, Khair and Fatima, were like cousins growing up, always running around her aunt's house, causing their own kind of chaos. His wife's bakery—those warm, golden loaves of bread—had been a quiet staple in the neighborhood, the scent of it drifting down the street on crisp mornings. People would line up at the door, drawn in by the comfort of something simple and real.

He looked up from his mail as she approached, his face softening into a smile that always seemed to make the day feel a little lighter. "Salaam," she said softly, the tension in her shoulders loosening just a little.

"Wa alaikum as-salam, my dear." He answered with that same steady warmth. His voice was full, rich—like someone who truly cared about how you were doing. "How's life treating you today?" he asked, pausing as if whatever was in that letter didn't matter much at all in comparison.

"I'm managing," she admitted, her heart tugged by his gentle concern. "Just a bit tired." She offered a small smile, letting herself rest in the comfort of his presence. "Are you off to the mosque?"

He nodded, a thoughtful light in his eyes. "Yes, it's time for prayer. There's peace there, you know," he said, tucking his mail away, leaving his hands open, unburdened.

She sighed, juggling her grocery bag as she sifted through the contents of her own mailbox, her fingers brushing against a pile of bills and junk. "I could definitely use some of that peace," she murmured, more to herself than him.

He rested a hand on her shoulder, his touch warm and steady. "You don't come around much anymore," he said softly, his voice carrying no judgment—just a quiet, familiar observation. "I remember when you were just a little one, barely speaking English. You were always there, every day. Running around the mosque with your siblings and cousins. You were so proud of having memorized the whole Quran." He smiled at the memory, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection.

A half-hearted smile tugged at her lips. "I know... I just can't seem to find the time these days."

The excuse sounded hollow, even to her. 

Back in her hardest days—when she was juggling school and work under Fish's shadow—she'd still made time. Now, though, it felt like that part of her life had slipped away, leaving only an ache she didn't know how to fill.

Faith had always held a place in her heart, as natural as breathing. 

It had woven through her childhood like a cherished thread, linking her to her roots, her family, and her people. She remembered her father's quiet prayers, his rhythmic voice soothing her even as a child, her own giggles mixing with her siblings' as they climbed over him while he prayed, the Quran playing in the background, filling their home with a warmth as familiar as the worn rugs beneath her feet.

She missed hearing the call to prayer echo through the streets, that gentle reminder floating through the neighborhood and settling into the spaces of their lives, drawing everyone close in spirit. 

Those echoes were now only memories, softened and blurred, reminders of a time when faith had been woven through her life so seamlessly, so effortlessly.

But as she grew, the gentle simplicity of those days unraveled. Life had a way of twisting memories into something both treasured and lost. Tragedy followed her like a shadow, stealing the laughter and replacing it with silence, the kind that seeped into her heart and stayed.

The world outside chipped away at her faith, each hardship a blow to the comfort that had once been unshakeable. Her people's suffering, the losses she witnessed, carved themselves into her very soul. 

The songs of hope she'd once heard as a child had been drowned by cries of despair, leaving only an echo of something she once knew.

It wasn't the faith that had changed. It was her.

Her belief still stirred quietly within her, a flickering light. She hadn't let go completely; she still found herself murmuring familiar prayers, reading verses from the Quran. But it was different now, tinged with doubt and a longing she couldn't fully explain. She missed the purity of her younger days, the untested faith that hadn't yet known hardship.

Ahmed's hand stayed on her shoulder, grounding her, as if sensing the depths she'd fallen into. "Maryam," he said, pulling her back, his eyes soft with understanding. "Faith isn't about never doubting. It's about turning back, even when it's hard. Even when we feel lost."

His words reached into her, breaking through the walls she'd built. "Sometimes... it feels like I can't go back. Like I've drifted too far."

Ahmed nodded, his face softening. "It isn't a straight line. There's no shame in feeling lost. Even when you feel far away, you're closer than you think."

Something in his voice eased the ache in her chest, as if granting her permission to take her time, to not have all the answers. To accept that finding her way back didn't have to be perfect; it just had to be hers.

