#A Bitter-suite Reunion | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

scoutofmymind · 6 months ago

Note

exLuigi x Reader. I want something juicy, queen!

Darkest Before Dawn — { Luigi x Reader }

Content: SFW, angst, bitter feelings, unrequited love, arguing, friends funeral, etc.

W.c: 3,236

Notes; A close friend of yours and Luigi’s passes, setting the stage for an untimely reunion in bitter circumstances — later facing the raw truth that sometimes it takes losing someone to find your way back to each other.

This turned a lil self indulgent for my need to get some angst out. I can’t help it. I love drama

The autumn wind carries leaves across your feet in lazy spirals, nature's own procession leading deeper into the cemetery. Your arm is linked with Maya's — she hasn't left your side since the news broke, and even now her grip tightens whenever your breath hitches.

The sea of black suits and dresses before you ebbs and flows like a dark tide, faces both familiar and strange blurring together through unshed tears.

Grief comes in waves.

One moment you're choking back laughter at Jamie's story about Olivia’s disastrous attempt at making tiramisu for your monthly dinner parties, the next you're biting your lip bloody to keep from sobbing when someone mentions how she used to be the most fun out of anyone to kayak with, rain or shine.

It shouldn't matter. Not today.

Not when she’s gone and everything feels simultaneously too sharp and too dull.

But your eyes keep betraying you, scanning the crowd between eulogies, during the hymns, through the quiet moments. Your ears strain past the murmur of condolences and shared memories, searching for that particular timber, that specific cadence that you'd know anywhere.

The laugh that used to rumble against your shoulder during lazy Sunday mornings, the voice that could fill a room without trying.

"He isn't here," Maya whispers, tracking your restless gaze as it sweeps the room for the thousandth time. "You can breathe." Her words are meant to comfort, but they settle like stones in your stomach.

Luigi didn't come.

You force yourself to accept this, to let your guard down as the ceremony begins.

The first notes of Olivia’s favorite Chopin nocturne float through the air, weaving between muffled sobs and shaky breaths. She'd played this piece herself, once, at your apartment's housewarming. Her fingers had stumbled over the keys of your secondhand piano, but her smile had been radiant.

The memory splits you open all over again, raw as that first night — the 3 AM phone call, the way your knees had hit the kitchen floor, how the world had tilted sideways and never quite righted itself.

And then, like a punch to the solar plexus, you see him.

Luigi.

Hovering in the back, looking like he's been assembled from broken parts. His hair is disheveled, his tie crooked, those warm brown eyes you once knew better than your own now bloodshot and hollow. He's swaying slightly, and you recognize the tells — one desperate cigarette on the drive over, black coffee clutched like a lifeline.

You've seen him hold himself together like this before, all fraying edges and stubborn pride.

Your fingers dig into Maya's arm, but you bite back the words. Let her think you're still alone in your grief.

It feels safer than acknowledging how your heart still recognizes his particular brand of falling apart.

You try to stay hidden in plain sight, but his presence is magnetic — always has been. That familiar electricity crawls up your spine each time his gaze finds you across the room. Even now, even here, his eyes carry that same concerned weight they did a year ago, like you're the one who needs saving.

You feel him everywhere, the way you always have, only now your carefully constructed walls have crumbled at the worst possible moment.

The reception becomes suffocating, all polite murmurs and half-finished sentences about how she's in a better place now.

You slip outside for air, and there he is — a portrait of barely contained grief on the church steps. His fingers work mechanically over Olivia’s AA coin, turning it over and over like a rosary whilst the cigarette between his lips burns dangerously close to the filter, more ash than purpose, as if he's forgotten it's there.

Something pulls you forward — muscle memory, perhaps, or maybe it's the voice in your ear, gentle but insistent: Sit with him. He needs you.

"She was so proud of this," Luigi murmurs, eyes fixed on the coin catching the dying light. The messages wear like prayers beneath his thumb — It's always darkest before the dawn, and One day at a time. The edges are smooth now from his constant fidgeting, as if he could somehow extract comfort from its worn surface.

Olivia had been more than just his neighbor — she was the thread that stitched your lives together.

You still remember her braces-filled grin when she introduced you at soccer team tryouts, convinced her two favorite people would hit it off. From there, it was a domino effect of shared milestones; friendship bracelets woven under summer stars, prom photos where Olivia pulled faces between you both, the three of you crammed into her ancient Volkswagen for driving lessons, and dorm room numbers exchanged like secrets.

And now here you sit, on opposite sides of a chasm she can no longer bridge.

Words feel inadequate, hollow in the face of such loss, so you stay silent. But your eyes betray you — they always did with him — filling with that mixture of concern and understanding that used to make him feel seen, now just makes him feel exposed.

"Oh," he groans, waving his free hand like he could physically brush away your gaze. "Don't fuckin' look at me like that — Please." The last word catches in his throat, raw and ragged, like it costs him something to say it.

You snap your gaze to the swaying trees, watching October paint its warning signs of winter across the landscape. Your spine straightens like a soldier at attention, fighting the tremor that threatens to shake loose more tears. "I just want to know you're okay."

Luigi's laugh is a broken thing, more wound than sound.

You feel his eyes boring into your profile, but you keep yours fixed on the dying leaves dancing in the wind. "A phone call would have been fine," he mutters, loading the chamber of your familiar game with practiced precision.

It's so perfectly Luigi — dropping emotional grenades at the worst possible moments, like he's testing if the blast radius of your shared pain has changed; you chamber your own round without missing a beat. "The phone works both ways," you fire back, the words carrying just enough bite to draw blood.

This is the dance you know best — this careful choreography of hurt, each of you taking turns to twist the knife a little deeper. It's muscle memory, really, born in the crucible of young love and forged in the fire of terrible timing.

The game never has a winner, just two people who loved each other so completely it became a fault line.

"I've got a lot on my plate," Luigi breathes, the words hanging as flimsy as tissue paper in the autumn air. His gaze burns into your temple with an intensity that's achingly familiar — that same scorching desperation you remember from late nights when his demons wouldn't let him sleep.

He's still that wounded boy underneath it all, wrestling with ghosts that never quite stopped haunting him.

"You don't think I do?" The words snap out before you can stop them, your head whipping around to meet his gaze head-on. His eyes are two bruised hollows, those warm brown irises you once wrote poetry about now floating in seas of red, crowned by shadows that speak of endless sleepless nights. "Yet I-" you gesture sharply at yourself, voice pitched low and razor-sharp, "had the fucking decency to show up on time."

The punch lands exactly where you aimed it, and you watch him flinch like you've slapped him.

It's a cheap shot, using his tardiness as a weapon, when you know damn well he probably spent hours just trying to make it out of his apartment.

But grief makes soldiers of us all, and today you're both armed to the teeth with things you shouldn't say.

Bang.

Luigi stared at you with those winter-dark eyes, and the world collapsed into a singular point of existence.

The distant traffic faded, the autumn wind stilled, even the harsh rays of the sun that peeked through the clouds hid behind them once again — leaving nothing but this moment, this breath, this unbearable weight between you.

You'd remember this look until your own dying day; the way his pupils dilated slightly, how his left eye still caught light differently, the precise shade of umber in his iris that you'd never quite managed to mix on your palette.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, but the words feel like ash in your mouth, too little and far too late.

You watch him fracture in real time, each carefully constructed wall crumbling like a condemned building, and somehow – impossibly – it only feeds the anger burning in your chest. "But just because I’m not an engineer doesn't mean my life is some cute little hobby. You don't have a monopoly on struggling, Lu."

Luigi recoils like you've struck a match against raw nerves, his entire body seeming to cave in on itself.

The cigarette, forgotten between his fingers, drops ash onto his pressed black slacks — the ones you know he probably spent an hour convincing himself to put on.

His jaw works silently, grinding teeth the way he always did when trying to swallow something too big to say.

"You think I-" he starts, then stops, pressing his thumb so hard into Olivia’s coin that his knuckle turns white. There's a violent tremble in his hands now, the kind that used to precede his worst panic attacks. "I couldn't-" Another false start, words crumbling like wet sand.

What he can't tell you is how he spent three hours this morning sitting in his parked car outside the church, chain-smoking through half a pack, trying to convince his legs to carry him inside.

How he threw up twice before leaving his apartment, the coffee and cigarettes his only defense against complete system shutdown.

How he's been sleeping on his couch because his bed feels foreign without late-night phone calls about recovery meetings and bad reality TV shows.

Instead, he just stares at you with those haunted eyes, and you see it then — the way he's holding himself together with safety pins and spite, one wrong word away from shattering completely.

I'm not okay. I haven't been okay.

His composure fractures further, a hairline crack spreading across carefully constructed walls.

The hand holding Olivia’s coin drops between his knees, dangling there like a surrender flag while his other hand rakes through his dark curls that haven’t seen proper care in days.

But you recognize the gesture — it's the same one from high school, when his father would show up drunk to soccer games, when college rejection letters came, when Olivia first went into rehab.

"You know what?" His voice comes out sandpaper-rough, caught somewhere between anger and anguish. "You're right. You're always fucking right." The words twist with something bitter, but the venom isn't meant for you — it never really was. "I should've been here earlier. Should've been there more. Should've-" He chokes on the rest.

The coin slips from his trembling fingers, pinging against the concrete steps. You both watch it spin, a dizzying dance of copper catching what little sunlight breaks through the clouds, before it settles face-up.

One day at a time stares up at you both, Sarah's mantra now a mockery — because how do you take it one day at a time when every day feels like drowning?

It’s always darkest before the dawn.

Luigi's shoulders shake with something that might be a laugh or might be a sob, with him, it's hard to tell the difference. "She called me, you know. Night before." His voice drops to barely a whisper, like he's sharing a secret he's been carrying around like a bullet in the chest. "I was busy. Said I'd call back in the morning."

"Lu,” Your voice cracks on his name, the anger from moments ago evaporating. You remember your own last conversation with Sarah — something trivial about a TV show she'd started binging.

How were either of you supposed to know it would be the last time?

"Don't." He cuts you off sharply, but his voice betrays him, wavering like it walked a tightrope. "Just — don't do that thing where you try to make it okay. It's not fucking okay." His hands are shaking so badly now that when he reaches for another cigarette, he drops the whole pack.

You reach for it automatically, and your fingers brush his as you both grab for it, making him jerk back like he's been burned, but not before you feel the cold clamminess of his skin. "When's the last time you ate something?" The question slips out before you can stop it, that old protective instinct rising up despite everything.

"Christ," he laughs. "You sound just like her. She used to-" He stops abruptly, swallowing hard. "She'd text me every morning. 'Did you eat breakfast?'" His voice trails off, and you watch him pick up her coin again, thumbing the worn edges.

"I have her last text," you offer quietly, pulling out your phone. "Want to see it?"

Luigi's head snaps up, eyes wide with something between terror and desperate need. "I-" he starts, then just nods, the simple movement seeming to cost him everything.

You pull up the message thread, trying to ignore how your hands aren't much steadier than his.

And there it is, timestamped 9:47 PM: “Found this stupid cat video, reminded me of that time at Lu’s when his cat jumped from the second floor onto the dinner table.. Miss you. We should do dinner soon.”

Luigi makes a sound like someone's just punched him in the stomach. "I can't- fuck," he breathes, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. "She sent me some stupid meme. I didn't even open it. I was in the middle of a work call and I just — I thought I'd have time."

"We all did," you whisper, watching a leaf spiral down between you. "That's the whole point of recovery, isn't it? Having time to fix things."

"Yeah, well," his voice is razor-thin, "turns out time's a real bitch that way." He finally looks at you properly, and the raw devastation in his eyes makes your chest ache. "You know what the worst part is? I kept the voicemail. Her last one. Haven't listened to it yet. I can’t -“

Your breath catches. "Do you want to? Now?" The raw and desperate need to hear her voice in something that isn’t a stupid video on your phone claws at you. "Together, I mean."

Luigi's hand tightens around Olivia’s coin until his knuckles go white again.

For a moment, you think he's going to say no, going to retreat back behind those walls he's spent years perfecting. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nods.

He fumbles with his phone, hands shaking so badly you have to help him hit speaker.

For a moment, there's just static, and then — her voice fills the space between you, bright and clear and so achingly alive it feels like being gutted.

“Hey, Lu. I know it's late, but... I've been thinking. About you and-" A pause, a soft laugh. “God, you're both so stupid sometimes, you know that? Life's too short to keep playing this dance. I see how you look at those old shitty Polaroids, how you both light up when I mention the other. Pride's a killer too, trust me on that one. I learned it the hard way."

Your hand reaches for Luigi’s, his grip crushing.

“Remember that time freshman year, after the accident? How you both stayed with me for two weeks straight, taking shifts so I was never alone? That's- that's what love looks like. Real love. And you idiots still have it, you're just too scared to admit it. So consider this your intervention." Another laugh, softer now. Sounds like she’s moving about her apartment, completing nightly tasks and having called Luigi to chat before bed. “Call me back when you get this. We'll figure it out together. Love you, dumb fuck.”

The message ends.

