#Hostile Defiance

[horrorpatch]

Thrashers EXUMER To Headline North American Tour This Spring!

German thrash metal veterans EXUMER will embark on a brief headlining North American tour set for April! The band is touring in support of their last album, Hostile Defiance, which was released way back in 2019 via Metal Blade Records. Read on for all four of the tour dates below along with more details. From The Press Release Legendary multinational thrash metallers EXUMER will return to US…

[heather-chandlers-weirder-cousin]

I feel like a lot of you see kids who think 30 years is old as like, evil brats set out to make you irrelevant rather than just. kids who have a limited perspective and see thirty as impossibly far away. and it's so needlessly malicious

[meganiumgender]

Auggh

[misswynters]

𝐆𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐠𝐞

featuring. Ekko x fem!reader

wc. 15.5k

synopsis. Born from house Arvino, one of the richest and influential families of piltover. You had it all from luxurious gifts, fancy meals, a magnificent bedroom and much more. You’re parents gave you everything you asked for. However still never satisfied you. You’re mind always looked at the injustice and suffering zaun was going through. That’s when you first met ekko, the firelights’ leader. Not very happy to have a pilty messing stuff up.

trope. “enemies to lovers”

warnings. slow burn, cursing, blood, kissing 0-0, suggestive

requested. by anon

a/n. slight spoilers for arcane s2, it’s more like enemies to friends to lovers (sorry) if there’s mistakes you don’t see it! aka not proofread (read it thrice) also there’s no war in this :)

Above, the shimmering towers stood tall, their wealth and power casting long shadows. Below, Zaun suffocated in its neon haze, its people forgotten in the depths of the city’s ambition. Whereas the glow of Piltover’s lights filled the skyline. From the balcony of your family estate, the stark contrast between Piltover and Zaun was undeniable.

“You think your actions are noble, but you’re a fool,” your father’s voice thundered from the dining room. His words, sharp and unyielding, echoed through the halls as you stood silently by the doorway. “Consorting with the undercity rabble is not only dangerous, it’s treacherous.”

“They’re not rabble. They’re people,” you countered, stepping forward with clenched fists. “You act like Zaun doesn’t exist, but they’re suffering because of Piltover’s greed.”

“You don’t understand the world you live in,” your mother added, her tone softer but no less cutting. “House Arvino holds power because we uphold order. Piltover thrives because of people like us. You risk everything with your reckless defiance.”

Frustration boiled within you. “Piltover thrives at the expense of Zaun. Those people deserve better.”

Your father slammed his fist onto the table. “Enough! You are an Arvino, and you will act like one. This rebellion of yours ends now.”

His command hung in the air, suffocating and absolute. You didn’t argue further. Instead, you turned on your heel and left, the weight of their disapproval bearing down on you. You wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Zaun had become a second home to you, even if it was a dangerous one. It was there, in the grimy depths of the undercity, that you had met Ekko. The boy with paint-streaked cheeks and a fire in his eyes had been as wary of you as you had been of him. Unfortunately, you had been too blinded by your own self-righteousness to notice the fire in his eyes. You thought your mission was noble, an act of goodwill to deliver medical supplies to Zaun’s struggling districts. Your family, House Arvino, had always prided itself on maintaining a veneer of philanthropy, even when their true motivations were rooted in politics. You had accompanied a group of Piltover enforcers on the trip, believing your presence would emphasize the importance of the task. You were wrong.

The moment you stepped into the heart of Zaun, the air itself seemed hostile. The tension was palpable, the sharp smell of chemical fumes mixing with the weight of countless wary stares from Zaunites who lined the streets. Your voice was soft and unsure as you addressed the gathered crowd, holding out your hands to show the crates of supplies. You thought you were doing something good, offering some small relief to people who had been forgotten.

But the enforcers who were armed and stoic, turned the scene into something far more sinister. They barked orders at the crowd, waving their weapons to ensure no one got too close. You had tried to intervene, to tell them this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, but your voice was drowned out by the chaos they had already sown.

That was when the boy appeared, the one you heard slight rumors about. At first, you didn’t know exactly who he was, only that he seemed fearless as he stepped forward. Placing himself between the crowd and the enforcers. His voice rang out, cutting through the noise like a blade.

“Another topsider playing savior,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain. “You think you can fix Zaun with scraps from your table?”

You had never been spoken to like that before. His words, sharp and accusatory, made your cheeks burn with anger and embarrassment. You turned to him, trying to keep your composure despite the growing crowd that was watching the confrontation unfold.

“I’m not here to play savior,” you shot back, your voice steady even though your heart was racing. “I’m here to help.”

“Help?” He laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and mocking. “Your kind doesn’t help. You just come down here to feel good about yourselves, then leave us to clean up your mess.”

“I’m trying to make a difference!” you snapped, your frustration boiling over.

His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, his posture radiating defiance. “If you really wanted to make a difference, you wouldn’t bring enforcers with you like we’re criminals. You’d be standing with us, not above us.”

The words hit harder than you expected. Somewhere deep down, you knew he was right. The enforcers’ presence had turned an act of charity into a display of control, a reminder of Piltover’s dominance over Zaun. But admitting that felt like defeat, and you weren’t ready to back down.

“This isn’t about standing above anyone,” you argued. “I came here because I care. That’s more than most people from Piltover would do.”

“And that’s supposed to make you special?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Newsflash, princess, Zaun doesn’t need your pity. We need change.”

The enforcers stepped in before the argument could escalate further, pushing the crowd back and ordering you to return to the transport. You left with the weight of his words pressing heavily on your chest, his voice echoing in your mind long after you were gone.

Over the weeks that followed, you found yourself returning to Zaun despite the tension and despite him. Every time you came, he was there, watching you with that same guarded expression. It seemed like he could sense your discomfort, the guilt you carried for what Piltover had done to his home.

“Back again?” he would say, leaning casually against a wall with a smirk that made your blood boil. “Guess you didn’t get the message last time.”

“I’m not here for your approval,” you’d hiss back, your tone dry. “I’m here for the people who actually need help.”

“You think you’re helping?” he’d shoot back, his voice low and laced with frustration. “All you’re doing is putting a bandage on a bullet wound.”

His words stung, not because they were cruel, but because they forced you to confront truths you didn’t want to face. He wasn’t wrong. Everything you did felt small, insignificant compared to the scale of Zaun’s struggles. And yet, you couldn’t stop coming back.

Ekko was unlike anyone you had ever known. He was quick-witted and determined, a rebel who refused to back down in the face of injustice. But he didn’t trust you, not completely. “You’re just another Pilty trying to fix a world you don’t understand,” he had told you once, his voice filled with disdain.

“And you’re just another rebel too angry to see the bigger picture,” you had shot back. Yet despite the constant sparring, you found yourself drawn to him, to the hope buried beneath his frustration.

That hope turned to chaos one night when enforcers raided the Firelights’ hideout. It happened so fast. One moment, you were in the Firelights’ hideout, quietly listening as Ekko outlined plans for their next move against Piltover’s oppression. The next, chaos erupted.

The sound of boots echoed sharply against the metal grates of Zaun’s narrow passages. The enforcers had found the hideout. Your breath caught as the unmistakable clatter of their weapons reverberated through the space. You stood frozen, staring at Ekko as he barked orders to the Firelights around him, his voice sharp and commanding.

“You brought them here, didn’t you?” His words were like a blade, cutting through the noise. His piercing gaze locked onto you, and your stomach churned with guilt.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, but your voice was drowned out by the growing commotion. The enforcers didn’t give anyone time to explain. They swarmed in, their heavy armor gleaming under the dim light, weapons raised. You reached for the nearest object which was a dainty metal rod. And tried stand your ground. You weren’t going to let them harm anyone, not here.

Ekko was already moving, his quick reflexes guiding him as he darted through the chaos. The Firelights fought back, using their intimate knowledge of Zaun’s layout to their advantage. Smoke bombs went off, shrouding the room in thick, stinging fog. He towards you with a slight disgusted look and yelled, “You have to leave, Now!”

“I’m not leaving,” you said, your voice defiant.

“You’ll just slow us down,” he snapped, the frustration in his tone cutting deeper than he intended. “They need me. And you need to go back to your perfect little life, staying safe.”

His words stung, but before you could argue, he vanished into the fray, leaving you behind. You tried to follow, weaving through the chaos, but you weren’t quick enough. An enforcer caught you in the shadows, his grip like iron as he slammed you against the wall. “Here you are.”

However the enforcers were relentless. One of them caught sight of you, his eyes narrowing as he grinned. You swung the rod with the little strength you had left, but it was no match for their training. Pain exploded across your abdomen as he shot you. It nearly missed your stomach, however you crumpled to the ground. Gasping for the little air you could muster.

Through the haze of smoke and pain, Ekko pull something from his belt. A device crackling with vibrant green energy. “Firelights, cover your eyes!” he shouted. The device emitted a blinding flash, followed by a wave of sound that sent the enforcers reeling. Their yells of confusion filled the air as they stumbled back, disoriented and clutching their helmets.

The Firelights seized the opportunity, retreating deeper into the hideout and disappearing into secret tunnels. Ekko crouched beside you, his hands shaking as he lifted your chin. “You okay?” he asked, his voice rough but laced with concern.

Without replied to his question, you stumbled out of his grasp. Going into the streets of Zaun, clutching your side as every step sent searing pain through your body. The world around you blurred, a mix of dim lights and the shadows of the towering structures above.

He was shocked to say the least. ‘Why did you leave so abruptly?’ he questioned himself. Ekko didn’t waste a second, he truly did try to hide it. But as soon as the enforcers were gone and the Firelights were safe, he was out the door. Searching for you and he didn’t want to admit it. He knew didn’t know you as much, but he knew you were stubborn. Matter fact for the short period of time he was with you, he knew you were too stubborn to admit how badly you were hurt.

“Where the hell did you go?” he muttered under his breath, scanning the narrow alleys and dimly lit corners of Zaun. His mind raced with possibilities, each one worse than the last. You were nowhere to be found.

The beating left you crumpled on the ground, your vision blurred and your body trembling with pain. Somehow you managed to drag yourself back to Piltover, every step a battle against the agony that wrecked your body. By the time you stumbled into your family’s estate, the grand halls felt like a mockery of your suffering. Your parents returned hours later to find you collapsed in the foyer, your bruises stark against your weak skin. Their shock quickly turned to anger, though it was born of fear.

“This is what happens when you defy us,” your father said, his voice shaking with fury. “Do you see now? You can’t change the world. You can only get yourself killed.”

“I trying to help,” you murmured, your voice weak but resolute.

“They are not your people,” your mother said, her tone filled with a mix of pity and frustration. “You are our only child. We can’t lose you to some pointless crusade.” Their words lingered, but they didn’t understand. They couldn’t. The divide between Piltover and Zaun wasn’t just physical, it was ideological. You were caught between two worlds, neither one willing to accept you fully. The summons to the Council came the next morning. As you stood in the grand chamber, the weight of their judgment bore down on you. Ambessa Medarda, seated at the center, regarded you with cold disdain.

“You stand accused of undermining Piltover’s authority by associating with the undercity,” she said, her voice sharp and unyielding. “Do you deny these charges?”

“I was just trying to helping people,” you replied exhaustively, your voice steady despite the pain in your ribs.

Ambessa’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Helping? Piltover thrives because of order. And you, as an Arvino, have brought chaos to our city.”The council murmured their agreement, their disapproval a suffocating presence in the room.

“Your actions were reckless,” Ambessa continued. “And your injuries are your own doing. You clutched the knife and cut yourself on its blade, all in the name of some misguided sympathy for the undercity." Her words felt like another blow, each one landing with precision and force.

You straightened your back, though the pain flared at the effort. "I acted because the people of Zaun are ignored and oppressed. Piltover turns a blind eye while it prospers off their suffering. That's not order, it’s exploitation." The murmurs grew louder, some council members shifting uncomfortably in their seats. But Ambessa didn't waver. Her gaze bore into you, her lips curling with faint amusement.

"Such passion," she mused. "But passion without purpose is just noise. You may think yourself a savior, but all you've done is tarnish your family's name and threaten the stability of our city."

Before you could respond, the chamber doors swung open with a heavy groan, and your parents entered. Dressed in their finest, House Arvino's patriarch and matriarch carried themselves with the grace and dignity that Piltover revered. Yet the tension in their features betrayed their unease.

"Ambessa," your father began, his tone measured but firm. "My child's actions, while impulsive, stem from a place of compassion. Surely the Council can recognize that their intentions were not malicious."

"Compassion?" Ambessa's tone was mocking. "Compassion does not excuse rebellion. House Arvino has always stood for loyalty to Piltover's ideals. Is that no longer the case?"

Your mother stepped forward, her voice calm but resolute. "Our loyalty has never wavered. But to degrade my child in front of this council as if they are a common criminal is unacceptable." Ambessa's expression darkened.

"Unacceptable is your heir jeopardizing the balance we've worked so hard to maintain. Zaun is a powder keg, and actions like theirs threaten to ignite it." You bit your lip to keep from speaking. The words you wanted to hurl at her-at all of them-burned on your tongue, but your mother's warning glance silenced you.

"House Arvino will address this matter internally," your father said, his voice brooking no argument. "We will ensure that such actions are not repeated."

Ambessa leaned back in her chair, studying your parents with a calculating gaze. "See that you do. Piltover cannot afford dissent from within its own ranks." The council murmured their agreement, and the session was adjourned. As you were escorted from the chamber, the weight of the council's disdain hung heavy over you.

Back in the confines of your family's estate, the anger you had suppressed boiled over. You slammed your hands against the polished surface of your desk, the pain in your ribs flaring with the movement. "They're cowards," you spat, your voice trembling with fury. "All of them. Sitting in their gilded towers while Zaun suffers."

"Alright thats enough," your father said sharply, entering the room with your mother close behind. "You don't understand the position you've put us in. House Arvino cannot afford to be seen as weak or disloyal."

"I don't care about any of that!" you shouted, turning to face them. "Zaun doesn't have the luxury of appearances. They're dying while we live in luxury!"

Your mother's expression softened, but her voice was firm. "We understand your frustration. But your actions cannot continue. They will destroy you, and us." Their words echoed Ekko's from the night before, and the parallel struck a chord. You sank into a chair, the fight leaving you as exhaustion took its place. "I can't just stop. Not when I know what's happening down there."

Your father sighed, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Then you must find another way. A way that doesn't make enemies of those who hold power." The conversation ended there, but the fire within you didn't dim. If anything, it burned brighter. You couldn't stop. Not now.

Months have passed since your bruises had faded were a careful balancing act, though you still visited Zaun, slipping away under the guise of errands or charitable outings. But you couldn’t risk your parents catching on. To lessen their suspicions, you began inviting Ekko to your home. It was a calculated move, one that made your absences less frequent and gave the illusion that you’d abandoned your cause entirely.

Your room was a testament to Piltover’s grandeur, a lavish blend of opulence and elegance. High ceilings adorned with intricate gold detailing framed the space. The sheer curtains cascaded from tall windows, filtering moonlight across the polished marble floor. A canopy bed, draped in silken fabrics, sat at the room’s center, its pillows and blankets impossibly soft. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with volumes ranging from engineering texts to poetry. A chandelier, all crystal and gleaming light, hung overhead, casting a warm glow over every corner.

It was in this very room that Ekko sat now, hidden behind the lush velvet curtains of one of the tall windows. Your father had come to check on you earlier, his heavy footsteps unmistakable in the hallway. When he entered, you were seated at your desk, feigning focus on a mundane ledger. He lingered by the door, his gaze sweeping over the room before settling on you. “You’ve been staying home more often,” he observed.

You offered a nonchalant shrug. “I realized it was pointless to keep going there. It’s useless trying to fix what can’t be fixed.”

Your father’s face betrayed nothing, but there was a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “A wise choice,” he said simply, and without another word, he left.

The door clicked shut, and you exhaled slowly, waiting until his footsteps faded down the hall. Then, turning your head slightly, you murmured, “You can come out now.”

Ekko stepped from behind the curtains, his movements silent but confident. He was a great contrast to your room’s pristine elegance. His clothes patched and worn, his presence a reminder of the worlds you tried to somehow balance. “You’re getting good at lying,” he remarked, a teasing edge to his tone.

You rolled your eyes, motioning for him to sit on the plush chair near your desk. “I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t insist on brainstorming plans here.”

“It’s safer,” he replied, settling into the chair and pulling a small notebook from his pocket. “Besides, you’re the one with the luxury of access. If we’re going to unite the cities, we need someone who can work both sides.”

You hated how his words made your heart race. Not because of their weight but because it was Ekko saying them. Somewhere in the months of sneaking around and strategizing, you’d grown to like him in a way that went far beyond friendly admiration. You buried those feelings deep, telling yourself there was no time for distractions.

The hours passed as the two of you pored over maps, scribbled ideas, and argued over logistics. The moon rose higher in the sky, its silver light pouring through the windows and bathing your room in an ethereal glow. Ekko grew quieter as the night wore on, his usual sharp wit replaced by a pensive silence. You noticed his gaze flickering to you more often, lingering for moments too long before darting away. At first, you ignored it, chalking it up to exhaustion. But when you caught him staring for the fifth time, you couldn’t help but smirk. “Something on your mind?” you asked, leaning back in your chair.

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Just thinking.”

“About?” you questioned, leaning back against your chair.

“About how strange it is, being here,” he admitted, his voice softer than usual. “This room, this world…it feels like it shouldn’t exist. Like it’s too perfect to be real.”

“It’s not perfect,” you said quietly, your gaze dropping to the papers on your desk. “It’s a gilded cage. Nothing more.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken words. Then, slowly, he stood and crossed the room to where you sat.

“I hate to say this. But atleast i’m here…” he said hesitantly, his voice low and steady.

Something in his tone made your breath hitch. You looked up at him, and the intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. Before you could think, before you could stop yourself, you leaned in.

Ekko met you halfway, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that left you breathless. His hand found the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. It was nothing like you'd imagined. It was raw, desperate, and full of the emotions you'd both kept bottled up for too long.

He pulled you to your feet, guiding you back toward the bed without breaking the kiss. The world blurred around you, your senses overwhelmed by the warmth of his touch, the taste of his lips, the way he made you feel alive in a way you never had before.

You fell onto the bed, the soft blankets and pillows cushioning your back as he leaned over you, his weight a comforting pressure. His hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks as he kissed you again and again, each one more passionate than the last.

It wasn't until his arms braced on either side of your head that he pulled back, his chest heaving as he stared down at you. The moonlight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the softness in his eyes.

"Do you want me to keep going?" he asked, his voice hoarse. You reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek. "You might as well…" And as he leaned down to kiss you again, you knew there was no going back from this.

Golden hues of the afternoon sun spilled into your room through the tall, arched windows, painting the polished wooden floors in a mosaic of light and shadow. Outside, the tranquil sounds of Piltover carried through the crisp air. The distant hum of mechanized carriages, the faint chatter of passersby, and the melodic chirping of birds perched along the grand gardens that surrounded your home. Everything was perfect, picturesque even, but it all felt hollow.

Your bedroom was a masterpiece of luxury, a reflection of House Arvino’s status. Elegant bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound tomes you once eagerly devoured. A velvet armchair sat by the fireplace, its cushion still as pristine as the day it arrived, and your grand four-poster bed was draped in silk, untouched except for the rumpled corner where you sat. Yet, despite the warmth and beauty of the space, it felt cold.

You hadn’t touched your breakfast that morning, nor the one the day before. The silver tray your maid brought hours ago sat untouched on your writing desk, the tea long gone cold. Your appetite had vanished with him.

“Miss,” came a tentative voice from the doorway. You turned to see Anya, your maid, standing there with a concerned expression. She stepped into the room, her brow furrowed as her gaze swept over you. “You haven’t eaten again. This isn’t healthy.”

You waved her off without meeting her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” she pressed gently, her voice tinged with worry. “You’ve barely touched your meals for over a week. If this continues, I’ll have to tell your parents.”

Her words sent a jolt through you. The last thing you wanted was for your parents to get involved. They wouldn’t understand. They never did. But you knew Anya was serious. Her loyalty to you didn’t outweigh her duty to ensure your well-being.

“Alright,” you relented, forcing a weak smile. “I’ll eat later.”

Anya didn’t look convinced, but she nodded and left the room. The heavy door clicked shut behind her, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. You leaned back against the plush pillows of your bed, staring up at the intricate carvings on the ceiling. Days had turned into weeks since Ekko had kissed you in this very room. Weeks since you’d seen him, since you’d spoken to him. At first, you’d waited eagerly, expecting him to climb through your window with that same confident smirk he always wore. But as the days passed, hope turned to disappointment.

However, the first week had been agony. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the trees outside, had sent your heart racing, only for it to sink when you realized it wasn’t him. You told yourself he was busy, that Zaun demanded too much of him to spare a moment for you. But as the second week came and went, you began to question everything.

Was the kiss a mistake? Did he regret it? The thought gnawed at you, leaving you restless and irritable. Eventually, you stopped waiting. You stopped glancing at the window, stopped listening for the familiar sound of his footsteps. If he didn’t want to see you, then fine. You wouldn’t waste your time waiting for someone who clearly didn’t care.