"You're always welcome," he said, his voice as warm as the hand on her shoulder. "The mosque doors are always open. And remember, no matter how far you feel, Allah is closer than you know."

A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it. 

It had been so long since she'd let herself feel this vulnerable, and something in Ahmed's kindness broke through her defenses.

"Thank you," she whispered, her hand briefly brushing his, grounding her for just a moment.

He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, his smile steady and comforting. "Sometimes, we all need a reminder. The path back is always open. Fi amanillah," he added softly, leaving her with a blessing that felt like a gentle shield.

She watched him walk away, his words hanging in the air, like a soft light cutting through the shadows. She stood there for a moment, letting the weight of them settle. 

Then, taking a deep breath, she locked her mailbox and climbed the stairs, each step feeling a little lighter.

That night, as she stepped into her apartment, she went straight to the corner beneath her bed where a pink velvet box lay hidden—her secret treasure chest of memories. Inside were the fragile remnants of her past: photographs that carried echoes of generations long gone, some from her mother's side, dating back centuries, and others from her father's, still fresh yet too precious to be displayed in the open air of her small living room. These were the pieces of her family she wanted to keep shielded from the harshness of the world, tucked away from the prying eyes of reality.

She carefully laid her family’s brooch back into its place in one of the smaller boxes. Her delicate fingers lingered, tracing the edges of the old trinkets. Then, as if led by some quiet instinct, she sifted through the memories, her heart quickening until she found it—the knight figurine that Bruce had left behind two decades ago. It was small, worn by time but still familiar, a relic of a past neither of them could escape.

She held it in her hands, watching the dim light cast soft shadows across its intricate details. For a moment, the world outside seemed to vanish as she gazed at it, lost in a memory she wasn’t quite ready to let go of.

She took a deep breath, closed the box, and slid it back into its hiding place beneath the bed. After a quick shower and slipping into her pyjamas, she crawled into bed, the cool sheets wrapping around her. Maryam placed the knight figurine on the small table beside her, where it stood quietly in the dim light, watching over her. 

Its presence was both a comfort and a silent reminder of the past—everything she couldn’t seem to forget, no matter how hard she tried.

And Bruce, with all his shadows and unspoken words, was the constant echo of it all. The memories tied to him lingered, never fading, always just out of reach but never truly gone.

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taglist : @faeryki, @gaypoetsblog …

A/N : new chapter !!!! currently writing the next. Sorry for the delay :) If you’d like to be added to the taglist, lmk!!! I’ve only tagged those with who I interacted with on my previous chapters.

[ TRANSLATIONS ] • "Leh" : no

• "Wallahi" : I swear to God [It is an Arabic expression often used to emphasize the truthfulness of a statement, convey sincerity, or make a solemn promise. it can range from serious to casual, even playful, in daily conversations.]

• "La hawla wa la quwwata illa billah!" : There is no power and no strength except through Allah [ Meysa is using it as a mix of exasperation and resignation ]

• "Fi amanillah" : In the protection of Allah [ heartfelt phrase often used as a way to bid someone farewell, wishing them safety and divine care. It carries a sense of trust and reliance on God to watch over the person as they depart.]

• "Astaghfirullah" : I seek forgiveness from Allah. [ someone wants to repent for something wrong they did, or even when they hear or see something upsetting, inappropriate, or shocking. Casually, it can also be an automatic reaction, like saying, "Oh no!" or "I can't believe that happened!"]

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Ohhhhhhhhh this is like. My personal catnip.

Okay, so the easiest and shortest thing to answer: Hynafwr Onnen (drop the G). With that said, Steff and I went back and forth on this, because if it were an oak you would say Hynafwr Derw, rather than Hynafwr Derwen, so possibly Hynafwr Onn would be more formally correct? Which makes me think it would be more appropriate for a Wise Old Tree.

