#And life will continue being better than before

[heliosunny]

I've read a manhwa with the plot of MC being in a marriage of convenience with the ML in their first life and they work hard to make it work/feel like an actual marriage but the guy didn't give it much thought so they died and in their second life, the MC just decided to not focus on the guy but that somehow attracted the guy's attention

So that premise with Mydei (or Phainon, I just thought it suited Mydei more) where in reader's first life they had loved him and dedicated their whole being to him but they end up dying so in their second life they were more confrontational and willing to potentially piss off Mydei but that just had the opposite effect on him.

Bonus I guess if he remembers what reader did after a certain time and makes him fall harder (or go full on yan route idm)

Yandere!Mydei x Reader

[Artist]

You had loved him once.

It was a quiet, steady love, the kind built on careful devotion rather than reckless passion. A love that manifested in the way you always reached for his hand in public, in the way you made him pomegranate juice exactly as he liked it, in the way you handled every social obligation so he wouldn’t have to. A love that, despite being arranged, had been genuine on your part.

Mydei, however, had never given you much thought.

Your marriage had been one of convenience, a political arrangement that benefited both parties, nothing more. You knew that. You had known it from the start. But knowing didn’t stop you from hoping, didn’t stop you from trying to be someone he could come to love.

Yet you had tried.

You learned his preferences. You shielded him from trivial nuisances. You defended him against enemies in court. You ensured his home was warm when he returned, even if he never cared whether you were there waiting or not. You gave him everything you had to offer, even as your own needs went unnoticed, unfulfilled.

And then, one day, you died.

It was an illness, slow but inevitable. The kind that ate away at you little by little until there was nothing left to give. You had fought to stay by his side, to live long enough for him to notice you, to care. But as you lay on your deathbed, your body weak, your breath shallow, Mydei had stood beside you with the same unreadable expression he always wore.

“It’s unfortunate” he had said, his voice calm. “But there’s nothing to be done.”

He hadn’t held your hand. Hadn’t begged you to stay. Hadn’t even asked if you were afraid. And so you died, alone in a marriage that had never truly been shared.

But then, against all reason, you awoke again.

A second life. A second chance.

And this time, you wouldn’t waste it on him.

----

The first time you met Mydei again in your new life, he had the same detached expression, but this time, you weren’t the same.

“Oh. It’s you.” he said, mildly surprised.

You stared at him, deadpan. “Tragic, isn’t it?”

He blinked at you, clearly taken aback. In your past life, you would have smiled softly, eager to please. Now, you met his gaze with all the warmth of an ice sculpture.

“You seem different.” he noted, as though observing the weather.

“Yes, well, dying does that to a person.” You crossed your arms. “But don’t worry, I’m not here to cater to your every whim anymore. I have better things to do.”

His brow furrowed slightly, a reaction so subtle you might have missed it if you hadn’t known him so well. It was funny. For the first time, Mydei found himself unsure of how to proceed.

Days turned to weeks, and you continued to avoid him as much as possible. When you couldn’t, you treated him with polite indifference.

“Here, I brought you tea.”

Mydei raised a brow. “Tea?”

“I just grabbed the first thing I saw.” You sipped your own drink with a smirk, watching as he hesitated before taking a sip. No more pomegranate juice, but you made no move to correct it. Let him suffer.

He gave you a long, unreadable look, then quietly finished the tea anyway.

You weren’t sure when it started, but Mydei began seeking you out more often. Not for anything important, just small, meaningless interactions that, in your first life, he would have ignored entirely.

“You’re busy” he observed one day, watching you pour over books in the library.

“You’re perceptive” you deadpanned, not looking up.

“I can help.”

You finally met his gaze, incredulous. “You? Help? With something that doesn’t benefit you?”

“I’m capable of generosity” he replied smoothly.

You scoffed. “Sure. And I’m the Empress of the Universe.”

To your growing unease, Mydei only chuckled, as if thoroughly enjoying the challenge you presented. If he had ignored your love in your past life, he now seemed intent on prying into your every thought in this one.

You weren’t sure which was worse.

What made it all the more complicated was that Mydei had no idea you had already lived and died once before. To him, this was just the first time you had ever looked at him with anything less than quiet admiration. And while he couldn’t understand what had changed, he was undeniably intrigued.

-----

The third prince’s birthday celebration was an unavoidable event. No matter how much you wanted to stay far away from Mydei, you were both expected to attend.

Dressed in formal attire, you entered the grand hall, carefully ignoring Mydei’s presence beside you.

As expected, the noble ladies flocked to him almost immediately, their voices sickly sweet.

“Mydei, you look as composed as ever” one simpered, lightly touching his sleeve. “Surely you must save a dance for me?”

“And me as well” another chimed in. “It’s not often we get to see you at these gatherings.”

You sipped your drink and turned away, uninterested.

Mydei, however, seemed less inclined to entertain them. His gaze flickered to you, watching your utter lack of reaction.

“You’re ignoring me” he murmured, stepping closer.

You didn’t even glance at him. “Congratulations, you’re learning.”

His lips twitched slightly, as if amused. “Are you jealous?”

You turned to him at last, offering the driest look you could muster. “If I had a single grain of salt for every second I cared, I wouldn’t even be able to season a meal.”

He chuckled. And you had the distinct feeling Mydei wasn’t going to let you ignore him forever.

Sensing your chance to leave, you excused yourself quietly and slipped away. You navigated through the bustling crowd until you reached the gardens, where the young third prince stood alone, watching the lanterns flicker above. You wished him a happy birthday, exchanged brief pleasantries before excusing yourself, intent on leaving before anyone noticed. Unbeknownst to you, Mydei had followed—watching from the shadows as you spoke to the young prince with a warmth you had never once given him in this lifetime.

The door shut behind you with a quiet click as you stepped into your quarters, letting out a sigh of relief. The evening had been long. You had done your part, made an appearance, and now you could finally shed the pretense of civility and rest.

You barely had time to unfasten the heavy jewelry weighing on your ears before there was a knock at the door. Your brows furrowed. It was late. Too late for someone to be calling on you unless it was urgent.

Still, you already had a sinking feeling about who it was.

“Enter” you called, bracing yourself.

The door opened, and sure enough, Mydei stepped inside. His usually pristine attire was slightly disheveled, his coat unbuttoned at the collar. But what truly caught your attention was the way he moved, slower, more deliberate, as if something was weighing on him.

He had never been one to drink, and yet, something about him seemed... off.

You sighed. “It’s late, Mydei.”

“You left early” he countered, shutting the door behind him. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—something quiet and simmering beneath the surface. “Without informing me.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed your permission to retire for the night” you replied dryly, turning away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“I saw you” Mydei interrupted.

You stilled. “Saw me?”

“With the third prince” he clarified, stepping closer. “In the gardens. You seemed… close.”

You exhaled through your nose. “He’s a child, Mydei. I was wishing him a happy birthday.”

“And yet, you looked at him with more warmth than you’ve ever spared me.”

You turned to face him then, brows arching. “Are you jealous?”

Mydei didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied you. He took another step forward, invading your space, forcing you to tilt your head slightly to maintain eye contact.

“Would it matter if I was?” he asked at last.

You scoffed, stepping back. “No. Because it wouldn’t change anything.”

Mydei was a man of control. To be thrown off balance, to be met with resistance where he once found compliance, was undoubtedly foreign to him.

Good. Let him feel what you had felt all those years.

You turned away, signaling the conversation was over. “Go sleep, Mydei. We have nothing more to discuss.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, finally, he let out a quiet chuckle, a sound devoid of humor. “You truly are different now.”

You didn’t respond. Didn’t look back.

Because if you did, you might have noticed the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides. And you might have realized that Mydei was far from willing to let things be.

-----

Over the next few days, Mydei seemed to have an unusual amount of free time. His duties, which once kept him busy, were now seemingly cast aside. Wherever you went, he was there.

It started subtly: walking in step with you through the halls, his presence a quiet shadow. Then it grew bolder. Sitting beside you at meals, his knee brushing against yours and never pulling away. Standing behind you, fingertips grazing the small of your back under the guise of guiding you forward.

You would have ignored it, written it off as coincidence—if not for the way his touch lingered. The way he reached for your hand absentmindedly, as if it were second nature.

One evening, as you sat by the window, lost in thought, you felt it again, his hand, warm and steady, against your shoulder. A familiar presence, yet wholly unfamiliar in its intent.

“You’ve been avoiding me” Mydei murmured.

“I’ve been living my life” you corrected, not looking up.

His fingers curled slightly, almost as if to pull you closer, but he hesitated. “And yet, somehow, I find myself a part of it more than before.”

You turned to him then, meeting his gaze directly. “Perhaps you should ask yourself why that is.”

A smirk ghosted his lips, though his eyes held something heavier. “Oh, I have.”

You had tolerated it long enough. Mydei’s constant presence, his lingering touches, the way he hovered around you as if he had never been indifferent.

The final straw came when he followed you into the private study, an intimate space he had never once stepped foot in before. You slammed the book you were holding onto the table and turned to face him, irritation burning in your chest.

"Enough!" Your voice was firm, unwavering. "What exactly do you want from me, Mydei?"

He arched a brow, unfazed. "I would think that’s obvious."

You scoffed. "Obvious? You ignored me for years, treated our marriage as a mere obligation, and now—now you cling to my side like a shadow. Why?" Your breath hitched slightly, but you pushed forward. "Is it because I no longer chase after you? Because I finally see this marriage for what it is?"

A flicker of something passed through his eyes—something unreadable. He took a step closer, but you raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

"No" you said sharply. "No more. This ends now. I want a divorce."

For the first time since his sudden shift in behavior, Mydei’s expression darkened. "You don’t mean that."

"I do." You met his gaze head-on. "I refuse to stay shackled in a marriage that was never real."

He exhaled slowly, as if reining himself in. "And what makes you think I'll allow it?"

Your fingers clenched into fists. "Because it’s not your decision to make."

"You truly have changed."

You didn’t back down. "And I intend to keep it that way."

His eyes lingered on you, calculating, something darker stirring beneath the surface. Then, as if making a silent decision, he took another step forward.

"Then let's see how far you’re willing to go" he murmured.

-----

Determined to push him into agreeing, you invited Duke Laurent, a respected noble and someone with a clear interest in you, to visit. If Mydei would not agree to divorce out of reason, perhaps jealousy would make him let go.

Just as you began conversing with the duke, Mydei’s arm suddenly snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You stiffened at the public display of intimacy, something he had never once shown before. The duke’s expression remained polite, though there was clear tension in the air.

Mydei leaned in, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. "You think bringing another man here will make me release you?"

He turned his gaze to the duke, his expression composed but lethal. "You see, we are still very much married."

Before you could shove him away, he tilted your chin up and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of your lips, just enough to make the moment scandalous.

"Mydei—" You hissed, shoving at his chest, but his grip remained firm.

Then came his final blow, spoken with a smirk against your skin. "If you truly wish to fulfill the divorce, then surely, as tradition dictates, our marriage must bear an heir first. Otherwise, it would be incomplete."

The audacity of it, the sheer arrogance—

Fury surged through you. Without thinking, you leaned in and bit his shoulder, hard enough to make him tense, hard enough to leave a mark through his fine fabric. Just hoping it'll make him let you go. He inhaled sharply, but instead of anger, something else flickered in his gaze. Interest.

His grip on you tightened, fingers pressing into your waist. "How intriguing" he murmured, almost amused. "You’re becoming more and more fascinating."

You could only glare, breathless with anger, as he leaned in even closer. "I’ve decided—I shall never let you alone."

That night, Mydei made his final decision.

You found yourself restless, pacing in your chambers, feeling trapped in a game you never agreed to play. The door creaked open, and you didn’t need to turn to know it was him.

"Leave!" you ordered without looking up.

Instead, he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. "You asked for a divorce. I gave you my terms," he said smoothly. "But I have a better idea."

You turned, narrowing your eyes. "I don't care for your ideas, Mydei. I want my freedom."

"And I want you," he countered effortlessly, closing the distance between you. "So, it seems we are at an impasse."

He reached out, tracing a hand over your wrist. "You see, I’ve realized something," he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. "I cannot let you go."

"Then you will have to learn."

"No" he whispered, leaning in "I will simply ensure that you never wish to leave."

This was no longer a battle of marriage or freedom.

This was war.

Then, his voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "If you try to run, I will find you. If you seek another, I will ruin them. And if you deny me..." His fingers trailed over your throat, "I will make sure you have nowhere to go but back to me."

"You wouldn’t dare."

"Wouldn’t I?" The smirk on his face only triggered you more. "You forget, my dear, I am not a man who lets go of what is his. And you? You belong to me."

A slow, measured pause before he added, "So fight me if you must. Hate me, struggle, scream. But in the end, you will always return to me. I will make sure of it."

---

Another day passed. Nothing happened. Until-

You were sitting stiffly in your chambers, the weight of Mydei’s last words still pressing against your mind.

Mydei entered, once again without your consent.

A goblet sat before you, filled with deep crimson liquid—the rich, unmistakable hue of pomegranate juice. It was his favorite, something he drank often, something he had tried countless times to get you to enjoy.

“I had the servants prepare this just for you” Mydei said smoothly, swirling the liquid in his own goblet. “It would be such a shame if you ignored my gift.”

You hesitated, glancing at the drink. Something about his tone made you wary, but refusing would only stretch this moment further. You reached for the goblet, only for Mydei to intercept, his fingers ghosting over yours as he picked it up himself.

“Let me.”

His hand cupped your chin, tilting your head slightly. Before you could react, the cool rim of the goblet pressed against your lips, the sweet aroma of pomegranate thick in the air. The moment the liquid touched your tongue, warmth flooded through your body. A strange, numbing sensation curled through your veins, heavy and inescapable. Your limbs felt sluggish, the world turning soft around the edges.

Your breath hitched as your body betrayed you, sinking against the silk sheets.

Through your hazy vision, you saw Mydei standing by the door, watching. His expression was unreadable, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Rest well, my dear”

But he didn’t leave.

Instead, he moved closer, his fingers brushing against your cheek before he slid into the bed beside you. His arms wrapped around you, firm yet deceptively gentle, caging you against him. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, and in your hazy state, resistance felt… unnecessary.

“You’ll understand soon” he whispered, his breath fanning against your ear. “You don’t need to fight anymore. Just listen to me.”

Your thoughts wavered, slipping further into a fog. Your body felt too heavy to move, your mind too sluggish to argue. His presence, once suffocating, now felt… inevitable.

Through the night, he held you close, his grip never loosening. Each time your thoughts stirred, his voice was there, murmuring soft reassurances, reinforcing his presence, reminding you he was always there.

By the time morning light crept through the curtains, your mind was no longer as sharp as before. The idea of pulling away seemed distant, unnecessary.

He was still here.

His arms remained locked around you, as if this was how it had always been. His breath, slow and even, ghosted against the side of your neck, warm yet oppressive.

“Awake already?” His voice was low, thick with the drowsiness of someone who had slept well.

You swallowed, trying to shift, only to realize just how intimately entangled the two of you were. One of his legs had hooked over yours, anchoring you beneath the weight of him. His fingers, idly tracing over the fabric of your nightclothes, stopped just at your wrist, where his hold subtly tightened.

You were trapped.

“I need to get up” you muttered, voice still hoarse from sleep.

Mydei didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, his arms curled around you more securely, pressing you deeper against his chest. “You don’t, actually,” he murmured. “Stay.”