But despite your best efforts to move on, the ache in your chest remained. It showed in the way you pushed away your meals, the way you avoided the social gatherings your parents encouraged you to attend. Your mother had noticed, of course, her sharp eyes taking in your pale complexion and listless demeanor. “Are you unwell, darling?” she’d asked one evening, her tone as polished as ever.

You’d smiled and lied, assuring her it was nothing more than fatigue. She’d accepted your answer, but her gaze lingered, skeptical.

Now, as you sat in your room, the weight of it all pressing down on you, you realized you couldn’t keep living like this. You couldn’t keep letting his absence control your life. If he didn’t care, then neither should you. But no matter how much you tried to convince yourself, the truth was undeniable. You missed him.

The days stretched on, blending into a monotony of forced smiles and empty conversations. You threw yourself into the routines of Piltover’s elite. Attending social calls, charitable luncheons, and the parties where everyone whispered behind jeweled fans about alliances and intrigue. On the surface, you seemed like yourself again. You laughed when expected, nodded politely during dull conversations, and played the part of the perfect child of House Arvino.

But beneath the carefully constructed façade, a storm brewed. No matter how hard you tried to bury it, the memory of Ekko lingered, sharper and more vivid with each passing day. His voice, his touch, the way he had kissed you. It all haunted you. It didn’t make sense, you told yourself. He was just a friend, nothing more. Yet the thought of him ignoring you, of deliberately staying away, clawed at your chest.

One night, long after the rest of your house had gone to bed, you sat by your window, staring out at the glowing lights of Piltover. The thought hit you with the force of a hammer. You know deep down that you couldn’t keep waiting. If he wouldn’t come to you, then you would go to him.

The decision wasn’t easy. It took days to build up the courage, to push aside the fear of what you might find. But when you finally made your way to Zaun, the heavy air and dim light of the undercity greeted you like an old adversary. You navigated the twisting streets, every step bringing back memories of the times you’d spent here. How he had carefully and slowly opened this world to you, how you’d fought for it together. Well atleast try to.

When you finally reached the Firelights’ hideout, you felt your stomach tighten. It looked the same as ever, but something about it felt different. You spotted him almost immediately, standing near a table strewn with maps and tools, his back to you. “Ekko,” you called out, your voice steady despite the tremor in your chest.

He turned slowly, his face unreadable. For a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes. Was it surprise, maybe even relief. Either way it didn’t matter because it was gone in an instant, replaced by an icy look. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone cold.

The words hit you harder than you expected. “I… I came to see you. It’s been weeks, and—”

“And what?” He cut you off, turning away to fiddle with something on the table. “You’ve got a life up there. What do you need me for?”

Your chest tightened, anger bubbling to the surface. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like I just forgot about you. You’re the one who stopped coming around.”

He scoffed, finally turning to face you. “Stopped coming around? You think I’ve got time to play house? I’ve got real things to deal with here, things that actually matter.”

The words stung, but you refused to back down. “And I don’t? Do you think it’s easy for me to come here, to fight for a place I don’t even belong to? I thought we were doing this together, Ekko.”

He stepped closer, his voice rising. “You don’t get it, do you? You don’t belong here. This about you. You can go back to your fancy dinners and your perfect life anytime you want, but this is my reality.”

You clenched your fists, your own voice shaking with anger. “Don’t you dare act like I haven’t sacrificed anything! Do you know what it’s like to lie to everyone you care about, to pretend you’re someone you’re not, just so you can try to make a difference?”

“Sacrifice?” he shot back, his voice dripping with disbelief. “You don’t know the first thing about sacrifice.” The air between you crackled with tension, the weight of everything left unsaid pressing down on you both. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the anger simmering in the silence.

Finally, you took a shaky breath, your voice softer but no less firm. “You don’t get to decide what I care about, Ekko. I came here because I thought you were my friend.”

He looked away, his jaw tight. “I didn’t ask for you to come.” The words were like a slap to the face, but you refused to let him see how much they hurt. “Fine,” you said, your voice cold. “If that’s how you feel, then I won’t bother you again.”

You turned on your heel, walking away before he could see the tears starting to swell in your eyes. But just as you reached the door, his voice stopped you. “Wait.”

You hesitated, your hand on the worn wood, but you didn’t turn around.

“I…” His voice faltered, the anger replaced by something softer. He inched his head as he paced around, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You looked back at him, his expression finally cracking. There was pain in his eyes, the same pain you’d been carrying for weeks.

“Then what did you mean?” you asked quietly, your voice trembling.

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just… I didn’t know what to say. After what happened, I thought it’d be easier if I stayed away. But it wasn’t.”

Your shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of you. Looking at with with complete disbelief. “Seriously! You could’ve just told me.”

He nodded, his expression filled with regret. “Yeah. I should’ve.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the weight of the argument lingering in the air. But as you looked at him, at the boy who had opened your eyes to so much, you felt the anger fade, replaced by something else. This was something you weren’t ready to admit to anyone.

A few months have passed and things were relatively calm, much hasn’t happened since then. The suffocating air of Piltover’s council chamber lingered in your mind as you strode through the bustling streets of Zaun. The conversations in those hallowed halls always left a bitter taste on your tongue. They spoke of progress and prosperity, but beneath the gilded rhetoric, it was all about control. To control of resources, people, and power. It was a game you were born into but had grown to despise.

You moved swiftly, your hood pulled low to shield your face from prying eyes. The undercity was alive with its usual chaos, but you’d long learned to navigate its labyrinthine streets without drawing attention. This was your escape, your solace. The world of House Arvino, your family’s wealth, influence, and ties to the Council. It all felt more like chains with each passing day.

The hideout was tucked deep within the shadows of Zaun, a sanctuary for the oppressed and rebellious. It had become a second home to you, a place where you could finally breathe. Ekko had been wary of you at first, rightfully so. Your name carried weight in Piltover, and trust wasn’t something he gave freely. But over time, you’d proven yourself.

Today, the air in the hideout was thick with tension. Ekko was at the center of it all, his voice calm but commanding as he gave orders to his crew. He noticed you immediately, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as you approached.

“Back again?” he asked, leaning against a makeshift table. His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, a quiet concern he rarely voiced outright.

“I can’t seem to stay away,” you replied, offering a small smile.

His lips twitched, almost forming a grin, but he shook his head instead. “You’re playing a dangerous game, y’know?”

You shrugged. “I know.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze lingering as if he was trying to decipher something. Then, with a sigh, he gestured for you to follow him to a quieter corner.

“What’s really going on?” he asked once you were alone. “You’ve been coming here more often, and I know it’s not just to check on the Firelights.”

You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of your cloak. “I… I don’t know if I can keep doing this. Pretending like everything’s fine topside when I know how much blood is on their hands. My family’s hands.”

He frowned, his usual confidence giving way to something softer. “You’re not responsible for what they do.”

“Aren’t I?” you countered, your voice rising. “I’m part of them, Ekko. Every time I go back to that house, every time I sit in those meetings, I’m complicit. I’m part of the system that’s crushing this place.”

The intensity of your words caught him off guard, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding. “Then why do you keep going back?”

“Because…” You trailed off, your throat tightening. “Because I thought I could help. That I could use my position to make a difference. But now, I’m not so sure. The Council sees Zaun as nothing more than a problem to be solved, more importantly, destroyed.”

Ekko’s jaw tightened, his anger barely contained. “They’ll never stop. Not unless we make them.”

You couldn’t stop thinking of the face ekko made when you told him what you were internally thinking. How the council thinks so poorly about zaun, how it can be something that wouldn’t be missed if it was gone. It was horrible that most of the topsiders thought the same way, had the same mindset.

You walked briskly, the streets unfamiliar under the heavy shadows of the evening. You had chosen this route for its discretion, a calculated decision that now felt dangerous in its isolation.

Your heart pounded in your chest, though you didn't want to admit why. It wasn't fear of being recognized or stopped by one of Zaun's residents. No, this was something more insidious. A seed of doubt planted by weeks of balancing on a blade's edge between two lives. House Arvino's influence was undeniable, and it had kept you shielded from true danger for so long. But here in Zaun, your family name meant less than nothing. To most, you were just another noble, another cog in the machine grinding them into dust.

Ambessa had recently cornered you in Piltover's glittering council halls, her words honeyed but laced with venom. She had offered you promises of power, privilege, and security for your family. In order to gain immunity from suspicion, all in exchange for complete submission. You'd nodded and played your role, but the encounter left you hollow. The high society life you'd once cherished now felt like a gilded cage, and her offer only tightened the bars.

Yet, her influence was terrifying. Under Ambessa's direction, the Council had started scrutinizing House Arvino with an alarming intensity. The Firelights, they claimed, had spies in Piltover. And somehow, House Arvino's connections to Zaun became their scapegoat. You were well aware of what that scrutiny meant-your family was being squeezed, maneuvered into a position where betrayal seemed the only way to survive. A betrayal by who? you thought.

As you turned a corner into an empty alley, those doubts turned into a growing unease. The silence around you felt oppressive, unnatural. You hesitated, glancing over your shoulder. That was when the first strike landed, the butt of the gun hitting your head. You staggered, gasping in pain, only to be shoved against the damp wall. A rough hand grabbed your cloak and yanked it back, revealing your face to the enforcers.

"Well, well," one sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "A little lost noble playing savior in Zaun yet again."

"Let go!" you hissed, trying to pull free. But there were too many of them, and their grips were forceful and rough.

"We know all about your little meetings with the boy," another enforcer said, driving his fist into your stomach. "Did you really think you could run around down here without consequences? Or did your family forget to teach you how the real world works?" The pain blurred your vision as you crumpled to the ground. You clawed at the dirt, trying to crawl away, but another blow landed, then another.

Laughter echoed around you as they kicked and struck without mercy. The worst part wasn't the physical pain. It was the guilt, the sickening realization that you'd been naive enough to believe there could be change. Especially from within the Council's walls. You'd hoped that by walking the line between your family and the Firelights, you could create something better. But this? This was your reward for dreaming too much.

Tears blurred your vision as you curled into yourself, trying to shield your head. "Stupid," you whispered through clenched teeth. "Stupid, stupid, stupid." You slammed your fist against your temple, desperate to drown out the pain, the voices, the failure.

The enforcers stepped back momentarily, likely to assess whether you were still conscious. But before they could strike again, a loud crackling sound filled the air. "Back off," came a familiar voice, sharp and commanding.

You barely managed to open your eyes, but the sight was unmistakable. Ekko and his hoverboard gleaming as he charged forward. Behind him, several Firelights emerged from the shadows, their makeshift weapons glowing in the dim light.

"What the-" one enforcer started, but Ekko was already upon him, a precise swing of his bat sending the man sprawling. The Firelights fought with a ferocity that sent the enforcers scattering, though Ekko's eyes never left you. He reached your side in moments, dropping to his knees. "Hey," he said, his voice softer now. "Don’t go close your eyes, stay with me now."

You tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked sob. Blood trickled from a huge gash above your brow, staining your face. Ekko pressed a hand to your shoulder to steady you, but you flinched. Your fist weakly hitting your own head again. "Stop it," he said firmly, grabbing your wrist before you could hurt yourself further. "Hey! Don't do that."

"I'm an idiot," you mumbled, your voice barely audible. "| thought... I thought they could change. That Piltover could change. But I was wrong. They'll never stop."

His expression softened, though his jaw was still tight with anger. "You're not an idiot. You're just optimistic... too hopeful for your own good."

The Firelights surrounded you, their movements tense as they prepared for more enforcers to arrive. Ekko lifted you carefully, his arm supporting your weight. "We need to move," one of his crew said.

"Yeah i know," Ekko replied, his eyes still on you. "Let's get out of here."

As he carried you to safety, the weight of your choices pressed down on you like never before. Your family would demand answers. The Council would escalate their efforts. And Ambessa? Oh, she’s gonna have a fieldday with this. She would stop at nothing to make you pay for what she'd see, see it as a betrayal to your own people. But as Ekko held you steady, his presence a grounding force amidst the chaos, you realized something else. You were no longer just caught between two worlds, you were tearing one down to build the other.

Ekko’s chambers weren’t lavish, but they were purposeful, an organized chaos that spoke of a leader always in motion. The space was tucked inside one of the largest branches of the Firelight’s sprawling treehouse hideout. The soft glow of lanterns filled the room, their light reflecting off walls adorned with maps, sketches, and scattered tools. From the small window, you could see the hideout below, a buzzing network of walkways, platforms, and people moving with quiet purpose.

The bed you lay on was makeshift but sturdy, piled with blankets and pillows that smelled faintly of Zaun’s metal-tinged air. Your body ached everywhere. Sharp, stinging pains in some places, a deep, relentless soreness in others. Slowly, you tried to sit up, wincing as the movement sent sharp jolts of pain through your ribs.

Across the room, Ekko stood at a workbench, tinkering with something that sparked faintly under his fingers. His braids were tied back, and his jacket was slung over the back of a chair, leaving him in a simple shirt that clung to his frame. When he glanced over and saw you struggling to rise, his eyes widened, and he immediately abandoned his project.

“Hey, whoa—what do you think you’re doing?” he asked, crossing the room in a heartbeat.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse as you tried to wave him off.

“You’re not fine,” he countered, his hands carefully but firmly guiding you back down onto the bed. “You’ve been out for two days, and you can barely sit up without wincing.”

“I can handle it,” you said, though your body betrayed you with another sharp wince as you tried to adjust yourself on the pillows.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Ekko replied dryly, but his voice softened as he knelt beside the bed. “Seriously. You need to rest. Let me help.”

There was a quiet moment as he adjusted the pillows behind you, moving with surprising gentleness. His hands lingered briefly, his eyes scanning your face as if double checking for signs of discomfort.

“Thanks,” you murmured, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

He shook his head, leaning back on his heels. “You don’t have to thank me. I just… You scared the hell out of me, y’know?”

You glanced away, guilt stirring in your chest. “I didn’t mean to. I just… I didn’t think it would get THAT bad.”

Ekko sat back on the floor, his arms resting on his knees as he studied you. “Why did you do it?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “When I found you, you were hitting yourself and saying all these… awful things. About yourself.”

Your breath hitched at the memory, shame washing over you. “It’s just… something I do when I’m frustrated,” you admitted, not meeting his gaze. “I was angry, at everyone and everything. Y’know, I thought I could make a difference, but I was wrong. I let everyone down.”

“Oh come on don’t say that,” Ekko said firmly, cutting you off. “You didn’t let anyone down. You’re one of the only people from Piltover who actually cares about Zaun. And yeah, maybe you were too optimistic, but that’s not a bad thing. You don’t deserve what they did to you.” His words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, he added, “It’s not safe for you to go back to Piltover.”

You frowned, meeting his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been hearing things,” Ekko said, his expression darkening. “Rumors. Ambessa’s pissed. She thinks you’ve betrayed the Council, and she’s not the kind of person to let something like that slide. Word is, she wants your head.” The weight of his words settled heavily on your chest, and you slumped back against the pillows. “So that’s it, then?” you said bitterly. “I can’t go home. I can’t go back to Piltover. What am I supposed to do now?”

Ekko leaned closer, his gaze unwavering. “You stay here,” he said simply. “With me. You’ve got people who will vouch for you for the most part. I’ll fight for you.” Something in his tone made your chest tighten, and for the first time in days, a small, hesitant smile tugged at your lips. “Thanks, Ekko. For literally everything.”

He reached out and gently squeezed your hand. “Anytime .”

, marked with red ink, highlighted the areas where House Arvino’s trade routes intersected with Zaun’s underbelly.

A grizzled Baron leaned forward, his metallic fingers tapping against the table. “House Arvino’s little noble has gone rogue,” he rasped, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “The Council’s after them, sure, but that just makes this all the more interesting for us.”

Another Baron, her voice honeyed but sharp, chimed in. “If we get our hands on them, imagine the leverage we’d have. Not just over Arvino, but the Council and even the Firelights. They’re a walking, breathing key to the chaos we’ve been craving.”

“They’re already in Zaun,” another added, her tone laced with confidence. “All we need is patience. When the time is right, we’ll make our move.” The Barons exchanged nods, their plan unspoken but clear. For now, they would wait, watching, their web of spies and informants slowly tightening around you.

From across the platform, Ekko leaned casually against a railing, watching the interaction unfold. His arms were crossed, but there was a noticeable softness in his gaze, a flicker of something close to admiration.

In the days that followed, the children of the hideout began to gravitate toward you. They tugged at your hands, peppering you with questions about Piltover and laughing at your awkward attempts to keep up with their boundless energy. You found yourself helping where you could, organizing supplies, assisting with small repairs, and even attempting to teach some of the younger ones how to read.

Though the older Firelights were slower to trust, you noticed their glances were no longer as sharp, their whispers not as harsh. You were earning your place here, bit by bit, though it was a far cry from the life you had once known. Piltover, with its grand halls and polished façades, felt like a distant memory now, one you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to cling to.

Ekko, ever watchful, seemed to take quiet satisfaction in your efforts. He didn’t say much, but his presence was definitely there. Whether he was checking on you or working alongside the others. There was a rhythm to life in the hideout, and you were beginning to find your place within it.

Unbeknownst to you, danger loomed closer than you realized. The Chem Barons’ spies were everywhere, watching, reporting back with meticulous detail. Every interaction you had, every movement you made, was noted. To them, you were a pawn in a much larger game, one that could tip the balance of power in Zaun.

“They’re softening,” one spy reported back, his voice low as he spoke into a communicator hidden beneath his cloak. “The Firelights trust them more every day. If we move now, it’ll be too obvious.”

“Let them feel safe,” came the reply, cold and calculating. “When the time is right, we’ll take them. And when we do, House Arvino will learn what happens when they meddle in Zaun’s affairs.”

It was another ordinary morning in the hideout when you decided to venture outside Ekko’s chambers. The soreness in your body was a dull ache now, manageable but constant. As you stepped onto the main platform, the sunlight filtering through the leaves felt warm on your skin, a stark contrast to the chill of Piltover’s marble halls.

You hadn’t noticed Ekko watching you until you caught his reflection in the metal plating of a nearby railing. He was perched on a ledge, his goggles pushed up onto his forehead, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You’re staring again,” you said, your tone teasing as you turned to face him fully.

Ekko smirked, hopping down from the ledge with practiced ease. “Just making sure you’re not overdoing it,” he shot back. “You’ve got a habit of biting off more than you can chew.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms despite the ache in your shoulders. “I’m fine, Ekko. I’ve been fine. You don’t have to keep hovering.”

His expression softened, but he didn’t back down. “Someone has to. If it weren’t for me, you’d probably still be lying in the street.” The reminder stung, not because it wasn’t true, but because it forced you to confront just how fragile your position had become. You looked away, scanning the hideout below where Firelights bustled about their tasks. The children’s laughter floated up, a soothing balm to the tension that threatened to settle between you and Ekko.

“I’ve been trying to help,” you murmured. “I don’t want to be a burden. It’s just that…” You trailed off, unsure of how to put the conflict in your heart into words.

Ekko stepped closer, his voice low and steady. “You’re not a burden,” he said firmly. “But you’re not invincible either. And if you keep throwing yourself into danger like this, someone’s going to take advantage of it.” His words hit harder than you cared to admit, but before you could respond, a group of children came running up, dragging you into their latest adventure A game that involved climbing ropes strung between the platforms. You gave Ekko a grateful smile, silently promising him you’d be careful, even if you weren’t entirely sure how.

That night, as the Firelights settled into the quiet hum of evening, Ekko pulled you aside. His chambers felt more like a refuge now than a room, its warmth amplified by the soft glow of firelight reflecting off polished metal and glass.

“You’ve been doing good here,” he began, leaning against his workbench. “The kids adore you, and even the older crew is starting to come around. But it’s not just about fitting in, you know?”

You tilted your head, unsure where he was going with this. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his fingers drumming against the table. “The Chem Barons,” he said finally, his tone heavy. “They’ve got their eyes on you now. Your family’s deals with them? Those don’t go unnoticed. And with the Council already hunting you, you’re stuck between two very dangerous sides.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a shroud. “So what do I do?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

Ekko stepped closer, his gaze meeting yours. “Like i said earlier, you stay here. The Firelights are your best chance now. We’ll protect you, but you’ve got to let us.”

You swallowed hard, nodding despite the fear gnawing at your resolve. “And my family?”

“Well they already made their choice,” he said, his tone softening. “Now you’ve got to make yours.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The firelight flickered, casting long shadows on the walls. Ekko’s steady presence was a comfort, a reminder that you weren’t as alone as you felt.

You have spent the last few weeks peacefully managing your new life in zaun. As for today, it was surely a day to remember. It had been long but rewarding. You’d spent most of it helping around the hideout, patching up clothes, organizing supplies, and entertaining the children with small stories and makeshift games. Their laughter had been infectious, warming a part of you that you didn’t even realize had grown cold. But now, as the sun set and the last streaks of orange faded from the sky, exhaustion crept over you like a heavy blanket.

Returning to Ekko’s chambers felt like stepping into a sanctuary. The room was quiet, the gentle hum of activity outside muffled by the thick wood and steel walls. The soft glow of a makeshift lamp illuminated the space, casting warm shadows across the worn furniture. The room smelled faintly of oil and smoke, mixed with something earthy. You didn’t even bother taking off your boots, flopping onto the bed with a sigh and burying your face in the worn but surprisingly soft blankets.

Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours. You weren’t sure. You only stirred when you heard the sound of the door opening and closing quietly. Lifting your head, you spotted Ekko standing near the entrance, his figure backlit by the dim lights outside. His jacket was off, his sleeveless shirt revealing the lean muscle of his arms. His hair was tied back tonight, though a few strands had fallen loose, framing his face in a way that made your chest tighten.

“You look dead,” he teased, though there was no humor in his voice. His eyes swept over you, his usual sharpness softened by concern.

“I feel dead,” you replied, your voice muffled by the pillow.

Ekko crossed the room in a few long strides, pulling a chair closer to sit by the bedside. “Long day?”

You nodded, not bothering to sit up. “Rewarding, though. The kids are exhausting, but in a good way. I think I’m finally starting to feel like I’m… I don’t know, contributing?”

He leaned back slightly, his arms crossing over his chest as he watched you. “You’ve done more than enough already. They’re warming up to you faster than I thought they would. Guess you’ve got a knack for making people feel safe.”

His words brought a faint smile to your lips, but your body felt too heavy to do much more than that. “Maybe. Or maybe they just like the shiny Piltover noble playing dress-up as a Firelight.”

“You’re more than that,” he said softly, almost too softly for you to hear. The weight of his gaze drew your attention. Turning your head, you found his eyes fixed on you, dark and intense in a way that made your stomach twist. There was something unspoken in his expression, something raw and magnetic.

“Ekko,” you said, his name slipping from your lips like a warning. He didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he brought himself closer to your level. The air between you grew thick, charged with an unspoken tension that neither of you seemed willing to break.

Your breath hitched as his hand moved, not to touch you, but to hover near your face, as if he wasn’t sure he had the right. “You should rest,” he said finally, though his voice was strained, as though it was the last thing he wanted to say.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice betrayed you. There was a nervous tremor there, one that you couldn’t quite suppress.

“You’re not,” he replied, his tone sharper this time, though the edge was softened by the way his hand dropped to his lap, curling into a fist. “And you shouldn’t have to keep pretending you are.”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing in your chest. He was too close, his presence overwhelming in a way that left you both yearning and terrified. For a moment, you thought he might lean in, that he might close the unbearable distance between you. And part of you wanted him to. But you couldn’t.

As if sensing your hesitation, Ekko pulled back, though his expression betrayed the conflict raging inside him. He rose from the chair abruptly, turning his back to you as he ran a hand over his face. “I need to check on something,” he said, his voice tight.

You sat up slightly, confusion and guilt warring within you. “Ekko, wait—”

“There’s food on the table,” he interrupted, not turning to face you. “You should eat. And…” He hesitated, his hand resting on the doorknob. “I left something for you. Thought you might like it.”

Before you could respond, he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him. You stared at the space he’d just vacated, the room suddenly feeling much larger and lonelier than it had before.

Rising from the bed, you made your way to the small table in the corner. A covered plate of food sat there, still warm, alongside a neatly wrapped package. Your fingers trembled as you opened it, revealing a small, intricately carved pendant in the shape of a firefly. The sight of it brought a lump to your throat. You clutched the pendant tightly, sinking back into the chair as a wave of emotions threatened to overwhelm you. Ekko had left, but his presence lingered in every corner of the room, in the care he’d shown you, in the gift he’d left behind.

You closed your eyes, the weight of the hectic day and the unresolved tension between you pressing down like a heavy blanket. But even as exhaustion pulled you under, you couldn’t shake the memory of his eyes. The way they had looked at you, filled with longing and restraint.

Hours ticked by like an endless parade of thoughts that refused to settle. You sat in Ekko’s chair, knees drawn up slightly as your elbows resting on them. cradling your head in your hands. A sigh escaped your lips, heavy and full of frustration, as your thoughts spiraled into overthinking once again. Why hadn’t he kissed you earlier?

At first, you tried to dismiss it as if it was nothing, just a fleeting moment, something that could be easily explained away by the heat of the moment. But deep down, you knew better. The way he had looked at you wasn’t casual or friendly. It was something more, something intense and unspoken.

Still, you couldn’t help but doubt. Maybe he had been teasing, the way friends sometimes did to lighten the mood. Maybe he didn’t feel the same, and you’d simply read too much into it. But then your mind wandered back to that day in your bedroom. The memory of his closeness as the tension that sparked between you like lightning in a thunderstorm.

Friends don’t act like that.

But then again, why had he ignored you for weeks after that moment? Why hadn’t he said anything or even done anything, to give you some clarity? The questions swirled in your head, each one feeding into the next, until your chest felt tight and your breathing shallow.

You let out another sigh, leaning forward until your forehead almost touched your knees. “What are you doing to me, Ekko?” you murmured to yourself, the words barely audible in the quiet room.

You glanced at the door for the hundredth time, wondering where he’d gone. What was keeping him out so late or rather so early, given the faint light of sun beginning to creep into the room. Would he even come back tonight? Or was this going to be like before, where he disappeared for days, leaving you to piece together the fragments of what you thought you understood about him?

The thought of being ignored again made your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared to admit. You leaned back in the chair, closing your eyes against the onslaught of emotions. Sleep pulled at you, but you resisted, stubbornly staying awake as if you could somehow summon him back to you. Eventually, though, your exhaustion won. Your head lolled against the back of the chair, your breathing evening out as sleep claimed you.

Ekko slipped into the room quietly, his footsteps barely making a sound against the wooden floor. The sight of you hit him like a punch to the chest. There you were, curled up in his chair, fast asleep. Your face was soft in slumber, but there was a faint crease between your brows. Almost as if even your dreams couldn’t fully erase the tension you’d been feeling. His gaze softened as he took you in, a pang of guilt threading through his chest.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Jeez…” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Carefully, he crossed the room and crouched beside you. You stirred slightly at his presence, murmuring something incoherent. Without thinking, he slid one arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you effortlessly into his strong arms.

You mumbled something again, your head lolling against his shoulder. Which caused him to freeze for a moment, waiting to see if you’d wake up. But you didn’t. He carried you to the bed and laid you down gently, pulling the blanket over you.

As he turned to step away, he felt your hand grab weakly at his shirt. “Don’t go,” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep. He froze in place, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked down at you, your eyes half-open and drowsy but locked onto his.

“You shouldn’t sleep in a chair,” you continued, your words slightly slurred. “And you… shouldn’t leave me like that.”

His breath caught. “I wasn’t going to leave,” he said softly.

You tugged at his shirt again, pulling him closer. He sank down onto the edge of the bed, his face hovering close to yours. “Why didn’t you kiss me earlier?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The question hung in the air, heavy and electrified. Ekko’s eyes widened, his cheeks flushing a deep red. “What?”

“When you had the chance,” you mumbled, your voice fading as sleep pulled at you again. “You looked like you wanted to, but you didn’t. Why?”

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. The proximity, the softness of your voice and the vulnerability in your question. It was almost too much to handle. He didn’t know how to answer. Hell, he didn’t even know if he could answer it.

“You were exhausted,” he said finally, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t think it was the right time.”

You hummed softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re so stubborn,” you whispered, your eyes drifting shut.

He exhaled shakily, his heart continued its rapid pace as he watched you fall back into sleep. For a moment, he just sat there, his gaze tracing the outline of your beautiful face. He wanted to kiss you. God, he wanted to kiss you so badly it hurt. But he wouldn’t. Not yet. Not like this.

Instead, he stood and grabbed the chair, dragging it closer to the bed. He sat down and rested his head in his hands, trying to steady his breathing, to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside him. He stayed there until the drowsiness claimed him too.

You woke to the warmth of sunlight streaming through the cracks in the wooden walls, a golden glow bathing the room. It was already late, half the day gone, by the looks of it. You woke up to the warmth of the sun shining through the cracks on the wooden walls. It bathed the room. You stretched lazily under the blanket, the aches in your body from the past few days reduced to a dull throb. Turning your head, you saw Ekko. Who was still slumped in the chair beside the bed, asleep.

Your brow furrowed as you watched him. His head rested awkwardly on one hand, his legs stretched out, his shoulders slightly hunched. How could he sleep like that? He must’ve spent the entire night sitting there just to keep an eye on you.

How can he sacrifice his comfort like this?

You studied him, taking in the faint lines of exhaustion etched into his features. He looked so tired, so worn down. Ekko carried so much on his shoulders. The Firelights, the fight for Zaun’s freedom, the safety of the kids who looked up to him. And not to mention you as well. It wasn’t fair, you thought. He gave so much of himself and rarely took a moment for his own peace.

You slid out of bed quietly, wincing at the soreness in your muscles, and approached him. Gently, you placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him awake. “Ekko,” you said softly.

He stirred slightly, his eyelids fluttering open, and then he bolted upright, instinctively swatting your hand away. His palm struck yours with more force than he intended, making you hiss at the sting.

“Shit,” he muttered, sitting up fully now, his face a mixture of alarm and regret. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you interrupted, shaking your hand out with a small wince. “It happens.”

He ran a hand over his face, sighing heavily. “I shouldn’t have—”

“You shouldn’t have spent the whole night sleeping in a chair,” you cut in, your tone playful but firm. “Are you crazy? You’ll wreck your back.”

He shrugged, his lips twitching into a faint, sheepish smile. “It’s not the first time.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” you said, crossing your arms.

He gave you a tired chuckle, leaning back in the chair. “I’ll survive. I’ve been through worse.”

But that wasn’t enough for you. Watching him now, the weariness in his eyes even as he tried to act like everything was fine. An idea sparked in your mind, one that you knew he’d hate at first. But it was for his own good.

You grinned, your excitement bubbling over as you clapped your hands together. “I have a surprise for you!”

Ekko raised an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. “A surprise?”

“Yep!” you said, bouncing on your heels, your eyes alight with mischief. “But I’m not telling you what it is. You’ll just have to trust me.”

His skepticism deepened. “That sounds like a bad idea.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, leaning down slightly to meet his gaze. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

He gave you a flat look. “I think I left it behind when I became the leader of the Firelights.”

You pouted dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “That’s tragic. Guess I’ll have to help you find it again.”

Ekko shook his head, laughing softly despite himself. “You sure are something alright”

“Yep!” you chirped, grabbing his hand and tugging him to his feet. “Now, come on.”

He resisted, planting his feet firmly. “Wait. I have things to do. The kids—”

“They’ll survive without you for a few hours,” you said, cutting him off with a pointed look. “You need this, Ekko. Trust me.” He opened his mouth to argue, but the determination in your eyes stopped him. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. But you’d better not get me killed.”

You grinned triumphantly, grabbing a scarf from the nearby table. “Oh, and one more thing.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What?”

You stepped closer, holding up the scarf. “You’re getting blindfolded.”

“Nope,” he said immediately, crossing his arms.

“Yep,” you countered, your grin widening. “It’s part of the surprise.”

“I’m not letting you blindfold me,” he said firmly.

“Aw, are you scared?” you teased, leaning in closer.

His jaw tightened, and you could tell he was trying not to rise to the bait. “I’m not scared. I just don’t like surprises.”

“Well, too bad,” you said, wrapping the scarf around his eyes before he could stop you. He grumbled under his breath, but you could see the faint hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re lucky I’m weak for you,” he muttered, his voice low and resigned. Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but you quickly brushed it off, tightening the knot of the blindfold. “You won’t regret this. Promise.”

He sighed dramatically. “I already regret it.”

You laughed, grabbing his hand and leading him toward the door. “Come on, leader of the Firelights. Let me lead you away to freedom.”

He followed reluctantly, grumbling the whole way, but you could feel the tension in his hand slowly easing as he let himself trust you. And deep down, you knew that despite his protests, he didn’t truly mind.

Ekko groaned softly as you guided him along yet another bend in the trail. The blindfold tied snugly around his head meant he couldn’t see where he was stepping, which made the journey feel even longer. His feet ached from the uneven terrain, and he couldn’t tell how far you’d dragged him from the hideout. “How much longer?” he asked, a playful but weary edge in his voice. “I’m pretty sure I’ve walked enough to circle Zaun twice by now.”

You laughed softly, your tone teasing. “Not much farther. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

He scoffed but didn’t pull away from your guiding hand. “You said that an hour ago.”

“Well, this time, I mean it!” you chirped, your excitement palpable. “And quit complaining. You’re a leader, remember? A little hike shouldn’t break you.”

Ekko grumbled under his breath but didn’t argue. He trusted you, blindfold and all. Still, his curiosity was killing him. The journey had been filled with faint sounds of nature, quite the opposite to the chaos of Zaun. The air was fresher here, the scent of greenery blending with faintly damp earth. Birds chirped somewhere above, and there was an unfamiliar stillness that made him uneasy in its serenity.

Finally, the sound of running water reached his ears. It was gentle but distinct, the rhythmic splash growing louder as you led him forward.

“Is that a waterfall?” Ekko questioned as he looked around blindfolded, listening with his ears.

“Nope,” you said cheekily, your grin audible in your tone.

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

The moment his boots scuffed against flat, smooth rock, you stopped. You squeezed his hand and stepped in front of him, your fingers brushing against the scarf as you untied the blindfold. “Okay, are you ready?” you asked, your voice playful.

“Depends,” he shot back. “Am I about to fall into a pit of snakes or something?”

You rolled your eyes. “Just hold still.” With a dramatic flourish, you pulled the blindfold away. “Ta-da!”

Ekko blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to the light. The sight before him was breathtaking. The waterfall cascaded gently down smooth stone, its waters pooling into a crystal-clear basin surrounded by moss-covered rocks. The greenery around it was lush, vibrant, and untouched, with delicate vines draping over the edges of the falls like curtains. Shafts of sunlight streamed through gaps in the canopy, casting a golden glow over the scene. It felt like another world. Like something out of a dream. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just taking it all in.

“Well?” you asked, bouncing slightly on your heels. “Do you like it?”

“It’s… something,” he admitted, his voice softer than usual. His gaze lingered on the water, the way it shimmered in the sunlight. “I didn’t know there were places like this between Piltover and Zaun.”

You smiled, feeling proud of yourself. “Told you it’d be worth it.”

He turned to look at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll give you that. But…” His expression shifted, concern creeping in. “Should I really be out here? The hideout—”

You cut him off, your tone firm but not unkind. “Ekko.”

He paused, his brow furrowing slightly.

“I’m serious,” you continued, your voice softening. “If you really feel like you need to go back, you can. I won’t stop you.” You hesitated, your hands fidgeting at your sides. “I mean… I’ll understand.”

He studied your face, noticing the way your eyes darted away as if you were trying to hide how much the thought bothered you. You were giving him a choice, but it was clear how much you didn’t want him to leave.

Ekko let out a small sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You’re really bad at hiding what you’re feeling, you know that?”

You glanced up at him, startled. “Who, me?”

“Yes you. But relax,” he said, his tone gentle. “I’ll stay.”

Your eyes lit up, and before he could say anything else, you were practically jumping in place, your joy spilling over. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small chuckle, watching you with amusement. “Don’t make me regret it.”

You grinned, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the water. “You won’t. I promise.”

For the next two hours, the two of you wandered the area, exploring the hidden beauty of the place. The tension from earlier melted away, replaced by a comfortable ease as you talked and laughed together.

Ekko, ever curious, peppered you with questions about your life topside. “So, what’s it like being a noble?” he asked, kicking a stray pebble along the path. “I’m guessing it’s all fancy parties and expensive clothes?”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Not quite. Sure, there’s all the glamour, but it’s not as fun as it sounds.”

“Oh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

You sighed, nudging a rock with the tip of your boot. “My parents had this… idea of what the perfect daughter should be. Polished, obedient, always smiling. I never really fit the mold.”

Ekko tilted his head, studying you. “Doesn’t sound like you.”

“Exactly,” you said with a wry smile. “I was always too stubborn, too opinionated. They wanted me to follow their rules, and I wanted to make my own.”

“Sounds familiar,” he said, a hint of understanding in his voice.

You glanced at him, curiosity sparking. “What about you? Ever feel like people expect too much from you?”

He let out a short laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets. “All the time. Being the leader, people look to me for answers. For direction. It’s… a lot.”

You nodded, your heart aching for him. “And yet you never take a break.”

“Someone has to keep things running,” he said simply.

You stopped walking, turning to face him. “And what happens when you burn out? What then?”

He opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, your words sinking in.

“See that’s what this is about,” you said gently. “You need to take care of yourself, too, Ekko. Not just everyone else.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he gave a small nod, the vulnerability in his expression making your chest tighten.

Soon the peace of the waterfall was shattered by the faint sound of voices approaching. Ekko froze, his head snapping toward the direction of the noise. You followed his gaze, your heart sinking as the muffled conversation grew clearer. It wasn’t just random passersby. The tone was too low and suspicious.

“Get down,” Ekko whispered urgently, grabbing your arm and pulling you toward the water.

“Ow, hey-!” you hissed back, but before you could argue, he tugged you forward.

The two of you splashed quietly into the cool water, wading toward a large rock near the waterfall’s edge. Its size provided enough cover to hide you both, but your movements felt clumsy and loud in the stillness of the moment. Every splash made your heart race, and every breath felt too loud.

You crouched low, gripping the edge of the rock as you peered out cautiously. The voices were clearer now, distinctly rough and laced with malice.

“… shipments are in place. Should be an easy job if everyone keeps quiet,” one of the men said, his voice gruff.

“Easy? You think dealing with Piltover’s dogs is ever easy?” another sneered.

“Relax. It’s all set up. By the time they realize what’s happening, we’ll already be gone,” the first man replied with a dismissive chuckle.

Your ears were ringing, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making it hard to focus. Your breathing quickened, and the world around you felt distant, the voices blending into an indistinct hum. “Hey,” Ekko spoke quietly beside you, nudging your arm. But you didn’t respond, your mind spinning.

“Hey!” he whispered again, more insistent this time. He leaned in closer, his face only inches from yours. Finally, his voice broke through the fog in your mind. You turned your head slightly, meeting his sharp gaze. Before you could say anything, his hand clamped over your mouth, silencing you.

“Don’t-” he mouthed, his tone firm but his touch surprisingly gentle. His eyes were steady, reassuring, even as they flicked toward the Chem-Barons’ direction.

You nodded, your breathing still uneven but quieter now. His hand lingered for a second longer before he slowly pulled it away, his fingers brushing against your skin. The tension between you was palpable. The closeness and adrenaline, it all made the space between you feel charged with something. You were about to whisper something when the sound of boots crunching against the rocky terrain snapped your focus back.

“Keep it moving,” one of the voices barked. “We’re wasting time.”

The group of men moved on, their voices fading into the distance. Only when the silence stretched did Ekko exhale, his shoulders finally relaxing. He peeked cautiously around the rock, ensuring they were truly gone before turning back to you.

“We’re clear,” he whispered, though his voice carried an edge of lingering tension.

You nodded, still crouched behind the rock, your limbs stiff from staying still for so long. Ekko moved toward the water’s edge and helped you climb back onto the bank. You followed his lead, water dripping from your clothes and pooling at your feet as you tried to steady your racing heart.

“Chem-Barons,” he muttered, more to himself than you. He looked toward the direction the men had gone, his expression hardening. “They’re up to something. And if they’re this close, it’s bad news.”

You wrung out your sleeves, watching him warily. “Do you think they saw us?”

“No,” he said firmly, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Still… we need to get back.”The urgency in his voice left no room for argument, and you agreed without hesitation.

The journey back to the hideout was tense. Ekko moved swiftly, his steps purposeful and his gaze darting toward every sound in the dense trees. You struggled to keep up, your thoughts spiraling as your footsteps lagged behind his.

What if the Chem-Barons had seen you? What if they followed you back? Your chest tightened as the weight of your continuous overthinking pressed down on you. You replayed the encounter in your mind, picking apart every detail. Had you been too loud? Too slow? What if something went wrong because of you?

“Keep up,” Ekko called over his shoulder, his voice low but urgent.

You blinked, realizing how far behind you’d fallen. Quickening your pace, you forced yourself to focus on his figure ahead of you, his steady movements grounding you in the moment.

When you finally reached the hideout, the familiar sounds of laughter and the hum of activity greeted you. The Firelights’ sanctuary seemed untouched, the chaos of the outside world unable to penetrate its walls. Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. Ekko headed straight for Scar, who was leaning against a rusty table, tinkering with a small device.

“Everything okay?” Ekko asked, his tone sharp.

Scar glanced up, his brow furrowing slightly. “Yeah. Quiet as usual. Why?”

Ekko hesitated, his jaw tightening as he glanced over his shoulder at you.

“Oh nothing, just checking.” he said finally, though the tension in his posture remained. Scar gave him a curious look but shrugged, returning to his work.

You lingered near the entrance, your damp clothes clinging to your skin as you scanned the area. Everything seemed normal, the kids laughing, people working on repairs, the occasional drone zipping by. But you couldn’t shake the unease that had settled in your chest.

Later that evening, you sat by yourself in one of the quieter corners of the hideout, staring blankly at the firelight lamp in front of you. Your mind was still spinning, your earlier overthinking creeping back in.

“You okay?” Ekko’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you looked up to find him standing nearby, his expression softer now.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, though the tightness in your voice betrayed you.