Luigi's breathing has gone ragged, each inhale sounding like it's being dragged across broken glass. "She knew," he whispers. "She always fucking knew."

"Lu-" you start, but your voice fails you. Because what can you say? That Olivia was right? That you've spent almost an entire year pretending not to miss him like a phantom limb? That sometimes you still reach for your phone to tell him about your day before remembering you're not supposed to anymore?

"I can't-" he sucked in a ragged breath, “I can't lose you both. I can't-"

"Hey," you say softly, your thumb unconsciously tracing circles on his palm. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

He makes a sound that's half-laugh, half-sob, his free hand coming up to cover his face, but not before you see the tears finally breaking free. "Last time I saw her, she made me promise we'd all have dinner together. Said she was tired of splitting holidays, of pretending we weren't all still family just because you and I couldn't -" He trails off, his shoulder shrugging as he groans, tilting his head back to unclog his nose and stuff the tears back where they belong.

"Because we couldn't get out of our own way," you finish. The truth of it sits heavy in your chest, all the wasted time, all the stubborn silence. "God, we're fucking idiots."

"She used to call me every Sunday, you know? Just to ask if I'd talked to you yet.” Another sniffle rips through him, “Every damn Sunday for almost a whole year."

You let out a wet laugh. "She did the same to me. Every Wednesday, like clockwork. 'Have you called Lu yet?' 'No, Liv.' 'Well, why the hell not?'"

"Sounds like her." Luigi's voice goes soft, fond despite the pain. His hand is still in yours, warm and familiar and terrifying.

The silence that follows feels different somehow — less like a wall and more like a bridge.

Olivia’s coin catches the light between you again.

One day at a time.

"So," you say finally, squeezing his hand. "What do we do now?"

“Well -we - we honor her, right?" Luigi looks to you again, his voice stronger despite the tremor in his hands. "Not just with words or - like - memories." He looks down at your intertwined fingers, then back up to your face with a vulnerability that makes your chest ache. "But by fucking stopping this war of attrition we've been fighting since-“

"Since the goddamn gallery opening," you finish softly. That night hangs between you — the argument that started as something small ended with eleven months of radio silence. "When you said my art was just a-“

"I never meant it," he cuts in, voice raw. "I was terrified, watching you risk everything while I played it safe. You were so brave, and I was-“ He draws a shaking breath. "I was a coward who took it out on you instead of admitting I hated my own choices."

"We can't get the time back," you say gently, watching his thumb brush over your knuckles this time instead of the coin. "But maybe,” You pause. "Maybe we can stop fuckin’ wasting what we have left."

#req #luigi mangione fanfic #luigi mangione x reader

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ghostwritergirl · 1 month ago

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Hot take — Vlad didn’t want Danny as his son until after he saw he was half-ghost

(Lemme explain first!)

So we’re introduced to Vlad in Bitter Reunions, someone who doesn’t like Jack and likes Maddie (very creepily)… but is dismissive of both Jazz AND Danny.

You heard that right. Vlad was dismissive of Danny in the beginning. Yeah, he’s polite to Danny and indulges his correct assumption of Vlad being obsessed with the Packers based on the decor and admiration of his signed football.

But other than that?

Vlad couldn’t care less about Danny, would probably see him and Jazz as a necessary part of having Maddie, that maybe he sees what could have been if he was with Maddie in them both but overall doesn’t really have particular focus on Danny.

But do you know what changes Vlad’s tune?

He sees Danny change from ghost form to human form after their fight, that he’s a half-ghost like him (and given how shocked he was, I doubt he knew that Phantom was half-ghost, let alone that he was Danny, until he saw him transform outside of rumours from the Zone that he probably didn’t believe… until that moment)

IMMEDIATELY Vlad’s demeanour changes around Danny—he calls him nicknames like Little Badger and son that a father would call his kid, he pays more attention to Danny, especially at the party before he asks him to go down in the lab, and of course he makes the offer for Danny to join him and be his apprentice and son. Which Danny, of course, refuses and begins the start of one of THE most iconic hero and villain dynamics ever and which still holds our attention years later, especially what could have been if Vlad was less of an asshole and genuine in being a mentor/fun uncle or got a redemption

But, would that still have happened if Danny WASN’T half-ghost?

ABSOLUTELY NOT!

Vlad saw himself in Danny, powers and all, something he wanted to mould into his image and make into someone just like Vlad, that narrative-speaking they were meant to be each other’s foils, a visual representation of how Danny could have turned out if he wasn’t who he was. But that would NEVER have happened if Danny wasn’t half-ghost, that Vlad would have dismissed or outright ignored him (especially with his close resemblance to Jack), he would never go to such lengths as cloning Danny if he wasn’t half-ghost like Vlad. NONE of their rivalry and moments in the series because of it (the bounty, EVERYTHING in Reign Storm, Dan, Vlad cloning Danny and resulting in Dani) would have never happened; I don’t even think Valerie would have become a ghost hunter if it wasn’t Danny who ruined her life and therefore Vlad never sent her that suit! None of that would happen if Danny was still human and therefore not of interest to Vlad. It only did because Danny was half-ghost, and therefore Vlad did see himself/his “son” in Danny and resulting in all of that, that they were foils of each other BECAUSE they were half-ghost.

Anyway, that’s my thoughts on Vlad viewing Danny as his son and how Danny being a halfa impacted that, thanks for coming to my TED talk!

#danny phantom #dp #dp fandom #dp analysis #danny fenton #vlad plasmius

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tocara · 2 months ago

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A reader, who doesn't believe in love and then they met Satoru.

Part 5.

They met again after a year and a half.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.

A year and a half have passed.

Life moved—slowly, then all at once. You don’t feel like a completely different person, not exactly. But you’re not the same girl who once came home from a condo party aching over a stranger’s smile.

Now, it’s the day of the wedding. The venue glows with warmth, soft laughter, and the hum of music. People swirl past you in pastel dresses and well-fitted suits. You stand by the corner table, fingers grazing the rim of your glass, eyes scanning the crowd without making it obvious that you’re searching for anyone.

You’re not even sure if he’ll be here.

You haven’t dared to ask. Rina never brought him up again—not that she had reason to. You and Satoru only met once. A brief evening a long time ago. One gathering. One hug. That was it.

And yet, when he walks in—your heart clenches like it recognizes him before your mind can catch up.

Taller than you remembered. Maybe not in height, but in presence. Clean-cut in a navy suit, hands tucked casually in his pockets, expression unreadable for a second—until his mouth curves into that same familiar smile.

That smile.

It disarms you all over again.

“Hey,” he says.

You feel your thoughts scatter like loose pages in a gust of wind. But somehow, you manage to meet his eyes. Even if only for a moment.

“Hi,” you reply softly.

That’s all.

No grand reunion. No awkward stammering. Just one word. A fragile thread stretched between you.

And then the others see him. Like a spark has gone off in the room, Rina and the rest of the group swarm in with bright greetings, laughter, arms thrown around shoulders. He’s swept away before another word can be exchanged.

You step back, letting the tide of their reunion pull him away. You stand quietly at the edge, clutching your glass again, pretending not to listen—but your ears catch everything.

The laughter. The stories. The teasing.

“You know, for a while there, I thought you were going to beat Rina to the altar.” someone from the group says it.

He gives a half-smile, casual and unbothered. “Yeah, well. Life had other plans.”

“Wait, what happened?” someone asks. “Didn’t you guys hit five years or something?”

“Almost six,” he says. His voice is light, not bitter. Just final. “We broke up. It’s been… almost half a year now.”

Your world stops.

Those words—“We broke up. It’s been… almost half a year now.”—hit you like a slow-moving wave.

A fragile tremor cracking through something you’ve kept tightly sealed for far too long.

You’re still standing there. Still technically part of the group. But suddenly, you’re not really there.

The noise fades. The chatter dulls.

The wedding, the lights, the laughter—it all feels distant, like you’re watching it through water.

Six months.

That’s enough time for the world to change. Enough time for someone to leave. Enough time for someone else to move on.

But not for you.

Not when you never had anything to begin with. You have no right to feel this way. No reason for your chest to feel like it’s unraveling thread by thread.

But it does.

And the worst part?

You realize you want something.

For so long, you wanted nothing. You drifted through your days like a ghost in your own skin. You made peace, quietly, with being invisible. With letting things pass you by. You never chased anything. Never fought. Never even hoped.

Most days, you simply wished to disappear—softly, without hurting anyone. Without a sound. Just… gone.

But this?

This is the first time you’ve wanted something so badly it aches.

A terrifying, impossible kind of want.

You don’t even know what it means.

Is it love? Obsession? Just a cruel illusion tied to one night and a few gentle memories?

Maybe.

But for once, the weight of uncertainty isn’t enough to stop you.

You don’t expect anything. Not love in return. Not some sweeping, perfect moment.

You just want him to know.

That he made you feel something real. That he made you want to be more.

That somehow, with just one night and a smile that saw through the quiet shell of you, he changed something.

And even if it goes nowhere—

Even if it breaks you—

At least you won’t regret being silent.

Not this time.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #jjk gojo

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azen13 · 1 year ago

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Looking at the items the Starlight Pawnshop has to offer... I'd like to purchase the < Avian Necklace >, please. Because a pretty little songbird deserves only the prettiest chain with which to tie it down.

Paradise Lost, Paradise Found

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Avian Necklace: A silver necklace with a pendant in the shape of a bird mid-flight, imbued with a strange energy strong enough to shackle its wearer in paradise forever.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Description: After the Charmony Festival, Sunday returns to Penacony with the Stellaron Hunters, desperate to be reunited with his lover.

CW: Yandere Themes, Brainwashing, Mind Control, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Intense Distress, Manipulation

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It is a Monday night in Penacony, and all is well in the world.

Sure, your hotel room is cramped. The mattress is lumpy. The view is horrible. But it is real, and that is all that matters to you. After an eternity of dreams so sweet you felt like you were drowning in joy, you would rather be stuck in this dingy hotel room than some luxury VIP suite anyways. It’s comforting in all its imperfections.

That is, until you hear someone knock on your door.

The sound is rhythmic, three short, quick, evenly spaced knocks. It’s all you truly need to know who stands outside your door. Your heart already knows, beating so fast you feel like you could go into cardiac arrest.

But then you hear his voice. Smooth and rich like espresso, laced with a subtle sweetness. “Darling,” Sunday whispers quietly, “please, open the door.” It is both a request and a command, though it isn’t infused with Sunday’s usual pacifying power.

He liked doing this when you realized Ena’s dream was all an illusion; he would give you a chance to submit and acquiesce to his love and care, but when you inevitably refused, he had no qualms about worming his way into your mind. Once inside, he’d gently smash any shred of resistance you had, before pulling you into his arms and crooning his hymns, praising your holiness.

Isn’t this dream so blissful? he would ask you quietly, his hands ghosting over your skin, soft as feathers. I can give you anything you want. In Ena’s dream, it was true. Sunday could give you anything you wanted, even your freedom. But you knew it was an artificial imitation of independence; no matter where you traveled in the pseudo-universe, he was always there, always watching you. That was good enough for him: knowing you were safe, his hands cupped around your world like the way one would hold a bird.

The sound of Sunday’s voice breaks you out of your momentary reverie. “My dove, please, I don’t want our reunion to be bitter, but it seems like you aren’t giving me a choice.” You can feel the resonant harmonies in Sunday’s words grow louder, gripping your mind gently, giving you one more chance to open the door through your own free will.

You look around your room for any way out. On the opposite wall is a single window. You’re on the first floor. All you have to do is break through it and find someone. Frantically, you rush over, scrounging around for something to break the glass. You hear a loud sigh. “I wish you could just understand, my love,” Sunday laments.

The lock clicks.

Instantly, you are pounding and clawing on the glass like a rabid animal. In brief moments of clarity through your haze of desperation, you can feel your shoulder ache from ramming into the glass. Your throat feels raw. Someone is screaming. It’s you.

Sunday’s hands are just as excruciatingly tender as you remember, gliding over your arms and clasping your wrists in a tender but firm embrace. “Shh, it’s okay, my dear,” he whispers quietly. Beneath the insanity that clouds his own eyes, you can glimpse genuine concern in his gilded gaze. “Calm down, shh, yes, relax,” he coos.

All of the sudden, the world goes soft and blurry; every color in your hotel room, the pallid, washed-out grays and pale, muted blues seem to turn into a psychedelic kaleidoscope, luring you deeper and deeper into a state of tranquility.

With slow, delicate motions, Sunday lets go of one of your wrists, a placid smile gracing his face for a mere moment. Making sure that you won’t hurt yourself anymore than you already have, he reaches into one of his coat pockets, pulling out a small necklace imbued with the power of the Order.

“After the Charmony Festival, I was in such a deep state of despair. I thought I had lost everything. My dreams. My power. My home. My sister. My love.” His grasp on your wrist tightens, though you’re so lost in his spell that you can’t even feel the pain. “But now…now I have you again, my dearest,” he whispers hoarsely. Sunday can hardly believe you are real, with how constant misfortune has haunted his life. Time and time again, he has lost everything. Everyone. All his dreams and aspirations have shattered to pieces like stars crashing down to the earth from the heavens. But not you.