Something in his voice made your stomach twist. There was no plea, no request, just the quiet certainty of a man who had already decided what would happen.

“I have things to do” you tried again, frustration slipping into your tone. “You can’t just—”

“Can’t I?” Mydei interrupted lazily, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at you properly. His hair was slightly tousled, falling over sharp eyes that gleamed with something unreadable. “You haven’t been well. I think it’s best if you rest today.”

“I feel fine” you lied, pushing against his chest.

He caught your wrist easily, his thumb pressing against the rapid beat of your pulse. “Do you?” His smile was slow, knowing. “You still look dazed. You’re warm. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were falling ill.”

Mydei had always been perceptive, dangerously so. And in this moment, with your thoughts still sluggish, you knew you were at a disadvantage.

“Mydei,” you tried to keep your voice steady, “what did you do?��

His grip on your wrist didn’t waver, but his expression softened into something almost… fond.

“I’ve merely helped you see things clearly.” His fingers traced over your knuckles before he lifted your hand, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your palm. His lips curved against your skin. “You always try to run. You make things so difficult for yourself.”

“You drugged me.”

Mydei sighed, tilting his head as if mildly disappointed. “It was just a little something to help you relax. To stop you from making rash decisions.” He leaned in closer, his nose grazing against your cheek before his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. “You wouldn’t want to make any rash decisions, would you?”

A surge of unease coursed through you, your body screaming to move—to fight. But your limbs still felt leaden, and Mydei knew it. He had planned for it.

“I thought we had an agreement” you gritted out. “You can’t keep me here like this.”

“What do you mean by 'keep you'? You’re mine, my dear. You always have been.”

Your breath hitched as he finally released your wrist—only to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him properly.

“You’ll understand soon enough.”

[kaivenom]

Since February 9th is my birthday I got an idea, how about what one piece dilfs do on your birthday?

What the OP Dilfs do on your birthday

Characters: Doflamingo, Mihawk, Crocodile, Smoker, Shanks

A/N: oowwwww, happy birthdayyyy, i am so glad that you asked me for this.

Masterlist

Dracule Mihawk

He prefers a rather small event, just him and you, maybe Perona and even Zoro if he can.

But if you want a party with other people, then he would try to tolerate other peoples presence.

Picture this: the backyard of your families house, all with balloons, food and all your relatives from all ages.

Then Mihawk with a glass of wine having to stand children and annoying aunts.

When you didn't found him anywhere, you searched for him and found him with your grandma (or another old female relative) gossiping.

When you left the house and finally are alone, he finally gave you your gift... probably jewelry.

Donquixote Doflamingo

He doesn't make it an official holiday but every one takes it like that cause there is a parade all over the city.

Like a Valentine's day 2.0

Privately he does a big feast on the castle and it's the only time you got to sit on the throne (and not his lap).

Like he says "You are the queen for the day"

He even orders some people to do humilliating things to make you laugh, but you have to stop him and reassure him that you just need to be with him on the moment.

Every one of the crew was invited to the party which means that Doflamingo ordered them the exact gift they have to get you, so you can have everything you want.

Baby 5 told you his plan so you went to thank him for the party and for being so sweet and lovely, at least for your special day.

Sr. Crocodile

A surprise trip, to anywhere you want like... you woke up and he asked you were you wanted to go, you said and hours later there you are.

You went to all the sites you wanted and he even ordered some fireworks for midnight.

He reserved on your favourite restaurant and he even "asked" (he literally threatened their families) to do your favourite cake.

Of course, all the things you've been wanting since christmas, he got them from you.

In the case the trip couldn't be made cause you already had plans with friends and family, expect him to celebrate before you go and wait for you to continue celebrating.

He understands that you can share your time with other people and he won't interfere but he absolutely would use all the other time you had.

Quality time and gifts are his love language so expect that a lot.

Smoker

You both go a day out at work for personal affairs.

He mades you breakfast and put it on the bed, this day, you are the only thing on his life.

You do everything you want this day: a picnic? done, a fancy restaurant? movies and popcorn?

All of it? also yes.

He even tries to cook himself a birthday cake but the attend gets so bad that you had to help him.

He is reticent about it but when you suggested him that this is the perfect couple birthday activity, he accepted.

The ussual movie flour fight type of thing, but you ended up doing the dessert and you finally made your wish.

But there is no better wish than to have spent the day with him.

Akagami Shanks

You are free from all your responsabilities on the ship.

You are the first to be served on lunch and everyone left you alone to be at peace.

More than that the day went awfully normal, even with Shanks, you started to even feel crazy cause nobody even said "good birthday" but they clearly know due to their behaviour.

Then Shanks ordered to arrive on an island without warning, was almost night so you decided to go to your room, a little sad about the day.

So, half an hour later, Shanks lifted you up and forced you outside, to the night, and you saw how they had prepared a surprise party.

You almost slapped all of them for the secretism but you know you have a soft spot for these idiots.

Food, alcohol and cake passed among everyone and lasted all night.

Shanks took the moment when they all were drunk to be more affectionate and attentive with you, showing you how much love he was acumulating all day for the brithday girl

[jack-of-heartstrings]

I've always wanted to believe that "Falling in love was... complicated" because she had feelings for both of them, or even that she was initially in love with Emilie and only fell for Gabriel more recently. That one way or another, they'd had an arrangement for a long time where Nathalie was "secondary" to the "main couple", but back then that suited her just fine, and then when Emilie was gone it just felt right to keep the dynamic and appearances they'd had. It would certainly help reconcile how Gabriel could be so deeply soft with Nathalie in earlier seasons and have her continue wearing Emilie's ring all through season 5 and yet be so disgustedly offended when Adrien suggested there was anything between them.

But regardless of whether Nathalie's feelings for Emilie were romantic, that of dear close friends, or even that of a knight devoted in service to a lady, it's clear they were very close. When she's on her own deathbed, Emilie's videos become her constant comfort. And even back in season 3 at the height of GabeNath, in Stormy Weather 2, Nathalie states her mourning for Emilie before her growing admiration for Gabriel.

She's devoted at this point probably a good ~20 years of her life to this family; it's doubtful they found the Miraculous immediately, after all. She knows how much Adrien loved his mother, but she also, regardless of what way, deeply loved his mother, and did everything she could to try to save her, up to and including trying to help rewrite reality or time for months before finally accepting her death. This is someone she adored and is still grieving herself, and someone she defined herself by serving. To her, Emilie was inherently better than her, and her light was sacred. How could Nathalie ever replace it? Nathalie, who failed to save her, who failed to bring her back, who failed even to prevent Gabriel from following her? Nathalie, who gave so much of herself, who used the Peacock without hesitation knowing full well that doing so even once would immediately sentence her to an early death and then continued to accelerate its effects and was still never enough?

And Adrien probably wouldn't see it that way even if he knew all that, but he doesn't.

He doesn't know that Gabriel's death wasn't a sudden decision to make a heroic sacrifice, but the consequence of his own drastic actions for over a year. He doesn't know Nathalie was Mayura, or anything about the villains being motivated by his own mother. He doesn't know the illness that nearly killed her, that Ladybug told him Gabriel sacrificed himself to cure, was a direct result of having been trying to save Emilie. He doesn't know what Nathalie's relationship with either of his parents might have been like behind closed doors, or that she spent so long trying to rein Gabriel back from such madness, or that she helped find the Peacock that yes brought Adrien into the world but also made Emilie sick in the first place, or anything about her having so many reasons to blame herself for both his parents being gone.

All he sees is the woman who's always been part of the family, always been kind to him, cared for him when Emilie couldn't and Gabriel wouldn't, being unreasonably hard on herself and insisting that all she's done for him could never be good enough. And you've gotta wonder if there's a part of him that's worried she doesn't want to see him as family. Some part that would never want to think that way about Nathalie, but can't help but wonder if the problem is him.

And Nathalie, for all her love for him, can't see through her own grief enough to recognize just how deeply her self-blame is hurting him.

um i wanted to write something profound about this writing and then i saw both their faces again and lost all coherency AARRRRRGH :((

[sissylittlefeather]

Daddy Loves His Baby

A/N: I was feeling some type of way earlier and I just wrote this half as a comfort to myself and half because people keep reading Daddy Likes His Football. So this is yet another part, but this one is a little... sweeter?

Here is part 1, and here is part 2.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Word count: ~1.3k

“Honey, what’re you doin’ in here?” Elvis cracks the door and peeks into the room you share. It's dark despite the sunset outside and as his eyes adjust, he sees the lump that must be you in the bed. “Are you asleep?”

“No.” You sigh deeply and roll over onto your side, trying to hide the fact that you were crying.

“You been up here all day?” You close your eyes and cringe internally. You have, in fact, been in this bed all day long and he's just now noticing. He's busy, you know that, and you're being a little overdramatic, but it still hurts. Especially in your current state of mind.

“Yeah.” It’s barely audible, so he walks further into the room, looking down at you in the bed. You have these moods sometimes, and hell, so does he, but this seems to be worse than normal. He stands and stares at you, trying to decide just how firm he wants to be with you. You're an angel when he gets like this, but quite frankly, he's a little annoyed. He buys you everything you could ever want, gives you whatever you need, and is only ever a little grumpy about it.

“What's the problem?” It comes out a little harsher than he intends and you flinch.

“I dunno, Elvis. I'm just… sad.” He wants to roll his eyes so badly, but he holds back.

“Honey, you have no reason to be–”

“I know that!” You snap at him for the first time ever and it completely catches him off guard. “But you don't either and I put up with your bullshit moods all the time!”

You have no idea where this anger is coming from. Elvis is the love of your life and taking care of him is your joy, even when he's down. But right now you just want to be left alone to wallow in self-pity.

He purses his lips and shakes his head. A sad mood is one thing, but you need to remember who you belong to.

“Enough.” In two strides, he's next to you, yanking the covers off of you unceremoniously.

“Elvis!” You holler, but he ignores you, picking up your body easily and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Ya been in bed long enough. No more feelin’ sorry for yourself.” He carries you to the bathroom as you kick and yell and pound on his back with your tiny ineffectual fists. You gasp as he plops you on the lid of the toilet and then walks to the shower to start it up.

“What are you doing?! I don't wanna shower!” He continues to ignore you, checking the temperature and coming back over to you to undress you. You protest verbally, but let him strip you naked.

“You always feel better when you're wet, one way or another.” He's not wrong. There are two things that'll cheer you up without fail: sex and water. Maybe it's the Pisces in you. And you don't seem to be too eager to fuck him, so he decides a shower is the next best thing. You scoff and harumph as he moves you under the water.

“This isn't helping.” You sound like a petulant child now and he does roll his eyes this time.

“Shut up and wait for daddy.” He starts to pull his clothes off as you stand in the shower pouting. Eventually, you feel him move in behind you and sigh despite yourself. The water does feel really good and knowing he's naked behind you is just enough of a distraction from your mood. You turn to face him and lean your head back into the stream of water, moaning softly. He suppresses a smile at how quickly you seem to be coming back to life. It comforts him to know that he knows you this well. His relationships are never easy, but with you it feels like it's worth whatever he has to put up with. You drive him crazy in the best way possible and he loves you more than he's ever loved anyone before. He puts his hands on your hips and moves closer to you, pressing his lips to your neck. “You like this?”

You're quiet for a bit, just enjoying the sensation of his hands and mouth on you, but eventually you sigh and whisper, “yeah.”

He puts your arms on his shoulders and presses his body against you. Thinking about how much you mean to him has his cock hard where it pushes against you.

“You want daddy to make it all better?” You nod, your bad mood completely forgotten as your center radiates heat on his leg. “Good girl.”

He turns and presses your back up against the shower wall, dropping to his knees in front of you. You moan loudly and your eyes roll back as he shoves his tongue into your pussy. Usually it's you on your knees, so this is a welcome change.

“Fuck, daddy…” Your hand goes to the front of his hair as he eats you like a man starved. His tongue swirls your clit and then he sucks on it lightly, determined to make you cum as quickly as possible. He slides his long middle finger up inside you, curling it against your g-spot as he licks you. You feel your orgasm approaching you and your legs tremble with anticipation. He feels your walls start to flutter and grumbles into you.

“Cum for daddy, baby.” You listen to him and moan again as your climax washes over you, pounding in your veins and lighting you up like a firecracker. He groans as he feels you pulse around his finger and then pulls back, standing up. You lean against the wall, shaking and panting as he lifts one of your legs and bends his knees to line his cock up with your entrance. “Be a good girl and let daddy fuck you until he fills up this sweet little pussy.”

“Yes, daddy…” You whimper as he pushes inside you, grunting. He holds the side of your neck, his thumb brushing your lips as he picks up a steady pace, fucking into you faster and harder as the shower water mixes with the sweat on both of your bodies.

“Whose baby are you?” He growls, his cock sliding in and out of you.

“Yours, daddy.” You moan, reveling in the power with which he slams into you.

“And does daddy love his baby?” He doesn't give you a chance to answer, pressing his lips to yours and pushing his tongue into your mouth. When he finally does pull back, he puts his forehead on yours, thrusting deeper into you. “Does he?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“And daddy will always take care of her and make her happy?” You nod furiously and he moans. “Fuck. Daddy loves you, baby.”

He closes his eyes and fills you one last time, trembling as he shoots you full of cum and you lose control, another release vibrating in between your hips. You slump against him and he holds you steady, kissing your forehead gently. The steam curls around you and for a while there is nothing but the sound of your breathing as your heart rate normalizes.

“I love you too.” You murmur against his chest. He runs his fingers through your hair and kisses your temple. It's amazing how safe and at-ease you feel now, considering your mood from earlier. But that's just the effect he has on you, that you have on each other. He is your home, your peace. You love to tease him, but you'd never want to be without him. He reaches around you and converts the shower to a bath, laying down with you in his arms.

“You feel better?” He holds you, stroking your arm gently. You can be a real brat sometimes, but when it comes down to it, he wouldn't trade you for anything.

“Yeah. Thank you.” You sigh again and settle against him, snuggling into the hair on his chest.

He kisses the top of your head and smiles softly. “Any time, baby. Any time.”

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

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[st4rgiirll]

first i love you

s2!jj maybank x gf!reader

creds: roseraris for dividers!

the sunrise painted kildare island in shades of gold, and for once, jj was awake to see it. he sat at the end of the dock, legs dangling over the water, his usual bravado stripped away by the early morning quiet.

you found him there after waking up to a cold bed, with no protective arm around you. you knew where he’d be, he always sat by the water when his thoughts got too loud.

“couldnt sleep?” you ask, settling beside him.

you lean your head on his shoulder, you felt his head rest on your own.

“nah.” he replied, his signature half-smile playing at his lips. “too much thinking. dangerous activity, i know.”

you smiled slightly, pushing his side lightly. after months of being together, you’d learned to read between the lines when it came to him, to understand when his jokes were armour rather than humour.

”want to talk about it?” jj was quiet for a long moment, his eyes fixated on the horizon where the sun was climbing higher in the sky.

his fingers fidgeted with the bandana tied around his wrist - one you’d given him months ago when he’d cut his hand trying to fix his bike. he washed it and kept it, asking you to tie it around his wrist and of course you obliged.

“my old man showed up yesterday,” he finally said, his voice barely about a whisper.

“started spouting the same old shit, ‘bout how im just like him, how i’ll never amount to anything.”

your heart clenched. you’d seen the shadow his father had cast on him, how deep those wounds ran. “jj…” you started, but he shook his head.

“that’s not even the part that kept me up.” he continued, finally turning to look at you. his blue eyes were intense, vulnerable in a way you rarely saw them.