But it could be a character point. If your Wise Old Tree is down with the kids and trying to modernise regardless of the correctness of the grammar then Hynafwr Onnen works (or others could refer to him as such); otherwise, Hynafwr Onn is probably more formal and Correct. However, I am going to ask my inlaws as a trump card, because they are among the Greatest Translators in the Land.

RIGHT THEN LET'S TALK ENVIRONMENT I'm so excited I'm so excited

First up: I would love to see your fantasy map. I also do pro-bono work in telling people if they have consistent and sensible physical geography in their maps to avoid what I call the Mordor Situation, if that is of any use to you.

Um, Let's throw in a read more, This Bitch Lengthy (yeet)

Second: So, your broad strokes idea is pretty correct. Fun fact! There is no scientific or internationally recognised difference between a hill and a mountain. Most countries go by height, but different heights (I think in England they say it's 1000 feet? Which would get you laughed at by an Italian.) BUT in Wales we go by, essentially, land use - if it's tamed, it's a hill. If it's wild, it's a mountain.

(A similar quirk - we use 'woods' or 'woodland' to mean a native stand of trees, and 'forest' to mean an artificial plantation. This is the opposite to America. Why do we do this? Unknown. But your characters would most likely say woods instead of forest.)

There is a bit of a tree line to the mountains, and we have a lot of upland plateaus - these are peat bogs. In modern Wales they are very degraded, but in fantasy Wales they'd probably be great. There's a shit ton of faerie mythology about them, too. In the lowlands there's also a lot of wetland areas - Wales is very, very wet.

I could also bang on a lot about geology here, but I shall restrain myself and say that the broad notes are: slate in the north, so craggier mountains; coal and limestone in the south, so flatter mountain tops and also more waterfalls and caves. BUT those are broad differences, you still get craggy in the south and waterfalls/caves in the north.

Third ANYWAY LET'S TALK TREES!!!! :D :D :D

This might blow your mind a bit, but there are literally only two conifer species that are native to Wales - juniper, which is a very rare upland shrub, and yew trees, which tend to turn up in graveyards specifically, having been deliberately planted. That's it. No others. No pine, no fir, no larch, no spruce, nothing.

Our native old growth forests are broadleaves, almost exclusively (maybe the occasional yew? Super rare though unless one was planted nearby.) There's a bunch of ways we can categorise woodlands hang on hang on let me just squeal in excitement that you've asked me this question

*distant screaming*

aaaaaAAAHH okay I'm back

Okay I am going to split these into Two Forest Types

1: Temperate Broadleaved Forest

This is similar to what you find in continental western Europe, but slightly different because More Moisture. We generally define these by moisture and pH, so a wood can be wet or dry, and it can be acid, neutral or alkaline. When I say wet or dry, think ground conditions specifically, though. All of it gets rain, but if the water hangs around in the soil a lot and means you need wellies to traverse unless you want to be in ankle deep mud for ten months of the year, it's a wet wood; if it drains away quicker, it's dry.

Acid USUALLY means uplands, alkaline USUALLY means limestone bedrock and therefore potentially caves or waterfalls.

Wet Woods

Specialised habitats! Sometimes called alder or willow carr. The canopy is mostly willow and alder, with some downy birch. Occasional oak, aspen, wild cherry. But overwhelmingly willow and alder, they're thirsty bitches that love wet feet.

If they're acidic, they have less in the way of undergrowth - mostly purple moorgrass and a load of mosses - but the trees themselves are likely to be a tangled mess. If they're neutral or alkaline they have a bit more floristic diversity, like a wet meadow - most likely a pretty carpet-forming thing called opposite-leaved golden saxifrage, but also meadowsweet (traditionally added as a flavouring to mead), marsh bedstraw, and cleavers (which you are legally obligated to pick and stick to the back of whoever you're walking with, but also has edible leaves).

These will be difficult to go off-road in! These are WET underfoot, so muddy paths form in the drier bits and people stick to those. The untouched bits can be proper bogs. I personally once sank to the knee in an unexpectedly and deceptively boggy bit. In was an Experience. Fortunately the ground did not eat my welly that day. I escaped with it. Others are less fortunate. Many such examples.