“Perhaps my plan was ill-timed,” Sunday muses as he loops the chain of the necklace around your neck. “But for right now, if I can’t give everyone paradise, then at least I can give it to you. And that will be more than enough,” he whispers, taking your appearance in, drinking it in like a man without water for forty days.

The effects of his tuning are fading, but the power of the necklace is taking root in your mind, warping and twisting it until you understand. Truly magnificent. He can see the clarity and consciousness in your eyes, but he can also see behind it, the compulsion to listen.

“Now, we must go,” Sunday says, his hands moving to clutch both of yours, pulling you up from where you’re sitting on the floor. “The rest of the Stellaron Hunters are likely getting anxious and ready to leave.” Still, he can’t help but steal one more moment alone. He presses a quick, light kiss to your lips, looking at your splendor one last time.

His sweet, foolish, caged bird.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagine #yandere oneshot #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail x you #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere sunday #yandere sunday x reader #the starlight pawnshop #thank you for requesting!

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koyagifs · 9 months ago

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𝓯𝓪𝓬𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

pairing: san x reader au: ceo | arrange marriage genre: angst word count: 1.027 words summary: San struggles to finalize his divorce not ready to let you go warning(s): - part 1 | part 2 | part 3

“you know, if you truly wanted the divorce you would signed the papers already,” you said, taking a sip of your wine.

San glared at you, the pen in his hand slamming down onto the table. He leaned back into his chair, muttering nonsense as he took his phone out. Messages of his mistress taking over his screen. You held a smirk on your face, knowing exactly who is blowing up his phone.

“San, I’m tired of this cat and mouse game. Just signed the damn papers so we can get on with our lives.”

San tsk, shoving the papers away from him as he got up. You rolled your eyes, finishing the remainder of your wine. Your phone buzzed, a smile planted on your face as your new lover informed you of his arrival. San notices, his eyes narrowing as he catches the change in your expression.

“who is it this time? Is it Mingi? Maybe even Yunho, knowing you like to whore around with my friend.”

You pause, his venomous words hanging in the air between you. A slow, bitter smile spreads across your lips as you turn to face him fully. "Oh, is that really what you think?" you reply coolly, eyes locking with his.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, San. Besides, you lost the right to care a long time ago.”

His jaw clenches, and he crosses his arms tighter against his chest. "You didn’t answer the question," he spits, his gaze dark and piercing.

“ Is it Mingi? Or Yunho?” He steps closer, voice dripping with venom.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. "I don’t need to explain myself to you," you say calmly, meeting his fury with icy indifference. "The only thing I need from you is your signature."

San glares at you, his frustration boiling over. "You're unbelievable," he mutters, running a hand through his hair. "You say you want to move on, yet you keep playing these games."

"Games?" you scoff, raising an eyebrow.

San’s breath hitches as you grip his face, tension between you two crackling like electricity. The memory of that night nearly a year ago washed over both of you —the same bitter dynamic. Yet, this time, theres a finality in the air, a sense that this dance is coming to its inevitable end.

He doesn’t move, his eyes locked yours, searching for any sign of the person he once knew. But you’ve changed, hardened by the betrayals, and now you hold all the power. His jaw tightens under your grip, he stays silent, letting you pull him closer as if daring to respond. You leaned in, a smirk planted on your lips. Hovering by his ear, your voice dropping to a low, chilling whisper.

“ Darling, if this was a game, you would have lost long ago,” you purred.

For a brief second, it’s as if time rewinds, taking him back to when things between you were different—when his touch was welcomed, when your eyes sparkled at the sight of him. His heart pounds against his ribcage, a desperate reminder of what he's losing. His hands twitch at his sides, fighting the instinct to reach out and pull you closer, to relive even a fragment of what you once had.

Your lips hover tantalizingly close to his, and his breath catches in his throat. It’s almost cruel how you know exactly how to undo him, how to make him feel that rush of desire and love that he thought was long gone. For that fleeting moment, he swears he can feel it again: the love, the warmth, the way his world used to revolve around you.

But then, the reality hits. Your eyes are no longer filled with love but with cold determination. The smirk on your lips isn’t one of playfulness but of finality. This isn’t a reunion; it’s a goodbye, and the taste of that realization is bitter.

“You feel that, San?” you murmur, barely above a whisper, your gaze never wavering from his. “That’s the past. And it’s not coming back.” You pull away, leaving a void in the space where your warmth used to be. His heart aches, clinging to that brief flicker of the past, but he knows you’re right.

He stands there, frozen, his hands still hovering uselessly in the air. Part of him wants to fight, to argue, to do anything to reclaim what he's let slip through his fingers. As San hands gripped your waist, pulling you close,

San’s grip on your waist is firm, almost desperate, as he pulls you close. For a fleeting moment, you catch a glimpse of the man he used to be—the one who would hold you like you were his entire world. His eyes search yours, silently pleading for some hint of the love you once shared. But before he can say anything, the sudden sound of someone clearing their throat cuts through the moment, shattering the illusion. His body goes rigid, the warmth of his touch quickly replaced by tension. He turns his head sharply, and so do you, to see the source of the interruption.

Standing in the doorway is your new lover, Hongjoong, arms crossed, eyes locked onto the scene unfolding in front of them. A mixture of concern and quiet resolve marks their face as they take in the sight of San holding you so close.

You step back from San’s grasp, the air around you shifting instantly from the charged intimacy to something far colder. “You’ve lost, San,” you say, your voice steady and final. “And now it’s time for you to let go.”

San’s hands fall away from your waist, and he watches as you move toward the doorway. The reality of the situation hits him harder than he expected. He’s no longer the one standing by your side, and for the first time, he truly feels the weight of that loss.

Hongjoong gives San a nod, not in triumph but in acknowledgment of the end of something broken. He extend a hand toward you, and without hesitation, you take it, stepping away from the man you once loved and toward the future you’ve chosen.

#choi san x reader #ateez san #ateez san x reader #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot #ateez #ateez scenarios #choi san #angst #ateez angst #san angst

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lady-october · 4 months ago

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Pairing : Oli Sykes x Female Assistant Genre : Romance, Smut (18+ Only) Previous Chapters : Available on Ao3 & Tumblr

Story Content : Smut, Drama, Choking, Power dynamics, Romance, Rough sex, Sadism/Masochism, Dom/Sub, Mentions of addiction & self harm, Degradation, Praise kink, Exhibitionism, Orgasm denial, Breath play, Dirty talk, Blood kink, Anal.

Summary :

“Don’t you see what a dangerous game you’re playing? Why did you have to look so fucking delicious tonight, I couldn’t stop undressing you in my mind, thinking of all the twisted things I want to do to you.” She had only worked on the touring team for three weeks, but her mind had been hijacked by dirty thoughts of a man she barely even talked to. Sure, he was very attractive, but were there other reasons she was so uncontrollably drawn to him? This is a filthy story of pain, self discovery, and love.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Chapter 32:

Tides will bring me back to you

Chapter title is lyrics from "Deathbeds”

This chapter is from Oli's perspective.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I’ve seen her eyes in my dreams so many nights, that actually gazing into them no longer feels real.

Yet, here she was, in the flesh, so different, and simultaneously completely unchanged, standing behind the woman I thought I’d be spending the next hour with, prior to my impending reunion with my painful past.

Before I had a chance to process that I’d been robbed of my limited alone-time with Alice, Fay pushed passed her, then passed me, forcing me to step aside as to not accidentally touch the she-demon.

Despite having successfully avoided bodily contact, her brief and entirely too close proximity, had still felt grating and soul-sucking, as if letting her back into my life, even for a moment, had alerted my nervous system that this was a grave mistake.

So, before shutting the door and willingly allow myself to interact with Fay, I took a steadying look at Alice’s sweet face, hoping to convey to her — and her alone — how sorry I was we couldn’t spend this time together, knowing that if Fay got even the slightest scent of my feelings for the woman in the corridor, she’d become a target.

But Alice’s face was void of emotion, and it filled my chest with a hollow sensation as the door latched shut.

“Thought we agreed on meeting up after the show.” I stated with my hand still on the handle, not ready to face her, not enjoying the bitterness lacing my words, or how it gave away how much she’d rattled me by being early.

When my statement was met with silence, I turned around, only to see her leaning against the side table, next to the sofa, on the other side of the obviously multipurpose dressing room.

The room must have doubled as a rehearsal space for some of the venues artists, considering the sound-dampening foam covering the walls, high, basement-style windows, and the scratched-up flooring in the oversized space, being filled with an amalgamation of furniture, haphazardly positioned as if they were moved frequently, never to stay in the same spot — much like me.

Or much like Fay, who was always doing something new; just from seeing her for all of 20 seconds, I’d already clocked two new tattoos on her arm, alongside the obvious hair colour change, now a vivid, freshly-dyed purple, instead of her signature, fiery red.

Did she dye it that colour before meeting up, knowing it’s my favourite?

It suits her. Of course it did; her otherworldly appearance was as breathtaking and undeniable as ever. But much like so many of the most poisonous flowers on this planet, she was also a rare type of beauty, trying to either lure you in, or warn you to steer clear of the toxicity.

Her head was bowed as she fidgeted with the laces of her corset, but her false innocence did nothing but raise further red flags, “I know, but I was going crazy waiting,” she said, a nervousness present in her voice.

However, Fay was never nervous.

She looked up, deep eyes locking with mine again, having me nearly catch my breath as she pushed off the side table and walked towards me, “I can come back later, if you want.”

She sounded concerned, her expression sad, pleading. Each step on the hard floor as loud as the next, until she was entirely too close to me once again.

But I knew exactly what type of mind games she was playing.

“No, no. Now’s alright.” I said, keeping my tone cordial and polite, gesturing towards the sofa in the hopes of dictating the distance between us, attempting to not convey my deep discomfort with her in my personal space, “Have a seat.”

I forced a smile as I walked us over to the sofa, doing my best to make it seem natural. Much like she’d painted her features with a type of softness I knew she didn’t actually possess.

Letting her take a seat first, I positioned myself on the other side of the three-seater, forcing the very needed distance between us. She appeared disappointed, but it didn’t stop her from speaking.

“I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you, Oli.”

I couldn’t help it, I rolled my eyes, my facade dismantled so quickly I nearly got whiplash, “Don’t do that. You don’t get to do that, not after what you did to us, to me!”

Her pretence falling apart just as quickly as mine, the annoyed expression she so often wore when she was hurt making its first appearance, “I’m just telling the truth. I never got a chance to explain myself, to defend myself. You just walked out of my life for over a year, no response, nothing! Like I never even mattered to you — do you have any idea how worried I was about you?” She shook her head, disgusted, “I know how badly I fucked up, I know I didn’t deserve much, but I didn’t deserve that.”

Selfish words, but at least she wasn’t fake anymore.

“Why did you do it?” I asked plainly.

When she looked down this time, the shame appeared real.

So, I kept pushing, “You wanted a chance to defend yourself, no? So why, Fay?”

“I panicked.”

I scoffed at her ridiculous response, “You never panic.”

“I knew you were about to pop the question.”

Her words were like a punch in the chest, throwing me for yet another loop.

She knew?

She knew, and she still decided to do what she did.

My thoughts moved so fast I could barely keep up, my emotions changing with it, questioning everything she’d ever made me believe to be true.

I’d always thought she was drawn to Mat because he could provide a sense of stability I lacked. She’d made so many hints for me to propose, to seal the deal, and I thought part of the reason she’d gone back to Mat was due to her doubting I ever would. When in reality I had been working overtime to keep it a secret, trying to throw her off the scent, in a relationship where everything else happened so impulsively.

“What are you saying?” I heard myself ask quietly.

The energy surrounding us shifted, and I could tell from the look in her eyes that she knew I was cracking. My internal world fell apart, re-evaluating everything about the series of events that occurred before our traumatic ending.

The eerie softness fell over her again as she removed the distance I’d manufactured, positioning herself next to me on the sofa, forcing herself into my intimate space; forcing me to choose between becoming as vulnerable as I could tell that she was making herself, or move away, and potentially rob myself of whatever answers she was about to provide me with.

So, I stayed, despite the air between us being dangerously charged with emotions so potent it felt like pure electricity, burning me alive.

“You were everything I could have ever dreamed of,” Her voice was too soothing, too loving, pulling me back to when we’d whisper sweet nothings to each other in bed at night, “But it could never be enough to fix me. I know what an idiot I was. Everything I did to you, every threat, every game I played. Going to Mat was just the final straw of all the ways I hurt you.”

In some ways she was saying all the right things. The things I’d daydreamed about when I could no longer stand the pain, and I just wanted the injuries she’d left me with to somehow magically heal, for the betrayal to just vanish into thin air, so it could be ‘Oli and Fay’ again. No more anger, no more loneliness.

No more missing her so badly I could barely breathe.

But many months had passed since I last felt that way or entertained such foolish thoughts.

Her foreign, yet familiar, fingers began intertwining with mine. Stunned, I simply watched them as a previous, dead, version of myself — aching and longing to touch his lost love — gasped back to life.