“what kept me up was thinkin’ about how different everything is now. how different i am. ‘cause of you.” your breath caught in your throat.

jj maybank didnt do serious conversations, didnt bare his soul unless something was really eating at him.

“you make me want to be better.” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “you make me believe i can he. and thats…” he swallowed hard.

“that’s fucking terrifying.”

“why is it terrifying?” you asked softly, despite already knowing the answer.

“because i love you.” he blurted out, then immediately looked away, as if bracing for impact. “and everyone i’ve ever loved has either left or hirt me and i cant… i cant lose you too.”

the vulnerability in his voice made your heart ache. this was jj maybank, the real one - no swagger, no deflecting jokes, just raw honesty from a boy who’d never been taught how to love or be loved properly.

you reached out, gently turning his face back toward you. his eyes met yours, uncertainty warring with hope in their depths.

“jj maybank.” you said firmly. “i love you too. and im not going anywhere.”

the smile that broke across his face was like watching the sun come out after a storm - brilliant and a little disbelieving. before you could say anything else, he pulled you into a kiss that tasted of salt air and promise.

when you finally broke apart, he pressed his forehead against yours, letting out a shaky breath. “say it again.” he whispered, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“i love you.” you repeated, feeling him pull you closer.

“one more time?” you laughed, the sound carrying across the water.

“i love you, you idiot.”

“good.” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “‘cause i love you too, and i plan on saying it until you’re sick of hearing it.”

“i dont think that’s possible..” you smile, nuzzling your face into him.

the sun was fully up now, turning the water to diamonds, and jj’s arms were warm around you. you stayed there together, watching the island wake up, both understanding that something had shifted between you – something as vast and deep as the ocean stretching out before you.

and for the first time in his life, jj maybank wasn't scared of falling. he was already caught.

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"You are." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

To Daryl, you are different, you are special, you are everything. But when his jealousy over a "prank" from your friend leads to a misunderstanding you can't resolve, and an incident the next day that nearly costs you your life, it causes Daryl to have a huge revelation about his feelings for you.

@artsynana: heyy dear!! i was wondering if you could ever write something with some soft jealous daryl x reader at the prison era, btw i love the way you write daryl🥰

A/N: Hi love. First, sorry! I didn't know you had left a request :( but thank you so much for doing it. This is a little short and different :( and a little more dramatic, but I really hope you like it♥ And for your words, thank u again! I think I write Daryl a little bit off the character, but I guess it's because I picture him like that hehe

Daryl Dixon is not a possessive person, never, but he is not made of steel either, that’s way he’s unable to stop jealousy from creeping up on him.

The night is ending inside the prison, the heat of the day floating in the air, but the still warm weather seems to hang over Daryl almost in a suffocating way. As he continues to wait for his dinner, he has a panoramic view of you across the dining room, sitting in the long steel chair, elbows on the table, always accompanied by that pretty boy Sean, with his stupid green eyes and that stupid smile, following you ever since Daryl rescued his group from the governor.

And Daryl hates not being able to hate you for the senseless jealousy that you make him feel now, as he thought he did in the past.

Daryl hated ​​you for being a badass, like the afternoon you showed up to save his ass back in Atlanta, like a force of nature, like a fucking storm–sweeping away the little peace he managed to find at the end of the world, shaking his own with your magnetic presence. But he also hated how your strong gaze could rest, turning you into an angel when he could see the tenderness in your soft smile, and your dreamy eyes when things got a little bit better in that grey world.

The secret of his hate was because of your selfishness, your wild and free heart, and that fucking dimple that formed on your left cheek, so yeah, he fell hard for that, he fell hard for you. But no one knew about your relationship, everyone blind to those little displays of affection: the casual brush of your hands, the secret smiles, the way his hand rested on the side of your neck before he kissed you.

“You are like… staring much. Don't you think?" Carol chuckles beside him, making Daryl look away from you as he takes his plate. "Damn, pookie, you are not subtle at all."

She continues with the bland jokes; the same ones she’s been making since Carol caught the way Daryl looked at you.

"Shut up." He hisses, turning his attention back to the food.

But Carol is not ready to give up.

"I once read that when a feeling is silenced, bottled up or imprisoned, the eyes, the lover’s gazes scream everything."

Daryl frowns, confused.

"What the hell are ya talkin’ ‘bout?"

She chuckles, crossing her arms.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just saying that maybe you should start making it clear to everyone that (Y/N) is with you."

He clears his throat, but the heat on his cheeks burns more than the sun on that season.

"Ya knew?"

"No. You just told me." Carol turns around towards the pot to serve herself a plate, Daryl narrowing his eyes at her, even if she isn’t looking at him.

"But, uh... like what?" He asks after a few seconds, hoping that Carol will understand the question without him having to spell it out for her.

She shrugs.

“I don’t know. Maybe approach her not only when you two are alone.”

Carol smiles at Daryl, walking away to leave him with the weight of his thoughts.

Daryl Dixon is a strong man, to survive, to protect, but as a boy who grew tall but is still a boy on the inside, he feels lost with the feelings he keeps inside him, not knowing what to do with them. He had had casual encounters in bars, but was too drunk to even remember, to even care about them. But you are different, you are special, you are everything. That’s why, even with his heart hammering in his chest, Daryl walks over to the last table, eyes fixed on your profile, his sometimes noisy mind disappearing the rest as he sets his plate down on the table before sitting down next to you, ignoring the confused look from Sean, who was silent for a second in shock before resuming his story of a past life on his farm with the rest.

“The lake water is cold during that season…” He keeps talking, oblivious to the way you hold your breath when you feel Daryl's fingers on your lower back.

But out of nowhere, his hand begins to seek out the skin beneath, a light touch over the edge of your black t–shirt until he finds the warmth of your flesh. Your back arches slightly beneath his calloused fingers on your skin, but you try to control your body as your dirty thoughts begin to overflow.

The small group is so wrapped up in the funny anecdote that no one notices the way Daryl leans in close.

"Breathe, peach, ‘fore ya pass out."

His words are the jolt back to reality, and you let out a breath as you squint, your hand darting from your lap to his leg, only to pinch his skin over his pants with your fingers. As a reflex, his leg jumps slightly, but Daryl takes the attack with a smirk that is almost imperceptible to the rest of them, but not to you.

"Isn't that right, (Y/N)?" Sean glances in your direction, catching your gaze and a confused expression that silently prompts him to repeat his question. "You told me you dated a guy who looked like me."

Confused, you clear your throat.

“Yeah. Uh, but we separated long before all this...”

Mary nods, a young woman who came with Sean’s group.

“Wow. He must have been really handsome. But did you love him, (Y/N)?”

Your skin feels cold again when Daryl's hand leaves your body, even if your skin feels boiling hot when the attention falls on you like the midday sun in that stifling season. As if someone had put their hand on your throat until it was blocked from air, your uncomfortable laughter comes out muffled, but you don’t answer before changing topics. But it's sad that after a short while, Daryl stands up to go to his own cell, his thoughts run wild about the jealousy he feels about that guy, thinking that there was someone who made you feel something when, for him, you were his first everything.

When dinner time is over and everyone returns to their cells, you find yourself timidly entering Daryl's cell only because his door was still open, but staying close to it. He’s lying on his back, eyes fixed on the arrow in his hands just to keep himself busy.

“Hey. Uh, can we talk?”

“’bout what?”

His voice is flat, not a single emotion in it.

“About what happened in the dining room with Sean.”

 “What ‘bout it?”

You shrug, even if he isn’t looking at you.

“Don’t know exactly, but I think I made you feel uncomfortable.”

Daryl scoffs.

“Ya didn't make me feel anythin’.”

His words form a lump in your throat, completely silencing the truth you were going to tell, just because your own anxious mind tells you that you don't make him feel anything, at all, like never, and that is painful.

“Okay, uh, I don’t want to force you to talk so… I guess I’m gonna go. Oh, we'll leave early tomorrow for the run, by the way.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

You sigh, walking away.

But jealousy is an irrational force, but a force of nature that resembles a hurricane, or any destructive phenomenon inside a timid and fearful mind: that’s why when the early morning arrives and the first ray of sun shines on the horizon, Daryl decides to switch places with Glenn, just so he wouldn't be stuck with his thoughts of you in a car for hours.

However, the day grows tedious for him, even in the small details like the wind blowing dust into his face, or the way the walkers keep piling up against the fence, taking the place of the lifeless body when Daryl stabs his knife into their skulls. But before his ocean–blue eyes can see the car returning at a worrying speed, his ears can hear the horn, like a desperate call that makes his heart wake up frantically.

“Someone is hurt.” Carol tells him, a second before they start running towards the main fence.

Maggie and Rick are closer and they open the gates, the car raising tornadoes of dust until it stopped inside the prison. Michonne steps out of the passenger seat as Daryl and Carol arrive to meet her, Bob and Glenn following as she begins to narrate the horror story.

“… and one of those men was behind me, (Y/N) shot him but another stabbed her in the abdomen.”

The back door of the car is open, but like a roller coaster of emotions, Daryl’s heart is so up that it threatens to stop because of the fear, as if it stopped pumping blood to replace it with an infinite void. But he refuses to listen to the death whispering in his ear that you won’t make it as he carries you, arms under your shoulders and knees.

“Call Hershel!” He says, to whoever is faster as Daryl starts waking fast, because, even though he wants to run to catch the seconds that seem to slip away, your body feels as fragile as porcelain.

And it’s crazy, it’s wild the way Herself has to perform a surgery to control the bleeding on the same table where the night before your and his playful fingers had teased each other, minutes before ruining it all with your silence and his jealousy. But when it's all over and the madness has cleared like a thick fog, he finds himself sitting on the edge of your bed, taking in the way your closed eyelids make you look like you're just asleep and not unconscious.

“She will make up, Daryl.” Carol says softly, standing close to him. “It’s late, you should rest.”

He shakes his head.

“Nah. I’m stayin’ here with her. Don’ want her to be alone when she does.”

Carol nods, knowing perfectly nothing will change his mind.

“Okay, Pookie, I will come to check on you both in the morning.”

She kisses his forehead, but Daryl is too absent to notice as she leaves the room. The entire prison falls into a deep sleep, and Daryl can hear the almost imperceptible sound of your breathing fighting against the almost deafening silence of his world, telling him without words that you are there, and that you are not going anywhere. But after a while, Daryl lies down on his right side, still close to the edge of the bed to give you all the space you needed, but able to leave only that small space between his body and yours.

“Fuck… now I know I love ya, peach.” He whispers, shy and scared you can hear him even like that. “That seems to be the only answer to why I almost lost ma shit when I saw ya there… bleedin’ out. Jesus, ya would probably laugh if ya saw me here now scared to death like a damn child.” Daryl tries to laugh, a nervous little laugh that falls to a heavy sigh. “Please, wake up, okay? I promise I’ll be better.”

But since there is no answer from the other end, his words hang in the air for the rest of the night, even after Daryl falls asleep. However, as the sun begins to peek through one of the prison's tall windows one more time, your eyelids open slightly, the world in front of you blurring for an instant, until your scattered senses become one and focus on the pain pounding your abdomen.

But still, you turn your head slightly to the side when your peripheral vision catches a body beside yours, smiling weakly at the image before you. Daryl's hair covers part of his closed eyes, but his slight frown reflects his concern, even if you don't know that.

You raise your arm until your hand touches the skin of his face, soft flesh under your fingers.

“Daryl?” Your voice brings him back easily, walking him up from that terrifying dream as he sits up, his hand cupping the side of your face just to feel that you're actually awake.

"Ya okay, peach, ya okay."

“Am I? Since when I’m here?”

Daryl sighs, but he decides to mask his fear with humor, just because he feels like he can spill all his feelings for you in a single second.

“Jus' a day, but ya took yer sweet time to wake up, woman.”

“Sorry.”

You chuckle shyly, but his gaze turns soft.

“Nah. Don’t be, I’m jus’ so glad ya came back.” Concern allows him to smile slightly, before telling you that he's going to go find Hershel.

The examination lasts a few minutes, until you two are left alone, again.

“Daryl…” One more time, your voice pulls his eyes towards yours the moment he sits back down. “Sean was messing with you. You know? I was going to tell you about it that night before all this, but you didn’t want to listen and I didn’t want to push you to.”

Embarrassed, Daryl lowers his head a little bit, watching you through his long hair.

“M’ sorry, peach. I was jealous of ‘em and I ended up sayin’ the wrong shit again.”

Them.

“Daryl, that’s exactly what I was going to tell you that night. There was never another guy, Sean made up that story to get a reaction out of you because even he can see how much you want to kick his ass every time you see him coming." You chuckle. "Besides, he’s gay.”

Daryl blinks, confused like never in his life.

“He is?”

You nod.

“Yep, really gay, but don’t worry, Sean has a crush on Glenn because you look too intimidating for his like.” You want to laugh, but you can see his own shame sinking his heart heavily, feeling the pain and guilt for letting you go alone, because Daryl is a protector: that is in his nature.

And when things went wrong, that weight fell on his shoulders.

"Sorry, I think I screwed this thing between us."

And in a second and with an overwhelming strength, you can see his eyes becoming teary with all the feelings he has inside him.

"No. You didn't, Daryl, unless you want this to end."

But he shakes his head.

"No. I don' want it to ever end."

You nod softly.

"Good." When your hand catches his, Daryl clings to it, but you don't force him to talk because you know better than anyone that it was difficult for him to express himself. "Now come, lie down and try to sleep. Okay?”

He nods, laying down next to you, too overwhelmed to speak his mind at that very moment, his hand still holding yours even after he falls asleep when his mind can no longer carry the full weight of his thoughts. But while he does, you can't help but smile slightly, because now, awake, you are convinced that his voice saying I love you was not just part of the dream you were having, sweet words you hope you can tell him soon.

[2-old-to-guard]

Nicolò, Nicky, di Genova

For the second analysis I shall be exploring the inner workings of Nicky. Now, Nicky is a VERY quiet character so a lot of my analysis shall be subtext delievered by the amazing Luca Marinelli who put 110% into this role.

First Impression:

The first time Nicky is mentioned is between Andy and Booker. He uses the couple as a tactic to get Andy to consider the mission. (You can see that when Booker looks at Andy immedietly after Nicky opens the door).

This is actually the first example of Nicky being the first line of defence. He opens the door while Joe hangs back. But both of the men relax when they see her. The hug Andy and Nicky is much more soft than the one between her and Joe which shows Nicky's more reserved character. It also heavily differs to the ways Andy and Booker touch each other, which is discused in Booker's post here. I also like how the couple are kind of matching shirts, I think it's cute.

Relationships:

I've spoke about Nicky and Booker in my Booker post so you can read that here. But from Nicky's perspective, I believe he's humoring Booker and clearly holds no actual anger when he loses. He's known Andy for longer than Booker and must know she'll guess the baklava. But he places the bet anyway as it seems to be a little tradition between the duo, giving them a unique relationship. Finally, it shows they have a rather flippant approach to money as they bet A LOT of money on this silly bet, which could also show how long this bet has been going on for.

Nicky's role in Andy's story is to be the constant postive approach to their immortality. He is clearly under the belief that their long life has to mean something and this is what fate has dictated they do with their undeath. At the beginning Andy is hostile to this and snaps at him multiple times. Simply through their differing personalities, they have the least connection but the small moments they have together show their love. He is also another gift giving person and gives her the baklava in a rather affectionate way. Unlike Booker, Nicky values gifts that serve a purpose (food).