He frowned, stepping closer and crouching down so he was at eye level with you. “You’ve been quiet since we got back. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, unsure how to put your thoughts into words. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about what happened earlier. What if we were seen? What if they followed us? What if—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, his voice firm but kind. “Nothing happened. Everything is fine. The hideout is fine.” You nodded, but your shoulders remained tense.

Ekko sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “Worrying until you exhaust yourself i see.”

“I just can’t help it,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sat down beside you, close enough that his knee brushed against yours. “Look, I get it. It’s a lot to deal with. But we can’t let them get in our heads. That’s what they want—to make us paranoid, to make us slip up.”

You looked at him, his calm determination grounding you once more. “I just don’t want to fuck things over for the millionth time.”

“You won’t,” he said simply, his confidence in you unwavering. For a moment, the tension between you eased, and you allowed yourself to breathe.

The night stretched on, the two of you sitting in comfortable silence. When Ekko finally stood, he stretched and yawned, his usual energy dimmed by the day’s events.

“Well, I’m gonna check on a few things,” he said, though his tone lacked its usual conviction.

You joking said, raised an eyebrow. “Here you go again, always busy.”

He smirked, his usual charm peeking through. “Says the person who can’t stop worrying.” You rolled your eyes but smiled. As he walked away, you found yourself watching him, your chest tightening with admiration. You couldn’t quite name why. The hideout was quiet now, most of its inhabitants having turned in for the night. You eventually made your way to your small corner of the space, lying down on your bed and staring up at the ceiling.

But sleep didn’t come easily. Your mind kept drifting back to Ekko. The way he had looked at you by the waterfall, the way his hand had lingered on your arm when he pulled you out of the water, the way he had stayed by your side despite everything. Ekko, it’s always him. He always even if you tried to deny it, has an affect on you. You sighed, closing your eyes and willing your racing thoughts to quiet.

A wind of cool night air hit you as you slipped out of the hideout. The faint scent of distant rain mixing with the scent of metal and smoke that always lingered in the air of Zaun. Ekko had been out helping with a situation that had gotten out of hand. It had something to do with one of the Firelights getting into trouble, as usual. He hadn’t been there to protest when you quietly slipped out of the hideout, and part of you was relieved. You needed to clear your head, to have a moment of peace where you didn’t have to think about the danger you constantly felt closing in around you. It slowly suffocating you. Unbearable.

You had heard rumors, of course. Whispers and murmurs of people coming after you because of who you were, because of your connection to the topside. They had no idea who you were, only what they thought you were. You couldn’t allow them to find out. But tonight, you weren’t thinking about that. You were thinking about how to live in the moment, even if it was fleeting.

The Last Drop was not your first choice, but it was the closest. The faint buzz of people laughing, drinking, and shouting hit your ears as you stepped inside. Your heart raced slightly, but you pushed it down. You’d taken precautions, after all. The cloak you wore concealed the colors of your family, the opulence that could mark you a target from a mile away. With your hood low, you blended in with the crowd, keeping your gaze focused on the bar, where the noise was loud enough to drown out any attention.

“Drink?” the barkeep asked, raising an eyebrow at you, the flickering light of the bar casting long shadows across his face.

“Something strong,” you replied, trying to sound casual, though your nerves were anything but.

A quick, hard drink was what you needed. You knew the risks of coming here. This wasn’t the safest place in Zaun, but it was the only place that wouldn’t ask questions about who you were. The clinking of glass and the murmur of conversation surrounded you, a blend of voices that blurred into one singular buzz in your head.

You let your gaze wander as you took your first sip. The bitter warmth of the alcohol spread through your throat, giving you a momentary sense of relief, but it didn’t last. Your eyes flicked to the edges of the bar, noticing the way people moved. There was a tension in the air, something off, but you couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Your fingers tightened around the glass as the sensation of being watched crept down your spine.

Before you could dismiss the feeling, something sharp pricked your neck. You froze, the sensation like a needle pushing into your skin. A wave of dizziness hit you instantly, disorienting and deep. You jerked your hand to your neck, but there was nothing to see. No blood, no sign of injury. Just a strange, heavy heat creeping through your veins, seeping into your bloodstream, clouding your thoughts.

The world around you tilted. It was a slow shift at first, just a sense of things being slightly off, but soon it became overwhelming. The air felt thicker, the sounds louder, as though the entire bar was buzzing, vibrating against the space between you and them. Your chest tightened, and a cold sweat broke out across your skin. ‘No. No, this couldn’t be happening. Not here. Not now.

Shimmer. You realized it too late. The telltale signs were unmistakable. That feeling where your body was being pulled apart, your thoughts slowly being smothered by a fog. You clenched your teeth, trying to fight it, trying to keep yourself from losing control.

“Hey, you okay?” a voice broke through the chaos in your mind. One of the patrons had noticed, a man with wild eyes and a drink in his hand. He was staring at you with concern, but you barely registered his words.

“I’m fine,” you said, though it came out more like a growl. You stood up quickly, the motion far too fast for your brain to follow. The room spun around you, the floor swaying beneath your feet like the deck of a ship caught in a storm. Your hands shot out to steady yourself against the bar, but it felt like everything was slipping away.

The bartender moved closer, his voice urgent. “You need to sit down. You’re not looking good.”

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t let them see you like this. You tried to move toward the door, but your legs wouldn’t obey. Each step was like wading through thick tar, the world warping around you. Your vision blurred, and before you knew it, you were on the floor, struggling to push yourself up, your limbs stiff and heavy.

“Help!” someone shouted, but the word sounded distant, muffled, as if coming from underwater.

You didn’t know what was happening to you anymore. The pain in your head started to intensify. No. Don’t lose control. But it was too late. The shimmer was already twisting your mind, and it wasn’t long before the voices began. They started quiet, like whispers in the back of your head, but soon they became clear.

Someone spoke your name. Your father’s voice.

“You never lived up to my expectations, did you?” The accusation burned in your ears. “Always the disappointment.”

You wanted to scream at the voice to shut up, to make it go away, but all you could do was stand there, shaking, your hands gripping the counter as you tried to steady yourself.

“You think you can escape me? No one escapes me,” your father’s voice mocked. “No one escapes their blood.”

The voices overlapped. Shut up. You couldn’t make out the words. You only felt the anger, regret, and shame. You felt like you were drowning in it. The voices kept yelling, taunting you, until you couldn’t tell what was real anymore. You swung at the air, trying to bat them away, but there was nothing there.

Why don’t you listen? You never do what I ask, do you?

Another voice, it was your mother now, cold and distant. “You’re useless to me. Always have been.”

The pain was unbearable. Your head throbbed as you sank to your knees, clutching at your skull, your fingers digging into your scalp in a futile attempt to stop the onslaught of voices. Get out of my head!

You screamed, but it was a scream that only echoed inside your mind. Your body trembled, and you stumbled backward, falling into the chaos that surrounded you.

“Someone get them out of here!” someone shouted, but it was like the words couldn’t break through the fog that had settled over your mind. You could hear them, feel them moving around you, but they were all far away. Then, another voice. This one was different. It was familiar.

“Hey, listen to me.” Ekko. His voice, clear and strong, cut through the chaos. You tried to focus on it, on him, but it was so hard. Your mind was a warzone. You gasped for air, your hands pressed against your chest, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of the shimmer. You looked around, and for a brief moment, you thought you saw him standing there, reaching out for you, but when you blinked, he was gone.

Your vision darkened, the last remnants of the shimmer clouding everything. You couldn’t stand anymore. You collapsed against the ground, your breath ragged as the world spun out of control.

“Ekko…” you whispered, but you weren’t sure if you said it out loud or if it was just another hallucination. The voices faded as everything went black.

part two soon!

taglist: @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights @chic-beyond-the-wall-oc-acct @celineandtulips @stuckinaoaktree @fxxvz @jadziulaa @luclue @1intrustivethoughts @finnsky666 @blkmystery @serena6728 @mvistl @kaedeprinz @alientee @ametheslime @turquoizxe @emforjin

banner: @anitalenia

[ailesswhumptober]

Prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2024

As promised, we're bringing you the official prompt list of AI-less Whumptober 2024 today!

We have 31 days of excellent whump prompts, with three prompts per day to pick from, fun themes, and 10 alt prompts to play around with. We hope you enjoy! Additional info + plain text versions of the prompts can be found under the cut.

FAQ and Rules

What sort of content can I create for this event?

You can create whatever you want (fic, art, edits, etc). Any fandom is allowed, as well as OC stuff. NSFW is allowed, but please tag your content accordingly! The only thing not allowed is AI-generated content.

Do I need to make 31 things to participate?

Oh heavens no! You can make as much or as little content as you like, skip days when desired, or combine prompts (so for example, write something that covers a prompt from day 1, 2, AND 3). You don't have to do the days in order either, go wild! To be considered a 'completionist', you only have to make sure that at the end of the month, you've covered 31 prompts from 31 different days, but whether you do that in 31 works or just 1 is up to you.

What are these alts about?

If none of the three prompts of a particular day are your cup of tea, you can swap them out for an alt prompt of your choice.

What are these themes about?

Just a little bit of extra fun for the mods. Like last year, we'll be handing out various badges for people participating in the event. A full list can be found here, perhaps there is a special badge or two for people who can't be completionists but who do manage to finish every single day of a specific theme ;)

How do I tag and is there an AO3 collection?

It suffices to tag your work with #ailesswhumptober for us to see and reblog it! Please also tag nsfw, since we'll be using that tag too. Tagging the day is optional but does help the mods along.

There is an AO3 collection to add your fics to here.

That should be all. If you have any additional questions, check our pinned or hit us up in the ask box. Or join our discord maybe, whumping can be a great group activity!

---

Plain text versions of the prompts:

October 1 - Torture Tuesday

public torture/public use, stress position, “If you cry, we’ll go easy on you.”

October 2 - Whumperless Wednesday

Unfortunate fall, car accident, “Don’t move. You’ll be okay.”

October 3 - Trauma Thursday

Shared trauma, survivor’s guilt, “It’s not your fault.”

October 4 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Painful transformation, non-consensual body modifications, “You’re a monster.”

October 5 - Sensory Saturday

Overstimulation, migraines, “I can’t take this anymore.”

October 6 - Surprise Sunday

Multiple whumpees, self sacrifice, “I’m the only one who can do this.”

October 7 - Medical Monday

Field medicine, running out of supplies, “Hold on, we’re going to have to improvise.”

October 8 - Torture Tuesday

Rope burns, gagged, “You’re so much prettier this way.”

October 9 - Whumperless Wednesday

Hypothermia, heatstroke, “You look pretty pale.”

October 10 - Trauma Thursday

Self worth issues, pushing away a loved one, “You don't need to earn this.”

October 11 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Hallucinations, truth serum, “Why would you even say that?”

October 12 - Sensory Saturday

Isolation, sensory deprivation, “Can you feel me? I’m right here, whumpee.”

October 13 - Surprise Sunday

Whumpee using themself as bait, defiance, “Take me instead.”

October 14 - Medical Monday

Seizures, concussion, “See if you can follow my finger with your eyes.”

October 15 - Torture Tuesday

Waterboarding, removing body parts, “Don’t break down on me yet.”

October 16 - Whumperless Wednesday

Drowning, hostile environment, “I don’t know how anybody could survive that.”

October 17 - Trauma Thursday

Abandonment, misunderstanding, “Why did I even think you cared?”

October 18 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Mind control, possession, “Everybody will end up despising you.”

October 19 - Sensory Saturday

Disassociation, losing a sense, “I wish I could get you back.”

October 20 - Surprise Sunday

Enemy/Stranger to caretaker, accidental de-aging, “I’m absolutely not qualified for this shit.”

October 21 - Medical Monday

Drugged, ambulance ride, “This will make you feel better, okay?”

October 22 - Torture Tuesday

Forced (to kneel/watch/hurt somebody else), whipped, “Do not look away.” October 23 - Whumperless Wednesday

Fever, passing out, “Hey?! Stay with me, okay?!”

October 24 - Trauma Thursday

Deconditioning, relapse, “It’s normal that you need more time.”

October 25 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Humiliation, betrayal, “How could you?!”

October 26 - Sensory Saturday

Electrocution, burning, “This is going to sting.”

October 27 - Surprise Sunday

Before vs after, Alternate universe, “Well, there’s a first for everything.”

October 28 - Medical Monday

Internal bleeding, needles and stitches, “I didn’t think the wound was that bad…”

October 29 - Torture Tuesday

Ownership, branding, “Everybody will know that you’re mine.”

October 30 - Whumperless Wednesday

Poison, delirium, “You’re not making sense.”

October 31 - Trauma Thursday

Panic attack, facing a phobia, “You need to get out of here!”

Alt prompts:

1) Pistol whipped

2) Co-dependency

3) Animal bite

4) Zombies

5) White room torture

6) Shock collar

7) Pulling teeth

8) Kidnapping

9) “You always make everything worse!”

10) “If you weren’t around, I’d be long dead by now...”

[boccs]

I feel like tumblr should be bigger fans of The Blues Brothers. It's a movie that has everything we value as a community. Attention and respect to pioneering black musicians, open hostility to nazis, open defiance to police, Carrie Fisher with a rocket launcher and flamethrower, a soundtrack that goes hard as hell, John Belushi so blasted on cocaine that he continues to do somersaults despite having a broken ankle. It's got it all!

[hearts4hughes]

tied up - rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: master manipulator!rafe ; mentions of violence ; sexual innuendos towards the end

a/n: the second i saw rafe tied up and sweaty in this episode, i KNEW i had to write about it. this is probably the first of many writings relating to this scene.

the ship rocks gently beneath you, creaking in time with the water lapping against its sides. you step carefully, feeling the weight of the metal plate in your hands, warm against your fingertips. the scent of food mixes with the salt air, thick and lingering, though you’re sure he won’t touch it. rafe sits a few feet away, hands bound to a pipe in front of him, his head drooped forward. he doesn’t look up as you approach, but you can feel his awareness.

you pause, just out of reach, and the light catches his profile—a bruise blooming darkly his eye, his lip split and red, dried blood marking his mouth like some careless stain from when jj knocked him out. he lifts his head slowly, almost deliberately, and his gaze finds yours. his eyes are sharp, narrowed, an intense blue like broken glass in sunlight, calculating and unreadable.

the plate feels heavier in your hands, like it’s suddenly full of something fragile. you set it down, the scrape of metal on wood cutting through the silence like a match. he doesn’t move, just watches you with that unblinking look, like he’s trying to measure how much of you he could break if his hands were free. the thought chills you, but you don’t step back.

“eat,” you say, trying to sound calm, detached, but your voice feels too loud in the confined space. his mouth twitches, a hint of something that might be a smile, but it’s too cold, too hollow. you can see the strain in his shoulders, the pure anger in the way he holds himself, but underneath it—something else. a flicker of vulnerability he’s trying hard to hide.

“so, they send you down to try to convince me to eat? think it would soften me up or something?” his voice is rough as it echos through the confined room. “i already told sarah that i’m not eating until they untie me.” he says with pure defiance. his eyes bore into you as if he’s trying to study you.

you turn your head, your gaze diverting to the dusty floor. “actually, no one sent me down here. they could give a shit if you starved or not. it would be doing everyone a favor.” you avoid his eyes, afraid that your confidence would melt if you met them.

for a second, you wonder if he’s about to say something, something meant only for you, and the realization tightens in your chest like a warning.

“then, why are you here?” he asks harshly. you look up to meet his haunted eyes, a chill runs down your spine and butterflies settle in your stomach. “what happened to never wanting to see me again, huh? what happened to ‘i love you forever’ ?”

his words command a flood of memories to rush through your head. your breathing becomes heavier as you remember it all; the lingering gazes, the sweet nothings, and finally, the way the absence in his eyes as he shot sherif peterkin.

“you know what happened, rafe,” you warn, your voice cracking slightly. he smirked, almost as if he could sense your anxiety. “you know why i left you.”

rafe’s smirk deepens, twisted and bitter, and he leans forward as much as the bindings allow him. “left me?” his voice is low, mocking, but there’s something raw in it too. “come on. we both know you didn’t leave me—you never really left me.”

the words cut through you, sharper than you expect, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. he watches you, waiting for a reaction, relishing it, and maybe even needing it. his gaze is relentless, pining you there like you were the one in restraints.

you force yourself to meet his eyes, even as every instinct screams to look away, to leave the room, and to escape. “i did, though. i left you because you weren’t the man i started dating. you were this,” you gesture to his bruises, his dried blood, and his hostility shimmering in his expression; the man who seems like a stranger and yet is all too familiar.

“you’ve always been mine.” he mutters more to himself than to you. “and i’m- i’m trying to change, y/n. i’ve been trying to change.” he says sternly, almost as if it was obvious, but it wasn’t. “y-you people don’t understand that i can change. i can change just as easily as you and sarah did when you started hanging around those goddamn pogues!” he raises his voice, jolting forward, and causing you to jump back.

when he notices you flinch, his gaze softens. he take a deep breath and sits back. you swallow harshly as he shifts from 0 to 100 in mere seconds.

“i’m just trying to change for the better; for you.” his voice is soft, not like what it was before. you can hear the sadness and the desperation dripping from his mouth.

it’s a trap. it’s all a trap. you’ve known rafe long enough to sense when he’s being manipulative, and he’s at his peak right now. you don’t respond, shaking your head, and going to grab the plate of food. as you grab the mental dish, his hands clasp around your wrist. the plate drops to the floor with a clatter.

“don’t- don’t go.” he whispers softly. his eyes search your face for even an ounce of reciprocated feelings. you bite the inside of your cheek as you ponder the possibilities. “stay here with me… please.” he isn’t speaking anymore, no, he’s begging.

your guard completely falls, leaving yourself vulnerable, and raw to his manipulations. when he senses the sudden shift, it’s as if he latches onto you, stringing his webs tighter around you.

you relax your shoulders with a sigh, not saying yes, but not leaving. he smiles and his eyes fall to your plump lips. his grip tightens around your wrist, fingers wrapping around your pulse. his breath is shallow and ragged, as if he’s afraid you’ll drift away.

your pulse quickens, a silent thrum that feels too loud, too obvious. his thumb moves softly, tracing small circles against your skin, a touch that’s barely there but enough to send a rush of warmth up your arm. you could pull away, break the moment before it goes any further, but you stay still.

rafe’s eyes drop to your lips, his jaw clenching as he takes a steadying breath. he’s drawing you closer, erasing the distance you swore to keep. “you don’t have to stay,” he murmurs, but his fingers tighten, betraying his words. “but… I don’t want you to leave.”

he inches closer, his face barely a breath away as his scent fills your senses. you can feel him hesitating, struggling against something, something that holds him back as much as it pulls him forward.

thousands of thoughts, warnings, and memories flash through your mind like blinding headlights, but they quiet under the intensity of his stare. then, he leans forward, closing the final sliver of space between you. his lips press softly against yours, and as if surrendering, you begin to kiss him back. the kiss begins gentle and sweet, but quickly turns into something desperate and fiery.

his tongue teases your mouth, slipping against your bottom lip. he’s frantic, raw, almost as if he’s afraid of losing you again, like he’s trying to make up for everything that happened. your lips slot against his like a puzzle piece.

you pull away breathlessly and stare at him. he lifts his arms that are bound by rope just enough for you to slip under them, now straddling his lap. you settle on his lap, something hard presses against your ass.

he smirks, “feel what you do to me, baby? i’ve missed you so much.”

the way he stares at you then and there tells you that you’ll be his forever. that there is no escape from him, even if you allow yourself to believe so. you’ll eternally be stuck in his web as he dances around you, only adding more silk to restrain you.

“calm down and untie me.” he says with a twisted grin. “let me take care of you, sweet girl.”

[hayatheauthor]

Writing Rage: How To Make Your Characters Seem Angry

Anger is a powerful emotion that can add depth and intensity to your character's personality. If you're facing issues realistically expressing your characters' rage, here are some quick tips to help you get the ball rolling. Whether your character is seething with quiet rage or exploding in a fit of fury, these tips will help you convey their emotions vividly to your readers.

This is blog one in my writing different emotions series. Go check it out to explore more emotions!

Facial Expressions

Furrowed Brows: Describe the deep lines between their eyebrows, signaling frustration or intensity.

Tightened Jaw: Mention their clenched jaw, indicating suppressed anger or tension.

Narrowed Eyes: Highlight how their eyes narrow, showing suspicion, irritation, or anger.

Raised Upper Lip: Note the slight curl of the lip, suggesting disdain or contempt.

Flared Nostrils: Describe how their nostrils flare, indicating heightened emotions like anger or aggression.

Body Language and Gestures

Crossed Arms: Show their defensive stance, portraying resistance or defiance.

Pointing Finger: Describe them pointing accusatively, conveying aggression or assertion.

Fist Clenching: Mention their clenched fists, symbolizing anger or readiness for confrontation.

Hand Gestures: Detail specific hand movements like chopping motions, indicating frustration or emphasis.

Aggressive Posturing: Describe them leaning forward, invading personal space to intimidate or assert dominance.

Posture

Tense Shoulders: Highlight their raised or tense shoulders, indicating stress or readiness for conflict.

Upright Stance: Describe their rigid posture, showing control or a desire to appear strong.