I wanted to cry, to scream. I wanted to kiss her pretty mouth, and crush every bone in her hand for daring to touch me with the same treacherous hand she’d used to cheat on me, and ruin any hopes of a future together.

“I wasn’t ready to treat you right back then, but I am now.” She told me softly, and something in me tore.

On the verge of disassociating, I gingerly untangled our fingers, “I could never trust you again.”

Tearing further, I watched as her eyes grew misty, “You could try…” Pleading words, making gory ribbons of my already mangled heart, “You promised me we were forever.”

“You promised me you were mine, yet you slept with my best friend.” I swallowed back the tears, “You nearly killed me, Fay.”

“We can move past this, I know we can, you know we’re meant to be. No one understands me the way you do, and—”

“There’s someone else.” I interjected.

The shock and hurt that fell over her features at my declaration was another daydream of mine; wanting her to feel even a modicum of the pain she put me through, to see it on her.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

I watched as her lip quivered, her own inner world crumbling, like she’d shattered mine moments ago.

“Who is she?”

“We both know it’s best if you don’t know that.”

Her expression soured, along with her tone, “Then why did you want to see me, to rub it in my face, to hurt me back?” She shot out of her seat, “Do you love her?”

“Yes.”

In a swirl of dark fabrics and colourful hair, she turned and went straight for the exit, causing a shot of adrenaline to course through me as I knew I couldn’t let her leave. Not yet, not without getting what I needed.

“Wait!” I exclaimed before springing into action, making it to the door before her, holding it shut.

She was fuming as I blocked her path, “Why, what’s the point? This is humiliating.”

“I deserve answers.” I retaliated, determined to achieve my original mission with this meeting.

“What do you want to know, how many times I came on Mats fat dick?” She asked, viciously.

Her words struck me like a whip, but I needed to know more, “What’s so wrong with me?”

I could see her internal struggle as she stared me down, weighing her options; does she shove me aside and dash out of here, or will she stay, and see where this interaction takes us?

Unceremoniously, her rage deflated, “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Then why didn’t you want to commit to me? Why did you choose to cheat on me when you knew I was ready to settle down and make a proper life with you?”

She shook her head, “I already told you; it didn’t have anything to do with you, I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Losing you.”

I just stared at her.

Fay sighed, “It’s like a self-fulfilling prophecy when you’re as reckless as me, Oli. Sometimes it’s just simpler to ruin a good thing, before the good thing has a chance to ruin you first.” I was suddenly incredibly dizzy, needing to sit down, to steady myself. So, I made my way back to the sofa, and buried my numb face in my hands as she continued talking, “But losing you made me see very clearly that it was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, and I knew I needed to change, and I would do anything to undo the damage I’ve—”

“You were scared of losing something worth having.” I heard myself say somewhere in the distance, my numbness spreading, echoing the words I’d forced out of Alice some time ago, realising Alice suffered from the same type of fears that had ruled Fay in her deepest moments of betrayal.

No wonder I had problems trusting Alice.

I noticed the weight shift on the sofa as Fay sat back down, “Yes, but I’m different now. I’ve grown so much, and I’ve just been waiting, and hoping, I’d get a chance to show you. I don’t want to be that woman anymore; I don’t want to be someone who hurts you.” There was a short pause before her voice settled into something quieter, smaller, as she bargained with the reality of things, “Please tell me you were lying, please tell me there’s no one else. It’s okay if you just wanted to hurt me back, I deserve it.”

I released a long breath, feeling completely defeated.

When I finally raised my head to looked at Fay, I barely recognised the woman in front of me. She’d been the villain in my story for so long, but now when I knew why she’d done such terrible things, I just saw her for the broken woman she’d always been, desperate to reunite with the man she believed was destined for her. The sight made me hurt in a brand new way, and I couldn’t help but take pity.

“I didn’t find someone else to hurt you, Fay. It just happened. I moved on.” My tone was soft, but still sounded far away as I didn’t quite feel like I was in this world anymore.

Fay started shaking her head frantically, taking hold of my hand again.

Only this time I held it back.

I watched as her world crumbled, clutching my fingers as her last lifeline, and for a moment she was reduced to the lost woman I’d fallen in love with a lifetime ago; so hurt herself, that she didn’t know how to not hurt others.

But I was crumbling too, the reanimated corpse inside me wanting nothing more than to comfort that version of Fay, to take comfort in her, despite the searing pain from the knife she’d lodged in me, “There were so many times I wanted to text you back, Fay, or call, or wished I could just hold you. I wanted things to be different so badly, but it’s too late. You and me, we can never—”

I hadn’t realised how close her face already was to mine when she leaned in.

I knew I shouldn’t let it happen, but every fibre in my body was at war with itself as some overpowering, invisible, force made it feel inevitable in my current, weakened state. Possessed, I took solace in the woman, the monster, I’d spent so many days and nights wishing every horror imaginable upon. And while I knew it didn’t actually mean anything, that it was more of a goodbye than anything else — a final kiss to close a chapter that was long overdue — none of that knowledge made our lips connecting any less explosive.

My heart ached, breaking all over, speeding up by the second. I wanted to shover her off me, pull her into my lap and see how quickly I could unlace her corset, gouge the fucking eyes out of her vile, demonic head.

Feel her nails dig into my back as I make her—

So, I did the only thing I could do; I broke away.

Flustered, our laboured breaths mingled as I came back to my body.

“You’re going on in a bit, aren’t you?” Fay asked seductively, sounding like a siren in the night.

I nodded through the haze, but I quickly frowned as it hit me what manipulation strings she’d pre-emptively planned to pull tonight.

You see, during the year we dated she’d always come with me to every gig. And like clockwork, she’d made sure we were alone the hour leading up to it, determined to get me off. It became a game, sometimes pushing it a bit too close, to the point that I’d on numerous occasions would still be out of breath as I ran up on stage, or my erection not fully having time to settle.

She’d told me she liked doing it for a variety of reasons, mainly the risk of it, or that she liked helping me relax before a show.

But I knew the real reason.

It was no secret that the crowds who attended our shows were full of women who wants to fuck me. And despite how insistent Fay was that she didn’t feel threatened, I knew her jealousy and possessiveness of me ran just as deep as my own.

Even though being sexually satisfied before all my performances watered them down a bit, I knew it settled something in her — made her feel more secure — so I indulged her, and let it become our thing.

And it’s not like I didn’t enjoy every moment of it.

But seeing her kneel before me now, hurrying to position herself between my legs, reaching for my zipper as she looked up at me with those hungry, black eyes, providing me the perfect view of the delicious things her tight garment was doing to her chest, I understood immediately the true reason she’d insisted on seeing me before the gig, instead of after as we’d originally agreed.

While my body reacted as if no time had passed, with blood promptly rushing to my dick, my heart felt the knife of betrayal twist by the games she was still playing in order to get what she wanted.

So, I removed her hands, and stood up, taking long strides for the door, violently swinging it open.

“Leave.” I spat, panting with rage and unwanted sexual frustration as I held the door wide open for her.

The boiling fury and hurt emanating off her were tangible as she slowly got up off the floor, eyes seething with the true nature of how Fay reacts when she doesn’t get her way.

Brushing herself off, she straightened, adorning herself with a freshly woven exterior made of steel as she crossed the room, her emotions having changed so drastically I fleetingly wondered if any of it had been real.

Right before she was about to cross the threshold, I spoke up, causing her icy, piercing eyes to pin me, “You and me, we’re a lot alike, Fay, but I’m nowhere near as fucking selfish as you.”

She huffed out a breath of disbelief, “When are you gonna stop lying to yourself, Oli?”

I slammed the door shut as soon as she’d stepped out, pacing the large space as hot tears ran down my face, raking my hands through my hair, regretting the meeting in its entirety.

I’d just wanted her to stop haunting me, to get out of my life, out of my head — out of my fears and trust issues — so I could put her behind me. I wanted her and all the problems she’d left me with to somehow make sense. But instead, I had a sinking feel I’d just injected myself with yet another dose of poison, which was currently coursing through my system, wreaking havoc on my thoughts and feelings.

Stopped by the mirror I’d used to get ready by earlier, I wiped at my lips, getting rid of her lipstick still present on my mouth, feeling tainted, used, despite having participated in it. The act of kissing her feeling more like an act of betrayal on my part in the wake of the event, rather than the closure it had masqueraded as while swept up in the moment.

The regret was deep, immediate, and uncomfortable.

It didn’t matter that Alice wasn’t ready to commit to me, it didn’t matter that Alice had kissed Mat just the other day. All reasons and excused fell away, and only one truth remained; I had committed to Alice, to the journey of becoming a better version of myself, for her, and instead I’d let myself be sucked back into Fay’s world — instead, I’d let my trust issues deepen, when I’d set out to resolve them. All because of my reckless, selfish, needs to confront my past, with no consideration for the fallout.

Alice’s emotionless expression as I closed the door flashed before my eyes, bringing me back to last night when she’d so bravely let me see new parts of her, letting herself be vulnerable, and showing me she cares in her own way. Then my mind wandered to Mat, who had been anxiously distracting himself all day, dreading the mere notion that Fay will be under the same roof as him.

Was Fay right, am I just as selfish as her?

Was my quest for answers from my past just another tick on the long list of things that only caused distress to the people that matter to me?

I just wanted to be a better man, but right now, I felt more lost than ever.

Wondering if trusting someone, and stop endlessly doubting and testing people, was simply too much to ask of someone as selfish as myself.

... Subscribe to the story on Ao3 for future updates

#oli sykes x reader #oli sykes #oli sykes fic #oli sykes fan fiction #you got a taste now #bring me the horizon

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skulkerdatabase · 4 months ago

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In Bitter Reunions, it's stated that Skulker designed the "spectral energy neutralizer," and Vlad paid for it.

It's a common fanon misconception that Vlad designed Skulker's suit and/or technology, but this is untrue. As we see in this scene, Skulker designs and makes his own technology and even technology for other people. Also, if Vlad designed Skulker's suit, either he would have been able to design the Spectral Energy Neutralizer himself, or Skulker would not have been able to design it.

#skulker #vlad plasmius #video #danny phantom #bitter reunions

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callmebyyourcallsign · 13 days ago

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All that’s left is the Sky

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw

Tags: cowboy AU, rural small town, slow burn, internalized homophobia, heartbreak , longing, unresolved tension, forced proximity, ranch life, hurt/comfort, grief, storm metaphor, one bed trope, angst, bittersweet, emotional repression, old love, secrets, rural isolation, yearning, brokeback mountain vibes, first love, painful reunions

Summary: Jake Seresin stayed behind. Bradley Bradshaw ran. It’s been almost ten years since they last spoke, since the night everything changed beneath the wide Texas sky. Now Bradley’s back, called home by grief and duty, and the ghosts of what could’ve been hang heavy in the summer air. Two men. One ranch. A lifetime of unspoken words and a love too dangerous to name. Some things don’t stay buried, not forever.

Word Count: 1,843

The road to the Bradshaw ranch is just as dusty as Jake remembers. Gravel kicks up under his boots when he leans against his truck, watching the horizon blur in the heat. It’s summer the way Texas always promises, merciless, air thick with cicadas and the ghost of rain that won’t fall.

He shouldn’t have come. That’s what he tells himself, cigarette burning low between two fingers. He quit years ago. Picked it back up this morning.

The funeral’s small. People who knew Carole Bradshaw once, or say they did. Faces lined by sun and hard living. They nod at Jake, respectful but distant. Seresin boy. Stayed. Helped his folks. Made good on what was expected.

Bradley stands at the graveside, tall and too thin under the weight of a suit that doesn’t fit him right anymore. Hair longer, curls brushing his collar, as if leaving all those years ago stripped him clean of trying to please anybody. His hands tremble when he sets down the flowers. His eyes don’t.

Jake looks at him and feels like he’s nineteen again, heart cracked open and bleeding into the dirt.

The service ends. Folks scatter. Jake stays planted, hands in his pockets, watching as Bradley lingers, alone with the headstone.

It’s a long time before Bradley turns. Their eyes meet.

For a second, just a second, it’s all there. The fence behind the bunkhouse. The way Bradley kissed like drowning. The way Jake let him.

And then it’s gone, masked behind the hard lines of the man Bradley’s become.

“Jake,” he says. Just that. His voice low, rough from disuse.

“Bradshaw.” Jake tips his hat up, tongue thick in his mouth.

Silence stretches. The kind that used to mean something. Now it’s just empty.

“Didn’t think you’d be here,” Bradley says finally.

Jake huffs a laugh, bitter as the smoke he breathes. “Didn’t think you’d come back.”

Bradley looks past him, out at the hills. “Didn’t have much of a choice.”

Neither of them does, now.

The ranch house is quieter than Jake remembers. Carole kept it warm. Made it a home even after Nick died. Without her, it feels hollow. Like a place waiting for a storm to knock it down.

They sit at the kitchen table that night. Whiskey between them, bottle half-gone.

“You stayin’ long?” Jake asks, pretending casual.

Bradley shrugs. “Long as it takes. Gotta sell, or fix it up. I don’t know.”