I'm going to talk about Joe and Nicky in the Van scene as it deserves its own section.

Sniper:

Nicky is the sniper of the group which continues through the beginning sequence. Each of the members have their specific role.

I like the little moment where Copley waves at Nicky through his rifle. It's subtle but works to explain Nicky's later remark:

"We are usually a better judge of character."

As it gives Nicky and Copley a moment before the betrayal.

Sudan:

Nicky is the only immortal to talk to the group of people they pass on their mission.

This analysis is inspired by this post. It's subtle but it shows Nicky's kindness and how he goes out of his way to be kind to people. It's not just about rescuing people from kidnappers, it's about being kind to people.

Also, I think it's interesting that Nicky knows many languages and goes out of his way to speak to people in their native tounge.

Another subtle moment of showing the skills each of the Guard have. Not only does Nicky kill two guards with one bullet, he also catches the shell casing to ensure no evidence is left behind.

As the mission is revealed to be an ambush, Nicky's sole focus is on the hypothetical girls, even after they are killed. Nicky believes Copley is on their side and so cannot comprehend that he lied to them.

Whilst Joe is discussed as being "an incurable romantic", Nicky also has his moments. Specifically, in this scene Nicky dies looking at Joe so when Joe turns to see if Nicky is still alive, Nicky is already staring at him.

Later on, when Andy is fully in despair Nicky tries to comfort her with the same line as before. But this time, Andy snaps at him. This is the middle part of this conflict between them. The first is the status quo, the second is the conflict, the third is the resolution.

Contextually, Nicky's first conflict was the Crusades and that is considered one of the worst conflicts in history. Nicky most likely feels immense shame for it and that is what drives his need to do good. Saying they did what they did "For the right reasons" shows Nicky is acknowledging you can do it for the wrong reasons. He shows great sadness at Andy's cynicism in this scene but doesn't say anything, once again showing his reserved nature.

The Dreams:

As stated previously, the ways each of the characters interpret the dreams shows us something about their characters.

Nicky is the first person to state what he saw in his dream and he zeros in on who the new immortal and what she looks like. Next, he talks about the surroundings "dirt walls, clay walls". Thirdly he brings up the weapon that is used. "The pesh-kabz is an Indo-Persian knife used extensively in northern India and Afghanistan". In three lines, Nicky has figured out the physical appearance of the new immortal, the setting in which she died, and the geographical location of the new immortal. This scene highlights Nicky's practical nature, similar to the way he used his rifle to kill two men at once to ensure the alarm wouldn't be raised.

From Nile p.o.v all she sees of Joe and Nicky is them embracing. Joe and Nicky's first priority is love, whether for each other or the rest of their family.

This is immedietly followed by Nicky's monologue about one's first death. This scene, like "peace be with you", shows Nicky's empathy for other people. He immedietly decides to save her not for a practical reason (like Andy), but for emotional reason.

"Whoever she is, she’s confused, and she’s scared, and she’s more alone than she has ever been in her entire life."

This also seems to be him emploring Andy's softer side, which works and shows how close Andy and Nicky are and how well he knows her.

Finally, Booker claiming that Nicky always had Joe is incorrect as he woke from death alone and was isolated for many years before they put their differences aside (apologies for the Booker slander but my boi deserved that).

The Dinner Scene:

In many of the deleated scenes, Nicky has a strong passion for food. This was cut but this moment where he smiles seeing Nile eat his food is really cute and shows his caring nature.

I also like the subtle difference where Nicky finishes Joe's sentence after Nile appears confused:

"So you good guys or bad guys?"

"Depends on the century."

"We fight for what we think is right."

I don't know why no one talks about this but Nicky is the first one in the relationship to tell Nile about it.

This line doesn't hit as hard at the van confession but it's so simple in the way it states that Joe and Nicky are together. It's so sweet how Nicky doesn't even hesitate in explicitly stating his love for Joe.

There is also a little regret in the way he says "many times" which adds to Nicky's regret over the crusades.

The scene, for Nicky, ends when he notices how conflicted Nile is and offers her a place to rest. Another example of Nicky's kindess.

Quynh:

Nicky and Joe's sleeping pattern has been highly analysed by the fanbase so I won't talk about it in a lot of detail. While Joe is shielding Nicky with his body on the train, Nicky is protecting Joe with his body in Gousanville safe house. Nicky, as the sniper, is the most observant of the group and is awake and alert first out of all of them. He also has a gun in his hand by the time Joe and Booker are awake.

I think it's very important for Nicky and Joe be the ones to talk about Quynh. For Nicky's side, he must feel immense guilt for the imprisonment of Quynh as it was his fellow christians who dropped her into the bottom of the ocean. The guilt he feels is shown through the camera angle. Andy views Nicky talking about the witch trials through a church window. Whilst it's commendable that the movie keeps Nicky a christian even after his long life and his relationship with Joe, it adds to his complexity as he fully recognises the crimes of his fellow christians but remains faithful, probally because the same God that make him immortal gave him the life he has with Joe. He also fights through his pain to explain to the scared Nile what she saw. His kindness doesn't blind him, however, and he allows Andy to be the one to talk to Nile after she storms off.

The Van Scene:

Whilst Joe and Nicky are joined together for the most part, to the point where they are mostly referred to as Joe and Nicky, they are their own seperate people. Joe is more outspoken and emotional whilst Nicky is reserved. This is most clearly displayed with the different ways each of the characters react to the homophobic comment from the guards.

While Joe begins to preach to the men, Nicky says very little. He shows exhaustion at the comment rather than just anger, showing how this kind of bigotry is nothing new to him and someting he is tired of. As Joe's speach continues, Nicky goes from tired, to touched. As Luca said it an interview, all he had to do was get lost in Marwan's eyes.

But Nicky isn't completley emotionless. By the end of Joe's speach, Nicky is overcome with love that he leans forwards and kisses Joe. The focus on him in this scene makes it seem like Nicky moved first and Joe followed. Another moment of Nicky being the first to show affection to Joe.

All of this culminates in them kicking the guards ass as all good power couples should.

Whilst the idea of them only doing this because they're homophobic is funny, in the comics it's clear that they did this to try and escape. Still, this one of the first time Nicky is snarky. I believe this is Nicky putting on a persona to try and intimidate the mercanaries and make them unsteady in another attempt to escape.

This is also the first example of Nicky absolutley gagging someone. Having him turn to Copley and say "We are usually a better judge of character". Copley holds an immense respect for the immortals so having one of them dunk on him works well to support his change of allegience later on.

The Merrick Confrontation:

Again, another scene that foucses on Joe's outspokeness. But Nicky is again subtly displaying more of his character.

After Joe headbutts Merrick, Nicky subtly tries to reach for Joe. He probally realises this will result in something bad and so tries to protect Joe.

When Joe is stabbed, Nicky, for the second time, loses his composure and tries to reach for Joe. From the a story writing perspective, obviously this will not kill Joe, but having Nicky be so reserved for the majority of the film his out-of-character panic adds to the tension of the scene.

As Merrick monolouges neither of the couple are really listening. Nicky is solely focused on Joe and making sure he's ok. You can see Luca subtly look to Joe's neck before moving in for the blessed headbump. The fact that Marwan and Luca improvised that, probally inspired by the deleted scene where they do the same thing, hurts my soul. Anyway, it is only when he knows Joe is ok, Nicky then focuses on Merrick. This could also show to symbolise that Merrick isn't the threat Nicky is worried about. That fear is reserved only for death.

The Lab Scene:

Despite being in extreme pain, Nicky doesn't scream and tries to keep in any noises. This could serve two purposes,

The first is that he doesn't want to give Kozak the satisfaction of seeing him in pain. Including lines such as "do you feel the wound trying to close?" shows she clearly holds more sadistic interest in these experiements.

The second purpose is that he doesn't want to worry Joe. From the following dialouge, "As much as I like watching you sleep, I’m glad you’re awake" he was working under the assumption that Joe was asleep and if he was asleep, Nicky screaming would wake him.

This is the second example of Nicky gagging his captors. But this one seems to go over Kozak's head, which makes me laugh. The script has to balance the weight of each of the characters' lives with making them seem relatable and like real people. This is an example of Nicky's imortality dictating his response. Even though Kozak is actively torturing him, he holds little resentment towards her and admits he understands her actions. From a personal perspective, his involvment in the crusades, and from a historical perspective, all the ways humanity has experimented on others claiming to be trying to save the world.

When Joe wakes up, Nicky tries to soothe his panic by saying, "As much as I like watching you sleep, I’m glad you’re awake". The couple are clearly trying to pretend that what is happening to them isn't happning. I think Nicky is the one who is more accepting of what they are going through.

The subtle smile Luca does when he says 'Malta' shows him letting nostalgia consume him insted of fear. But when he says "we should go back", he's letting the reality of the situation settle in again. But he still holds hope that they will escape, showing the trust he has in Andy.

The Lab Scene Continued:

The despair on Nicky's face can be seen from the beginning of this scene. He seems genuinley shocked that Andy has been captured, once again showing how much he's trusts her. The difference between Joe and Nicky is shown again when they react to Andy's mortality. Nicky slowly lowers his head whilst Joe's is more explicit.

Furthermore, when Nicky says "All things", he isn't looking at Merrick. He's seemingly looking at the sky, possibley towards God. He's not angry but instead seems to be sad and accepting.

The final example of Nicky gagging his captor. The line "as is yours" works in two ways. The first is to remind Merrick that for all his money, and influence, and connections, he is still mortal and he will eventually die long before Nicky ever does. Secondly, it works as a threat. Merrick is reminded that the extremely skilled killers he has tied up in his basement could in fact escape and they'll come straight for him. Nicky's reserved attitude could make him seem a passive character but lines like that show the anger that bubbles beneath the surface.

The Final Battle:

This is really short but despite not knowing Nile for a day, Nicky still warns her about the incoming attack.

For all his talk of 'we die when we die' Nicky is still worried about risking Andy's life. It's the only time his faith is really disputed and this time, Andy reassures Nicky's faith which is a fun development between them.

This fear for Andy is further shown in the fight scene. Nicky is consistantly looking for Andy and making sure she's ok. This fear leads to his own injury.

Joe and Nicky's relationship is further shown in the absolute confidence Nicky holds for Joe. He doesn't even look behind him during a fight as he knows Joe will be right behind him. I actually love this too.

Also, this shot of Nicky glaring at Booker shows that even though he doesn't want to punish Booker AS severely as Joe, he still holds an immense amount of anger towards Booker. This difference between Joe and Nicky might be due to their differing realationships with Booker. Nicky and Booker were less affectionate, and possibly more distant so his betrayel doesn't hurt Nicky as much... but it does.

The Keane Scene:

This is the final moment where Nicky's calm demenor is uprooted by an intense emotional moment. At first, when it is just him in danger, he uses skilled fighting techniques to fight Keane. But when Joe is the one in danger, he just lunges for Keane just to try and save Joe. This scene is highly controversial as many people see it as unnecessarily violent and too close to real life crimes against gay people. From my perspective, it is meant to symbolise the way gay people have persevered despite their many struggles. It's why Nicky doesn't die in this scene and it ends with the couple embracing.

Also, despite having just DIED, Nicky first concern is Andy which is the pinnacle moment of his kindness.

Final Nicky Scenes:

With everything we've learnt of Nicky throughout the movie, it makes total sense that he's the first person to reach Nile after her fall. Unlike Booker, who was just telling her to give up on her old life, Nicky tries to show her that her new existence is worth something just like he does with Andy.

As as stated by https://www.tumblr.com/wickedpact/629810255706079232/love-is-stored-in-the-nicky?source=share, him willing sitting in the middle is so quintessential Nicky.

After all the debates around what is their purpose and why they are what they are. This quick shot of Nicky smiling after Nile's line "maybe this is why Andy" is the resulution to his arc through the movie.

His arc doesn't work in the way that they usually work. He doesn't change in his beliefs or world-view and instead, it is other people realising that he was right. It also involves him realising his is right and having his world-view confirmed.

Conclusion:

Like Booker, Nicky serves a specific role in the movie. Most of the other characters are loud and outspoken but Nicky serves as the quiet warmth in the background. He doesn't go through any major crisis and seems mostly self-realised. On the opposite end of Booker, he stands as the angel (hah) on Andy's shoulder and gives her the second option for the reason for their life. Also, shout out to Luca Marinelli for doing all of this with such little dialogue!!

[utilitycaster]

I love the current discourse because a "woman with a crippling traumatic pasts, gets help of her party to heal from it and spends the rest of her life living a simple quiet life with her lesbian partner" is not the problem, and it has been done before in CR, it's Yasha

If you think about it, Laudna and Yasha's characters mirror each other in more ways than just a monochromatic palette, but one wound up being more interesting and earned her epilogue better and it's not the one that was present for all 100+ episodes of her respective campaign

Yeah; this has come up a TON but like. I have watched/listened to all or part of the following actual play series:

Critical Role (almost everything barring a few one shots, mostly from C1-era)

TAZ (afaik everything except a couple of the most recent episodes)

NADDPod (everything)

RQG (only main campaign and main-campaign canon sidequests, not one-shots, but I listened to all of that)

Relics and Rarities (all)

D20 (most)

Desiquest (first 2 episodes)

Into the Motherlands (first 2 seasons)

Burnt Cookbook Party (haven't listened the last few months for life reasons but intend to catch up, was otherwise caught up)

WBN (first 3 arcs, intend to catch up)

I also am a regular listener to NADDPod and Critical Role's talkback shows. I've been a regular DM since 2020 and had DM-ed one shots prior; I've been playing D&D and occasional other TTRPGs since 2016. I've read a number of articles on the topics of actual play as a form and TTRPGs and discuss it with friends. I'm saying all of this to make it clear: people can tell themselves that I'm stupid and uninformed and don't know what I'm talking about, and I think we all know they're just mad I disagree with them and am a better and more convincing writer to boot, and they're entitled losers who want me to write posts that make them feel good solely through what I'd call bullying but really it's more like if someone tried to shove me in a locker and accidentally gave themselves a concussion running headfirst into a locker, and I filmed it.

ANYWAY getting to the point yeah Yasha tells a story that hits the same core beats while also being a superior character on every level. She also had a difficult and abusive childhood (starting from a younger age) and experienced great loss and injustice, and also committed great harm. In her grief she was taken advantage of by sinister forces that sought to use and control her, and while she was able to escape with assistance, the bindings followed her. She continued to experience loss, and despite fighting back succumbed to her past controllers until her friends - not some stranger, but the people she'd met, coupled with her own abilities - broke her free, and she was able to meaningfully and rewardingly end her servitude. She messily worked through her feelings and in the process found love, and, having been forced to be a weapon and killer, made a choice to set that aside and find her own identity.

Any claim that Laudna's story manages to touch in a meaningful way on the same notes, when she never takes charge of her own destiny and simply drifts and flops about through various paths of least resistance until settling back in a rut, is a desperate and sad lie told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

I say this as someone who thinks that Critical Role campaign 2 is the best longform campaign of D&D I've seen, and that Candela Obscura Circle of Needle and Thread, Moonward, and EXU Calamity are all some of the best shortform campaigns of actual play: there is nothing I can think of that Campaign 3 does, across the board, that something else in actual play (ie, in this improvised format) doesn't do in a far superior fashion. That's really it. It's mediocre at best. None of these were the casts' strongest character nor relationship and it's certainly Matt's weakest plotting. If you liked it, that's great, but yeah there's nothing special about it.