Stiff Movements: Mention their jerky or abrupt movements, reflecting agitation or impatience.

Eye Contact

Intense Stares: Describe their intense or prolonged gaze, signaling confrontation or challenge.

Avoiding Eye Contact: Note how they avoid eye contact, suggesting discomfort or a desire to disengage.

Glaring: Mention how they glare at others, conveying hostility or disapproval.

Dialogue

Raised or strained tone with variations in pitch reflects heightened emotions.

Short, clipped sentences or abrupt pauses convey controlled anger.

Use of profanity or harsh language intensifies verbal expressions of anger.

Volume increase, from whispers to shouts, mirrors escalating anger levels.

Monotonous or sarcastic tone adds layers to angry dialogue.

Interruptions or talking over others signify impatience and frustration.

Aggressive verbal cues like "I can't believe..." or "How dare you..." express anger explicitly.

Reactions

Physical Reactions: Detail physical responses like increased heart rate, sweating, or trembling, showing emotional arousal.

Defensive Maneuvers: Describe how they react defensively if someone tries to touch or talk to them, such as stepping back or raising a hand to ward off contact.

Object Interaction

Aggressive Handling: Show them slamming objects, throwing things, or gripping items tightly, reflecting anger or aggression.

Use of Props: Mention how they use objects to emphasize their emotions, like slamming a door or clenching a pen.

Descriptive Words:

Verbs:

Roared with fury, expressing unbridled anger.

Snapped in frustration, indicating sudden irritation.

Shouted angrily, releasing pent-up emotions.

Glared fiercely, showing intense displeasure.

Slammed objects in rage, symbolizing anger's physical manifestation.

Grunted in annoyance, displaying impatience.

Raged vehemently, portraying uncontrolled anger.

Adjectives:

Furious and incensed, conveying intense anger.

Seething with rage, bubbling beneath the surface.

Livid and fuming, exhibiting visible anger.

Agitated and irritated, showing growing impatience.

Enraged and wrathful, expressing extreme anger.

Vexed and irate, indicating annoyance.

Infuriated and incandescent, highlighting explosive anger.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[neil-gaiman]

NEIL GAIMAN NEW COLLEGE ALT-GRAD SPEECH 2023

Neil Gaiman, Author and Professor of the Arts at Bard, addresses New College of Florida Students, who organized their own Alt-Graduation Ceremony in defiance of the hostile takeover of their college and attack on their Academic Freedoms. www.SaveNewCollege.org

[natsaffection]

Heyyy :) So I've been thinking - Nat and R don't really like each other, there's no hate but occasionally fights and yeah they just avoid each other most of the time... R has been out drinking alone after one of those fights bc she realized that she actually fell for Nat some time ago and just denies it? And R gets in a fight on her way home with someone, ends up pretty badly hurt but doesn't call someone instead just tries to get to her room on the compound and fix herself but instead she ends up in Nats room somehow and Nat takes care of her? + some fluffy cuddles and kisses perhaps?

Fury and Friction. | N.R

Warnings: Fighting, arguing, description of injury

Word Count: 2,4k

A/N: I hope Y/n doesn't come across as too harsh, but that makes the end more..I don’t want to spoil. 🫂

It was another exhausting day of training. The Team had gathered to improve their skills, each focused on pushing their limits. Natasha and you were paired together, much to both of your displeasure. Your sparring sessions often ended with bruises and frayed nerves.

As you circled each other, the tension in the air was palpable. Natasha's movements were fluid and precise, each step carefully calculated. You, on the other hand, were aggressive and relentless, your strikes driven by a mix of frustration and determination.

"You need to control your anger," Natasha said as she dodged a particularly fierce blow. "It makes you predictable."

"And you need to stop underestimating me." you retorted, your eyes sparkling with defiance. Her words were as sharp as her movements, each sentence a deliberate jab meant to wound. It wasn't just about the fight, it was about proving a point, about not backing down. "Maybe you'd cause fewer problems if you learned to follow orders, Y/n."

"And maybe people would actually want to work with you if you weren't such a control freak." you shot back, your frustration evident. Natasha's eyes narrowed. "I'm just trying to keep you from getting yourself killed. You need to think clearly, not just charge ahead blindly."

"Stop treating me like I don't know what I'm doing!" you snapped and Natasha's patience was wearing thin. She took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. "I want you to be careful. You're too valuable to be lost to reckless decisions."

But you weren't listening. You were convinced that Natasha saw you as a project, someone in need of constant correction. This belief only fueled your anger and made you more stubborn. The room fell silent, the others exchanging uneasy glances. They knew better than to intervene. The hostility between you and Natasha was a storm best weathered from a safe distance.

Six months ago:

The sun was setting over the ruins of Sokovia, casting long shadows across the devastated landscape. The air was thick with smoke and the echoes of distant explosions. Natasha was in the midst of coordinating the evacuation, her mind focused on the task at hand.

That's when she first met you.

You were a lone operative, sent by SHIELD to assist with the evacuation and gather intelligence. Your introduction was abrupt, almost confrontational. Natasha had seen you from afar, a solitary figure moving through the debris with near reckless determination.

"Who the hell are you?" Natasha demanded as she approached, "Agent L/N, here to help from SHIELD." Natasha's eyes narrowed. "I wasn't informed about additional operatives."

"Looks like you missed the memo.." You replied challengingly.

From that, the dynamic was tense. Natasha saw you as an impulsive rookie, someone who hadn't yet earned their place. You saw Natasha as overly cautious and controlling, a relic of an older generation out of touch with the times. Your approaches clashed immediately, setting the stage for the hostility that would follow.

Later that evening, the Team gathered in the common area for a rare moment of relaxation. Natasha, ever the social butterfly, laughed and chatted with some of the newer recruits. Her effortless charm and magnetic presence drew people in, and you noticed.

You watched from a distance, your eyes narrowing as Natasha casually flirted with a young agent. Jealousy stirred within you, a feeling unfamiliar. You tried to ignore it, but the more you watched, the harder it became.

"Everything okay?" Clint's voice broke through your thoughts, his concern evident. You forced a smile. "Yeah, just tired." Clint glanced at Natasha and then back at you, a knowing look in his eyes. "You know, she's not as bad as you think." Your smile faded. "She's insufferable."

"Or maybe you just don't see the whole picture.." Clint suggested gently before walking away, leaving you alone with your conflicting feelings.

The next mission briefing was tense again. The team was set to infiltrate another HYDRA facility, and the stakes were high. Tony outlined the plan, but it wasn't long before you and Natasha were at odds again. "This is a delicate operation," Natasha said, her tone brooking no argument. "We need to proceed with caution."

"And while we're sneaking around, HYDRA gets stronger," you snapped. "We need to hit them hard.."

"You're too reckless, Y/N." Natasha said. "You think you can solve everything with brute force."

"And you're a control freak.." your frustration boiling over. "You don't trust anyone but yourself." The room fell silent as your argument escalated. Your face was flushed with anger, your fists clenched at your sides. Natasha's eyes were cold, her jaw tightly set.

"You know nothing about trust," Natasha said quietly, but her words hit deep. "You're too busy trying to prove you're better than everyone else." Your eyes flashed with hurt and anger. "Maybe I have to because people like you will never see me as anything but a liability."

Natasha, who usually tried to stay calm, finally lost her patience. She turned directly to Tony, effectively ending the argument by shutting you out. The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the deep-seated issues between you.

Back in the cold corridors of the HYDRA base, you and Natasha moved through the shadows, your movements silent and coordinated despite the underlying tensions. You reached a large room lined with computer servers.

As you worked to disable the security systems, a HYDRA agent emerged from a hidden passage, weapon raised. The agent fired, the bullet grazing your arm. You winced, a sharp intake of breath the only sign of pain.

"You're hit!" Natasha hissed, her eyes wide with concern as she swiftly took out the agent. "It's just a graze," you said, downplaying it. "I'm fine."

Natasha grabbed your arm, examining the wound. "You need to take this seriously. You could have been killed." You pulled your arm away, glaring at Natasha. "I said I'm fine. We have a mission to complete."

Natasha's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and worry. "You need to stop pretending you're invincible. This isn't just about you." Your expression softened for a moment, but your pride wouldn't let you concede. "I know that. But I can't afford to be cautious. Not now."

Natasha's grip on your arm tightened for a moment before she let go. "Just be... careful, damnet.." she said, her voice gentler. "We can't afford to lose anyone." You nodded, a fleeting understanding passing between you. Despite your differences, there was mutual respect buried beneath the layers of conflict and stubbornness.

That night, you couldn't sleep. You tossed and turned, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. You hated how Natasha got under your skin, how she made you feel vulnerable and inadequate. But there was something else, something deeper that you didn't want to acknowledge.

As you lay in the dark, memories of your mission in Siberia came to mind. Natasha's concern when you were grazed by the bullet, the way her eyes filled with worry . Just be...careful. It stirred something in you, something you desperately tried to suppress.

You got up and paced the room, your thoughts racing. "This is ridiculous.." you muttered to yourself. But the more you denied it, the stronger the feelings became. You couldn't ignore how your heart raced whenever Natasha was near, how your anger was tinged with something unsettlingly like longing.

The next day, you found yourself in the gym, trying to burn off your frustration of last night. You were in the middle of a rigorous workout when Natasha walked in. You exchanged a tense glance, but the atmosphere had shifted, a subtle change in how you moved around each other.

Natasha watched you for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she approached cautiously. "Everything okay?" You paused, surprised by the question. "Why do you care?"

"Because despite everything, you're part of this team," Natasha said simply. "And I do care." Your eyes searched Natasha's, looking for any sign of insincerity. But all you saw was genuine concern. It confused you, made your defenses waver.

"I'm fine," you said, your voice softer than before. "Just trying to clear my head." Natasha nodded, her gaze lingering on you. "If you ever want to talk... I'm here."

It was a small gesture, but it meant a lot. In the weeks that followed, your relationship with Natasha began to improve. The sharp edges of your hostility softened, replaced by a cautious respect. You still argued, but the intensity had lessened, and there were moments of genuine camaraderie.

Natasha made an effort to give you more space and trust your instincts, while you tried to temper your impulsiveness with more strategic thinking. It wasn't perfect, but it was progress.

But the peace was short lived. One afternoon, you were in the kitchen, making a snack. Natasha entered the room, looking distracted. She opened the fridge and stared at the contents for a moment before closing it with a sigh.

"Everything okay?" you asked, trying to keep the conversation light. "Just tired." Natasha replied curtly. You could feel the tension and, against your better judgment, pushed a little further. "You seem upset. What's going on?"

Natasha's eyes flashed with an emotion you couldn't quite place. "It's nothing. Just drop it." Your frustration boiled over. "Why do you always act like everything's fine when it's not? You can talk to me, you know.."

Natasha snapped. "And why do you always have to push? Not everything has to be a confrontation, Y/N!" You were stunned, your own anger rising. "I was just trying to offer help! Maybe I push because you never let anyone in! Do you think you're the only one who feels anything?"

Natasha, recognizing the futility of the exchange, finally threw up her hands in exasperation. "You know what? Do whatever you want," she said coldly. "I'm done arguing with you. It's pointless."

With that, Natasha turned and left, leaving you standing there, angry and confused. You didn't understand why Natasha kept shutting you out, but it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

You grabbed your jacket and stormed out of the Tower, heading to a downtown bar. The neon lights and pulsing music were a stark contrast to the sterile environment of the Tower. You ordered a drink, then another, trying to drown your anger and confusion.

The bar was crowded, the air thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat. You found yourself the center of attention, a group of admirers drawn to your magnetic presence. You flirted and laughed, trying to distract yourself from thoughts of Natasha.

But the alcohol only amplified your feelings. The more you drank, the more your suppressed emotions surfaced. You couldn't stop thinking about Natasha, about your fights and the strange, confusing connection you kinda shared.

It wasn't long before one admirer decided to make a move. He grabbed your arm, his intentions clear. You yanked your arm free "Back off."

"Oh, come on, sweetheart. Just a bit of fun.." he slurred and stepping closer. You shoved him hard, sending him crashing into a table. The bar fell silent for a moment, then chaos erupted as a brawl broke out.

You ducked as a bottle flew past your head and shattered against the wall. You landed a quick punch to the man's chin, sending him to the floor. Another patron charged at you, but you dodged and used his momentum to send him into a nearby chair. The fight was quick and brutal, you held your own despite the numbers.

But you didn't escape unscathed. A punch landed on your forehead, splitting the skin, blood trickling down your face. Another kick hit your ribs, leaving you gasping in pain. Finally, the bouncers intervened, pulling you and the other fighters apart. You were escorted out of the bar, your adrenaline still pumping.

You made your way back to the Tower, your thoughts a jumbled mess. You replayed the fight in your head, the raw emotions and physical release of your pent-up frustration. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't shake thoughts of Natasha. God..

When you entered the Tower, your feet moved almost on their own, leading you through familiar corridors. Your hand hovered over your door. You tried to gather your thoughts. All the anger, the confusion, the feelings you'd been suppressing came rushing back.

Before you could open the door, it opened on its own. Natasha stood there, her expression a mix of surprise and concern. "What happened to you?" she asked, her eyes scanning the bruises and cuts from the fight. You blinked, confusion washing over you. "I... thought this was my room..“

Natasha raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Well, I see you've had a bit to drink. Come in, I can help you with that." You wanted to refuse, but the throbbing pain in your ribs and the blood dripping from your brow convinced you otherwise. You followed Natasha into the room.

Natasha led you to her bed and fetched a first aid kit from her dresser. She began cleaning your wounds with gentle hands, her touch surprisingly tender. You winced as the antiseptic stung, but you didn't pull away.

"Why did you get into a fight?" Natasha asked softly, her eyes focused on her work. You sighed, the alcohol and exhaustion making you more honest than usual. "I was angry. Frustrated. I needed to blow off steam.."

Natasha paused, her gaze meeting yours. "Was it because of our argument?" You looked away, feeling the weight of Natasha's gaze. "Partly. But it's more than that. I don't know how to handle...everything."

“I need to tell you something.” You turned to her, meeting her gaze. The vulnerability in her eyes was striking, a stark contrast to the fierce determination one had been used to seeing over the months.

“I’ve been unfair to you,” Natasha admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “I’ve been treating you like you needed constant watching, and it’s because I was.. scared. Scared that your stubbornness would get you hurt, or worse.”

You felt a lump in your throat as her words sank in. “Nat, I know I can be reckless. But I never meant to make you feel like you couldn’t trust me.”

“I just want you to be safe. I push you because I care about you, more than I’ve let on..” Her words hung in the air, heavy with emotion. You saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes and felt your own start to well up, “..And god, your stubbornne-“

Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around her in a tight embrace. Natasha’s arms encircled you, pulling you close. She held you tightly, as if afraid to let go. “I’m sorry, Y/n..” she whispered into your hair. “I’m sorry for being so hard on you. I just didn’t know how else to keep you safe.”

For a long moment, you both stayed like that, holding each other in the quiet light. The embrace was a balm to your frayed nerves, letting everything forget what has accumulated with you, "I-I care about you too, Nat..“ The room was silent. For the first time, you both allowed yourselves to be vulnerable. You looked up and into Natasha's eyes, seeing the vulnerability there, the fear and..the hope.

Without thinking, you leaned in, your lips brushing Natasha's in a tentative kiss. For a moment, Natasha froze, then she kissed you back, her hand gently cradling your cheek. The kiss was slow, filled with all the unspoken emotions you both had been holding back.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. "I'm sorry." you both said at the same time, laughing softly at the coincidence.

The mood lightened, the weight of your previous arguments lifted. You talked quietly through the night, sharing your fears and hopes, finally letting out what had been weighing on your hearts. As dawn broke, you were still curled up together, a newfound understanding and affection blossoming between you.

[goddessofvalyria]

OBSESSION | Aemond Targaryen x fem!oc

Summary: Alysanne Velaryon is Rhaenyra and Ser Harwin Strong's daughter, like her brothers she have brown hair and purple eyes. Aemond Targaryen, hate the princess calling her "bastard". He hate Alysanne so much that in fact, he's secretly obsessing over her. The beauty of princess Alysanne is un matched, she is smart and fierce, certainly not a regular princess.

TW: 18+, MINORS DNI, She/Her pronouns, the fem!oc is named Alysanne Velaryon with brown hair and purple eyes (she is Rhaenyra and Ser Harwin Strong's daughter), oral (f receiving), fingering, SMUT, sexual tension, sex, sex, sex, Aemond hating bastards but then obsessing over his niece, targcest (he is the uncle, she is the niece).

English is not my first language, be kind <3

This is my Masterlist

Words: 4285

Princess Alysanne Velaryon, the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Harwin Strong, is a striking figure in the court, with her brown hair—a notable trait from her Strong lineage—framing her face, and her vivid purple eyes—a mark of her Targaryen heritage—captivating everyone around her. She stands out not only for her unmatched beauty but also for her intelligence and fierce spirit, qualities that set her apart from the typical princess.

Despite her strength and grace, Alysanne faces constant scorn from Aemond Targaryen, who is relentless in his derision, labeling her a "bastard." His uncle outward hostility, however, masks a darker truth: Aemond is secretly obsessed with his niece. His fixation on her beauty and strength consumes him, leading to a twisted form of hatred fueled by unacknowledged desire. While Alysanne remains steadfast, refusing to let Aemond's venomous words affect her, his obsession only grows, creating a dangerous undercurrent in the court's already tense atmosphere.

The tension between Aemond Targaryen and Princess Alysanne Velaryon reaches a boiling point in the grand hall of the Red Keep. Aemond, with his one good eye gleaming with malice, sneers at Alysanne as they cross paths. His voice drips with venom as he spits out, "You truly think yourself a princess, don't you? But you're nothing more than a bastard, like your brothers. A stain on the Targaryen name."

Alysanne, with her chin held high, refuses to let the insult slide. Her purple eyes blaze with fury as she steps closer to Aemond. The court falls silent, all eyes on the two. "Say that again," she challenges, her voice low and dangerous.

Aemond, ever the provocateur, leans in, a smirk playing on his lips. "Bastard" he repeats, almost as if daring her.

Without a second thought, Alysanne's hand flies up, striking Aemond hard across the face. The sound of the slap echoes through the hall, leaving the onlookers in stunned silence. Aemond's head snaps to the side, his cheek stinging from the blow. He turns back to her, his only eye dark with a mix of rage and something deeper, something more twisted.

But Alysanne doesn't flinch. She stands her ground, her gaze unwavering as she meets Aemond's glare. "I will not be disrespected by the likes of you," she declares, her voice ringing with authority. “Pathetic cripple.”

Aemond’s hand twitches, as if he’s contemplating retaliation, but instead, he simply narrows his eye, his jaw clenched. The obsession within him simmers, a dark seed planted even deeper by her defiance. 

Alysanne, having made her point, turns on her heel and walks away, leaving Aemond standing there, both humiliated and captivated by the fierce princess who dared to strike a Targaryen.

 ˚ ༘✶ ⋆。˚

Late at night, the Red Keep is shrouded in an eerie silence, its halls dimly lit by flickering torches. Princess Alysanne Velaryon, having spent hours lost in the pages of ancient tomes, finally leaves the library with a stack of books cradled in her arms. The quiet is comforting, a stark contrast to the tense atmosphere of the court during the day. 

As she makes her way through the winding corridors, Alysanne can't shake the feeling of being watched. The hairs on the back of her neck prickle with unease, and her pace quickens instinctively. She glances over her shoulder, and that's when she sees him—Aemond Targaryen, trailing her silently through the shadows.

Alysanne’s heart pounds in her chest, fear creeping up her spine, but she refuses to let it control her. She grips the books tighter, her knuckles white, as she hurries toward the safety of her chambers. The echo of Aemond’s footsteps follows her, deliberate and slow, almost as if he's savoring her fear.

Finally, she reaches her chambers, her breath ragged as she pushes the heavy door open. She steps inside, the door creaking shut behind her. She fumbles with the lock, her hands trembling slightly, and with a relieved sigh, she finally turns the key, securing herself inside. 

But when she turns around, her relief turns to horror. Aemond is already there, standing just a few feet away from her. His presence is menacing, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the room. He leans casually against the wall, a sadistic smile curling his lips as his one good eye fixes on her.

"Did you think you could escape me, bastard?" Aemond's voice is a low murmur, dripping with a twisted satisfaction. He takes a step closer, his gaze never leaving hers. "You’re not as clever as you think."

Alysanne's fear is palpable, but she stands her ground, refusing to cower. "What do you want from me, uncle?" she demands, her voice steady despite the terror gnawing at her insides.

Aemond’s smile widens, a dangerous glint in his eye. "To remind you of your place" he whispers, his voice almost gentle, but with a darkness that sends a shiver down her spine. 

Alysanne doesn't back away, though every instinct tells her to run. "My place is not for you to decide," she retorts, her voice laced with defiance. She may be scared, but she will not be intimidated.

The tension between them is thick, the air heavy with unspoken threats and desires. Aemond's smile fades slightly as he realizes she won’t break easily. He takes one last lingering look at her before turning on his heel and leaving her chambers, the door closing softly behind him.