“You could stay,” Jake hears himself say, soft. He means it and he doesn’t. He wants it and he can’t.

Bradley’s smile is all sorrow. “Ain’t that easy, Jake.”

It never was.

Outside, the sky splits with heat lightning, but no rain comes. Inside, the air between them hums with what neither of them says.

Later, lying awake in his childhood room, Jake stares at the cracked ceiling and wonders what it would take to be brave. Wonders what it would feel like if the world were different, if he were different. Wonders what Bradley dreams about, two doors down.

The days stretch long and cruel under the Texas sun. Dust clings to everything, boots, jeans, skin. Jake can feel it in his teeth, taste it on his tongue. Like regret. Like all the words he’s never said.

Bradley stays. Days turn to weeks. He says it’s for the house, the land, to honor his mama’s memory. But Jake knows better. He sees it in the way Bradley lingers on the porch at dusk, watching the horizon as if it might swallow him whole. In the way he stiffens when their hands brush passing tools. In the way his eyes flick to Jake’s mouth like he’s remembering too much.

They fix the fence. The one behind the bunkhouse. The one where Bradley kissed him for the first time, long ago. Jake’s hands shake when he nails a board back in place.

“You’re bleedin’,” Bradley says, quiet, nodding to Jake’s knuckle.

Jake wipes it on his jeans. “Just a scratch.”

But they both know it isn’t just that.

Jake’s got a girl now. Had her a year or two. Sweet, soft-spoken. The kind of woman you’re supposed to marry. Her letters come tied in twine. He reads them at night, under the weak light of the bedside lamp, and feels nothing but guilt.

He doesn’t write back much. What’s he supposed to say? Sorry darlin’, I can’t think of you, busy thinkin’ of him?

They work the cattle one morning, sky heavy with the promise of rain. It’s the kind of morning that smells like old leather and earth. The kind that feels like waiting.

Bradley rides ahead. Jake watches him from the ridge. The easy way he sits a horse, like the land belongs to him. Like he belongs to it. Jake wonders if he looks the same. Wonders if Bradley ever looks back and thinks.

“Seresin!” Bradley’s shout cuts through his thoughts.

Jake spurs his horse down the hill. They meet at the fence line, breathless. Bradley’s flushed from the ride, curls damp with sweat, eyes bright.

“Storm’s comin’,” Bradley says, tipping his chin to the west.

Jake barely hears him over the pounding of his own heart.

“Yeah,” he manages. “Looks like it.”

Their eyes lock. Too long. Too much.

Bradley shifts in the saddle, breaking the spell. “We should head in.”

That night, the rain finally comes. Beats hard against the tin roof of the bunkhouse where Jake sleeps. He lies awake, listening to it. Listening for footsteps that won’t come.

Except

They do.

A knock. Soft. Hesitant.

Jake opens the door. Bradley’s there, soaked through, hair plastered to his forehead, shirt clinging to him like a second skin.

“Can’t sleep,” Bradley says. Voice rough. Like it hurts to speak.

Jake steps aside. Lets him in.

They sit on the edge of the narrow bed, shoulders barely touching. The storm howls outside, wind rattling the windows.

“I should go,” Bradley says after a long while, but makes no move.

Jake stares at the floor. “Stay.”

It’s not a question.

Bradley breathes out, shaky. “Jake—”

Jake turns. And that’s all it takes. A glance. A breath. A choice made a hundred times before but never followed through.

Their mouths meet. Desperate. Hungry. Full of years lost and words unsaid.

When they part, Bradley rests his forehead against Jake’s.

“This ain’t right,” he whispers.

Jake closes his eyes. “No. But it’s real.”

Morning after comes soft, cruel in its quiet. The storm has broken, but its memory clings to everything, mud clotted at the porch steps, water pooled in wagon ruts, the air thick with that clean, too-honest scent of earth laid bare.

Jake wakes first. The light through the bunkhouse window is pale, thin, like it’s afraid to touch him. Bradley sleeps beside him, one arm flung carelessly over Jake’s ribs, as if it’s always belonged there. His breath is warm against Jake’s collarbone. Steady. Trusting.

It should be simple. It should be easy, after all this time.

But it isn’t.

Jake eases out of bed, boots quiet on the warped wood floor. He stands a long while, looking at Bradley. Looks at the lines he knows by heart, the scar on his jaw, the crease between his brows, the mouth that tasted like rain and ruin.

He wants to stay. God, he wants nothing more.

But he can’t.

By the time Bradley wakes, Jake’s out in the yard, splitting wood like the devil’s at his heels. The sun’s higher now, burning off the mist, drying the mud to cracked earth. Sweat beads down Jake’s back, soaks his shirt through. But he doesn’t stop. Can’t stop.

Bradley comes to the porch, leans against the post, watching. Says nothing for a long while.

Then “You gonna talk to me?”

Jake doesn’t look up. The axe bites into the log with a satisfying crack.

“What’s there to say?” he mutters.

Bradley crosses his arms. “You kissed me back, Jake. Don’t act like this was just me.”

Jake slams the axe into the block, breath coming hard. “I know what I did.”

Bradley steps off the porch, mud sucking at his boots. Gets too close, like he always does. Like he knows it’s dangerous.

“Then stop runnin’ from it.”

Jake shakes his head, jaw tight. “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t want—” He bites the words back. Runs a hand through his hair. “Christ, Bradshaw. I can’t. I got a girl. I got a life that makes sense. We ain’t kids no more.”

Bradley’s voice softens. “You think I don’t know that?”

They stand there, silence thick as molasses, the weight of what they almost had pressing down on both of them.

“I should go,” Bradley says finally.

Jake nods, even though his whole chest aches with it. “Yeah.”

Bradley leaves the next morning. Doesn’t look back.

The years roll by like the prairie wind, fast, bitter, unstoppable. Jake stays. Works the land his dad left him, keeps his head down, does what’s expected. The girl he thought might save him from himself leaves after two years of waiting for him to let her in. She knew. Hell, everybody did, whether they said it or not.

And Bradley?

Bradley’s ghost lingers in every summer storm, in the crack of thunder that sounds like an axe splitting wood, in the slow drawl of a stranger’s voice that reminds him too much of the one he tried to forget.

Jake hears about him sometimes. From ranchers passing through. From letters Bradley sends to others, never to him. Bradley made something of himself, up north somewhere, working cattle, hands steady, heart still too big for his own good.

Jake doesn’t write. Doesn’t dare.

It’s nearly ten years later when Bradley rides up that same dusty road. No warning. No letter ahead. Just the creak of leather and the sound of hooves on hard-packed earth.

Jake’s out fixing a fence post when he sees him, older, sunburnt, mustache thicker, eyes the same.

Bradley dismounts slow. Quiet. Like he’s not sure he’s welcome.

“Jake.”

Jake grips the fence tighter. His heart stutters in his chest.

“Bradshaw.”

A beat. Two.

Then Bradley laughs, soft, disbelieving. “Still call me that?”

Jake lets go of the fence, steps forward. His voice is rough with all the things he never said. “I don’t know what else to call you.”

Bradley looks at him, like he’s reading every year in the lines of Jake’s face. “You could start with my name”

And Jake, at last, lets himself see him. The man he loved. The man he still loves.

“Bradley,” he says. And it’s like saying a prayer.

The sun sets behind them, paints the world in gold. There’s still dust between them. Still hurt. But there’s room now, room for forgiveness, for hope, for something new.

They stand there until the stars come out, until the night is thick and quiet, and Jake finally says what he’s carried all this time

“I missed you.”

Bradley smiles, sad and soft. “I missed you too, cowboy.”

Ao3

#tgm #top gun maverick #jake seresin #bradley bradshaw #hangster #sereshaw #jake hangman seresin x bradley rooster bradshaw #cowboy au #brokeback mountain vibes

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bitchinbarzal · 17 days ago

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He’s Yours | My Peach Au

Tess & Georgia & A lot of alcohol

⸻

It was one of those weddings.

A team wedding; the kind where every player showed up in coordinated suits, the kind where people laughed too loud at the reception because they were half-drunk and half-terrified someone would bring up playoffs. The kind where the wives and girlfriends stuck to the same tables and every hug felt like a reunion or a reckoning.

Tess had flown back from Sweden for it.

Not for him. Not for Michael.

But she had always loved the bride.

She wasn’t expecting Georgia to be here too.

She definitely wasn’t expecting her to fit in so seamlessly laughing with Kaia, helping Elodie reach the dessert table, wearing a dress that looked like it had been made to be danced in.

She wasn’t expecting to feel like a guest in a life she once helped build.

So she drank.

Too much.

And now she was in the bathroom, crouched over a toilet in a stall that smelled like lavender and bad decisions.

Someone held her hair back.

She didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“You don’t have to,” Tess said, voice rough, embarrassed. “You really don’t.”

Georgia’s voice was calm. “It’s okay.”

Tess wiped her mouth with shaking fingers. “He used to do that, you know. Hold my hair back.”

Georgia’s breath hitched, just slightly.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “He’s good at that.”

Tess let out a hollow laugh. “Bet he doesn’t have to anymore. You seem like the type who knows her limits.”

Georgia stayed quiet.

After a few seconds, Tess pushed back from the toilet, her back thudding gently against the wall. Georgia slid to sit beside her, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

They sat in silence, the echo of the music leaking through the door, muffled now like it belonged to someone else.

“I envied you,” Tess said eventually, voice barely above a whisper. “Not because you had him. But because you had the version of him that healed. The one I broke.”

Georgia looked down at her hands. “I envied you too.”

Tess turned to her, surprised.

“You had his beginnings,” Georgia said. “The firsts. The promises. I’m just…” She exhaled. “Sometimes I worry I’m just the recovery period.”

Tess shook her head. “You’re not. Trust me.”

She pulled her knees up, hugging them to her chest.

“You know what I realised?” she asked. “Somewhere between Sweden and this stupid wedding?”

Georgia waited.

“That I didn’t expect to lose everything. I thought I’d leave and still be able to come back. That he’d be… on pause. That us would be waiting.”

She laughed, quietly and painfully. “But he moved on. And it’s not pretend. It’s not rebound. It’s real.”

Georgia blinked hard, fighting off the rising tide in her throat.

Tess looked at her then. Really looked. And for the first time, there was no bitterness in her eyes. Just tired, aching truth.

“He’s yours.”

Georgia’s breath caught.

“I thought I’d always feel tethered to him,” Tess continued. “But watching you tonight… hearing the way he laughs with you… it hit me.”

She smiled, weak but sincere.

“You love him gently. I never figured out how to do that.”

Georgia’s lip trembled. “I’m trying.”

“You’re doing more than that.”

They sat there for a moment longer — two women linked by love and loss and the same quiet man who had unknowingly broken and rebuilt them both.

Tess leaned her head back against the stall wall.

“Promise me you’ll take care of him.”

Georgia’s hand found hers on the floor between them.

“I already do.”

#my peach au #kess and georgia

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taloumina · 3 months ago

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Only Regret for Us to Feel

Rafe Cameron/Reader

Angst, hurt, breakup

Spoilers: for season 3, episode 2

Summary: You never wanted a reunion with Rafe, especially not like this.

= = = = =

“(Name)?”

“Rafe!” you said in shock, almost mistaking him for someone else.

But no, you could never make that mistake with the man you’d once loved.

He was so different than the last time you’d seen each other back on the ship. He’d shaved his hair and was now wearing a suit like any business man would. Like Ward would.

You couldn’t forget it: Rafe was his father’s son. Being your ex-boyfriend didn’t change that. Rafe was still the one who’d broken your heart by choosing his father over you, his own girlfriend. He’d choose his father every single time, even knowing what kind of man Ward was.

Rafe had changed too much for you to ever be together again.

You could see it in his eyes, that wild obsession about treasure that he’d never need. Not like you did, the Pogue daughter of Pogue parents, a poor family who happened to live in a place with a view everywhere you looked. Kildare Island itself was more special than anything your family owned. Just being able to live there was sometimes enough to make you happy, even through the bad days.

But Rafe was more than a bad day. He was a series of them tied together, hardly the boy you knew before who’d been accepting Pogues more and more because of you. You’d wanted him to fully accept Pogues someday, but that was impossible now.

Rafe would always be a Kook. A killer.

“No, no, no, no.” You shook your head and backed away from him. “I don’t have time for this!”

You turned around and ran, not knowing or caring where you were in the house, the owner unknown. You just had to get away from Rafe.

Footsteps followed behind you, and a hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you from going any further.

“Wait, (Name)!”

“Wait for what?” you yelled, wrenching away your hand from his grip. “There’s nothing left to say, not after you chose your father! Like everything we were didn’t even matter to you!”

The crack in your voice didn’t escape Rafe’s ears, his own voice sounding hoarse. “It did,” he said. “You were everything to me. You were… my life.”

“Your life?” you repeated with a disbelieving laugh. “What a lie! You threw me away as soon as Ward started paying more attention to you, and look where that got us.” You gestured between both of you, standing in a house likely neither of you had been before. That was true for you, at least, kidnapped and still in danger. “We’re broken up and caught the eye of another crazy treasure hunter, but oh, wait, you’re one too, Rafe.”