The edges of these might be coppiced by locals wanting a replenishable resource of firewood, mind, because will grows like a fucken weed in water.

Pictured: wet.

I should also say: these are often not very pretty woods. Those two pictures are, but mostly these are tangled muddy messes that are not, to a layperson, especially beautiful woods. I mean, they are TO ME, I love them. But they look scratty and ugly to many, ESPECIALLY if they're coppiced regularly, because willow grows back aggressively and messily. Here's a very typical example:

I see beauty in this, but many do not, I know.

MOVING ON

Dry Woods

NOW we're talking!! This is the good shit!!! This is where the biodiversity doesn't need to be as specialised, so it leaps up. The structure varies a little depending on the dominant canopy - beech and yew woods are fucking stunning, especially in autumn (autumn beech woods were the inspiration for Lothlorien in fact), but don't have much in the understorey because they shade it out. They are also only naturally occurring in the eastern half of the country, though - further west is too wet, and beaches HATE getting wet feet. They are finicky princess bitches. If they get wet feet their favourite thing to do is drop branches on people without warning.

Pictured: autumn beeches! Note the lack of undergrowth.

By contrast, the big guns of Welsh ecology - UK ecology, really - is oak woodland.

Oaks are slow-growing, long-lived, and community-minded. A single oak tree can harbour up to 250 other unique species, which is the highest number of any Welsh tree (second highest is actually willow, at 200). These are the big boys. The MVPs. Climax community, the most loved, most treasured, most recognised even by people whose only exposure to nature is the time their Volvo ran over a sheep. Unlike beeches, they happily share the canopy with others - alkaline areas often feature ash primarily (and these tend to be the woodlands we archetypically think of as classic), but also elm, downy birch, hazel, lime, rowan, field maple, elder, beech or yew. Neutral areas are silver birch, rowan, holly, hazel, beech, sweet chestnut, hornbeam and elder. Both feature tonnes of diversity in the understorey, from brambles to ferns to flowers to grasses and sedges - a brambly bit would be hard to get through (they grow at the edges/clearings where there's more sunlight) but the others would be possible, if inconvenient:

FUN FACT: half of the entire world's inventory of bluebell woodland is in the UK! This includes Wales. Springtime sees the woods turn blue, especially the month of April (flowering is March to May, roughly). Google 'bluebell woods uk' for the most wonderful set of images you've ever seen, and then consider how much more vibrant they always look in person. God they're so good. I'm rambling.

We have two native oaks: pedunculate/English oak (grows in lowlands, is twistier in shape) and sessile/Welsh oak (grows in uplands, is straighter in shape), but oaks are glorious sluts so they constantly hybridise. Fucking stunning trees. Nothing like 'em.

TWISTY

To round off, a dry acid wood is more limited - oak and birch in the canopy, and the understorey is mostly heather, bilberry, grasses and moss. Much easier to go off-road if needed, although heather and bilberry are both great for concealing uneven ground. These are mostly found in uplands.

BUT! This is all temperate broadleaved woodlands! Brace yourself for the best one:

2. Celtic Rainforest

MY BELOVED

This is also known as Atlantic rainforest, temperate rainforest, etc. You find it in the west of the country, where there is so much rain that it tips over into rainforest - just temperate rather than tropical, because the temperatures are still mild with a pronounced four season cycle. These are found in a handful of places around the world, but are classified as a globally scarce habitat-type that needs protecting.

These are not precisely the same as the wet woods I described above. Sometimes they have a lot of crossover; but, the characteristic here is precipitation, not necessarily constantly-saturated ground. So there's more tree diversity for one thing.

But you want to see the biggest difference? How you can spot them?

Remember, this is a normal wet wood from the temperate broadleaved woodland category:

Soggy. Wet. Yes, sure.

NOW FEAST YOUR EYES ON THE RAINFOREST:

So. Much. Green.

<insert "rey-I-din't-know-there-was-this-much-green-in-the-universe.gif">

You cannot imagine the diversity of mosses and lichens and liverworts. These things are green all the way down. The mosses DRIP from the trees, sometimes literally. Bark is just a surface for moss.