Alysanne is left standing alone, the fear slowly ebbing away, replaced by a resolve as strong as steel. She knows this isn’t the last time Aemond will try to frighten her, but she is determined not to let him win.

 ˚ ༘✶ ⋆。˚

Over the following days, Aemond Targaryen's obsession with his niece, Alysanne Velaryon, deepens. He watches her from the shadows, his gaze never straying far from her. Whether in the halls of the Red Keep, during meals, or even in the quiet moments she steals in the gardens, Aemond is always there, lurking just out of sight. His presence is a constant weight, pressing down on her, though he never approaches—until the fifth night.

Alysanne, seeking solace in the library once again, retreats to her usual spot among the dusty shelves. The flickering candlelight casts long, dancing shadows across the room as she immerses herself in her books, trying to lose herself in their words and escape the unsettling feeling that has haunted her for days. But tonight, she is not alone.

Aemond slips into the library silently, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The sound barely registers in the quiet of the room, but when Alysanne glances up, her heart skips a beat. There he is, his figure illuminated by the dim light, his expression unreadable. She rises from her seat, her instincts screaming at her to leave, but before she can move, Aemond strides forward and turns the key in the lock, trapping them both inside.

"Aemond, what are you doing?" Alysanne demands, trying to keep her voice steady. Her pulse races as she watches him approach, a dangerous intensity in his eyes.

"We need to talk, niece" Aemond replies, his voice calm, but with an undercurrent of something darker. He moves closer, and Alysanne takes a step back, her back brushing against the table behind her. "I'm tired of watching you from afar."

"I have nothing to say to you" Alysanne snaps, her fear giving way to anger. "Unlock the door, Aemond."

But Aemond shakes his head, his gaze locking onto hers. "No" he says firmly. "Not until you listen."

Alysanne's frustration flares. "You think you can intimidate me? I won't be bullied by you, Aemond. I am not yours to control."

Her defiance only seems to fuel him. His lips curl into a smirk as he steps even closer, his presence overwhelming. "You always were stubborn" he murmurs, his voice low and filled with a twisted admiration. "But I think we both know this isn't just about control."

Before Alysanne can respond, Aemond closes the distance between them in a single, swift movement. "Did they tell you that you are beautiful, bastard?" he take a lock of her brown hair in his hands. "You should have no rights, because you are not a true Targaryen or a true Velaryon" he teases her. "And you? You let my little brother put out your eye, you are not capable of defend youself, Aemond. Pathetic weak cripple"

"How do you called me; princess Strong?" he try to humiliate her. "Cripple" she repeats brave. "It's time that the cripple shows you, how to a bastard shall be treat"

His hand reaches out, gripping her chin, and before she can push him away, he crushes his lips against hers in a rough, possessive kiss.

Alysanne’s body tenses, her mind reeling as she struggles to comprehend what’s happening. The kiss is forceful, filled with a desperate intensity that borders on violence. She tries to push him away, her hands pressing against his chest, but Aemond's grip only tightens as he pulls her closer.

For a moment, Alysanne is overwhelmed by a whirlwind of emotions—fear, anger, and something else she can't quite place. But then, with a surge of strength, she shoves Aemond away, breaking the kiss. Her breath comes in ragged gasps as she wipes her lips.

After the kiss, Aemond grabs her neck with his left hand and turns her over with his other left hand. Her back against his chest, her forehead resting on the shelves of the library.

"Bastards..." he whispers. "They do not deserve a place at court, they should all be killed." He grabs her by the hair. "They stain the blood of the noble houses." Aemond breathes in the perfume in her hair, Alysanne's breathing is heavy. The one-eyed prince looks down on her, she does not tremble, she is not afraid. In a moment of weakness, Alysanne turns and grabs Aemond by the jacket, slamming him against the other shelf containing the books. 

"Call me a bastard one more time and I swear to the gods that I will gouge out your other eye and make you blind, Aemond Targaryen" her voice is furious, the princess pulls the dagger from the prince's belt and points it at his chest. "You understand me or maybe I should repeat myself" Aemond looks at her, seeing her so furious and with all her attentions directed towards him... in a way, it excites him.

The little bastard he has always mocked, has eyes only for him. The same princess that the Lords talk about for her priceless beauty and courage, defined as the most beautiful of all by the Red Keep has eyes only for her uncle. "Watch your words, Alysanne" he tries to take away her weapon from her hands. 

Aemond’s rough kiss catches Alysanne off guard, and for a split second, she’s frozen, her mind struggling to process the sudden, intense assault of emotions. But as his grip tightens around her, instinct kicks in, and she tries to push him away. However, Aemond is relentless.

With a determined strength, he lifts her off her feet as if she weighs nothing, and in one swift motion, he sets her down on the table behind her. The ancient wood creaks under her weight, the books she had been reading scattering to the floor as she lands. Alysanne’s heart races, a mix of fear, fury, and confusion swirling inside her.

"Aemond, uncle!" she cries out, her voice a mixture of anger and desperation. She struggles against him, her hands pressing against his chest, but Aemond's hold on her is firm, his expression one of grim determination.

He hovers over her, his breath ragged, eyes dark with a mix of emotions that she can’t fully read—obsession, anger, and something far more dangerous. "Why do you resist me?" he hisses, his voice low and intense. "You know there's more between us than just blood."

Alysanne’s purple eyes blaze with defiance as she glares up at him. "This isn’t right, Aemond" she snaps, her voice laced with fury.

Aemond's grip on her softens slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. His face inches closer to hers, his gaze locked on her eyes, searching for something—understanding, perhaps, or maybe submission. But Alysanne refuses to give in, her will as strong as ever despite the fear gripping her heart

His lips brush against hers again, this time slower, as if testing the waters, but Alysanne turns her face away, her breathing heavy with both anger and fear. "Let me go" she demands, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to remain strong.

Aemond pauses, his breath hot against her skin, and for a moment, it seems as though he might relent. But then, with a frustrated growl, he pulls back slightly, his hands still resting on either side of her on the table, caging her in.

"Why do you fight me, Alysanne?" he whispers, his voice almost pleading now, but with an edge of anger that hasn’t quite disappeared. "I see the way you look at me. I know there's something there."

Alysanne meets his gaze, her purple eyes blazing with defiance. "You don't know me at all, uncle" she retorts, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "What you see is your own twisted obsession, nothing more."

Aemond’s expression hardens, the brief vulnerability in his eyes replaced by a cold resolve. He steps back, finally releasing her, but the tension between them remains thick and suffocating. "You can tell yourself that all you want," he says quietly, his tone dangerous. "But this isn't over, Alysanne. Not by a long shot."

Alysanne Velaryon, shaken but resolute, watches as Aemond steps back from her. As she catches her breath, a new thought crosses her mind. She realizes that if she is to maintain control over this dangerous game Aemond has begun, she might need to play it his way—at least for now. 

Alysanne's expression shifts, her defiance morphing into something more calculated. She knows Aemond thrives on control, on seeing her struggle, but what if she took that satisfaction away from him? What if she turned the tables?

Slowly, she lets her lips curl into a small, almost teasing smile. "You’re right, Aemond" she says softly, her voice laced with a sultry undertone that surprises even herself. "This isn’t over. But perhaps it doesn’t have to be a battle."

Aemond, who had begun to turn away, freezes. He turns back to her, his expression wary, yet intrigued. "What are you playing at, Alysanne?" he asks, his voice suspicious but laced with curiosity.

Alysanne slides off the table, her movements graceful and deliberate. She takes a step closer to him, her eyes locked onto his. "Maybe you’ve been looking at this all wrong," she murmurs, her voice a soft purr. "You think you know me, think you can break me—but what if I’ve been playing you all along?"

Aemond’s eye narrows as he studies her, trying to gauge whether she’s bluffing or if there’s truth in her words. Alysanne can see the doubt flicker in his gaze, but she presses on, leaning in slightly, just enough to unsettle him.

"You’ve been watching me for days, haven’t you?" she continues, her tone now almost mocking. "Obsessing over what you can’t have. But did you ever stop to wonder if I was letting you watch? If I wanted you to?" 

Aemond’s jaw tightens, and Alysanne knows she’s hit a nerve. The power dynamic between them shifts subtly as she sees the uncertainty in his eyes.

She moves even closer, until they’re almost touching, her breath warm against his skin. "Perhaps I’ve been playing with you, letting you think you had the upper hand," she whispers, her voice dripping with provocation. "But what if it’s you who’s been caught in my web, Aemond? What if you’re the one who’s been ensnared by me?"

Aemond’s gaze darkens, a mix of anger, desire, and confusion swirling within him. He’s torn between wanting to assert his dominance and the unsettling realization that Alysanne might be more cunning than he gave her credit for.

"You think you can play with me?" he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "You think I’m some pawn in your little game?"

Alysanne shrugs lightly, her smile never wavering. "Maybe I am. Or maybe we’re both pawns in a game neither of us fully understands. But isn’t that what makes it interesting?"

She watches as Aemond’s anger simmers beneath the surface, but she can also see the effect her words are having on him. His obsession with her is undeniable, and now she’s made him question everything. It’s a dangerous gamble, but one she’s willing to take.

Aemond steps closer, his face inches from hers, and for a moment, the tension between them crackles with electricity. "You’re playing with fire, Alysanne" he warns, his voice a rough whisper. "And you might just get burned."

Alysanne tilts her head slightly, her eyes sparkling with defiance. "Perhaps. But aren’t you curious to see how it plays out?"

For a long moment, they stand there, locked in a battle of wills, neither willing to back down. Then, without warning, Aemond captures her lips in another rough, passionate kiss, but this time Alysanne doesn’t resist. Instead, she responds with equal fervor, her hands gripping his tunic as she pulls him closer.

The kiss is fierce, filled with the heat of their mutual defiance and the undercurrents of a twisted desire neither of them fully understands. Alysanne knows she’s walking a dangerous line, but she’s determined to show Aemond that she won’t be intimidated, that she can play this game just as well as he can.

When they finally break apart, both of them are breathless, their faces flushed with a mix of anger and something more primal. Alysanne’s smile is still there, though now it’s edged with a challenge.

"You see, Aemond" she says softly, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart. "You’re not the only one who knows how to play the game."

Aemond stares at her, his expression unreadable, but Alysanne can see the conflict in his eyes. He’s captivated by her, even if he won’t admit it. And for the first time, Alysanne feels a sliver of control in their twisted, dangerous dance.

Aemond looks at her, kisses her again ferociously, Alysanne kisses him back and the prince grabs the laces of her dress on the back, begins to undress her voraciously and she reciprocates with the same ferocity. He throws the dress to the floor, leaving her in her slip dress. In his eyes the princess is beautiful, her body is like a magnet. Alysanne looks at him pleased, brings her hands to his chest unbuttoning his jacket.

"Uncle, if you wanted to fuck me you had only to ask" she replies resolutely. "I am here, your favorite bastard" she provokes him, his jacket falls to the floor and Alysanne bites her lower lip when her uncle takes off his shirt. He has a hard, toned chest, well-defined muscles and his v-line falls markedly to the edge of his trousers. His arms are muscular, his skin smooth.

"Because I really want to get fucked by you, uncle" she teases him, her hands go down her slip dress and she is naked and exposed to him.

Sitting on the table, her body framed by her long brown hair. "Mh?" she looks at him, grabs him by the waistband of his pants, unrestrained by Aemond's masculinity, and pulls him closer. "Now I understand your obsession with me, uncle"

Alysanne slips a hand into his pants, caresses his hard, ready cock. "Do you hate bastards, or do they turn you on, uncle?" she teases him, but Aemond grabs her by the neck and makes her lie down on the table. "I'm just showing you how your kind should be treated, niece."

Alysanne leans in to kiss him and at the same time, Aemond slides two fingers between her thighs, invading her. "Uncle" she whispers, gripping the table with her hands. "Oh Gods!" she moans as she feels Aemond's fingers push inside her, deeper and deeper into her moist, wet folds. "I won't give you what you want, you'll have to suffer for it" he teases, circling her clit with his thumb and moving it slowly.

She's so hot, wet, tight. He wants to cum inside her, but she won't let him win. Aemond kneels in front of the table, spreads her legs and casually slides his tongue inside her and grabs her hips to hold you down. Alysane's body moves almost automatically, as if you're no longer in control. Aemond knew it wouldn't last long, she was so sensitive and he was sure his dear niece was fighting against reason and pleasure, feeling balanced between them. The princess moans her uncle's name, his hands threading through her hair and just when she's about to come, Aemond stands up leaving her unsatisfied and denying her orgasm.

Standing in front of her, pathetically aroused, he kisses her on the lips once more. "Your taste is divine, bastard" he taunts her, Alysanne grabs him with her legs pulling him closer. Aemond pulls down his pants, grabs his cock by the base, letting his tip rub against her folds. "You're pathetic, niece" he whispers smearing his precum on her womanhood. "You want to be fucked without any morals" he continues, she's so aroused that she's dripping from her folds, she just wants to have her uncle inside her.

"It's the first time" she whispers almost vulnerable. “I didn’t think we’d go this far, uncle” she continues, looking up at him. Aemond smiles devilishly. “You’re ready” he reassures her. “But you should see how fucking wet you are for me, for your prince” a smirk forms on his face. “Uncle,” Alysanne whispers, feeling his length rub against her clit. “Ruin ​​me” she orders, Aemond slides in, letting out a loud moan as he does so, slowly burying his cock inside her, until he can feel your cervix with his tip.

Alysanne moans, the pleasure slowly consuming her and he’s so fucking big and invasive. Aemond buried inside her can’t hold back any longer and starts to push into her, he looks down at where they join and sees his shaft stained with her blood. He feels victorious, he’s managed to silence her. Alysanne moans and squeezes her breast with her hand, Aemond lowers himself on her and while he continues to fuck her he takes her nipple between his lips. They both don't give a damn if anyone hears them, in fact Alysanne herself is excited just thinking about it. The sounds of their moans and their skin rubbing together break her into a thousand pieces. Aemond pushes inside her fiercely, he hears her panting and calling his name. He grabs her waist as if to hold her still, the few books and scrolls on the table fall to the floor and Alysanne feels close to her first orgasm.

"Uncle" she moans, Aemond feels her tighten around his cock, her legs are shaking, her body is sweaty. Alysanne looks at him, both lost in pleasure, Aemond finds himself giving her the last thrusts. They come together, Alysanne explodes around him, Aemond fills her with his seed, making it drip out of her folds.

"Niece, my little bastard" he whispers kissing her on the lips, the princess responds to the kiss and with her leg holds him still inside her. "I think I like you uncle" she says provocatively. "Or rather, the way you fuck me" Aemond still inside her, lying on her body he feels at peace.

"Uncle" she murmurs calling him.

"If I were promised to you, would you marry me?" the princess asks. "I want you to answer" she orders. Aemond's thoughts are confused: she is a bastard, she has Strong blood in her veins... and yet that body has driven him mad. "Why do you ask me, niece?" Aemond asks. "I heard my mother talking to the king about it" Alysanne replies. "I think she'll make it official tomorrow," she whispers again.

Aemond pulls away from her and she groans, feeling empty. "Start getting used to me" he warns her, taking her hands and helping her sit on the table. "It looks like you're going to be my wife, my dear niece" a smirk spreads across his face.

Aemond, in Alysanne's eyes... is truly a singular man and that's what makes him beautiful. "I'm sorry I called you a cripple," he whispers. "You'll have a reason to apologize, my niece," he moves closer to her, placing himself between her legs.

"We've fucked and you're surely pregnant" he whispers against her lips. "You'll give me a son or a daughter" he continues, starting the kiss. "And you'll fuck me and give me more," she opens her lips, deepening the kiss and matching his freaks.

"I think I want to marry you, uncle," she teases. "I think you have no choice, niece." Aemond grabs her by the neck gently.

"Truce?" Alysanne whispers in a question. "Truce" Aemond answer.

"I saw your game, uncle" she whispers. "And I think I've won," she murmurs against his lips.

"Your obsession has consumed you and now... look at you: completely obsessed by me and my body, Gods, how pathetic you are..." she smirks. "Look at us."

Around them, the table and the floor beneath were such a mess.

"I provoked you to do exactly that, uncle," she murmurs coaxingly. "You are the only one who would go this far for me" she wraps her arms around his neck.

"And now you are mine" she smiles against his lips, kissing him possessively.

Aemond kisses her back, gripping her thighs and sliding into her once more.

The princess is his.

[eu-nicola]

sand

summary: Rafe got a new haircut and that catches your attention

warnings: nothing just tension

word counter: 2526

author's note: english is not my first language

The beach sparkled under the moonlight, the sand vibrating with music that seemed to envelop everyone in a carefree trance. The atmosphere was peculiarly relaxed for what used to be a mix of Kooks and Pogues. The lines usually marked by hostility and differences seemed to blur that night, at least on the surface. 

Bonfires were scattered along the beach, illuminating familiar and not-so-familiar faces. You were there, as always, in the center of things, not because you wanted to draw attention to yourself, but because your energy magnetized those around you. With a bottle of beer in hand, you moved to the beat of the music, your bare feet sinking slightly into the cold sand as you laughed and joked with your friends. 

The Kooks weren't far away, with their haughty laughter and conversations. Normally, you either ignored them or provoked them, depending on your mood. You were known for your explosive character, especially when you were around them. And if there was someone who brought out the worst in you, it was Rafe Cameron.

There was something about him that had always irritated you. Maybe it was his air of superiority, or how he seemed to always be looking for an excuse to belittle you or yours. You were no slouch either; if there was an opportunity to throw him a snide comment or a challenging look, you didn't let it pass you by.

But that night, something was different.

As you moved through the group, your eyes caught him in the distance, next to his friends. For a second, you didn't even realize it was him. Something had changed in his appearance. His normally disheveled hair had almost completely disappeared. He now sported a buzz cut that highlighted his cheekbones and jaw, making his blue eyes look even more intense under the glow of the fire.

You forced yourself to look away, but not without feeling that strange, uncomfortable heat spreading from your chest to your stomach. What the hell was happening to you? There was no way you could be reacting that way to something as trivial as a haircut. You shook your head, trying to dispel the thought.

“Everything okay?” Kiara asked, raising an eyebrow as she handed you another beer.

“Perfectly,” you replied, taking a long drink. You weren’t ready to admit what had just happened, not even to yourself.

Your eyes seemed to have a life of their own though, because despite your efforts, they kept searching for Rafe in the crowd. You saw him laugh at something Topper had said, his usual cocky grin. For some reason, it didn’t seem as irritating this time.

On an impulsive move, you decided to walk over to the nearest bonfire, where the Kooks were gathered. You weren’t going to talk to them directly, of course, but you wanted to prove to yourself that it didn’t affect you. You continued dancing, feeling the music run through your body, ignoring the curious glances of the others.

“Wow, John B’s younger sister mixing it up with the big boys? What a novelty.” The voice was unmistakable, loaded with sarcasm and defiance. You turned slowly, meeting Rafe’s eyes. He was sitting on one of the beach chairs, a bottle in his hand and that damn smirk on his lips.

“And you? Did they let you out of your golden throne for a night?” you answered without missing a beat, raising an eyebrow.

His friends let out a few stifled laughs, but he didn’t seem fazed. Instead, he stood up, taking a couple steps closer to you. The fire illuminated the contours of his face, making him look almost unreal.

“Like what you see?” he asked, pointing to his head with a nonchalant gesture.

Your mouth dropped open slightly, but you quickly regained your composure. “You look less like an asshole. That’s all.”

He laughed, a low, gravelly laugh that made your nerves tense. “Always with something nice to say, right?”

“Someone has to. Don’t expect your friends to tell you the truth.”

The exchange was quick, sharp as always, but this time there was something different in the air. There was tension, yes, but it wasn’t the usual hostility. There was something else, something you couldn’t or didn’t want to name.

You walked away from him, heading back to your friends, but you could feel his gaze fixed on your back. Trying to ignore it was futile. Every time you turned around, he was there, watching you with an intensity that made your heart pound.

That night, under the lights of the fire and the beat of the music, something had changed between you. You didn’t know what it was, or if you were ready to face it. But one thing was certain: Rafe Cameron had found a way to occupy your thoughts.

And with each drink you took, you felt the warmth of the alcohol begin to soften the edges of your usual bad mood, replacing it with a strange lightness. The salty air, the music, and the laughter around you seemed to envelop everything in an unreal bubble, as if the entire world was moving in slow motion. You tried to focus on your friends, on the conversation, on anything but those blue eyes you could still feel on you, even from across the bonfire.

Rafe Cameron. Damn. What was it about him tonight that you couldn't get him out of your mind? You tried to remember all the times he'd gotten on your nerves, all the arguments and taunts you'd exchanged, but even those memories seemed to lose their edge under the firelight and the effect of the alcohol.

You drank some more, the cold beer soothing the heat you felt on your skin, but not in your chest. Somehow, your mind kept coming back to him. To that damn haircut, to how his new look seemed to highlight how dangerous he’d always been, though this time in a way you hadn’t noticed before. 

“You’re so quiet.” It was JJ who spoke, giving you a slight nudge with his shoulder. You looked up at him, trying not to give anything away. 

“Just enjoying the moment,” you lied, raising your bottle to give him a carefree smile. 

Kiara chimed in, laughing. “That’s unlike you.”