“No, I’m not.” Rafe’s face was hard, but in a second it softened as he looked at you. “I’m trying to help my dad by bringing our family back together. The gold, the cross… that’s all it is.”

You looked away, all the better to hide your brimming tears. “I don’t believe you. Do you really think that’ll do shit?” You glared at Rafe with anger burning in your eyes. “Wake up, Rafe! All you’re doing is Ward’s dirty work! He’s not gonna love you more than Sarah just because you bring him gold!”

Rafe’s stare was colder than anything you’d ever seen from him before. He remembered like you did all the times when he’d confided in you about Sarah. How she’d been their father’s favorite since the day she was born. Maybe even before that.

Rafe’s expression was one of a man who felt betrayed, but you hadn’t done that. He had when your love wasn’t enough for him anymore, and Rafe had gone back to Ward, desperately seeking his father’s love and approval.

“You think I’m just some rich daddy’s boy, don’t you?” Rafe accused. “That I’m doing all this fucking shit because I didn’t get enough hugs and kisses when I was a kid?” Rafe finished with a bitter laugh before staring at you intensely. “Hey, answer this. Did you ever love me? Or did you just wanna know what fucking a Kook was like?”

Hearing those sickening words from Rafe was like a knife slicing down your heart in half. You wanted to believe that he himself didn’t believe in any of it, but he’d become a completely different person since that day with the plane, and he wouldn’t turn back into the boy you’d fallen in love with. That boy hadn’t known the feeling of death on his hands.

“I did love you, Rafe,” you said, almost in a whisper. “But you changed, and you—” You took a deep breath and then looked him in the eyes. “You should atone for what you did.”

“Atone?” Rafe shook his head, unable to stand the sight of you for a moment. “Then I guess this whole talk was for nothing.” He waved a hand at the door. “Go ahead. Run back to your little Pogue friends. Tell them I’m the reason why you escaped.” He barked a laugh that reminded you too much of Ward. “Tell them I could’ve stopped you, but I didn’t.”

“You could still stop me now,” you pointed out, skeptical of his motive—or motives. “Why are you letting me go?”

“Because the more I look at you, the more I wonder why I ever wasted my time with you in the first place. Just another Pogue bitch.” There was no stutter in Rafe’s voice.

You buried the hurt he caused you into the deepest part of yourself, where you’d never let Rafe in again. He didn’t deserve you.

“You’ll regret this, Rafe.” Your voice was steel, hardened by pain that you promised you wouldn’t feel again from him. You had no more sympathy to give to a past that was already gone. “You could’ve been a Pogue too. We could’ve been happy even without all of it: money, your father, even the treasure.”

“I’m happy right where I am, and the only thing I regret is you.” Rafe turned away, refusing to look at you any longer. “Get out, (Name), before I decide not to let you go, after all.”

You and Rafe didn’t say another word to each other, and you walked out the door, leaving him behind to his life of crime and treasure.

He could rot in jail with Ward for all you cared.

#outer banks #obx #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #obx rafe imagine #reader and rafe #obx x reader #obx reader insert

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pookie-mulder · 10 months ago

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August 2024 fic roundup

This was truly the month of the longfic. And to think I only read short fics until @skelavender showed me the error of my ways!

📰🖋️ Paracelsus by prufrockslove

One of the biggest txf fics ever, and I absolutely devoured it. I loved reading it right after Hiraeth and seeing all the little nods to their past lives. This author knows how to spin a yarn, guys. My one complaint is the never-ending miscommunications towards the end, which is never my favorite source of drama/conflict. Just talk to each other, you idiots! (Although they have those moments in canon, as well, I suppose.)

⚾️🏟️ A Moment in the Sun by prufrockslove

I will remember this fic for the rest of my life. It’s the type of fanfic you want to write fanfic about. It makes me wish I knew now to print and bind my own books. The universe is so rich and developed. Definitely in my top 5 of all time!

Here’s a list of things I love about it:

William. My precious, bratty British boy.

The way the plot includes elements of the mytharc but put together in a different way so you don’t know exactly how it’s all gonna come together

Emily!! You know I love a good Emily AU, and this fic certainly counts. I’m a sucker for a found family, and this fic delivers.

Josh Exley my beloved (and Arthur Dales, but the other one)

Dad!Mulder. The man is an absolute DILF. He tries so hard to overcome his shortcomings and be the father his kids need.

Frohike. His job as an eccentric baseball manager suits him surprisingly well, and his characterization is on point.

The little nods to canon, including episode titles and locations.

The insinuation that all of PFL’s AUs take place in the same universe (as Mulder said, “It has to take more than one lifetime to learn to love someone this much.”)

The only thing I’m not zazzed about is the ending. It kind of just…ends? I would’ve loved an epilogue or even a sequel (or a 12-book series).

🏫📸 Dr. Scully’s School for Exceptional Boys by prufrockslove

Oh boy. This fic is a tangled mess of emotions and betrayal and shame and guilt and love and promises and sacrifices and, most of all:

Definitely recommend.

👒👩‍🔬 The Regency Files by @slippinmickeys

I needed something that needed less mental energy after 4 massive PFL fics in a row, and this one delivered! It’s sweet, romantic, elegant, and has just enough of a plot to keep you interested. If you’re a fan of historical AUs (as I am now, I guess), this one’s a must-read!

🛌🍷 The Reunion by @muldersfingers

Absolute trope-y goodness without feeling too cheesy or predictable. My favorite part is how much they laugh and tease each other when they finally make use of that one bed ;)

🐶🥇 underdog takes the title by @wtfmulder

MSR’s first time is sweet, silly, and giggly. Mulder is absolutely pathetic and pitiable, which Scully finds hot (same, girl). It absolutely melted my heart!

👶👨‍🍼 the bitter and the sweet by @xf-cases-solved

What if baby William was a girl? What if they named her after Samantha?

Absolute perfection. This is how season 8 should have ended!

🏔️🌲 The Mountain Man and A Deadly Hunger by aka_Jake

This historical AU takes place in the same time period as Paracelsus, but it’s so vastly different in its setting that it’s unfair to compare them. In this one, Mulder is a Montana mountain man who smuggles arms to the Native Americans, and Scully hopes to become an army doctor in a nearby frontier town. It’s a classic Wild West romance with plenty of drama and conflict. I love how each of the characters feel like themselves, especially Scully, who retains her headstrong independence despite social norms.

🔙🥩 The Mastodon Diaries by aka_Jake

Mulder and Scully travel back in time to the Pleistocene era and must rely on their wits and each other to survive.

This is one of those fics that changes you as a person. I will be thinking about it for a long, long time. It broke my heart a thousand times and then lovingly stitched it back together. There were so many moments that took my breath away.

The portrayal of prehistoric humans is especially incredible — they’re so well-thought out, and their culture is so rich and developed. Even though 12,000 years separates us, we’re not so different from each other in the end. I absolutely fell in love with the native OCs, which is a compliment of the highest order. I already miss them!

Anyway, it’s like this fic was created in a lab specifically for me. It has all my favorite tropes and story elements: wilderness survival, historical AU(ish), soooo much whump and caretaking and hurt/comfort, found families, Dad!Mulder, and a surprising amount of romance. If you haven’t read this one yet, I’m begging you to give it a try!

🇦🇶❄️ On the Verge by aka_Jake

This fic fits into one of my favorite canon holes: How did Mulder and Scully get back from Antarctica? I love reading everyone’s different takes on this missing scene/plotline, and this one is no exception!

#fic roundup #mine #txf #fic #the x files #x files #x files fic #msr #dana scully #fox mulder

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didherodown · 8 months ago

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Didherodown's Official Danny Phantom episode recommendations

(for the fan who has never seen the series but is in the phandom)

Ordered in sequence of release (taken from imdb, so take that as you will)

Very Important episodes will be noted like this Episodes I think are fun and kinda important like this

enjoy!

Season 1: Has a lot of groundwork for the show, lots of introductions to our cast of Ghosts

Mystery Meat - E1

Where it all started, establishes Sam and Tuckers rivalry over food, our first encounter with the Lunch Lady, and Danny’s first outing as a hero in general

Episodes 2-6 : feature introductions to Dora, Skulker, Technus, Point Dexter, and Desiree

Bitter Reunions - E7

Our introduction to Vlad! Establishes Vlad vs Danny dynamic, Vlad's hate of Jack and his obsession with Maddie

Prisoners of Love - E8 is our intro to Walker

My Brothers Keeper - E9

Spectra makes her appearance! Shows a lot of Danny’s insecurities he has about being different, an outsider, ect. And Jazz finds out Danny's identity!

Shades of Gray - E10

Our first meeting of Valerie, and where her life gets ruined by Cujo!

Fanning the Flames - E11 is our intro to Ember

Maternal Instincts - E17

Vlad is up to his scheming and tries to get both Danny and Maddie to join him and abandon Jack. (Introduces the Specter Deflector gadget, as well the the Plasmius Maximus)

The Million Dollar Ghost - E19

Vlad puts a bounty on Danny Phantom, making lots and lots of ghost hunters show up- including the GIW

Control Freaks - E20

Circus Gothica! The ringmaster- Freakshow- has a staff that he uses to control ghosts and Danny of course falls victim

Season 2: Has a lot of bangers- and is very heavy in the Danny Lore AND where a lot of fannon comes from (ghost king, trans danny, pharaoh tuck, ect)

Reign Storm - E4

In which Pariah Dark is awoken and goes on a rampage, sucking Amity Park into the Ghost zone. With the other ghosts also terrified of the Ghost King, Danny might be the only who has a chance to stop him (ghost king danny anyone????)

The Ultimate Enemy - E6

Danny cheats on a test, which we find out actually will end the world. Our introduction to Clockwork and the Eyeball Guys(™). And of course, Danny’s future evil self- Dan !!

King Tuck - E7

Where Tucker gets influenced by Hotep-Ra (origin of the Pharaoh Tucker fannon)

Identity Crisis - E8

Where we learn that simply splitting Danny from his ghost half is not an option, his ghost half is indeed half of him

Flirting with Disaster - E11

Where Danny and Valerie are dating. In this episode her original ghost fighting suit is destroyed and Technus makes her a new version- leading to lots of fannon about Valerie being a little more ghost than she thought

Kindred Spirits - E14

Cloning! Danielle! AHHHHHHH!!!! (trans Danny? All but confirmed /hj)

Reality Trip - E17

Where Freakshow is searching for the stones of the Reality Gauntlet (very reminiscent of the Infinity Gauntlet from Marvel)

Season 3: Often the most criticized of the three seasons, the show was canceled in this season. BUT THERE IS SO MUCH IMPORTANT LORE IN THIS ONE LETS GO

Infinite Realms - E2

Our first meeting with Frostbite! Also tells us a lot about how natural portals work AND the introduction of blood blossoms

Torrent of Terror - E4

Introduces Vortex, also Danny's mood affects the weather for a good part of this episode

Urban Jungle - E6

Undergrowth has taken over amity, making Sam his “Queen” because of her love and care of plants. THIS IS WHERE WE FIRST SEE DANNY’S ICE POWERS! AND WE LEARN ABOUT CORES! YES REALLY ONLY 6 EPISODES FROM THE END

Boxed Up Fury - E8

The Box ghost, upset at not being taken seriously- steals Pandora's Box, and well, that goes about as good as you imagine it going

D-Stablized - E11

Dani is literally dissolving into ectoplasm, and Danny has to find a way to save her before she destabilizes all the way. (Introduces Ecto Dejecto- a fanfic staple)

Now this is just my personal list- based on 20 years of being in this fandom (holy shit how can it be that long????)

Thanks for reading :)

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behidethetrees · 2 years ago

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LOVE IS ONLY A FEELING.

IN WHICH… You have a bittersweet reunion.

Pairing: Coriolanus snow x Fem! reader

Content: Ooc! Coryo (he's not evil), Covey! reader, They're definitely a situationship, Possessive! Coriolanus, 1.3k words. Requests

You were greeted with Loud clapping and cheering once you finished your original song at the nightclub. It wasn't often that people would stop dancing to take in someone's beautiful words, But everyone did for you. You thanked everyone and stepped down from the stage to get some water when suddenly a brunette boy walked over to you and asked for a dance. Of course, you agreed.

It had been months since you’d seen Coriolanus snow. He had gotten in a fight with your ex, As he was swinging, he accidentally hit one of the covey members with his backhand. You yelled at Coriolanus so much you were surprised your vocal cords were still intact. He never apologized. He never came back after you kicked him out. He had left you for months with bitterness and anger, But you couldn't hold onto that forever. You were done with Coriolanus snow.

The brunette boy was slightly taller than you and he danced well enough. Though His hands were sweaty and he messed up his foot placement every now and then. As you danced with him, Your long white skirt swaying, A drop of temperature in the room occurred, You knew right away that only one man could make a room feel cold. Coriolanus snow. The man that you were so hopelessly in love with but hated every inch of, Stood in the back of the room with a clenched jaw and eyes that could pierce anyone. All you could do was roll your own pair and abandon the boy you didn't even know the name of.