Look at this shit:

MOSS

Some of the species here are globally scarce. Things like lungwort and hazel glove fungus and so many mosses. Canopy is mostly oak, ash, hazel and birch, but you get others here and there. Look, here's lungwort and hazel glove fungus:

Tonnes of insects, so tonnes of bats and birds, too.

The big noticeable thing in these, though, is the air. It's humid all the time; it actually smells green, and clean; hard to describe unless you've been in one. There's less seasonal variation in these, too - temperate broadleaved woodland has warmer summers and cooler winters (not by loads, but a few degrees in it.) These are moist. Personally, when I walk in these my asthma behaves itself better.

God. I could honestly keep posting rainforest pictures. I love it so much. It's my baby. Sorry I need to go and jump up and down to settle my limbic system hang on

*distant screaming*

Okay I'm back let's talk about:

WILDLIFE

Now this is fun because we get to include extinct things! Or extirpated, anyway.

So, predators: the big guys would be wolves and brown bears, both now lost.

Mesopredators: red fox, pine marten, Eurasian lynx. Lots of birds of prey - the red kite is our national bird, which you COULD keep, but that's more of a modern development because Wales was the only place in the UK that hung onto them, and they survived and thrived here because of us (we are v proud). Buzzards are super common, followed by sparrowhawks and kestrels. Once upon a time, sea eagles were a big thing - now lost, but there are reintroduction projects being considered. Ospreys and peregrines are a bit rarer, but making a comeback (so would have been common). Our commonest owl is the barn owl.

Songbirds: the most common are robins (also thought to be psychopomps because of the red breast, traditionally; some people even today have the folk belief that a robin who follows you - which they do to see if you'll disturb the soil for them to get worms - means the soul of a dead loved one is visiting you), sparrows, tits, blackbirds and thrushes, corvids (crow, raven, Eurasian jay, jackdaw and magpie; magpies are often considered unlucky and have Lore attached to them). Gulls at the coasts. But, coastal environments have burrowing seabirds like puffins, storm petrels, etc - the island of Skomer is one of the most biodiverse places in the temperate northern hemisphere. On mountainsides without trees, skylarks abound - they're ground-nesting birds, and if you stray too near the nests, the parent will shoot up into the air singing and then fly away, to try to lead you away from the nest. Kingfishers on rivers. Commonest anseriforms are mute swans and mallards.

Common mammals: wild boar! Deer, but only red deer and roe deer. The others were introduced for hunting. Weasels, stoats, otters and badgers, but NOT POLECATS (introduced by the Saxons). Hedgehogs. Hares, but NOT RABBITS (introduced by the Romans). Woodmice, harvest mice and doormice, but NOT RATS (ships). Field voles. Water voles. Shrews. Bats. Daubenton's bat is especially fun because it likes hunting over water bodies, where it looks like it's skipping over the surface. All UK bats have pug faces, like they flew into a wall. Red squirrels, but NOT GREY SQUIRRELS (introduced by the Victorians and now killing the reds).

Fishes: sea trout is known as sewin in Wales, and was an important food staple - salmon, too. In West Wales in particular they used to make small boats called coracles to fish for them, the making of which is now known as a heritage craft. There is a unique-to-Wales endemic species of whitefish called the gwyniad that is exclusively found in Llyn Tegid.

Coastal things: other than the burrowing seabirds and the gulls mentioned above, Atlantic grey seals abound, as do harbour porpoise and bottlenose dolphins. Laver is the Welsh name for the seaweed the Japanese call nori, and is used to make the food laverbread (chopped, mixed with oats and bacon fat to make patties, then fried and eaten with bacon and cockles.) Cockles in the south! Birds such as oystercatchers, plovers, etc.

Reptiles: this is more limited, but our lizards are the slow worm (common and also legless, like a snake), the common lizard (Nice Faces) and the sand lizard (lives in sand dunes.) Snakes are grass snakes (commonest) and adders (venomous but shy), but for your story we probably would have also had the smooth snake, which would be a sand dune/coastal situation too (so they could eat the sand lizards - they're also a constrictor species).