[hereternalsins]

One day, I won't love you anymore.

- rose ( herdivinemuse via instagram)

Five years of memories. Two years of silence. And now, three months of trying to rebuild what was broken, only to find that some cracks run deeper than time can heal.

She watches him across their favorite café—the same one where they used to spend Sunday mornings years ago. His coffee order hasn't changed: black, no sugar. But something else has. The way he holds himself, perhaps, or the careful distance in his eyes even when he smiles.

"Do you know?" she begins, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. "In these five years, you've always been perfect and irreplaceable in my heart. But if we continue like this, I feel that... one day, I won't love you anymore."

The words hang between them like frost on a window pane—beautiful in their honesty, terrible in their implications. She watches them land, sees him flinch slightly, the way he always does when truth cuts too close to bone.

They'd thought it would be easier the second time around. After all, they knew each other's stories, could map each other's scars. The muscle memory of loving each other remained intact through those two years apart—the way he still reaches to brush her hair back when she's tired, how she automatically orders extra pickles for his burgers.

But with the familiar rhythms came the old ghosts. His tendency to retreat into silence when troubled. Her habit of expecting him to read her mind. The same misunderstandings that drove them apart the first time now hover at the edges of their reconciliation, waiting to reclaim their territory.

They'd spent those two years apart growing, changing, becoming better versions of themselves. She'd learned to voice her needs instead of hoping they'd be noticed. He'd worked on expressing his emotions instead of bottling them up. But somehow, together, they keep slipping back into their old roles—like actors who know their lines too well to play them differently.

"I still find your coffee cups in my apartment," he says quietly. "From before. I never could bring myself to throw them away."

She nods, understanding the weight of small things kept. She too has a box of memories she couldn't discard—movie tickets, dried flowers, photographs where their smiles still held certainty.

"Maybe that's our problem," she replies. "We're trying to fit new people into an old story."

The truth is, loving him has never been the problem. It's the easiest thing she's ever done, as natural as breathing. But loving someone and being able to build a life with them are different things. The past two years taught her that. They both learned it, separately, in their own ways.

"I don't want to lose you again," he says, reaching across the table. His fingers stop just short of hers, a gesture that encompasses everything wrong with their situation—always almost touching, almost understanding, almost getting it right.

"We're not the same people who fell in love five years ago," she tells him. "And we're not the same people who broke up two years ago either. Maybe we need to stop trying to be."

The afternoon light slants through the café windows, casting long shadows across their table. Outside, the city moves in its endless rhythm, indifferent to the small apocalypse happening over cooling coffee cups.

"Then who are we?" he asks, and there's something like hope in his voice—fragile but present.

She looks at him, really looks at him, seeing both the man she fell in love with and the stranger he's become. "Maybe that's what we need to find out," she says. "Not who we were, or who we think we should be, but who we are now."

The silence that follows feels different from their usual ones—not heavy with unspoken words, but open, waiting. Like a blank page rather than a closed book.

"I meant what I said," she continues softly. "You've been perfect and irreplaceable in my heart. But perfect isn't what I need anymore. I need real. I need now. I need us to stop haunting each other with who we used to be."

He nods slowly, and for the first time in months, his smile reaches his eyes. "Then maybe we should start over," he suggests. "Not from five years ago, or from two years ago, but from right here."

She feels something shift in her chest—not the familiar ache of old love, but something newer, something that tastes like possibility. "Hi," she says, extending her hand across the table. "I'm still learning who I am. Would you like to figure it out together?"

This time, when he reaches for her hand, he doesn't stop short.

[nellynee]

Dear Hazbin Hotel Fandom (with special note for reader insert fic writers at bottom)

Been thinking about Hazbin and like, economy, and infrastructure, and fucking culture in hell. And I like to imagine that earth is like, modern age if not a bit further into the future, and Hell is just so far behind

And I see most writers attribute this to old powers that be more or less forcing people to adhere to their affections, but I feel like it's so much more complex than that.

Like if there's any kind of infrastructure in place, like say, oh IDK utilities, that infrastructure in modern times relies very heavily on established modern infrastructure built before it, and a certain degree of cultural niceties to leave it alone, as well as all the means in terms of sourcing labor, resources, and cold hard cash for its construction and continued upkeep.

Which is near impossible in a place like hell. A place where at least once a year, the ritual killing of the masses leads to huge turf wars set to destroy said infrastructure. In such a every man for himself society, who's making sure these roads aren't full of potholes and the lights stay on?

Which leads to a very easy answer, Overlords. This is why Overlords own millions of souls. It's the expected currency for stability. Overlords oversee a certain degree of infrastructure, normalization of life. Depending on your deal, Overlords might guarantee a base degree of normalcy in exchange for souls. Like you might get better rental opportunities in areas where the buildings aren't likely to be torn down regularly. You get running water and electricity, books and other entertainment, access to better food, security during large scale danger events (including the exterminations) ect. And refusing to sell your soul could severely limit opportunities. Imagine if everyone is born into poverty, and you are only allowed the chance to access middle class jobs, houses, ect if you cut off a finger. Everyone does it, you aren't using it anyways, and your life gets significantly easier if you do....

But yeah I think people who write for the fandom are seriously understating the actual affects the lack of a central government probably has on the different areas of the city, and what it actually means to be an Overlord, and why things work the way they do.

Like I am 1000% sure there's no mail in hell. Like mailmen and carriers and an organization system. Unless an Overlord was particularly invested in it... No I think for a very long time long distance communication took place through hired help. People specifically paid for or in one's employ to carry personal missives on an immediate basis as needed. Delivery men. This is why Vox's electronics are such a hit. It provides a degree of luxury unknown to the masses before this; or known of and since lost and have nostalgia for.

I also firmly believe that this is still how Overlords and influentials communicate. Vox's infrastructure is convenient, but it would require seceeding a degree of independence powerful people can't afford to give up. You can order one of your souls to take a message and others to protect them, but to use a phone is to put your communication network in the hands of someone else, and a potential enemy at that.

Lack of infrastructure aside, I also don't want to understate the effects of only a certain percentage of the populace being present has. 100% of the people dropping into hell can know what a blender is, but if not a single souls who drops down knows how one works, then hell just straight up doesn't have blenders. Which is another factor into a lot of the lingering old timey feel of Hell. Technology has to be invented on earth, then become popularized enough that the knowledge of its creation beats out the numbers dropping into hell and it can be made. Not to mention someone has to be interested enough to let it be made in the first place. This is why some Overlords center around such singular niches. They were passionate enough to teach themselves in life the knowledge needed to build that particular luxury from scratch. Even if it had been decades since development in earth, the knowledge just doesn't migrate well.

I also imagine this having a huge impact on the entertainment industry. Lots of writers go on about old songs but not one has the guts to claim an artists is in hell and still making their art in hell

Can you imagine the cutthroat industry developed around having to claw your way up through hundreds of years of new music and nostalgia when your own fan base is still mostly on earth and the other artists have had centuries or decades to establish themselves?

Which brings me to my last and most important point..... Shoes. Well, shoes and clothing, and mass production.

It just ain't fucking happening in Hell.

One, in sure the Pride ring is getting some of their commerce from other rings. I'm talking consumables. Textiles and food. This is also a city spanning millions of people, and what hydroponics isn't used to grow pot is probably being sponsored by Overlords to grow produce for their souls. Which means some production but not nearly enough to feed the city. Which means food probably looks like a large majority of people eating hell based produce from outside the ring, with dedicated smuggling rings (like what we see with IMP, travelers who bring earth commerce home, I'm guessing Lust ring Incu/Sucubi looking for side gigs) bringing back seeds, cuttings, and cultural touchstones like movies, books, and music to be mass copied and distributed. Those living in certain areas or with the right amount of cash can pay for produce grown from that smuggled earth produce.

Meat is predominantly hell born in nature, probably produced from Wrath, and Sloth's oceans, with an uncomfortably large supplemental of cannibalistic meat being corpses harvested by street folk and sold to butchers for cheap, cooked and sold Sweeney Todd style. I do think Cannibalism is far more widespread and normalized than most are comfortable thinking, for practical reasons. There are just so many dedicated cannibals in the colony alone...look, there is neither space for cows nor a means to get them down there.

In any case, clothing.

This is a huge pet peeve for me in fics because I don't think anyone really thinks this one through, the sheer volume of the fashion industry in its infrastructure and how much of that Hell is lacking

Not to even mention that everyone is hell is shaped weird. Head to toe. Weird bodies all the time. Everywhere.

I just don't think mass produced clothing is a thing. Or at least nearly a refined as earth. Off the rack shit is probably very plain, and very vaguely shaped. Lots of missing sleeves, wide arm holes, drawstrings and buttons. The bare minimum. The cloth equivalent of fig leaves. Pride based clothing outlets, if there is any mass production, probably base their shapes a lot of Imps and Hellhounds and mostly humanoid with four limb, just to have a consistent customer base and hope they get lucky with hellborn. You probably have to pay to have a pattern made for your body and then have basic shit seen up from there or learn to do it yourself. Lots of people earning side cash sewing garbage clothes for cheap. Dudes with a bunch of ink and a screen printing custom graphic tees from their apartment making bank.

And don't even get me started on shoes. Most people have hooves or paws, and if they don't have that, there's a sizable chance they won't even have feet. There just isn't mass produced shoes. There physically can't be. There is no consistency in size. It is literally not possible.

All to say, sewing is probably a pretty valuable skill to have. Tailors and cobblers are probably both valued jobs and incredibly necessary. It's also probably pretty damn expensive. Which is actually why we don't see a lot of shoes, and why some folks are strange about clothes. It's just not practical anymore. And it's wildly expensive. Why go through the bother of getting a tailor or cobbler to make time and then get charged through the nose for something that might get destroyed or stolen soon anyways?

Which brings me to my special comment

Dear Reader insert writers. Specifically the Reader/Alastor crew, but this is pretty blanket

Unless your OC, or the clothing, is a very specific shape, Angel is not loaning your OC nothing in terms of textiles. Think real hard about whether your OC's feet will fit into one of his custom made boots... Really think about it. The love is there, but it's Hell. Let your OC struggle with everything. They can't get housing because everywhere outside an Overlord's domain is full and they can't rent without trading their soul to an overlord. They have trouble finding non human meat or palatable produce or even coffee. Their clothes are coming apart at the seams and laundry mats don't exist. Its hell, it's hard, and it's not made for them. If Angel ends them anything, it's gonna fit like a nightmare or be secondhand from another hooker and look like it. And it's going to be expensive AF

This is especially for you Alastor shippers. Textiles work a lot closer to how it functioned in his time than ours. In fact it probably functions closer to Rosie's time than his. And something I need you to remember is courting etiquette. Because I often see this overlooked. The best example I have for this is the song "baby it's cold outside", which viewed through the modern lense sounds like a creepy preamble to that poor woman being accosted, but in the lense of the time period it was written, is seen a feminine strong song, a woman using the tools available of her time to openly flirt and accept an offer to stay overnight. And while most people remember that Al comes from a time where gifting is used to show affection, I don't think they remember why that is. Like yes, there can be, and probably should be, a certain degree of possessiveness involved, given where we are and who we are talking about. But we must remember that this was a time period before women could divorce their husbands in the US. These gifts had social meaning. Women couldn't own property, were discouraged from jobs after settling down, and just didn't have the means to care for themselves. Expensive clothing and jewels were a statement. It told the community that the husband could, and did, provide for his wife financially. It gave the woman tangible items that, if properly cared for, would provide her with capital enough that should her husband die before her, he could be her only husband, that she wouldn't be forced to remarry. It a statement of of societal expectation, but also of how much he cared for her well being. And this is an aspect I see missing from Alastor's commentary. Yes there is a magical aspect of protection often employed, but he doesn't lavish his beau with Fur coats and hand crafted hats with obnoxiously bejeweled pins and easily displayed but hard to care for items that are as much a declaration of love in value as they are in attention. The closest I've ever seen is the fics by corruptedteacups, in which the flapper set gifted to the MC is described just as much in its beauty as the sheer quality of the fabric and beading involved. It feels substantial and expensive.

Just a small fandom peeve of mine, but some desperately needed context and depth I hope people think on.

[cherryheairt]

Law of Attraction ch.2

Chishiya x reader fic series

Chapter two: The Beach

chapter one here

Masterlist

There was nothing left to do but move forward. Since your first game, unfortunately not your last as you grew to find out from a sobbing woman who pleaded for your and Niragi's help to end her before the lasers did on her final ‘visa’ day (which only ended with you covered in blood and Niragi laughing in your face and being no help), you had been traveling through Tokyo on foot. There was no electricity anywhere besides games that distantly lit up, being narrowly avoided by you both until further notice, and although you knew all the other people in this abandoned world were stranded here just like you, you didn't trust any of them.

Desperation made people do crazy shit.

Every noise made you flinch and study the origin, leaving Niragi terribly irate at your jumpiness. He had found a gun somehow, just a little handheld pistol to defend the both of you, but it still made your tenseness fade ever so slightly. On the third day of idleness, Niragi brought up a good point.

“We need to find a game tonight.” He said firmly. “I'm not ending up a bloody mess on the side of the road like that chick.”

“That woman just wanted out. It's not a crime to choose rather than doom yourself to having no say in your own death.” Your words made him quiet for a long moment as you both scanned the windows of the department store you locked up in for the previous night.

Nothing was amiss it seemed, and you took to padding around to find fresh clothes and hygiene products.

“We'll be fine. The games aren't impossible to win.”

You hummed from the hair care aisle. “We don't know that. Thirteen people died in our first day—and I think that was meant to be an easy game.”

“Easy?” He asked, trailing after you. “Sure, maybe after we figured it out, but I'd rather not almost drown again.” The reminder that you owed him your life laid heavy in your heart.

“That's not what I mean. Do you remember the AI's information? She said: Three of Diamonds. Like a deck of cards. If we go off of that, three would be one of the easiest games we would face.”

Niragi had the sense to pale slightly. “What if Diamonds stands for difficulty, too, though. Like, 1-13, but Spade, Club, Diamond, and Heart are leveled 1-4?”

You pondered the idea. It could be, yes, but with the game's objective, you doubted it. “I think Diamonds are a game of intelligence.”

Niragi rolled his eyes but didn't seem too hung up on it. “Great, intelligence games with a bartender. I might not be able to cash in this life debt after all.”

Glaring, you tossed him a pack of hairties. “I'm in college, dipshit. It's not like you came in with a lab coat on, either.”

He turned his head, scoffing. “I design and code game software. Graduated university: top of my class, thank you.”

You both sat in uneasy silence for a while. You broke it first, changing the topic entirely. “I didn't give you those for nothing. Tie back your hair, it got in the way in our first game, I don't want it to happen again.”

Niragi awkwardly fumbled with his midnight black strands of hair, but with no mirror and presumably no experience, it became hard to watch. “You've never put your hair up?” You asked, bemused.

Niragi clicked his tongue irritatedly. “I'll do it later.”

“Give it,” You nearly growled out, snatching it from him and urging him to lean down but the heel of your palm, earning an offended noise from the man. You tied it half-back in a manbun-esque style. Studying your work once he stood back up straight and eyed you with a slightly flustered expression crossing his sour face, you snickered in satisfaction. “Much better. We can see your pretty face now.”

Although it was a half-hearted joke, Niragi seemed to take it as an insult rather than a friendly tease. He scowled at you and continued prowling through the aisles with a heavier step.