The covey band was singing one of your songs And Coriolanus immediately recognized it. It was the one you sang to him the first time you showed him the big wildflower field one summer night. He had thought back to when you held each other under that green and yellow leaf tree. When he finally found you on the side of the stairs leading to the stage, Coriolanus swept you off your feet, Like he always did.

His strong arm gripped your waist tightly but he held your hand gently. You were close enough to smell him, he smelt just like roses. You had started to notice actually how nice he looked. He wore a black suit with a red shirt under and his curly outgrown hair was combed back. Was he dressed up for someone else, Or you?

You looked up at him Through your curled lashes, Your eyes were pure, as snow he thought. His upper lip slightly lifted into a small smirk. As the covey band continued, Coriolanus began to move your body with his slowly. Coriolanus liked you better like this. When you were hidden away in his hold, When you struggled to hate his touch, When he knows he's got you.

“Did you miss me sweetheart?” Coriolanus says with that sickly sweet smile. His tone was arrogant like he had no doubts.

“Not one bit.” You gripe back at him. You had missed him. Sitting by the lake only you two knew as you sang and he’d listen, Late night walks while his muscular arms kept you safe from any harm, The feeling of his hands. How rough and slim they were, You’d wonder who else's blood had fallen on them.

“Well, that's a shame because I missed you.” Coriolanus wasn't lying. He missed a certain girl waltzing around with long dresses and feathers in her hair, Those love songs she’d sing to him as she traced flowers in Coriolanus’s palm with her little finger, the security and comfort her aura provided him.

“Then why didn't you come back?” You ask him. You can tell that hit a nerve by the way he swung you to the right harshly, then returned to slowly swaying side by side. Coriolanus didn't have a reason nor an excuse. He, who was so defensive, never apologized for anything. He just sighed.

“I waited for you Coriolanus.” You couldn't help the tears starting to form in your eyes. Every night you left your window open and a key under the mat. Waiting, listening, Hoping he would come back. Something about you calling him ‘Coriolanus’ disappointed him to his core. He felt his girl slipping from his grasp. He felt the only thing that had ever belonged to him was disappearing.

It wasn't just your kindness and easily persuaded mind that Coriolanus liked. It was the way your big, curious eyes looked at his unforgiving blue ones like he was more than a poor capitol boy trying to carry on his family name. Like he had the chance to be someone to somebody.

He slowly stopped the movement of your bodies. “Look at me.” Coriolanus was now gently cupping the sides of your jaw with both hands, Forcing you to look at him. You searched for something in him. The guilt in his eyebrows, the reassurance in his eyes, and the slight resentment he had towards you in his lips.

“I'm here now. And I'm so, so sorry I hurt you. I will make this right, you just have to let me, please.” Coriolanus Begged. You had Coriolanus Snow, One of the most intimidating boys in the capitol, Begging for a way back into your life. His forehead touched yours while he delicately wiped away your tears with his thumb.

His big arms eventually hugged your waist. He buried his head into your shoulder, taking in the scent of you that he was addicted to. You felt so close to Coriolanus, so vulnerable. You placed your arms around his neck. The warmth of your bodies rose, That feeling you both had been chasing since that night.

A few minutes went by as the covey continued to play. You felt the rise and fall of Coriolanus’s chest, His steady heartbeat thumping against his insides. Coriolanus picked his head up to say something. Coriolanus thought for a minute, His lips drawing together. No, he couldn't say that. he couldn’t tell her why he didn’t want to love her. That she’d be the only thing above him, the only weakness people could dangle over his head. That she would have the power Coriolanus so desperately wanted. But if he told her, He’d have to live with that for the rest of his life. The guilt would hurt him no matter how hard he would try not to feel. The regret would build up in his stomach but Worst of all, his jealousy would seethe through his veins and kill him.

The cold sensation of his hands on your jaw and neck swirled into your skin and down to your heart. He took a moment to look across all your features before he put his lip onto yours. It was passionate and long. He never pulled away because he wanted this so bad. he wanted you so bad. to have all of you to himself. his hands gripped tighter on you. His lips pressed harder onto yours. He hated that others were around while you shared this intimate moment. He hated that others were around you.

Coriolanus’s thoughts started wandering into the darkest parts of his brain. He kept his composure. He didn't want to scare you away with his mind because he didn't think he'd survive if he lost you again.

After you pulled away, he gave you a quick smile and guided your head back to his chest as he wrapped himself around you again. His chin rested on top of your soft hair. The lights glistened as you closed your eyes, Listening to a mix of the covey and his heartbeat. Sweet moments of Coriolanus kissing your hair and whispering sweet words blurred together. Coriolanus’s presence sent you in a state of euphoria.

Coriolanus knew it wasn’t over. He knew you, better than you knew yourself. You’d always come back to him and he’d do the same. You were his. This was a never ending story of you two. Coriolanus smiled. He got his girl back.

A/N: srry ive been gone writers block sucks. Anyways hope u enjoyed :3

Requests

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coryo snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow smut #tom blyth #tom blyth fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow x you #coryo x reader #coriolanus x y/n

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chirp-a-chirp · 16 days ago

Text

Cling

Synopsis: An unexpected family reunion; an unknown story finally told; and memories rediscovered provide both comfort and pain.

Note: I take some personal liberties here, including introducing a biological older brother for Leon and memories of Leon with his original family. Leon’s sequel had hints of him potentially having had a loving family at one point but not recalling memories of that time. So, this story takes that premise and runs with it.

Story Tags: Lost (and found) family; angst; angst and feels; memory recovery; (alternate) character death; mentions of slavery, violence, and war; Leon route spoilers

Characters: Leon Dompteur X Emma (Ikepri MC); Old Man (from Leon’s Sequel); Original Character (Solomon)

Word Count: ~2900

Tag List: @ikeprinces-stuff @reborn-elven-spirit @wistfulwanderingone @writingwhimsey @ike-garden2024

…

On the outskirts of a mostly desolate Obsidian town, its people long vanquished and dispersed into slavery, a man with wild hair black as midnight and emerald eyes scans the terrain. An air of mystery and tenacity cling to him.

The man yearned for a gentle life. He knew what hell was like.

The man’s fingers cascade down the gnarled husk of a tree. He knows this tree. He knows the scratch marks on it. He recalls over two decades ago him and his younger brother clawing at the bark looking for substance, sap, anything to quell the rumblings of their empty bellies.

His brother. They were sold off separately when their village was overrun. Was he alive? If so, did he escape? Escape to what? So many questions, no answers.

Memories haunted the man. However, perhaps this one time, his memories could provide something more: salvation.

The man escaped his handlers long ago. Eventually, he had made his way to Jade and forged a life as an herbalist. But now, Jade had a need; need for a rare sap to cure an epidemic plaguing its nobility. The man recalled this tree’s sap and its bitterness and thought it had medicinal powers. Perhaps it could be used to save—

The man heard footsteps. He looked up. There was a man and a woman. A couple likely from how closely they walked together, their hands interlinked. There was something about the man that was familiar, his wild black hair mirroring his own. It was the golden eyes that shocked him though. Amber eyes of a child he thought he’d never see again. Could it be—?

The two men stared at one another. Memories came flooding back to them both. They spoke in unison.

“You…”

…

There was much to speak of—where to begin?

“Leon is it now?” A mouth grimaced as the name fell from the green-eyed man’s lips. He stirred a pot of water over a campfire outside the town ruins. “I suppose I should say it suits you.”

“It doesn’t change who he is.” Emma could hardly believe she and Leon had stumbled upon his long-lost brother. Blood brother, Emma reminded herself. Beyond virtually identical looks, the slightly older man knew of scars behind Leon’s knees no one else had ever taken note of. And his eyes—they held a strength that spoke of hidden hardships Emma had only seen with Leon.

“And who is my brother?” Sorrow reflected in the question.

Titles, names, accomplishments; there were so many ways to answer.

“He’s the best man I know.” Emma reached out and briefly squeezed the man’s shoulder. His pain softened at her touch but didn’t disappear. “One can’t help but smile and feel warmth with him.”

Owlish eyes blinked and then narrowed, contemplating the steaming water. “After all these years, that hasn’t changed. Good.”

“What was I called before?” The last time Leon had felt so at ease with someone was his best friend, the fourth prince, all those years ago. And then his beloved Emma. This was different—this was an ease based on instinctive familiarity and kinship renewed.

“Asher.” There was a pause to see if there was recognition. Nothing. “Father passed before you were born. A mining accident.”

Another pause. Leon shook his head. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t be.”

“And what of your name?” Leon leaned forward.

He would tell hard truths wrapped in softness. “Solomon. After our father. Most called me Sol.”

Laughter, running in fields of barley and wildflowers. A smile framed by darkened locks dusted in pollen and sunlight. Carefree memories of his brother came tumbling down Leon’s mind. “Sol is another word for sun. And you had a smile that radiated light.”

It is then Emma realized just how similar Sol and Leon truly were. Sol was the quieter, steadier counterpoint to Leon’s brilliant light. But their warmth was the same.

“In our mother tongue, Asher means happiness.” His brother stared intently at Leon. “For within the ashes of mother’s grief, you were born. And her sorrow turned to joy.”

There was delicacy in how Sol spoke. He had just found his brother. He didn’t want to push and lose him once more. “Well…” Sol looked off in the distance. “You had another name. The mini—“

“Shadow.” Leon completed Sol’s sentence, mouth quirking. “The mini shadow. Cause I always followed you around.”

Emma’s lips curved upward. “That’s difficult to picture. Everyone follows HIM back home.”

“And where is home now?”

“Rhodolite.” Emma poured cups of tea mixed with foraged berries and leaves for Sol and Leon from the simmering water.

Leon leaned over his cup, pursing his lips as he blew on it. “Emma and I have been to Obsidian before though. Diplomatic trips.”

“You’ve moved up in the world then, brother.”

“You could say that” Leon deflected, his laughter brief. The story of a slave who became king would wait. “I hoped to recall memories by walking the Obsidian countryside.”

“And?”

Leon shrugged. “Hazy visuals mostly. Some smells—like the sap from the trees here.” Leon stood from his place at the fire and walked towards the nearest tree, fingers trailing a series of tiny claw marks. “We ate this, didn’t we?” Sol nodded.

They spoke for hours. Of everyday life from before. Things of minor yet significant importance.

“Does he like flowers Emma?”

“Roses. Our kingdom is known for them.” Emma patted her hand on Leon’s thigh. “Whenever I’ve had a long day, roses suddenly appear from Leon. In vases, on my desk—"

“On our bed.” Leon grinned unrepentantly.

“LEON!”

“You don’t deny it.” For the first time, Sol beamed brightly, mirroring his brother’s teasing inflection. Emma wondered if the joy of Leon’s laughter that was so dear to her came from Sol. She was all but certain it had. “Good. Embrace the love you have.”

“I hope you have someone too,” Leon inquired gently.

“I do.” For now, Sol nearly added. Disease was as cruel as a slaver’s whip. If only the Jadean nobility would acknowledge their plight. Then maybe—

No. That too was a story for another time. Sol pushed through his swirling thoughts and continued.

“Lavender. That was mother’s favorite.” Sol and Leon had shared a bedroom, the walls adorned in their mother’s favorite colors—purple and gold. The room was sprinkled with jars overflowing with lavender and marigolds from the boys’ adventures.

Another coincidence. Leon’s palace bedroom had remained the same since Leon became the fourth prince—a memorial to his departed friend. Perhaps the refined purple and golden hues were kept in remembrance of his mother and brother as well.

Sol twirled a blade of grass between his fingers. “You taught me to expand my boundaries. To explore. Meet others.”

Leon tilted his head, dark hair tumbling over his face. “I did?”

“I’d stay in one spot if allowed. You…didn’t care for that.” A soft smile crept on Sol’s face. “You toddled everywhere, finding flowers, rocks, small sticky creatures. Mother tasked me to chase you about as you delivered your treasures to everyone.”

“Really?” Leon laughed. “Everyone?”

“Neighbors, craftsmen, the town crier. What you couldn’t give away was taken by our uncle. That rarely happened though. You once convinced a baker to give us his last loaf of bread for a river rock.” Sol’s words were light and joyous. “You were called my shadow, but it was I who really trailed after you.”

Sol released the blade of grass from his fingers. It twirled in the air before falling to Leon’s feet. “Our world was small, but it was bright. The best part was you.”

“Hey, that’s my line.”

“Older brother privilege. Can’t be helped.” Sol smirked.

“Speaking of privilege…” Leon brushed his fingertips against Emma’s cheek before kissing it. “Allow me to thank you for the tea.” With a flick of his wrist, Leon released a ribbon from Emma’s hair. Leon stood and started gathering wildflowers near a deserted footpath, tying them together with the ribbon.

Emma flushed prettily. “Sol made the fire and boiled the water you know.”

“I’ll find a slug for him then, extra sticky. Just how you like it, right Sol?” Leon winked.

“I think Emma’s getting the better end of this deal.”

“Lover’s privilege. Can’t be helped.” Leon replied, a cheeky glint in his eye.