You shrugged. “I guess I’m relaxing for once.”

But it wasn’t relaxation you felt. It was tension, a tension that grew with each passing second. Your eyes, as if they had a will of their own, found him again. He was sitting, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, listening to Topper speak. The firelight played with the lines of his face, making his cheekbones and jawline look even more pronounced.

And then, as if he sensed your gaze, his eyes met yours.

It was a direct hit, like the air had been ripped from your lungs. His expression didn't change, but there was something in his gaze that made you feel like he was challenging you, inviting you to something you couldn't quite figure out. A dangerous spark that ignited inside you.

You quickly looked away, but it was too late. The damage was done. Your heart was pounding, and you couldn't blame the alcohol alone for it.

You kept drinking, trying to drown out that feeling, but it was useless. The music surrounded you, vibrating in your ears, mixing with the sound of the waves and distant laughter. Your feet began to move to the beat without you thinking about it, and soon you were dancing again, lost in the moment.

The movement helped you clear your mind, at least for a little while. You turned, raising your hands, letting the music guide you. But you couldn’t help it: you wanted him to be looking at you. You wanted to feel his gaze on you like you had before.

Was it the alcohol? Was it the music? Or was it something that had always been there, buried under layers of pride and enmity? You didn’t know, and at the moment you didn’t care.

As you danced, your eyes met his again. This time, you didn’t look away. There was something in his expression that seemed to tell you that he was noticing something different tonight, too. His gaze was intense, calculating, as if he was analyzing every move you made.

You felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with fire or alcohol. It was pure electricity, a spark that ran through you from head to toe. And, for the first time, you didn’t try to fight it.

Without thinking, you walked to the water's edge, letting the waves wash over your feet. The cool night air was a welcome contrast to the heat you felt. You closed your eyes, breathing deeply, trying to clear your mind. But when you opened them, there he was, standing just a few feet away.

Rafe didn't say anything at first. He simply watched you, his figure dimly illuminated by the moon. He looked calm, but his eyes told another story.

“Running away from something?” he finally asked, his voice low and teasing, though there was something else in his tone. Something that made your fingers clench into fists.

“From you, probably,” you answered quickly, though the tremor in your voice betrayed the confidence you were trying to project.

He laughed, moving a little closer. “From me? You don’t seem to be doing a very good job.”

There was something about the way he said it, something that made your heart race even faster. Why couldn’t you just hate him like always? Why did tonight, of all nights, feel like the air around you grew thicker every time he was around?

You didn’t answer. Instead, you looked at him, challenging him with your eyes, hoping he would be the one to break the silence that had settled between you.

The tension that hung between you was almost tangible, as if the salty air of the beach had transformed into something thicker, more electric.

Rafe looked at you as if he was seeing something for the first time, something he didn’t expect to find there, right in front of him. His expression had lost the usual mockery, and in its place was something else: a hunger, a need that lit the fire inside you even more.

He took a step closer to you, his boots sinking into the wet sand. He was so close now that you could smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with the salt in the air. You didn’t know what to say or what to do. For the first time in a long time, you felt disarmed.

“Don’t keep looking at me like that,” he murmured, his voice low and laden with something you couldn’t quite place.

“How so?” you asked, though you barely recognized your own voice, a broken whisper that didn’t sound like you.

“As if you wanted something from me.”

Your lips parted, ready to blurt out some sarcastic retort, something to regain the control that seemed to have abandoned you. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because the moment his words faded into the air, Rafe closed the distance between you and kissed you.

The first contact was almost a shock, a sudden explosion you weren’t expecting. His hands found your face, his fingers gently pressing against your cheeks as his lips captured yours with a desperation that made you lose your balance. You felt the heat of his body against yours, the force behind his kiss making it clear that this wasn’t something planned or thought out. It was pure instinct.

For an instant, your mind screamed for you to pull away, that this was wrong, that this was Rafe Cameron. But your body had other ideas. Your hands moved almost of their own volition, clinging to his shirt as you kissed him back with equal intensity. Every movement, every brush, seemed to tell him that you needed him too, even though you hated to admit it.

The sand beneath your feet seemed to move with you as you let yourself go. His breath was heavy against your lips, as if he was trying to absorb every part of you in that moment.

Rafe moved away just a few millimeters, his forehead resting against yours as you both tried to catch your breath. His hands hadn’t left your face, and his thumbs were tracing soft circles on your skin.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me with you tonight,” he murmured, his voice deep and breathy, as if he himself couldn’t understand what he had just done.

“Shut up,” you whispered before pulling his shirt down and kissing him again, this time being the one to take the initiative. Your heart was beating so fast you felt like it might explode, but you didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was him, his lips moving against yours, his hands moving down your arms until they held your waist firmly.

He pushed you back slightly until you felt the cold water splashing against your feet. The contrast between the heat he caused you and the cold of the waves was almost overwhelming, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

His hands ran over your waist, holding on as if he was afraid you would fade away. You held on tight too, as if letting go of him this whole moment might crumble. Every kiss, every movement, was charged with an intensity you had never felt before. It was as if all the hatred, all the tension that had existed between you for years, had transformed into something completely different, something that terrified and fascinated you at the same time.

Finally, you pulled away, just enough to look into his eyes. His face was illuminated by the moonlight, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss, and his blue eyes looked at you as if they wanted to burn you into their memory.

“This doesn’t change anything,” you said, though your voice shook a little.

Rafe let out a soft laugh, a low, almost mocking sound, but not in the way he usually did. “Of course not,” he replied, though you both knew it was a lie.

It took you a second to pull away completely, your hands still shaking from the adrenaline. But before you could move, he grabbed your wrist gently, stopping you.

“This doesn’t end here,” he said, his tone serious, almost like a promise.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t say anything. You simply pulled your hand away, freeing yourself from his grip, and began walking back toward the bonfire, not daring to look back. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you were afraid that if you did, you wouldn’t be able to leave.

[drdt-oclock]

now, and hear me out, here is how acevi can still win (a thesis)

i have my personal suspicions that ace’s line “i needed a reason to hate you” has implications about his friendship with taylor—considering the only thing we know definitively that levi and taylor have in common is that they are both people that ace, at some point, has considered a friend. taylor's death is vaguely alluded to in a line of dialogue where ace states he doesn’t want a third death on his hands—a line that also shows he feels responsible—however, we can assume that taylor’s death was not maliciously ace’s fault, as ace’s motive secret is about his eating disorder; if he had truly committed a murder by the standards of the law, chances are that would have been written instead (see: levi, min). this being said, i believe that ace was deliberately hostile towards levi in an attempt to drive him away and discourage any form of friendship out of fear of deepening any pre-existing attachment he may have felt towards levi in the earlier half of chapter one.

levi, in turn, is shown to be confused by this, though we can gather from his lack of empathy or internalised morality that said confusion doesn’t stem from a place of anger, nor spite. subjectively, i believe that levi was, in some genuine way, intrigued by ace and his seemingly erratic behaviours, and this lack of overt distaste or hatred prompted ace to deliberately press his buttons, trying (and ultimately succeeding) in breaking levi’s composure. levi snapping at him, in some way, comforts ace, affirming his self-deprecating belief that he is incapable of being cared for, speeding up the process that he believes is inevitable; that levi will tire of him.

upon the revelation that whether ace lives or dies—and more broadly, ace in general is of no concern to levi, ace is very quickly forced to come to terms with the fact that all his efforts were effectively meaningless, and ultimately it would not have meaningfully contributed towards levi’s opinion of him. in a way, he mourns this; in his efforts to drive levi (and honestly, the entire cast) away through hostility, he placed a target on his own back, resulting in an attempt on his life from nico. in his final hours, ace is able to see the broader picture, formerly obscured by the tunnel vision given to him by his own debilitating anxiety, but is ultimately too proud (or too scared) to apologise to levi directly, doubling down on his efforts in the conversation they have post-trial.

i believe that ace did not necessarily account for forming an attachment—much less any form of attraction to levi, and that this oversight only further infuriated him. this culminates at the end of chapter 2, wherein levi is shot, perhaps fatally, and ace has to confront himself and the person he has tried to be throughout the narrative. in his final moments, not only does he plead for his own immediate execution—something he has been, quite literally, scared to tears by, with his general fear of death being highlighted continuously the entire series—but delivers a monologue to arturo in open defiance of his own vices, encouraging him to save levi’s life and not be petrified by the same fear he himself has now succumbed to. i am of the incredibly strong opinion that this dictates a strong level of care, or at the very least responsibility for levi and his wellbeing.

how will this culminate in acevi still winning? through levi. if he survives to chapter 3, which he very well may, he will be left to contemplate this; to attempt to unpack ace’s motivations for both his hostility and his seemingly unprecedented choice to face his own death to save levi’s life. while i think it’s unrealistic to expect any sudden empathy for ace in a hypothetical levi character arc, ace would undoubtedly occupy his thoughts well into later chapters.

thank you for reading keep in mind i am a sad little man with very strong and very biased opinions on things i have too much time to talk about ❤���

[sykoangels]

Hate fuck Logan?! You finally cave in one night and you both settle things in bed but you’re like a massive brat😎 you have to deal with evryone teasing and making comments while Logan’s or smug

hi anon!! I believe in brat tamer Logan supremacy!!! This also gives mean Logan vibes as well! I’m literally living for it!

content warnings: dubcon and angry sex

The dimly lit hallway of the X-Mansion was a stark contrast to the blazing fury that burned between Logan and you. The mission had been a disaster and the tension that had simmered beneath the surface for months now boiled over into outright hostility. You could feel his eyes boring into your back as you stalked ahead, your fingers twitching with the urge to flip him off. "Damn it, Y/N, would you slow down?" Logan growled, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence like a knife. "You're acting like a spoiled brat who didn't get their way." You whirled around, your eyes narrowing in defiance. "Oh, shut it, Logan! You think I don't know how much you love playing the diva? Always demanding everyone cater to your precious needs like a goddamn servant

Logan's jaw tightened, and his fists clenched at his sides. "I don't need this shit from you, kid. You've been nothing but trouble since you got here." "Kid?" you spat, taking a menacing step towards him. "You think you're so tough, don't you? Well, let me tell you something, motherfucker—you're just a jaded old man who can't handle anyone calling you out on your bullshit." Logan's eyes darkened, and he closed the distance between you in three long strides. His breath was hot against your face, his scent intoxicatingly potent. "Maybe you need to be reminded of your place," he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. You smirked then let out a giggle, tilting your chin up in challenge. "Oh, please, Logan. If you think you can scare me with your threats, you're more delusional than I thought."

"Is that what you want, bub?" he hissed, his grip tight but not enough to truly hurt. "For someone to put you in your place?" Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through your veins. You glared up at him, defiance still burning in your eyes. "Go ahead, then. Show me how tough you really are." Logan's gaze flicked down to your lips, and the corner of his mouth curled into a cruel smile. "Oh, I will," he promised, his voice dripping with menace. "But you might not like it." Before you could respond, his mouth crashed down onto yours in a bruising kiss. It was anything but tender—his lips were rough, demanding, and his teeth scraped painfully against your bottom lip. You gasped, partly in shock and partly in response to the savage intensity of the kiss.

He took full advantage, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming it with brutal possessiveness. You struggled against him at first, but his hand tightening around your throat pushed all thoughts of resistance out of your mind. Your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping the leather of his jacket as you yielded to the force of his kiss. When Logan finally pulled back, you were breathless, your lips swollen and throbbing. He leaned in close, his nose brushing against yours as he whispered, "Don't fight it, Y/N. Just take it like the good little girl you are"

Your chest heaved with ragged breaths, and you managed to croak out, "Fuck you, Logan." He chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Oh, trust me, you're going to do a lot more than that." With no further warning, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head against the wall. His other hand slid down your body, tracing the curve of your waist before coming to rest on your hip. The roughness of his touch sent a bolt of electricity through you, and you shuddered involuntarily. "Tell me you want this," Logan demanded, his voice gruff. "Tell me you want me to fuck you hard and make you beg."

You bit your lip, the sting from earlier adding to the fire already burning within you. "Do it, then. Prove you're not all talk." His eyes darkened with lust, and he gave you a feral grin. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy breaking that defiant little spirit of yours." In one swift motion, he hoisted you up, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. The sudden movement made you gasp, and Logan took full advantage, grinding his hips against yours and eliciting a moan from deep within your throat. "That's it bub," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "You like that huh? Beg for it you fucking brat.”

You could feel his erection pressing insistently against your core, and the thought of having him inside you, filling you, sent a wave of heat crashing through your body. But you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of begging—not yet. "Get on with it, Wolverine," you taunted, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and excitement. "Or are you too much of a pussy?"Logan's grip on your hips tightened, and he slammed you harder against the wall, his growl vibrating through his chest and into yours.

Logan's grip on your hips tightened, and he slammed you harder against the wall, his growl vibrating through his chest and into yours. Before you could brace yourself, he plunged into you, his cock thick and unyielding. The sensation was almost too much, a sharp ache followed by the overwhelming fullness of his intrusion. You cried out, both in pain and relief, your nails digging into his shoulders. Logan paused for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size. "Good girl," he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Now let's see if you can take it."

With that, he began to move, his thrusts harsh and unrelenting. Each stroke drove the breath from your lungs, your back arching off the wall in reaction. You could feel every ridge of his cock, every rough patch of skin, as he claimed you with brutal efficiency. "Harder," you gasped, unable to stop yourself from pleading. "Fuck me harder, Logan." His answering growl was primal, and he redoubled his efforts, his thrusts becoming even more savage. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed off the walls, and you could feel the climax building deep within you, threatening to overtake you at any second. "Yes," Logan groaned, his voice strained with effort. "Take it, you little bitch. Take it all."

At that moment, you couldn't tell where the pain ended and the pleasure began. All you knew was Logan, his body moving against yours, his words driving you closer and closer to the edge. "Please," you whimpered, your voice broken. "I need—" Logan cut you off with a brutal thrust, his teeth sinking into the sensitive skin of your neck. The pain mixed with the overwhelming pleasure, and you shattered around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that left you trembling and breathless. As you rode out the waves of ecstasy, Logan continued to pound into you, his own release fast approaching. He withdrew briefly, only to slam back into you with even greater force, his control slipping away. "Come for me, Logan," you panted, your voice weak but desperate. "Make me your slut."

That final degradation was enough to push him over the edge. With a roar of triumph, he came, his seed filling you as his body went rigid with release. For a few blissful moments, there was nothing but the two of you, joined together in the aftermath of fierce passion. Slowly, Logan pulled out of you, gently lowering you to the floor. You slumped against the wall, your legs too shaky to support your weight. He looked down at you, his expression unreadable, before offering a small, almost sardonic smile.

"Feel better now, brat?" he asked, his voice softer than before. You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could form a single word, the door to the hallway swung open, it was none other than Scott Summers strolling in. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing as she took in the scene before him. Logan turned to face him, his expression shifting back to its usual stoic mask. "None of your business, Cyclops," he replied, his tone dismissive.

“I owe Storm so much money…because if y’all did what I think you did I’m going to 150 dollars in debt.” Scott said slowly walking away. You look at Logan as you’re still slumped against the wall before cringing realizing what had happened. “this will never happen again I still despise you. I kinda of find you pathetic still.” You say weakly.

Logan looked at you with a smug look on his face rolling his eyes knowing damn well you were lying.

This unfortunately became more then a one time thing

[thewulf]

Troublemaker || Dallas "Dally" Winston

Summary: Request -Hiiii! can you do a Dallas Winston x Curtis Sister Reader (maybe sodapop's twin?) who is soooo different than soda. She's a firecracker with a mouth on her that gets her in trouble? Dally finds himself repeatedly rescuing the Curtis sister reader, who always seems to get into trouble with her sharp tongue and rebellious streak... Read Rest Here

A/N: I kinda love this one deeply. Something about a troublemaker loving another one gets writing (alot) hahah hope you guys enjoy! Kinda OOC Dally at some points but idc, I love it!

Pairing: Dallas "Dally" Winston x Female Reader (Curtis Sister)

Word Count: 5.3k +

TW: choice words, fighting, punching, blood, general Outsiders TW

1. Clowns at the Drive-In:

The night was alive with the buzz of excitement at the local drive-in, the air thick with the scent of popcorn and gasoline. The flickering lights of the movie screen cast shadows across the rows of cars parked haphazardly, each filled with eager teenagers seeking a brief escape from the monotony of their everyday lives.

But for you, the Curtis sister, it spelled trouble. Perched on the hood of your twin brother Sodapop's car, you exchanged barbs with a group of Socs who had taken offense to your sharp retorts and fiery demeanor. Sodapop himself was inside the concession stand, chatting with a few friends, while your youngest brother Ponyboy was engrossed in a book, oblivious to the brewing confrontation outside. You’d never catch Darry at one of these movie nights anymore.

"You think you're real funny, huh?" one of the Socs sneered, his voice dripping with disdain as he loomed over you, his companions snickering behind him.

You merely smirked, unfazed by the hostility radiating from the group. "Funny enough to make you clowns laugh, that's for sure."

Your words were met with a chorus of jeers and taunts, fueling the fire of your defiance as you squared your shoulders and met their gazes head-on. But just as the tension reached its boiling point, a looming figure emerged from the concession stand, cutting through the crowd with a swagger that commanded attention. For Dally always had his eyes on you. Especially after your parents passed.

Dallas Winston, the epitome of reckless abandon and untamed rebellion, emerged from the shadows like a predator stalking its prey. His presence alone commanded attention, the faint glint of mischief dancing in his eyes as he sauntered towards the confrontation with an air of nonchalance.

As he drew closer, his leather jacket seemed to gleam in the dim light of the drive-in, the scent of cigarette smoke trailing behind him like a phantom. His gaze swept over the scene before him, taking in every detail with a predatory intensity that sent shivers down the spines of those unlucky enough to meet his stare. Dallas freaking Winston.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Dally drawled, his voice low and dripping with utter irritation as he finally spoke, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation before him.

The Socs, caught off guard by his sudden appearance, turned their attention to him, their expressions shifting from hostility to uncertainty as they recognized the infamous greaser in their midst. But despite their feigned courage, there was an underlying sense of unease in their demeanor, a silent acknowledgment of the danger that lurked beneath Dally's cool exterior.

"This ain't none of your business, Winston," one of them muttered, his voice tinged with defiance but faltering in the face of Dally's imposing presence.

Dally merely smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he stepped between them and you, effectively cutting off any further confrontation with his sheer presence alone. His posture radiated confidence, a silent warning to anyone foolish enough to challenge him.

"I think it is now," he replied, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine as you watched from your perch on the hood of the car. “You made it my problem.”

There was a tense silence as the standoff continued, the air heavy with anticipation as both sides weighed their options. But before things could escalate further, Dally's gaze flickered towards the Socs with a silent warning, a promise of consequences should they choose to push their luck any further.

With a final, angry glance in their direction, the Socs begrudgingly backed down, their bravado no match for the steely resolve of the infamous greaser. And as they slunk away into the shadows, defeated but not defeated, you couldn't help but feel a rush of gratitude mixed with a sense of awe at the enigmatic figure who had just saved you from a brawl you couldn't have won.

After Dallas stepped between you and the Socs, a cocky grin spread across his lips, revealing that usual glint of mischief in his eyes. "Your welcome, sweetheart," he drawled, his voice dripping with arrogance as he turned his attention to you.

You bristled at his audacity, your temper flaring like a matchstick ignited. With a roll of your eyes, you shot back, "Don't flatter yourself, tough guy. I could've handled those idiots just fine on my own."

Dallas chuckled, unfazed by your sharp retort. "Sure, looked like it," he remarked, his grin widening as he leaned against the hood of Sodapop's car, the leather of his jacket creaking with the movement.

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest defiantly. "You know, not everyone needs a knight in shining armor to come to their rescue."

Dally raised an eyebrow, his expression turning contemplative as he studied you. "Maybe not, but it sure beats getting your pretty face smashed in by a bunch of Soc’s."

Your cheeks flushed with indignation at his comment, but you couldn't deny the underlying truth in his words. With a huff of frustration, you conceded defeat, albeit begrudgingly. "Fine, maybe I owe you one," you muttered under your breath, your pride refusing to let you admit defeat outright.

Dally's grin widened at your admission, a glimmer of triumph shining in his eyes. "You owe me more than just one, sweetheart," he replied, his tone teasing as he pushed himself off the car. and sauntered away, leaving you seething with a mixture of irritation and reluctant admiration.

While you watched him disappear into the darkness, you couldn't help but wonder what it was about Dallas Winston that both infuriated and intrigued you in equal measure. And as the night stretched on, you found yourself unable to shake the feeling that your paths were destined to cross time and time again, whether you liked it or not.

2. A Brush with the Law:

In the midst of your rebellious streak, you found yourself in a predicament that even your usually suave tongue couldn't talk your way out of. It was one of those nights where mischief seemed like the only way to break free from the suffocating grip of the mundane.

The evening began innocently enough, with you and a few friends roaming the streets in search of excitement. The city lights flickered like distant stars, casting shadows that danced along the pavement, teasing you with the promise of adventure. But as the night wore on, the allure of mischief grew stronger, pulling you deeper into its grasp with each passing moment.