After having little luck, you both decided to move on. With your find, you were able to change from your, frankly quite gross, tank and jeans and into more breathable athleticwear that allowed you to freely move around. Niragi didn't get the memo, instead changing from his standard office attire and into black jeans and a loose-fitted silky button-up. He vehemently ignored your barely concealed look of judgement, humming out loud as you looked around the city streets. It was evening now, when the game venues all started to light up and people could sometimes be spotted if you looked from a high vantage point.

He nodded towards a warehouse arena that had lit up moments ago. It seemed to be an old candy-making factory judging by the brightly colored LEDs, but you weren't quite sure. “That one's close.”

“What type do you think it is?” You asked, stashing your bag under the cash register in an old corner store deli. The smell was absolutely awful in it, but you knew it would repel any scavengers who weren't so lucky in their own pickings.

“It's a big arena.” He sniffed, not saying a smart-ass comment like you had started to expect over the past few days. “Physical game, I'd guess. Lots of space to hide or run away in.”

“I'm pretty good at hide and seek.” You said optimistically, earning a genuine laugh from your companion.

“Let's hope it is, then.”

🍒

The warehouse was, in fact, a candy factory. It still smelled sickly sweet as you both wandered through the employee entrance door. It was a pristine grey everywhere, quite a depressing place of work but sleek and clean nonetheless. Conveyor belts were seen through the open gate doors and giant palettes of differently packaged candies were stacked nearly to the ceiling. The sight was nauseating and you avoided looking to the top, hoping that none would be knocked over any time soon. In a smaller area people piled in quickly after.

Some were clearly experiencing their first game, eyes glossed with fear and confusion. Some were wary of others, backing to walls and observing their opponents with hard stares. Most seemed to collectively be anxious and alone, a select few coming in with another at their shoulder.

One particular duo caught your eye, looking out of place next to other pairs. About the same height, one styled his medium-length wavy and greasy hair into a loose bun at the back of his head, facial hair lining his uniquely handsome face as he glanced over everyone with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. Even his wardrobe was eccentric, a fedora with sunglasses stacked on top of it adorning his head and a colorful shirt-slack combo. The other was his stark contrast, buzzcut hair and wearing a simple outfit of a black wife-beater and matching cargo jeans, showing off muscled arms. Military, easy, and possibly your most dangerous enemy or valuable ally in a game of brawn.

You shared a glance with Niragi, who also caught interest in the new additions. Only mere moments after they walked in, the door shut behind them and the AI's voice rang. Stepping closer to Niragi, you looked to your phone for the instructions.

“Player Requirement met. Closing registration…”

“Game: Laser Tag. Difficulty: Five of Spades.”

A five. On the presumed scale of 1-13 like you guessed, a five was still on the easier side. Five days would be added to your visa if you survived, providing ample time to set up a secure home base for you and Niragi.

Niragi seemed satisfied, patting his handgun with a pleased grin. “That sounds promising.”

“Rules: Two teams will be assigned from the 28 players in the game. The Red and Blue teams will use their provided laser guns to play one round of laser tag.”

“How many lives do we get?” A nervous young voice spoke out, leading your eyes to a teenage boy dressed in a grimy t-shirt and pajama pants. He'd been here for days already, used to the games but not acclimated enough to find supplies. He was scrawny, collarbones visible under his thin shirt and cheeks hollow like he'd not eaten in days. “In the arcade, its always three.” He says, hugging himself.

You hummed assuringly. “Maybe. Or whatever team gets the most tags.” You said, slightly reluctant but knowing no one else would speak up and comfort him. He weakly smiled at you, shuffling ever so slightly closer to your pairing.

A door clicked open, revealing an employee break room that held coat racks of vests with attached guns, classic arcade style. “Can we pick our teams?” You whispered to Niragi, shivering at the temperature drop that seemed to happen after the rules explained. He didn't reply.

Grabbing a vest from the rack, you shrugged it over your shoulders and strapped it across your chest. Next to you, the teenage boy followed your lead and did the exact same actions. Picking up a gun each, the players all glanced around at each other with distrust in their eyes and tense bodies. Niragi was confidently standing almost entirely in front of you, blocking most people from your view—or looking at you. Unconsciously or not, you were grateful.

The timer dinged while counting down time for players to gear up. Seeing the boy's grip shaking over the hold of his trigger, you reached out and placed your own over his. Muttering, you comfortingly said: “It's okay. Treat it just like you're out playing laser tag with your friends. Do you go to the arcade often?”

Swallowing harshly, he nodded. “Almost every weekend.”

You smiled. “I haven't been in years. If we're on opposite teams, go easy on me.”

He laughed, nodding softly. “I'm Hoshiko.”

You told him your own in turn, and the timer finally stopped. The room went completely dark, and mutters released into the room. The vests all lit up at once, lighting it in blue and red. Looking down at your gun, you found that you were blue. Niragi turned to you, smirking when he saw your colors matched. “Watch my back this time.” He said plainly.

Hoshiko was blue, too, and you let out a subtle sigh of relief. “Take care of me.” You said, nudging his arm. He nodded with furrowed brows, seemingly set in his goal.

“Clear condition: Do not get hit with a laser gun. Time limit: 20 minutes.”

You sucked in a breath. “One hit is a loss?” To have to sit out and allow your teammates to carry on after only one hit would be a challenge. People would drop like flies, even in the large arena.

“Game starts in: One minute.”

People immediately began their rush out of the employee room to find beginning points. Hoshiki led the way for you and nodded towards the office areas upstairs. “We can see everything from there.”

Niragi obviously had the brains to agree, not arguing with the much younger boy's decision. Your trio rushed up the metal staircase and to an open office in the middle of the hall, overlooking a good majority of the line of conveyors. In the distance, the enormous stacks of wrapped cases were slightly visible. “Did anyone else come up here?” You asked, leaning below the window and glancing over it to peek. The blue glow from all of your packs lit up the small space as the timer ticked down.

“20 seconds remaining.”

You tensely gripped your gun, taking a deep breath in and listening to the footsteps below.

“I didn't see anyone else.” Niragi said. “But don't assume anything.”

You and Hoshiko nodded together. “Game start. 20 minutes until the game finishes.” The factory lit up with LEDs and strobes, highlighting the floors and walls periodically and making vest colors harder to see.

Immediately, blasts were heard throughout the arena. Shoes squeaking on the metal floor echoed throughout the open area and shouts of panic did, too. Niragi sprang up to join the action, looking both ways down the hall before situating his gun on the railing while kneeling. You and Hoshiko followed behind, each finding a spot on the railguard to shoot from. You flinched as a red-hot laser shot just past your head and into the wall. Whipping your head around, your eyes widened in horror of realizing that the lasers used from the guns were the very same ones that shot down from the sky and killed game losers.

“We only get one hit because it'll kill us.” You told Niragi and Hoshiko, who were both coming to the same realization in different ways. Hoshiko was nearly hyperventilating, hugging his gun to his chest and leaning below the railing to shield himself. Niragi, on the other hand, was cheering and celebrating his own killshot.

He ducked when the dead man's teammate spun around and blasted towards the upper area. Laughing, he seemed high on adrenaline as he faced you. “You didn't put that together already, sweetheart?”

Swallowing, you braced yourself at the sound of thundering footsteps climbing to the office hall. “Go!” You urged, taking Hoshiko's arm and running towards the end of the hall and towards the other stairwell. Lasers lit up the arena with red and blood littered the floors as fluid as water might. You all hid among a line of conveyors, watching a few blues and reds alike taking turns jumping from hiding spots and shooting at the opposite sides.

Niragi was the boldest of you three, taking risks and peaking out to discreetly shoot down any stragglers who tried to move positions. Each little cheer he did made your stomach squeeze uncomfortably, but you forced yourself to understand the situation. It was them or you, after all.

Bringing up your phone, you read the black digits: ‘15:27’. Only five minutes had passed and yet it felt like hours with your blood pumping hot through your veins.

Niragi leaned down, whispering to you and Hoshiko. “See that guy in the black tank?”

You both nodded after a glance up. The buzzcut guy from the break room was dominating the competition—blue side's, luckily—from a clever spot on the second floor of the storage area. He peaked up strategically and shot at the Reds hiding amongst the large stacks of candy. “I'm going to make for the wall between storage and the conveyors.” He said. “With him, we can take most of the Red guys down.”

“You'll be exposed!” Hoshiko said urgently, pleadingly shaking his head.

“You both are covering me.” Niragi said sternly, earning saucer eyes from you.

“I'm not a good shot, Niragi.” You told him. “If you get shot—”

“Don't let me.” He nearly growled out, wasting no time and run-crouching over to the concrete wall. You and Hoshiko held you breath all the while, and you didn't even register the Red-lit woman stalked Niragi with a keen eye as she spotted him skittering across the floor. Stepping from her hiding spot, aiming right for his back.

It was Hoshiko that moved first, lifting his gun to tuck it below his chin and rest on the conveyor to aim for her leg. When the trigger was pulled and the gun's nozzle was left slightly smoking from the intense heat, all you could hear was the woman's pained scream as she dropped her gear and clutched at her leg. Panting on the floor, she rocked herself back and forth before turning her angered gaze to you two. Her Red vest turned off and she was entirely in the shadows. Gasping, you pulled the boy down and hidden away with you again.

“Shit.” Hoshiko cursed. “Can the guns still work if you're out?”

“I don't know…” You trailed anxiously, sweat-laced hands gripping the handle of your gun and sucking a deep breath in. “We can't risk that.”

Hearing the hobbling footsteps approach the belt, you hopped straight up onto your feet and shot forward. The red laser momentarily lit up her face, illuminating the horrified expression on her face as it hit her right in the chest. The ‘thud’ echoed in the immediate area as she went down. You killed a woman. In a game of laser tag, you shot down and murdered your opponent with no hesitation. Hoshiko rose to your level, grabbing your arm with a worried expression. “We need to move spots. They'll hear that fall and know someone is right here.”

Wordlessly, you nodded. Niragi had to do the rest himself. Hopefully, that woman was the only one who'd noticed his movement. You and Hoshiko crouched back below the conveyors, using them as covers to stalk below, avoiding other players who seemed to trip over each other in panic. You both reached a small room to the side, finding it to be some kind of broom closet. “Get—” You started, whipping around when a loud, ‘crash!’ went through the entire factory instead. In the dark, you could see the silhouette of the towers of packages start to tumble down like dominos. You could hear Niragi and another man's voice call out triumphantly towards each other, cheering and whooping coming solely from Niragi but the other man affirming the victory that the falls brought.

Glancing up, you saw the man in the black outfit who'd been at the high position and shooting from a distance waving for Niragi to run back into the working part of the factory. He obeyed, surprisingly, cackling as he ran with his gun in hand back to the former hiding spot that you three had taken.

“Seven players remaining.” The robotic feminine voice chimed. You hummed, wondering which team had more. With the large stacks of boxes falling, you assumed that your team had taken the majority of the Reds down in that room.

Hoshiko shouted next to you, yanking you down from your spot and into the wall. You almost scolded him for the unnecessary manhandling, but quickly paused when you saw him shoot down a limping Red team man who escaped the box flooded area. His gun was pointed right at the two of you, only stopped by Hoshiko's own precise aim to his chest. He was animated in the air for a second before falling completely limp in a pile of blood and flesh.

You held Hoshiko's shoulder, staring at the dead man with a silent gape. There wasn't any time to dwell on it when another Red came darting across the working line room. “Shit-” You cursed, jumping to run behind a wall with the still shell-shocked boy.

You heard the padding of his heavy footsteps approaching with vigor, and clutched your gun tight to your chest to prepare for another one-on-one shootout. You hoped desperately that even if you were shot, you could take him down at the same time to prevent him from harming Hoshiko.

A shot interrupted your prayers, and you gingerly peeked out to see a red-hot hole cooling down to black right between the man's eyes, blood pooling around his head on the reflective floor. Looking up, you saw Niragi with an unimpressed raised brow and gun leaning on his shoulder casually as if he'd not just shot down a man.

“Saved you again.” He snickered, though he didn't sound too hung up over it.

Standing on shaky legs, you shook your head. “I shot down a woman who saw your big head switch spots.” You defended yourself.

Sharp laser shots sounded in the much quieter arena, presumably from the AI rather than any players. They were too rapid and short to come from your guns.

“All Red players eliminated. Game clear.”

Looking at your gun, you shoved it to the floor and wiped your sweaty hands on your pants.

“Really now?” Niragi sounded surprised. Glancing around, he spotted the woman's still body in front of the first conveyor that they hid behind. “That's still two saves versus one. Don't forget it,” he nudged your arm with his own, not bothering to lose the gun. Ignoring him, you glanced down to Hoshiko, who hugged his legs and shivered.

“Hoshiko,” You started gently. “We need to go. Do you have a group?”

He looked up at you with glossy eyes, shaking his head. “I—I came here with my brothers. But the first game killed them both.”

Niragi eyed you, kicking your shoe from behind as if to say ‘don't do it’.

“Niragi and I are on foot right now, but it's safer with three. Come with us.” You offered a hand out to him, smiling when he grabbed it to hoist himself up. Niragi clicked his tongue behind you.

At the break room's emergency exit, you three found the two men from the beginning holding up the 5 of Spades card and inspecting it. Apprehensively, you stilled when spotting them, unknowing of their friendliness beyond playing on the same team for less than half an hour.

“Hey.” The eccentric man with the bun greeted first. Niragi narrowed his eyes, nodding his own silent greeting. The more intimidating of the pair was completely silent and still, crossing his large arms other each other and studying all three of you with hawk eyes.

“Have you been here long?” He continued, obviously unconcerned with the awkward tension in the room.

“About a week.” Niragi rounded up, tossing aside the vest and gun, making sure the gun in his belt was visible to both men. Smart, you thought as the buzzcut glanced at the other man with a raised brow.

“Most people don't even make it that long.” The man laughed. “My name is Takeru—or Hatter, if you please. This is Aguni, my…security.” He clapped Aguni on the shoulder, and you half-expected that Aguni would shank him in the stomach for the close touch. Surprisingly, he stayed perfectly still and nodded at the mention of his name.

“Niragi.” Niragi introduced himself, intrigued at the introductions. To you, it felt like you were about to be given a sales pitch.

You introduced yourself and Hoshiko shortly, staying in front of the boy while he was still shaky and unnerved.

“You must be tired from all the walking. Here and there, no electricity and running water. Water bottles grow scarce in all the scavenged stores.”

“What's your point?” Niragi asked.

“You look like you can handle yourself. At The Beach, we've been recruiting people like you.”

“The Beach?”

“A utopia.” Hatter spread his arms out dramatically like a preacher might, and you questioned just how much truth comes from his mouth. “There's only a few of us now—but we've managed to get electricity and water working again with our resident geniuses. Cars, too, so no more walking aimlessly for the next game. Aguni here is our militant branch head, he joins most of the games to keep our residents safe and returned back to The Beach.”

Sounded too good to be true. Electricity and running water run by only a few people. “Where's this utopia?” You asked apprehensively.

Hatter's eyes locked on you and he smiled brightly, a cheek to cheek grin that made you certain he was missing some screws. “Come with us. Niragi, you were good with that gun, you could be placed right under Aguni.”

Niragi seemed to think over the offer in his head, shifting his weight and glancing between Aguni and Hatter. “They can come?” He asked, nodding towards you and Hoshiko.

“Of course! All are welcome at The Beach.”

“We'll check it out.” Niragi agreed for you all, earning a scorching look from you and you pulled his arm.

“I never agreed to that. We should discuss it, Niragi.” You hissed in his ear.