Joy overflowed Emma at the memories shared thus far. Leon was happy as a child. Loved. But a shadow lingered with each memory rediscovered. She knew Sol and Leon’s happiness had not lasted.

Leon suddenly stopped, his eyes fixated on a boulder near a patch of wildflowers. The rock was covered in a film of dust, but one side was darker than the other. Underneath the grime was a dull, rusty brown. The color was faded but held an aura of despair that hadn’t disappeared—the morbid blot a testament to violence long ago.

Violence that was now remembered.

The bundle of flowers slipped from Leon’s hand. “Mama…” His voice was strained, choking on barely repressed emotion. Leon fell to his knees, fingers grazing the faded brown on the stone.

Emma’s eyes widened in dawning horror. She got up and began to run to Leon but was stopped.

“We can’t protect him any longer.” Sadness etched Sol’s features. Leon struggled for breath as he looked down at the rock, shoulders hunched, lips trembling. Sol walked towards Leon, kneeling beside him.

“Obsidian invaded quickly—a bloody, vulgar show of force. We were rich in ore, poor in soldiers. A peaceful village like ours had no chance.” Sol aimed for detachment while speaking, but his words quivered as Leon shook.

“Our conquerors demanded taxes afterwards—ore, wheat, barley—for their losses,” Sol scoffed bitterly. “We were left with scraps to eat.”

Leon’s fingers curled into fists as if trying to bear more than he could handle. Countless memories crowded his mind, demanding to be seen. One memory in particular made itself known.

“I’m sorry dear. It’s all we have.” His mother poured a cup of thin soup—mostly water flavored with bitter roots and bark. Her tattered clothes hung onto her lean frame. She always made sure her boys ate first. “It’s OK mama. I’m not hungry.” A boy of three years with amber eyes grabbed the bowl and placed it in his uncle’s hand. The boy fished out a couple of stones from his pocket and plopped them in the soup, the bowl’s contents nearly overflowing. “See? Now more to eat!” “Thank you, my boy.” The older man smiled determinedly. “Sol, stay close to Asher. We don’t know when the soldiers will be back.” His mother watched her youngest flash a bright smile as he put another rock in his uncle’s bowl. The boy exclaimed happily “More, now there’s more!” “Your brother, he’s so…” His mother’s voice waivered slightly. “Happy. Warm. Even now. Just like papa,” Sol intoned, his mother sniffing loudly. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay with him. Until—” “Don’t say it.” His mother bit off a strangled cry. Sol leaned comfortingly against his mother. “I’ll cling to him for as long as I can. I swear it.”

Sol reached out, arms wrapping fiercely around Leon. There was a desperate strength as Leon gripped his arms around Sol in return, like a drowning man grasping for something to keep him afloat.

“The final days were spent in hunger. Our sacrifice was rewarded with slavery and—.” Sol cut himself off, his voice breaking. “All the mothers cried. Wept for dead husbands, their children’s futures. But in their hearts, they knew there was nothing they could do. Amidst the wailing, there was beak acceptance.

Except for one woman.”

Leon lifted his head from Sol’s shoulder, red-rimmed eyes peering at the boulder. The rusty brown on the rock turned bright crimson as Leon was pulled back into time. He heard Sol’s thick, grief-filled voice narrating overhead.

“She begged the soldiers when they tried to pull you apart from me. ‘At least keep them together!’ our mother screamed. She launched herself at a heavily armed soldier, her fingers clawing at him. It was no use.

Leon experienced it all. Again. His mother’s desperation. The soldier’s derisive laugh. His mom’s raven hair blocking the sun as she was flung to the ground. The sound of bone cracking, hitting rock. The sensation of blood spilling onto his fingers when he cradled his mother’s head.

“You only left my side to go to mother.” Sol’s voice brought Leon back to the present. “I had never seen someone cry as much you did. It was as if you thought your tears would wash away her blood and she’d come back to us.”

Leon shook harder, his skin clammy and cold. He tried pulling away to compose himself, but his brother pulled him back. “Don’t.” Sol hoarsely rumbled. “Stay. For all the times we could not.”

Leon stilled.

“The soldier threw you in a cage and took you.” Sol’s voice caught in his throat. “He took you—” He held Leon even closer, as if afraid he’d disappear from his sight. “He took you away where I couldn’t protect you.”

“You and mama tried,” Leon murmured against Sol’s shoulder.

“You were just a boy,” Sol lamented.

Leon whipped his head up, a spark of anger burning in his eyes. “So were you!” Leon roared. “You suffered too! Carried the weight of this all this time!”

“I—”

“And you saved me.”

Now it was Sol who stilled.

“You saved me.” Leon repeated, his words thick with ache. “Your kindness, your selflessness, your determination. I learned these things from you. I would not have persevered, would not be who I am now, without you.”

Sol shook his head, unable to meet his brother’s eyes.

“Don’t you DARE deny it,” Leon growled. “I may not have remembered you until today, but I know you.” Leon held Sol until everything broken inside them both fell back into place, until everything lost and forgotten found its way home. “I know your heart. It’s so powerful.”

Sol pulled slightly back, his eyes red and raw. “You’ve grown brother.”

“So have you.”

Emma watched, having trouble seeing through watery eyes, tears running down her face. It took time to free her words from all that she heard.

“In the end, your mother got her wish.” Emerald and amber eyes spun around at Emma’s declaration. She spoke with quiet resolution. “She wanted you to be together. And here you are.”

Leon’s shoulders shook—this time in stark disbelief. Her words gave him life, piercing his soul. “You…you really are something, Emma.”

“She really is.” Sol’s eyes were soft as he extended an arm for Emma to join them. “Today I found my brother. And gained a sister. What more could I ask for?”

…

Emma walked just outside the village, the ruins glowing in the rays of the setting sun. Ostensively, she searched for flowers; in reality, she wanted to give Leon space to be with Sol alone.

“Young lady, you’re back.” The old man Leon and Emma had encountered when they first came to this village appeared. He shuffled out of his dilapidated hut, eyes twinkling fondly as he looked at her more closely. “I see you still have the gems,” he pointed at Emma’s ears. Leon had made several sets of earrings from the gems the man had gifted them, wanting a piece of his original home close to Emma.

“Yes, they’re precious. To Leon and me.”

“And what brings you back here?”

“Lavender. For the grave of Leon’s mother.” Emma picked up a few flowers near her feet.

“His mother lived here?” The old man stood still, his breath hitching. “He never said that.”

“It’s hard to talk about.”

The elder nodded, understanding the weight of those words. “Come,” he gestured for her to follow him. “I know where more lavender grows. It was popular with the women and children here. Including—” The man stopped himself, his jaw tightening. He reached in his pocket and grasped something buried inside. He quickly retracted his hand when he spotted Emma peering at him.

“There’s nothing of value here, except to an old man like me,” he insisted.

Emma didn’t press him for an answer.

…

The brothers stood by the boulder in contemplative silence. It was covered in lavender petals from Sol, wildflowers from Leon.

“Names are important. They give identity.” What is yours? Sol didn’t say it, but the implication was there.

Leon thought about his legacy—the one reclaimed today, the one he took on in Rhodolite, woven together. “I’m your brother. That’s what’s important.”

Sol nodded. An acceptable answer.

“What about mom?” Leon now recalled her—her courage, her sacrifice. He knew her heart, but—

“Her name was Katrina.”

Leon whispered her name reverently, head bowed.

“Katrina?”

Leon and Sol turned and saw Emma standing next to an elderly man with thinning white hair. The old man hadn’t heard another soul say his sister’s name in over twenty years. The man looked incredulously at Sol and Leon. “I-it can’t be…”

Withered fingers reached into a tattered jacket, shaking as they curled around something small and grey. The fingers unfurled and revealed…

A river rock. A rock plopped into a bowl of watery soup by his nephew. A little boy with golden eyes that were matched with an even more golden smile.

The elderly man sobbed. “Is it really you…

Asher?”

#ikemen prince #fanfic angst #angst with a happy ending #ikemen prince leon #ikeprince leon dompteur #otome fanfic #fanfic writing #fanfic #creative writing #Why does it take me so long to write fanfic? I get waaaaaaaaay too emotionally involved. *sobs quietly in the corner

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zoeaxrodriguez22 · 6 months ago

Text

CONQUEROR

𝐙𝐚𝐱'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝: One Shot 𐙚 Ivar the Boneless x Fem Reader (Amira) 𐙚

Summary: Amira, the daughter of a prominent emir in Al-Andalus, faces Ivar the Boneless, the ruthless Viking king who has taken everything by force. Their reunion stirs conflicting emotions—respect for his strength and power, but disdain for his methods. A tense conversation ensues, where admiration and bitter opposition collide. Can Amira survive in his world, or will she be consumed by it?

Warnings/Contains: Tension, conflicting respect, ideologies, manipulation, power dynamics, not proofread—English is not my first language!

Word count: 2.3k

Chapter:

The night outside was frigid, but the warmth of the fire crackling in the center of the tent softened the air. The light from the candles flickered, casting shadows on the walls and making the space feel even more intimate. Amira and Ivar sat across from each other, the distance between them physical but not emotional, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills.

Ivar’s gaze never wavered as he raised his glass, the deep red wine reflecting the glow of the fire in his eyes. He drank slowly, savoring each drop as though the action itself held meaning. Amira watched him with an unreadable expression, her own glass untouched, the warmth of the wine tempting but not enough to ease the tension coiled tightly in her chest.

“So, here we are,” Ivar said, setting his glass down with a quiet thud. “You and I, after all this time. Who would’ve thought?”

Amira didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she studied him, her gaze sharp, calculating. She wasn’t one to let emotions cloud her judgment.

“I didn’t expect to see you again,” she finally said, her voice cold, but steady. “Not like this. A king.”

A small, dark smile played at the corner of Ivar’s lips, but his eyes were still intense. “And yet, here I am.” His tone held no arrogance, just the weight of the fact he had always known this moment would come.

Amira felt a flicker of respect for his confidence, even if it was hard to swallow. The man before her was no longer the crippled prince she had once known, but a king, a leader of men who commanded the respect of thousands. She couldn’t deny that there was power in him, something undeniable, something that stirred a complex mix of admiration and bitterness inside her.

“Power suits you,” she said, her voice quiet but sharp, like a blade being drawn from its sheath. “But I don’t think it’s what you think it is.”

Ivar tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “And what do you think power is, Amira?”

She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s not just taking. It’s understanding. It’s knowing when to lead and when to listen.” Her gaze flicked briefly to the guards outside, standing tall at attention, but she returned her focus to him. “What you do, Ivar, is conquest. And I know you like it that way.”

He leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable. “Conquest is what makes the world turn, Amira. The strong take what they want, and the weak are left behind. That’s the way of things.”

“I know,” she replied, her voice steady despite the bitterness that began to rise in her chest. “But that doesn’t mean it’s right.”

Ivar chuckled softly, but there was no real amusement in it. “You’re naïve if you think anyone can change that. The world doesn’t care about what’s right or wrong. It only cares about who’s strong enough to shape it.”

Amira’s lips pressed together in a thin line, her jaw tightening. “I don’t believe that. Strength isn’t just in bloodshed. It’s in wisdom, in compassion, in strategy.”

He regarded her silently for a moment, his sharp gaze measuring her every word. “You admire strength,” he said, almost as a statement, “but you despise how I use it.”

She leaned back slightly in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “You use it to destroy, not to build.”

Ivar’s smile returned, but there was no warmth in it. “You see destruction where others see opportunity. I’ve built an empire, Amira. You can respect that, even if you can’t agree with the way I did it.”

Amira’s gaze flicked to the fire, her mind racing. She respected his mind, his sharpness, his relentless pursuit of his goals. But everything about the way he approached life—his ruthlessness, his disregard for the lives of those beneath him—disgusted her.

“I respect your strength, Ivar,” she said finally, her voice quieter now, more controlled. “But I don’t respect your methods. And I never will.”

There was a long silence between them, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air. Ivar didn’t flinch, but something in his eyes flickered—a momentary flicker of doubt, of something more human beneath the king’s facade.

“I don’t need your respect,” he said, his voice quieter now, a touch of frustration creeping into his tone. “But I do need you.”

Amira met his gaze steadily, unyielding. “You think you can just take me, like everything else you’ve claimed?”

“I never said it would be easy,” Ivar replied, his voice low and serious. “But you’re not just anyone. You’re the one thing I can’t get out of my head. The one thing I need.”

Amira felt a pang in her chest at his words, but she swallowed it down. She wouldn’t let him see how his words affected her. Not now.

“You’re still the same,” she said, the words cutting deeper than she intended. “Chasing after things that aren’t yours to take.”

“I never take what isn’t offered,” Ivar said, his voice low, almost soft. “But I will make you see that you belong with me. One way or another.”

The finality in his tone settled over the room like a cloud, and for the first time, Amira felt the full weight of the man he had become. His words weren’t a challenge—they were a promise.

She knew there was no escape from him. Not now.

#ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #vikings #ivar smut #ragnar lothbrok #Enemystolovers

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