It started with harmless pranks and playful banter, the kind of mischief that left a trail of laughter in its wake. But as the hours stretched on and the adrenaline surged through your veins, the line between harmless fun and reckless abandon began to blur. The world became a playground, and you were determined to make the most of it, consequences be damned.

By now, the cops knew you on a first-name basis from all the petty trouble you had caused. They had become all too familiar with your antics, chasing after you like a dog chasing its tail, only to watch helplessly as you slipped through their fingers time and time again. They had warned you countless times, given you more chances than you deserved, but tonight felt different.

Tonight, there was a weariness in their eyes, a sense of resignation that spoke volumes without uttering a single word. They were tired. Tired of dealing with your antics, tired of letting you off with a warning only to see you back at it again the next day. It was as if they had reached the end of their patience, the final straw in a long line of frustrations that stretched back further than you cared to remember.

But even in the face of their stern warnings and thinly veiled threats, you couldn't bring yourself to stop. The thrill of rebellion was a drug, intoxicating and irresistible, and you were hooked. It was a dangerous game you played, dancing on the edge of disaster with reckless abandon, but in that moment, it was the only thing that made you feel truly alive. You needed it.

As they cornered you in the dimly lit alley, their voices stern and faces etched with grim determination, the threat of spending the night in jail loomed over you like a dark cloud. Panic gripped your chest in a vise-like grip, squeezing the air from your lungs as you frantically scanned the surroundings for a way out. But the walls of the alley closed in around you, leaving you feeling trapped and helpless, like a mouse caught in a cat's claws.

Your mind raced with thoughts of the consequences awaiting you if you were to be taken into custody. You couldn't shake the image of your oldest brother Darry's disappointed face, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and concern as he realized the extent of your latest misadventure. You knew he would be furious, not just at the trouble you had gotten yourself into, but at the worry and stress it would inevitably cause him and your other brothers. The fear of facing Darry's wrath was almost suffocating, a heavy weight pressing down on your chest as you grappled with the realization of just how badly you had messed up. In your reckless pursuit of excitement and rebellion, you had failed to consider the consequences of your actions, the fallout that would inevitably follow in their wake.

Just when it seemed like all hope was lost, a familiar figure emerged from the entrance of the alley, his presence a welcome relief in the darkness. Dallas Winston stepped forward with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his piercing gaze locking with the officers' with an unwavering intensity.

"Easy there, fellas," Dally drawled, his voice carrying a hint of amusement that bordered on insolence. "No need to get your badges in a twist."

His words sliced through the tension in the alleyway like a well-honed blade, disrupting the somber atmosphere with an unexpected twist. The officers, taken aback by Dallas's nonchalant demeanor, exchanged wary glances, unsure of how to respond to his brazen defiance.

But Dally, ever the master of manipulation, wasted no time in seizing the opportunity to sway the officers to your side. With a casual shrug of his shoulders and a smirk dancing at the corners of his lips, he stepped forward, closing the distance between you and the law enforcement with a confidence that bordered on audacity.

"Look, we all know she's a handful," Dally continued, his voice smooth and persuasive, laced with an undertone of genuine concern. "But taking her in ain't gonna solve anything. Trust me, I've tried. You know what they’ve been through."

As he spoke, a flicker of empathy flashed in his eyes, a subtle acknowledgment of the turmoil that had plagued your life since your parents' untimely demise. He knew all too well the pain of loss, the ache of abandonment that lingered long after the funeral flowers had withered away. And though he rarely showed it, there was a part of him that understood the reckless desperation that drove you to seek solace in acts of rebellion.

The officers, their resolve waning in the face of Dallas's persuasive charm, exchanged hesitant glances, silently wrestling with their conscience. They knew the Curtis family's tragic history, knew the burden of responsibility that weighed heavily on your shoulders in the wake of your parents' death. And as they looked into your eyes, they saw not a delinquent, but a lost soul searching for a way to fill the void left behind by loss and grief.

With a heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire world, the lead officer relented. His shoulders slumped in defeat; the lines of exhaustion etched deeply into his weary face as he stepped aside to allow you to pass. "Fine," he grumbled, the resignation evident in his voice, "but this is the last time."

His words hung heavy in the air, a somber reminder of the precarious balance between leniency and accountability that governed their duties as law enforcement officers. They had given you more chances than you deserved, turned a blind eye to your transgressions time and time again, but they knew that their patience was wearing thin. There was only so much they could overlook before the hammer of justice came crashing down with unrelenting force.

Dally, ever the opportunist, seized upon the moment of vulnerability with a triumphant smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He nodded in acknowledgment, a silent acknowledgment of their unspoken agreement as he draped an arm around your shoulders with an air of possessiveness. "Appreciate it, fellas," he remarked, his voice oozing with satisfaction as he guided you away from the alley, away from the looming threat of incarceration.

And as you walked side by side into the night, the weight of the world lifted from your shoulders, replaced by a newfound sense of gratitude for the tough greaser who had come to your rescue once again. You glanced up at him, the flickering streetlights casting shadows across his features, and offered him a tentative smile of thanks. It was a small gesture, a token of appreciation for his unwavering loyalty and unyielding support in the face of adversity.

As you looked at him, his cocky grin softened by a flicker of genuine concern, you couldn't help but wonder what it was about him that drew you in like a moth to a flame. His eyes, usually sharp and piercing, now held a warmth that caught you off guard, melting away the layers of cockiness to reveal a glimmer of vulnerability beneath.

But before you could dwell on it further, Dally's voice broke through your reverie, his words laced with a hint of amusement that conveyed the seriousness lurking just beneath the surface.

"You're quite the troublemaker, sweetheart," he remarked, his tone playful yet tinged with a note of concern.

You rolled your eyes in response, a smirk of your own tugging at the corners of your lips. "And you're quite the smooth talker, Winston," you replied, unable to hide the admiration in your voice despite your best efforts.

As the words left your lips, Dally's expression shifted, his smirk fading into a more serious expression. There was a weightiness to his gaze, a silent question lingering in the air as he studied you intently, his eyes searching for the truth behind your casual facade.

"Hey, are you actually alright?" he asked, his voice softer now, stripped of its usual playfulness. His concern was palpable, genuine, a stark contrast to the tough exterior he typically presented to the world. "This isn't like you, getting caught by the fuzz like that."

His unexpected tenderness caught you off guard, the sincerity in his question piercing through the layers bullshit you typically wore like armour. You hesitated for a moment, taken aback by the depth of his concern, before offering him a small nod of reassurance.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you replied, though the words felt hollow even to your own ears. You forced a casual tone, hoping to brush off the weight of his inquiry, the nagging doubts that gnawed at the edges of your mind. "Just got a little carried away, that's all."

But even as you spoke, you knew it wasn't just a momentary lapse in judgment. There was a restlessness inside you, a longing for something more than the mundane routine of everyday life, that drove you to seek out trouble wherever you could find it. And in that moment, as you stood before Dally with his piercing gaze fixed upon you, you couldn't help but feel a sense of vulnerability wash over you.

Dally continued to study you, his eyes reflecting a mixture of concern and understanding. He didn't press further, sensing that there was more to your story than you were willing to reveal. Instead, he offered you a small, understanding smile, a silent reassurance that he would be there for you whenever you were ready to open up.

"I get it," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. "Just know that if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here."

His words caught you off guard, a flicker of warmth spreading through your chest at the sincerity behind them. And as you met his gaze, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the tough greaser who had dared to care when no one else did.

With a subtle squeeze of his arm around your shoulders, Dally offered you a reassuring smile, a silent promise that he would always be there to watch your back, no matter what trouble you managed to find yourself in. And as you walked side by side into the night, the echoes of his words mingling with the sounds of the city, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the tough greaser who had dared to care when no one else did.

3. Escaping a Sticky Situation:

As the Friday night lights illuminated the football field, casting a glow of excitement over the small town, the air crackled with anticipation. It was meant to be a harmless prank, a bit of mischief to inject some excitement into the dull routine of small-town life. But what had started as a simple joke quickly spiraled out of control, and you, the Curtis sister, found yourself in a precarious situation.

The prank had been innocent enough at first—a bit of good-natured rivalry between the Greasers and the Socs. However, things took a dangerous turn when the Soc boys, their egos bruised and their tempers flaring, decided to retaliate with more than just words. They targeted you, singling you out from the crowd, their menacing glares and clenched fists leaving no doubt about their intentions.

Your heart raced with adrenaline, panic clawing at your chest as you frantically searched for a way out of the tightening circle of Soc boys. But as the situation grew more dire, Dallas Winston yet again emerged like a savior in the darkness, his presence a welcome relief amidst the chaos and looming threat of violence. By this point you were convinced it was your brothers who had him watching you for how else could he, quite literally, always be there to say you from these situations?

As the chaos unfolded near the stands, Dallas Winston's arrival seemed almost surreal. At first, his laughter echoed across the small courtyard area, a stark contrast to the tension thickening the air. But as he surveyed the scene, his amusement quickly morphed into a glare of righteous anger.

"Buncha tough guys picking on a little lady, huh?" Dally's voice cut through the chaos like a knife, his tone dripping with disdain as he confronted the Soc boys. His words carried a weight of accusation, a challenge to their masculinity and decency.

As Dally's words hung in the air, the Soc boys hesitated, their usual boastfulness faltering under his scathing gaze. But one of them, bolder—or perhaps more foolish—than the rest, reached out and laid a hand on your arm, his grip tight and menacing.

Instantly, Dally saw red.

With a feral growl, he lunged forward, his fists flying in a blur of motion as he unleashed a barrage of punches on the Soc who dared to lay hands on you. Each blow landed with a sickening thud, the sound echoing across the field like a drumbeat of fury.

The other Soc boys, realizing their mistake too late, attempted to intervene, but Dally was a force to be reckoned with. With a ferocity born of righteous anger, he fought like a man possessed, his only thought to protect you from harm.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was likely only seconds, Dally's onslaught came to an end. The Soc who had dared to touch you lay crumpled on the ground, bloodied, and bruised, but alive.

Dally stood over him, his chest heaving with exertion and adrenaline, his eyes blazing with a mixture of rage and triumph. The other Soc's had long since fled, likely for help. But he didn’t give a damn. His attention was now on you. And as he turned to you, his expression softened with a mixture of relief and concern, seeing you standing there relatively unharmed. It was when he saw the tears in your eyes that he knew he had to do something.

Dally's gaze softened further as he approached you with caution, the fire in his eyes dimming to reveal a rare glimpse of vulnerability. He reached out tentatively, his rough hand coming to rest on your shoulder in a gesture of comfort. His touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the violence that had just unfolded moments before.

"Hey, it's alright, sweetheart," he murmured softly, his voice a soothing balm to the turmoil raging inside you. "You're okay. It’ll be alright." He attempted to console you as best as he could, however it wasn’t his strong suit.

But the tears continued to flow unabated, a testament to the fear and adrenaline still coursing through your veins. You tried to hold them back, to maintain the facade of strength and resilience that had always been your shield against the world. But in that moment, with Dally standing before you, all of your defenses crumbled.

Unable to contain your emotions any longer, you buried your face in your hands, the weight of the night crashing down on you like a tidal wave. You could feel the tremors wracking your body, the sobs tearing from your throat in ragged gasps.

Dally watched you carefully, his expression a mixture of concern and understanding. Without a bit of hesitation, he wrapped you in a warm embrace, pulling you close to his chest as if to shield you from the world's cruelties. His arms felt surprisingly comforting, a safe haven amidst the chaos that had engulfed you.

"Oh, sweetheart. It's okay to let it out," he whispered gently, his voice a soothing melody in the midst of your storm. "You're safe now, darlin'. I've got you."

His words washed over you like a gentle wave, calming the storm of emotions raging inside you. For the first time in what felt like ages, you allowed yourself to lean into his embrace, to find solace in the warmth of his presence. As the tears continued to fall, Dally held you close, his grip firm yet gentle. He didn't try to offer empty reassurances or false promises. Instead, he simply held you, a silent pillar of strength in the darkness.

The Unexpected Thank You:

As the weight of the night's events settled upon your shoulders like a heavy cloak, you couldn't help but feel a wave of vulnerability wash over you. The adrenaline that had fueled you earlier now gave way to a profound sense of exhaustion, both physical and emotional. And in the quiet solitude of the street, with only Dally's presence beside you, you felt the walls you had carefully built around your heart begin to crumble.

"Thank you, Dallas," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper, tinged with a rawness you hadn't expected. "For everything."

Your words hung in the air, vulnerable and exposed, a stark contrast to the tough exterior you usually wore like armor. In that moment, you felt a sense of relief wash over you, as if a weight had been lifted from your chest. For so long, you had been carrying the burden of your troubles alone, too afraid to let anyone else see the cracks in your facade. But with Dally standing beside you, offering a silent anchor in the storm, you found yourself finally able to let go.

When you looked into his eyes, you saw something flicker beneath the tough exterior, something vulnerable and achingly human. It was a mirror of your own inner turmoil, a silent acknowledgment of the pain and loneliness that lurked within you both. And in that shared moment of vulnerability, you realized that perhaps, just perhaps, you were more alike than you had ever dared to imagine.

As Dally enveloped you in his embrace for the second time that night, his arms offering solace and refuge, a tender silence settled between you, broken only by the soft sound of your quiet sobs. In that moment, words seemed inadequate to express the depth of the emotions coursing through you both. But as you held each other close, your hearts spoke volumes, weaving a silent symphony of understanding and compassion.

"You don't have to be strong all the time, you know," Dally murmured softly, his voice a gentle caress against your ear. "It's okay to let yourself feel, to let yourself grieve."

His words resonated deep within you, stirring a bittersweet ache in your chest. For so long, you had tried to bury your pain beneath layers of confidence and defiance, afraid to confront the gaping hole that your mother and fathers absence had left behind. But in Dally's embrace, you found the courage to face your demons, to confront the rawness of your grief without fear of judgment or rejection.

With trembling hands, you clung to him, seeking solace in the warmth of his presence. And as you spoke of your mother, of the memories that still lingered like ghosts in the corners of your mind, you felt a sense of liberation wash over you, as if by giving voice to your pain, you could finally set yourself free.

"I miss her, Dally. I miss them," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper, choked with emotion. "Every day, it feels like a piece of me is missing. Like I'm lost without her. She was my best friend and now she’s just gone.”

Your words hung heavy in the air, a poignant reminder of the fragility of life and the relentless passage of time. And as you gazed into Dally's eyes, you saw your own pain reflected back at you, a shared understanding that transcended words.

"You're not alone, sweetheart," Dally replied, his voice thick with emotion. "I may not have all the answers, but I'll be damned if I let you face this alone."

In that moment, you felt a surge of gratitude and affection for the tough greaser who had stood by your side through thick and thin. In his arms, you found a sense of belonging you had never known, a sanctuary from the storm of emotions that raged within you.

In the hushed intimacy of your embrace, the turmoil within you quieted, replaced by a sense of tranquility you had never known. But amidst the stillness, a storm raged within you, a tempest of conflicting emotions that threatened to consume you.

With each steady heartbeat, you felt the tendrils of affection wrapping around your heart, weaving a tapestry of emotions you struggled to comprehend. The way his touch ignited a warmth deep within you, the way his voice soothed the turmoil of your soul — these were sensations you had never experienced before, and yet they felt undeniably right.

As you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you couldn't shake the realization that your feelings for Dally surpassed mere gratitude or admiration. It was something more, something you couldn't quite put into words but felt with every fiber of your being.

In the quiet of the night, you allowed yourself to explore these newfound emotions, to sift through the tangled mess of your thoughts and feelings. And in doing so, you came to a startling revelation — you liked him, more than you had ever dared to admit.

But the thought of confessing your feelings to Dally filled you with a heady mixture of excitement and trepidation. What if he didn't feel the same way? What if your friendship was forever altered by your admission?  Yet, as you glanced up at him, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, you saw a vulnerability in his eyes that mirrored your own. Perhaps, you thought, he felt the same way — a silent understanding that transcended words.

Summoning your courage, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you were about to do. With a trembling hand, you reached up to cup his cheek, your touch feather-light against his stubbled skin.

"Dally," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "there's something I need to tell you."

As your eyes met, you sensed an unspoken understanding passing between you. Without needing further words, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. It was a tender gesture, filled with reassurance and affection, a silent promise of his unwavering support and care.

But before you could utter another word, Dally's hand gently tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. His eyes bore into yours with a intensity that made your heart race.

"I need to tell you something too," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the soft night breeze.

Your breath caught in your throat as you waited, anticipation coursing through every fiber of your being.

"Doll," he continued, his voice husky with emotion, "I've been wanting to say this for a while now, but I ain't never found the right words. I reckon there’s no fancy way to put it, so I'll just say it straight."

He took a deep breath, steeling himself before meeting your gaze once more.

"I love you," he confessed, his words hanging in the air like a sacred vow.

Your heart skipped a beat at his admission, emotions swirling within you like a tempest. For so long, you had harbored these feelings, afraid to voice them, afraid of what they might mean for your friendship, for your future. But now, as those three simple words hung in the air between you, you felt as if a weight had been lifted from your chest, replaced by a warmth that radiated from the very core of your being.

You searched his eyes, seeking confirmation of the truth you dared to believe. And there, amidst the depths of his gaze, you found it — sincerity, vulnerability, and a love that mirrored your own. It was a revelation that left you breathless, a realization that this connection you shared transcended the boundaries of friendship, binding you together in a bond that felt unbreakable.

"I love you too, Dally," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion, as if afraid that speaking the words aloud would make them disappear into the night.

In that moment, time seemed to stand still, the world fading into insignificance as you both basked in the sheer weight of those words. They held within them the promise of a future unknown, yet somehow certain in its inevitability. And as he pulled you into a tight embrace, you felt a sense of belonging wash over you, as if you had finally found your place in the world.

With his arms around you, you knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, no matter what storms threatened to tear you apart, you had each other. Together, you could weather any adversity, conquer any obstacle that stood in your path. For in each other's arms, you found strength, comfort, and a love that knew no bounds.

"Hey," he whispered softly, his breath tickling your ear as he held you close. "You don't have to say anything more. I'm here, and I ain't goin' nowhere."

For the first time in a while you felt a sense of peace wash over you, a profound gratitude for the man who stood by your side through thick and thin. With a heartfelt sigh, you nestled against him, finding solace in his presence as you stood together beneath the starlit sky. In his embrace, you found sanctuary, a refuge from the uncertainties of the world outside. And as you looked up at the twinkling stars above, you knew that your love would light the way through even the darkest of nights, guiding you towards a future filled with endless possibilities.

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[thewertsearch]

The High8loods surely intended to make a spectacle of my conviction. They filled the court8lock with peasants ravenous for the comeuppance of a 8lue 8lood. I wasn't a8out to deny them what they came for.

It was kind of the authorities to supply me with phalanx of such impressiona8le spect8ors. […] It was simple enough to nudge the hostility of the low8loods from one aristocrat to another. The su8juggl8ors could not have 8een pleased, 8ut nor could they have 8een altogether unamused, I would expect. I wonder if this was part of their unfathoma8le game? I'll never understand their riddles.

Certainly smells like a set-up to me. I wouldn't put it past Gamzee Senior to arrange this on purpose, in order to neutralize a dangerous dragonrider who was getting a little too big for her britches.

Much like his descendant, the Grand Highblood is proving to be a lot more cunning than you'd expect. Gamzee's currently employing similar manipulation tactics, so I wouldn't be surprised if he, too, was following his ancestor's advice.

Had my escape not necessit8ed her demise, she would have made a lovely rival. If she'd only discarded her childish preoccup8tion with justice, we might have made a striking scourge. Had we inched 8lacker we'd have torn red miles across the land and sea. Unfortun8ly, the only miles to 8e found through her 8ureaucratic calling were those of red tape. When so ensnared, one is eventually 8ound to 8e choked.

This girl's writing continues to be more flowery than Rose's literal purple prose. Could you imagine Mindfang giving Homestuck's next recap?

With the court8lock cleared, all that remained to o8struct my freedom was His Honora8le Tyranny himself.

And who the hell is this?

Is this what a highblood looks like, after living for untold millennia? Perhaps this is the emperor of trollkind, Her Imperious Condescension's consort. Their titles do seem to match....

Though I was free, I had no fleet. No matter. With the gam8lignants decim8ed, I'd em8raced the turn in fortune and pledged to put my seagrifting ways 8ehind me. […] 8ut first, I was in need of temporary refuge. I sought it with the expatri8. He owed me for the sweeps of protection I provided after his 8razen defiance of the High8loods. It was perhaps the only such courageous stand ever taken against a superior 8y one of his supercilious pedigree, and I'd not have 8othered sticking my neck out for another. […] I wonder if he still 8elieves she was worth it?

Here comes Equius Senior - who, it seems, actually had the guts to defy his superiors. 'She' is guaranteed to be another Player ancestor, and Leijon seems like she'd be the obvious choice.

Now, this is interesting, because it means Equius, who didn't raise a hand to protect Nepeta, hasn't been following the example set by his ancestor. Was he aware of his predecessor's small rebellion?

The Expatriate's design goes hard. I may be stating the obvious, but Hussie was really bringing his A-game for these Ancestor portraits. We're finally getting to see some adult trolls, and they really deliver.