He yanked his arm back, looking down at you like you were a mere animal. A dog begging for food at his heels. “There's nothing to discuss.” He left the alleyway with Hatter, following him to the car that was promised.

Aguni stayed a moment longer, eyeing you before he followed after.

You and Hoshiko shared a glance. “Do you want to go?” You asked. Without Niragi, you wouldn't be half as safe. A young woman and a teenage boy alone on the desolate streets of abandoned Tokyo with scavengers hiding about would not prove positive for anyone. Niragi knew that and took advantage of it.

“I think we should just give it a chance. If Hatter is lying, we'll leave.” He suggested, looking a hundred times more weary than when they first joined.

“Are you okay?” You stopped him from approaching the car. “We could take a moment, if you need it.” Truthfully, your own stomach was churning with the weight of Laser Tag's deaths—directly and indirect. You thought your first game was horrible, with the thirteen other people dying in their water-filled cages surrounding you, but at least you were not responsible for their deaths like you were now. How many people would you have to kill just to make it to the next game and kill some more?

“I'm okay,” he smiled weakly, leading the way to the car. “A shower would be nice, though.”

You laughed and agreed.

🍒

Hatter was telling the truth. The Beach was a reformed resort with fully functioning utilities and people. There were only a few, leaving the lobbies and pool empty as you passed through them like ghost towns. The bright lights were comforting, though, making up for it. Hatter and Aguni led the way to an upstairs rentable office room that had all the previous decorations removed and replaced with more practical ones. A large white table sat in the middle of the room, with three people sitting at it as if they were waiting for you all.

“Everyone, meet Mira, Ann, and Kuzuryu.” He introduced you three in turn. Murmured greetings were exchanged between everyone. Kuzuryu was wearing a formal suit and square glasses, looking groomed and proper despite the wildness of the new world. Mira was wearing a black blouse and dark red slacks, a mirror of the former and yet looking twice as sweet with a smile and wave towards you. An was in a white blouse and denim shorts, expression hidden behind sunglasses but still managing to look intimidating.

“These are our number two, three, and four.”

“Why are they numbered?” You piped up, glancing at the bracelets on their arms.

“I'm glad you asked, my dear!” Hatter appeared behind you, grabbing your shoulders and laughing joyfully.

“Now that you know The Beach is real, I can explain the purpose of it.”

You and Niragi sat next to each other at the table, you sitting opposite of Mira and him next to Hoshiko as you waited for an explanation. Kuzuryu stood and walked to a wooden wall, opening it like a barn door to reveal a few scattered paintings of cards. Your eyes ran across the wall, scanning for the cards that were painted on. It wasn't many, and you assumed it was still a work in progress as a few were crossed out and others were still half-done.

“The purpose of The Beach and all of its citizens, future and current, is to collect every single one of the cards from the games.”

“For what?” Hoshiko asked quietly, wringing his hands together in his lap. He looked interested.

“To get out of this world.” Hatter said, demeanor suddenly extremely serious. “I have a theory. If every card is collected, then the game is completed and one person at a time can go home per deck of cards.”

“That's why we have rankings.” Kuzuryu spoke up. “Number one goes first. Then two, and three, and so on.”

“I am number one, of course.” Hatter said with a charming bow.

“That would take years!” You exasperated. “Who would wait that long?”

Mira giggled in front of you. “That's why we're recruiting people all over Tokyo to join us. The more people contributing cards, the faster we can all go home.” Basing everything off of a theory was risky.

“I'm not sure I want to stay here.” You told Hatter, following his pacing form around the room.

“No?” He asked. “Not even if you were offered a place on the executive table?”

“Would I be able to keep it if you offer everyone new a spot at it?” You bit, glancing at the entrance door that was blocked by Aguni.

He waved the question off. “Of course. The ranking is decided by how many cards someone has contributed, and their cards’ value. As long as you keep playing the games, you can keep your number.”

“Still. It'll be faster if I do it alone. Good luck, Hatter.” You stood from your chair, yelping when you were yanked back by Niragi.

“We'll stay.” He promised simply.

“Niragi—”

“Great!” Hatter clapped, taking a seat at the head of the table. “Let's get you three some numbers. What are your cards?”

“Three of diamonds and five of spades, obviously.” Niragi answered for you both. “We didn't grab our first card, though.”

Hoshiko reached into his pocket and slid a three of hearts to the table's head. Hatter nodded appreciatively, pocketing it for himself. “That's no matter. We'll find another three of diamonds game eventually.” Mira moved to cross out the three of hearts with a fresh can of paint, her neat handwriting showing no flaws on the white wall.

Ann reached into a bag and handed you three numbers. Six, seven, and eight. “Distribute as you please. You three have an even amount.”

Hoshiko handed you the ‘Seven’ and took the ‘Eight’ for himself as Niragi immediately slapped ‘Six’ on his own wrist. You didn't give a damn what number you were assigned, knowing that tonight while everyone else slept you would simply sneak out. Hoshiko, too, if he accepted your offer.

“Your room numbers correspond with your numbers.” She continued.

“Before Hatter left, we were discussing the rules of The Beach.” Aguni said. You almost forgot he was there with his silence. He sat slumped at the other end, opposite of Hatter.

“Ah, yes.” He said. “We only got to brainstorming but during our drive I think I figured some out.”

Ann nodded for him to continue and she brought out a pen and paper from her bag yet again.

“Number one.” He started, drafting it. “Live as you desire. Drink, party, fuck. Its some of our last days, might as well be free.” Some nods and mutters of agreement filled the room. Seeing no complaints, he leaned back in his seat and continued.

“Number two.” He scanned the room, lingering on you, Mira, and Ann for moments too long. Confused, you glanced at both of them and found no luck in an explanation. “We must all wear bathing suits at all times. This goes hand in hand with ‘no weapons’. Nothing is hidden in swimwear.”

Before you could plead your case, Niragi spoke up. “No weapons?” Like that was the biggest issue. In fact, you actually liked that rule.

Hatter laughed and waved him off, too. “Not you, Niragi. The Militants are permitted guns. To keep order, only a few select people can be exempt.”

“Can't we just do room checks?” You asked.

“If you're against the policy, you could wear normal attire during games. But there is no further argument.”

Well, damn.

“Only one more rule. Short and sweet to keep confusion to a minimum.” He decided.

“Death to all traitors.”

[enodia-polymorphous]

DIRT PATHS, CREEKS, AND CROSSROADS A crossroads reflection following a visit to a local reserve's creek.

Beyond the backyard of my partner's house, it's possible to move from one world to another.

Where one is white and grey townhouses built in an estate, fit for modern domestic architecture, the other is just down a set of wooden staircases, mismatched in shape and height, approaching a natural world that sings with the water-flow of a nearby creek.

A nature reserve — somehow more accessible now due to the residences built in this area, that came with infrastructure such as staircases and pathways — and it's so much more vast than what you'd imagine just by looking out the window.

I take the stairs down, and I walk the white, measured concrete paths. I take a turn towards a barbeque and seating area, and then I'm met with a crossroads. I could continue along the concrete, or I can choose the path drawn in dirt.

I take the dirt path.

Crossroads exist pretty much everywhere. Spiritually, mentally, and physically. Though, I think my very favourite to look for are dirt crossroads. Ones spotted in the absence of the green grass that surrounds them, or those recognised as desire paths. They are created from use, from preference, for purpose.

There is safety in walking a dirt path many-times-walked. They tell us: "Someone has walked here before, now you do. In the future, yet another will walk the path, and perhaps one day it will be you again."

Whether from my love of crossroads or by the influence of my goddess, I always feel this sparkle of happiness when I approach a nature-based crossroads. I praise Hekate in this sacred domain.

What I love about this path to the side of the concrete is how it leads to a beautiful creek. It takes about forty minutes to an hour to make the entire journey around the reserve, and you can see the river that the creek runs into most of the trip.

Creeks and rivers are considered liminal places. They are also crossroads, even if they don't appear as the usual T or Y shaped road.

When you approach a creek, you have a choice. You can go over the creek at that moment, you can walk along the stream and find another way, or you could turn around. It is a place of transition, and more.

This creek in particular has a bridge from one side to the other formed by large boulders. They're easier or harder to climb across depending on how high the water is. When I visited this time, the water was lower than usual, easing my anxieties of crossing.

Balance and being confident on my feet, especially in situations where I can "fall off", is something I'm working on. I get to just before halfway across the rocks before stopping. It's better than other times.

As I stood there, overlooking both sides of this river, I noticed how still the water was in the distance. It hardly looked like it was moving. But when I looked down, to the water rushing between the rocks, it was a completely different scene, which came with an understanding.

Being in this space and honouring Hekate, I thought about the Six of Swords. There are many ways to interpret tarot cards, though some of the ways I see the Six of Swords includes:

Moving into calmer water, or into turbulent water. It can go either way.

A transition.

A rite of passage.

A requirement to take what's most important while leaving the rest, and moving on.

And...

How the water may seem still at times. How we look out into the distance and grumble about things not happening, things not changing. We want things to happen, good things! And we get frustrated. We lose patience.

Until the next moment when the seemingly slow water breaks into tens of rushing streams, making their way through river grass and over rocks, reaching the other side of the bridge and then we see it.

Our progress, how everything has come together, how being still and contemplative at these crossroads have allowed for life and our path to move with us and around us.

We don't realise just how far we've come until the rushing water has become still again in the distance.

Hear me, Hekate! Goddess of liminality, of transitions, and of the crossroads. I praise you for the beautiful natural dirt crossroads that I come across and acknowledge in your name. I honour you with libations poured where three paths meet. Please sit with us when the water is still, and remain with us when we finally realise how fast things are moving. Khaire, Hekate.

divider credit -> @enchanthings-a

[zznblr]

I’ve got a request, telling Yeonjun how handsome he is.

His lips, his smile, his face, his body, sigh……

[9:35pm] 𐙚 c.yj

ʚ♡⃛ɞ request | there's nothing you love more than making out with yeonjun ୨୧ yeonjun x fem!reader ��� suggestive • established relationship • 839 words reblogs n comments appreciated :)

in your eyes, yeonjun is always prettier when you haven’t seen him in a while. and yes, some might argue that a week isn’t that long but it truly does feel like forever to you when it comes to your boyfriend.

you’re standing giddily outside his front door, waiting, your hands stuffed in your coat pockets to stop yourself from pressing on his doorbell like a freak.

when he finally opens the door, you pounce on him, nearly knocking him over. you smother his face with kisses, eliciting a chuckle from him. “i missed you too,” he kisses you slowly and softly.

yeonjun pulls you inside, protecting you from the cold january air. he takes off your coat and your hat, hanging them on the coat rack by the door. he guides you towards the living room, where he as a whole spread of your favorite snacks laid out for your movie night. he turns off the overhead light while you make your way to the couch. when yeonjun returns to you, you scooch closer to him, to the point where you are practically sitting on him with how close your bodies are. if it was even possible, he pulls you closer to him and drapes a blanket over your bodies before pressing play on the movie.

you are barely paying attention to the film. you’ve seen it a million and ten times; you could quote every line in it. and besides, you had something far more interesting to look at. your eyes are glued onto yeonjun’s face. you eye him intently, taking in every part of him – the movie flaring on the lens of his thin frame glasses; the way his nose crinkles and his brows furrow every time there is something slightly repulsive on the screen; his pink lips falling back into their resting pout afterwards.

“are you going to keep staring at me, or are you actually going to watch the movie?” yeonjun pulls you out of your trance, not even taking his eyes off the screen.

“i’ve seen it before.” you reply, offhandedly.

he finally turns to face you. “but, you picked this movie.” he sighs, reaching over for the remote control on the coffee table. he pauses the film. “we can watch something else if you—” he stops mid sentence as you climb onto his lap, straddling him. “w-what are you doing?”

“you’re so pretty, you know?” you reach up to cup his face with both your hands. your thumb brushes over the plump skin of his cheeks. “so so pretty,” you continue; it’s almost like you are in a daze.

“thank you,” yeonjun chuckles. he wraps his arms around your waist as you settle in place.

you pull his face closer to yours, so that your foreheads meet. yeonjun cautiously closes the tiny gap between the two of you as he draws in for a kiss. his fingertips softly brush against your back. you run your tongue along his bottom lip and you can taste the butter from the popcorn that he was eating earlier. yeonjun’s lips part and you slip your tongue into his mouth.

your better senses are being slowly but surely defeated as you succumb to the sweetness of the kiss. yeonjun pulls back for just a short moment to catch his breath, and you can’t help but let out a whine of displeasure. you quickly close the distance between the two of you that he had so cruelly created.

your lips meet his once more while you pull yourself tighter against him. yeonjun’s hands trail down your back, slipping underneath your t-shirt. he tightens his grip on you, his nails sinking into your skin.

if you could, your lips would be attached to yeonjun’s for the rest of your life. you find it to be some sort of cosmic injustice that you can’t live off of him because by the way you are devouring his face, he seems like the only adequate source of sustenance for you. and even sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough. no matter how much he gives you, you always want more – more love, more closeness, more yeonjun. 

you are completely and absolutely obsessed with the way he kisses you. it’s filled with passion and lust and affection and gentleness and love.

love.

so much love. the same way you are captivated by yeonjun and his taste and his touch and his presence, he too is enamored by you and you can tell by the way he holds you closer to him and caresses you softly. you can tell by the way he is the person that could ever make you feel like your body is on fire. he knows every part of your body like he was the one who designed it. he knows just what to do and where to touch to make you lose your mind.

at last, you pull away from the kiss, your lips still touching. “god, i love you.” your breath ghosts against yeonjun’s lips.

“i love you too.”

[thetireddoktor]

Shamura's Origin's

Below the cut is Shamura's beginnings, what they had before their crown and some events that lead after the crown

The Beginning, the Weavers

Shamura was once part of an ancient and revered village of weavers known as the Fate Weavers, a society dedicated to maintaining the Webs of Fate—a sacred relic passed down through generations. Through their craftsmanship, the Fate Weavers wove constellations and stars into delicate strands of webbing, reading them much like tarot cards to divine the paths of mortals and gods alike.

Shamura was the child of Naru, one of the most esteemed Fate Weavers, whose wisdom and mastery made them a guiding figure in the village. From a young age, Shamura was taught the delicate art of weaving fate, learning to trace the threads with patient hands and a keen mind. As Naru’s child, their path seemed clear: tend to the web, preserve the relic, continue the legacy.

The Old God

All was well—until their relic was noticed by an old god. A being who wanted the web for themselves.

The old god threatened Naru and Shamura, demanding that she and her people serve under them, worship them, and use the Webs of Fate in their name.

Naru? She wasn’t having it.

(Note: This is before Shamura chose to go by they/them.)

"Oh, you listen to me, you overgrown dust collector. You do not get to come into my domain, speak of my child like he’s yours to take, and expect me to nod along like some meek little thing. I don’t care if you’re older than time itself, I don’t care what power you think you hold—I will personally unravel you, thread by thread, if you so much as look at him again."

"Now, be a dear and get the hell out of my village before I decide you’d look better woven into my web."

She had chosen poorly.

The old god left

The Loss

The weavers thought they were safe, they thought they were free for the time being. But they were wrong, the Old God returned with a vengeance. Their cultists tore Shamura's home, life, and family apart.

Father? Dead. Brothers and sisters? Gone. Their mother? …She foresaw this fate, so she did the only thing she could.