Amphibians - frogs, toads and newts. Probably the most interesting one of these is the great crested newt - very endangered now, but fine in your story.

Invertebrates: lots of butterflies and moths, lots of damselflies and dragonflies. Annoying Insects include mosquitoes (no dangerous pathogens, we don't have the climate for it, but ITCHY), gnats, fleas, and ticks (at the point you're writing, no Lyme disease - again, pre-climate change, we didn't have the climate for it). The Welsh honeybee is quite dark, much more black on it than other subspecies. Many bumblebees. 7-spot ladybirds are commonest. Another endemic species is the Snowdon beetle, a subspecies of rainbow beetle found on yr Wyddfa (hence the name.)

Plants: I've given you quite a lot, and yet we could still be here for hours! The Snowdon lily is another endemic one, again found on yr Wyddfa (plus a couple of other nearby mountain slopes in Eryri). Our bogs are mostly sphagnum mosses and cottongrass, but sundews are our native carnivorous plants up there.

I could bang on and on about this, so I shall stop there

So finally! Food on the table!

Game meats would be appropriate on a lord's table - venison, boar, hare, etc. Farmed meats would be mutton/lamb, maybe goat, maybe beef. Pigs were introduced a bit later, but it's up to you if you want to include them and so have bacon/pork. Oh, here's a fun detail: it's one of those pieces of received wisdom that valley lamb has more meet on it, but mountain lamb tastes better (and honestly, can confirm.) There's a poem about sheep rustling even:

Mountain lamb is sweeter But valley lamb is fatter I therefore deemed it meeter To carry off the latter

So, mountain lamb was a rich man's food.

Likely a lot of river/seafood, though - poor people in particular fished a lot, but this would also make its way to the rich, especially salmon (sewin might be slightly more of a pauper's dish?). Oysters and cockles and the like, potentially, though those would again be more common for the poor. I mentioned cockles and laverbread, and yes, but they're traditionally breakfast foods.

Cheese, mind, the Welsh have deep cultural connections to cheese. Bread, especially white bread for the rich. Not so many vegetables, but wild garlic grows in wet woods in spring, and could be preserved in a chutney for all year round; onion, carrot, turnip, leeks, and brassicas like kale/cabbage would work. Mushrooms, too.

But, here's a fun cultural point: dining custom. First of all, no weapons in the dining hall. They stay outside. Second of all - presumably to reinforce the safety of this - once the knife goes in the meat (as in, to carve up the carcass to serve everyone), the dining hall doors are closed, and Do Not Open until the meal is finished. This is a whole thing in the tale of Culhwch ac Olwen, because Culhwch just barges into the hall to demand a favour from Arthur even though the doors had been closed. Rides in on a horse, too, he's a proper little cunt about it.

OH OH ALSO

The bard! Wales has a long tradition of bards, who would travel from court to court as well as between inns in the countryside. They were like living newspapers, bring news in song form from elsewhere and spreading it about. In a court, a bard could ask to play, and would be invited in. If they sang well enough, they would be offered a chair at the lord's table, which is supposedly the origin of us awarding the Chair to the winning bard in the Eisteddfod.

If the lord didn't pay them well enough, they would compose a satirical song about him calling him a tight-fisted willy, and then spread it about the country. So bards actually had enormous social power, and even lords didn't want to upset them. Skilled ones were highly in demand. Most were men, but there are examples of female bards, the most famous being Gwerful Mechain.

This is a billion words long, so I shall pause here. Absolutely do not be afraid to hit me up for any further info though, including if I missed anything you asked for.

Hi hello! I'm writing a story in my original world, set in a Fantasy Wales. A King Arthur Returns type story, if that matters.

I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about Welsh ecology? And possibly also some cultural details?

Thanks ahead of time! And I understand if you decline or don't respond!

YES OH MY GOD YES HELLO