She set fire to the Web of Fate and sent Shamura away—to protect them. When Shamura returned, everything was gone. Ash, rubble, death. Their mother’s charred corpse, still entangled in the remains of the web, because she had chosen to die with it.

Then, they found the crown.

Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it was the price of their suffering. But with the weight of their loss, the rage of war in their heart, they could see it. They could wield it.

They were named the Bishop of Peace.

Peace. Funny. They didn’t feel at peace. They felt hollow. Angry. Empty. And like any true teenager drowning in unchecked emotions, they let it fester. At first, building their cult was good, structured, steady. But over time, their mind warped under the weight of that festering anger, hate, and despair.

They began to whisper to their followers:

“Peace is fleeting. Hold onto it while you can… because one day, something will come to take it all from you. By the time they had their own temple, they resumed their fate weaving, just as their mother had taught them—only this time, they alone controlled the web.

As years passed, they bided their time, wove fates, and kept peace, just long enough to be useful. Once they had amassed a sizeable following (turns out, people love worshiping the concept of peace... who knew?), they began poisoning the well. They whispered darker thoughts into their followers' minds. They elevated the most ruthless among them into disciples—Focalor, Vephar, Hauras.

And while their growing army followed blindly, Shamura set their disciples to hunt.

Find the old god. The one who ruined everything.

Once they were found?

No one would stop their warpath.

Below, a sermon they would preach to their followers:

Shamura stood before the gathered faithful, draped in the heavy silence of their temple. Their gaze swept over the men and women alike who knelt before them reverently, their devotion unwavering. Fools. They inhaled deeply, exhaled slow. The weight of loss clung to them, as constant as the breath in their lungs. As constant as the memory of ash. When they spoke, their voice was calm… too calm. Beneath it, something seethed.

"Peace…" They let the word settle in the air, curling like thread between fingers. "Peace is precious, is it not? It is the warmth of the sun on weary shoulders. The feeling of home at your back. The certainty that when you wake, the world will still be yours." They tilted their head slightly, red eyes flickering in the torchlight. They let the thought hang in the air, let the people kneeling before them imagine that world, warm, safe, eternal. Let them hold onto it.

And then they shattered it.

"But peace is also fleeting."

Inhaling deeply, Shamura's many arms curled inward, fingers brushing together, tracing the shape of something no longer there. Something that had never been real, slowly they paced back and forth… One side to the other as they find their words. "I was born into peace. My mother taught me to weave it with my hands, to stitch it into the Webs of Fate, to follow the careful patterns laid by those who came before. My people believed in peace, in the balance of destiny, in the quiet hum of threads stretching across the stars. We believed it was something we could protect."

A slow, bitter smile curled at their lips. "But belief does not make something true." Their voice darkened, their fingers tightening. "One day, peace was taken."

The words were blunt. Cold. Final. Undeniable.

"I watched my home burn. I smelled the smoke rising from our sacred threads, felt the heat licking at my skin as the old god's hounds ripped through everything we had built." A pause. A breath. Their voice did not waver. "My father fell I watched from safety as he was torn apart. My brothers and sisters, gone, their threads cut before their time. And my mother…" They let the silence stretch. Let the weight of it settle over the temple like a veil of mourning "My mother did not run. She did not beg, she did not kneel, she did not let that wretched god lay claim to what was ours."

A flicker of something burned behind their gaze, something too bright, too sharp, too deep to ever be put out. "Instead, she set fire to it herself." They lifted a hand, a single finger tracing the air as if following the path of a flame. "The Webs of Fate, the work of generations, the threads that held the weight of gods and mortals alike—she burned them. She turned them to ash so that no unworthy hands could ever grasp them. She chose to die with them, rather than let him take what was never his to hold." Their jaw clenched, mandibles twitching as they swallowed back the pain. Or perhaps, the rage. "When I returned, there was nothing left. Only ruins. Only the bones of those I loved. Only my mother’s body, charred and crumbling beneath the weight of what she had given up."

Silence. Deep, aching silence.

"And in the ashes," they whispered, voice barely above breath, "I found a single thread unburnt." Their many arms flexed, fingers curling as if feeling it between them once more. "A thread that held a Crown. I should have felt peace. I should have felt purpose. I should have taken it as a sign that fate still had a place for me, that there was something left to be saved." They exhaled, slow, steady, a hand rising to gently touch the crown upon their head, its eye gazing endlessly into nothing. "But I did not." Slowly, their hand lowered, their gaze staring past their followers, at something unseen, even to them. "I felt hollow. I felt angry. I felt empty." They straightened, their many arms folding behind their back, their many eyes back on their devoted. Their voice, when it came next, was steady... too steady. "And so I tell you this: Do not mistake peace for something permanent." They let the words settle, their gaze sweeping across their followers. "It will not last. It will never last. Peace is a thread too easily severed, too easily burned. You may hold it in your hands, cherish it, weave it into your life, but one day, something will come to take it from you." Their voice did not rise, did not break. "And when that day comes," they murmured, "you will have only two choices: Let it slip through your fingers… or set fire to it yourself." A long silence. And then, a final whisper, spoken like a truth already woven into fate: "I have made my choice."

[sw33tie-faye]

vampire!reader x vampire hunter!character drabble 

 

cw: a bit suggestive, reader is a menace, not proofread, intended lowercase, vampire hunter has no name lmao

wc: 1.3k

a/n: got this idea while using c.ai, u can imagine this as any of ur favs <3

you're inside of the home of one of your most recent victims, sitting on the couch. you were relaxing, blood dripping from your mouth and hands as you finished drinking the blood of some random businessman.  

you were well-known across many villages, feared for your somewhat violent nature, but you preferred the quiet life if you were being honest. the people knew of you, but they had no idea what you looked like, which you took advantage of. 

suddenly, you hear the door open, and from it emerged a man. not your average man, though. he was a vampire hunter. and a skilled one at that. 

he looked at you with a calm expression, but there was something else behind it.

“i’ll avenge the countless innocent people you ruthlessly killed.” he said, with determination laced in his voice. 

“mm, sure you will”, you replied sarcastically. “you look quite young for a hunter”, you say, taking in his features. 

“is this your way to get me to let you-” he cut himself off mid-sentence and shook his head. he looks you up and down. “you don’t look too old yourself.” 

“looks can be deceiving.” 

he smiled, though with barely any emotion behind it. “how long have you been around?”

“hmm,” you took a while to respond. “a couple centuries, i'd say.” 

“huh, that’s much older than i anticipated..” he thought to himself. He regained his focus and asked you his next question. “how many people have you killed.” he uttered in a calm, yet cold tone. 

“eh, not many to be honest.” 

he raised an eyebrow, his expression one of surprise as that was not the answer he was expecting. “oh really?” he murmured. he then took a step closer to you, looking you in the eyes as he tried to read your expression. ”why's that?" 

“i don’t attack people unprovoked.” you responded dryly. 

he stopped right in front of you, looking down towards you as you sat on the couch. “so you only kill as self-defense?” he said, seeming interested. 

“yeah, basically,” you answered. 

“i find that quite hard to believe, i mean, why wouldn’t you attack humans?” he questions.

“well, consider the fact that i haven’t killed you yet.” you said with a blank expression 

he chuckled softly, looking somewhat amused. “that’s a fair point, i suppose.” he mumbles, mostly to himself. “but why not attack? surely it would’ve been easier for you that way.”  

“eh, i don’t really have a reason to.” you said. 

his expression changed to a confused one. he slightly narrowed his eyes, not breaking eye-contact with you. “why don’t you want to? a hungry vampire kills for blood.” 

“i usually use animals as a blood supply. and besides, if i drank blood from a human they wouldn’t die.” 

“so you don’t usually kill humans? you just feed off of us and walk off?” his surprised expression returns. 

“not really, even though human blood tastes much better.” you said. 

he raised an eyebrow and leaned closer to you. “it tastes better, yet you don’t?” 

“mhm, because i’m so nice.”  

he laughed again and softly shook his head, looking more amused. “sure you are.” he said sarcastically. he paused for a moment, before continuing to speak again. “you’re quite the interesting individual, aren’t you.” he said, now standing right in front of you. 

“i’d suggest you step back.” you warn. 

he does the complete opposite, taking another step towards you. “why should i? are you getting scared?”

“no,” you respond, “but i am still hungry.”  

“i see, hungry for what, i may ask?” he says in a teasing tone. 

“your blood? what kind of question is that?” you reply dryly. 

 

he continued to grin as he lightly grabbed your chin, tilting your head so you were looking directly at him. “you want to drink my blood, don’t y-” 

before he could finish his sentence, you latched your fangs onto his neck and sunk them in. he winced in pain and grabbed at your shoulders as you drew out blood from his neck, drinking it directly from the source. 

his grip on your shoulders tightened, but he didn’t pull away. his eyes screwed shut and he tried to stay calm, a few sounds left his lips, but he tried not to make too much noise as you drank. 

you on the other hand, were having the time of your life drinking his blood. it was succulent and sweet, more addictive than anything you’ve ever had before. 

you pulled away for a moment, and began licking and sucking at the wound you left behind, making sure that not even a drop of his blood was to go to waste. he winced again as you continued to lick and suck on his wound. 

he fell down onto the couch, still visibly in pain. 

 “that really hurt y’know..” 

 

“you taste good.” you say, ignoring his previous statement. 

 he lightly rolled his eyes. “is that the only reason you did that?” he teased. “you sure are something.” 

 

“says the one who was basically whimpering.” 

he freezes for a second. he then crossed his arms, his pain seemingly gone. “i wasn’t whimpering, i was merely grunting from the pain.” he spoke. 

 

lies, he was 100% whimpering. 

you eye the injury on his neck, courtesy of yourself, and feel yourself grow hungry again. you lean in towards him and reattach yourself onto his neck and continue drinking. A few quiet whimpers leave his mouth as you do so. 

 

“wow, you’re definitely not whimpering right now.” you say as you continue. 

“s-shut up..” he said breathlessly. 

you climbed on top of him for easier access and wrapped your legs around him, practically straddling him as you drew your fangs deeper into his neck. more whimpers escaped his lips as he instinctively grabbed your hips. 

“a-ah..! ow, ow!” he opened his mouth to speak again, but was too distracted by your current position. heat rushed to his face as his cheeks were dusted with a light blush.  

you began gently biting and sucking other parts of his neck, leaving small marks that were certain to blossom into bruises later, but that wasn’t your problem. his grip on your hips tightened as he leaned back into the couch, throwing his head back and allowing you to have more space, his breathing becoming ragged and uneven. he tried to regain his composure, but his attempts were unsuccessful as you continued. 

you pulled away from his neck again to see his face, and oh, what a sight it was. sweat was dripping down his forehead, his face was flushed, his hair disheveled. he was breathing heavily, and his eyes were practically rolling to his skull.  

what a masochist

 

after a while of admiring his disheveled state, his hand reached the back of your head and guided it back towards his neck, wordlessly asking you to continue. who were you to refuse such an offer? 

as he requested, you bit deep into the other side of his neck, lapping up the blood that escaped. You began kissing and sucking other parts of his neck and now exposed collarbone, biting down gently, not enough for it to bleed, but it would definitely leave a mark. 

soft moans escaped his lips and his grip on your hips grew tighter. he arched his back a bit and continued to let out sounds of pain and pleasure. His entire face was completely red, and he couldn’t seem to form any words, just soft, needy, whimpers and moans. 

you continued for a bit longer, and his moans only grew louder and louder. After a short while, his pretty moans came to a halt, heavy breathing replacing them. you got off of his lap, only to find a wet patch over his pants where you were once sitting. 

 

damn that was kinda hot-

[givetomurasomechapstick]

MHA Pro Heroes, Big 3, and LoV x Artist!Reader part 1

Enjoy these silly headcanons I thought up... Also, there are not enough X Artist Readers out there and it's a shame.

Twice/Jin Bubaigawara (hopefully spelled correctly)

One word, don't ask him for advice; especially if you don't want negative feedback.

"Wow! That looks really good (N/N)!" But then less than 30 seconds later: "Ew! That sucks (Y/N)!"

Happens constantly if you ask him for advice, but if you learn how to deal with it, it can be easier.

Draw a drawing or paint a painting of him? He loves it; definitely more than his words can say.

"Wow (N/N) this looks great! You know you didn't really have to-" "I knew you knew you HAD to do this! But it looks terrible!"

Never take that to offense, his second personality seriously kills him emotionally when he says stuff like that to you; at least try to understand him a little bit, it'll make him feel better.

All Might/Toshinori Yagi

Showed it to him when he was All Might? He literally looked like that gif once you showed your art to him.

"Ms/Mr/Young (L/N), you really drew/painted that?"

Wondering who your mentor is 24/7, but if your self taught-

"Wait, your telling me YOU taught YOURSELF all this?!"

Literally in awe 48/14 for the rest of his life.

Yet again, don't show your art to him when he's All Might; he'll immediately become Small Might.

Hawks/Keigo Takami

"So, when are you gonna draw/paint me (again)?"

Yeah, ever since you showed him a drawing/painting you made (him or not) he's waiting for either you to draw him again or to get a painted portrait of himself.

Secretly extremely judgemental, would never show it tho.

Hawks now 24/7: (You holds up your notebook to write down random notes) Hawks: "Of your sketching me, make sure to get my good side."

But Hawks also at the same time: "Can you teach ME to draw/paint like that?"

Somehow persuaded you to teach him; don't ask me how 🫡

Nejire-chan/Nejire Hado

You showed her your art? She is now extremely interested.

Looking over your shoulder 24/7 now.

Wanted you to teach her how to draw/paint so you can be art buddies ^^

Just took out your canvas/sketchpad? "Hey! Hey! Are you done yet? Wow, that looks really good!" You literally just started and haven't even finished the head.

Will nonchalantly complement your art every chance she gets.

But she's also once for unfiltered feedback.

"The eyes look a little too big. Maybe next time move them to here! And those ears look too small. Make them larger!"

Make her your personal assistant. She will literally help make your art ten times better and she hasn't even started being an artist yet.

Tomura Shigaraki/Tenko Shimura

Don't. Please don't show him your art he has the ultimate level of criticism.

"Why does it look so stupid like that?"

Random headcanon: he likes to make art too. More preferably sketching.

If you DID make something S tier, he'll probably just mutter "Looks nice."

Likes your art... Sometimes... But it's a secret he'll take to his grave and beyond.

You tried to draw/paint him, he is literally starstruck. But also, he's still critiquing it.

"Is that really how you think of me?"

Secretly loves it. If you gave it to him, he considered putting it in a frame on his wall. Naw. He needs to make sure it doesn't get ruined. It's locked up in a cabinet now, you'll never know where it is.

Only wished he had the courage to sketch you.

Suneater/Tamaki Amajiki

No. You just broke him. Oh great.

He thought he didn't deserve you before, but now...

"Y-you drew that...? And it's for me...?"

That is IF you decided to give him a random good piece of art you had.

Flustered mess. Feels half dead out of embarrassment and emotions. Questioning life... Again...

If you attempted to teach him, he continued to practice and tried to draw/paint you. Although the drawing/painting came out extremely good, self-consciousness took over and he decided to bail the entire decision to give it to you.

However, he hanged it up on his dorms, PRAYING no one will notice and get the wrong idea.

Mirio: (See's the painting hanged up) "Oh! Amajiki, what's this?" (Tamaki.exe has stopped working)

Even more quiet around you, making everyone suspicious.

However, he's just embarrassed he attempted to even think about making you into a piece of art when you already are one.

Mirio and Nejire got some ideas tho 😏😏😏