#I don’t want to go into the work force but I also don’t want to die

[cute-little-fly]

Fuck, I relate so much to this it hurts, but seeing other people have this same experiences makes me feel not so alone on this. I realized I have never told my story so I will use this post to do it.

This is how I felt most of my school and high school years, except for a few friends that I managed to do until sixth grade of school and high school. So, in my case I have had friends, I have known what reciprocated friendship is like and that helped me so much. But I have also felt that sensation of being apart from everyone else by an invisible veil. Is very sad. I would really wish that we could be able to have better education as a society.

Even with all its problems for me school was better than high school. I managed to drag some people on my special interests like ants and insects. We fed them in school and got in trouble. I also managed to make everyone in school have a tamagotchi because I was obsessed with them. They sold them very cheap in the corner store near school. But I had to suffer so much before that, and even after that I struggled to maintain and have friends and still I felt appart sometimes. A lot of students came to my school only one year because their school flooded, then, they went away and I was alone again.

I remember I had this one friend in kinder garden whom I clung as if my life depended on it. Then, on first grade she told me she wanted to have more friends, to go and run and play and that basically she probably didn’t enjoy to spend time with me. I let her go, because she wasn’t forced to be with me all the time and I didn’t played like the other kids and I understood that. But I felt so broken. Even after that I expected that one day she would come back and I tried to. I had some friends during that time, short lived, only one was very close that was the queer guy everyone else bullied. I pretended to be his “girlfriend” sometimes, but we were really friends. Then he was put in other section so we could barely see each other and we started to have other friends, but still we kept in some touch and I didn’t felt the same trauma and rejection than with my other friend.

Then, in sixth grade of school I found my real and first girls friend group, they were all new girls that came from other schools for different life situations. They were trying to make me forget about thar friend (we never kept contact but for years, I still tried to befriend her again and again) until that moment I knew that she didn’t deserved me. My self steem was so low and I still clung to her so badly even if she barely talked to me, and I didn’t cared that she didn’t cared how I felt. My new friends made me see that, so I ended being loyal to them because they were the ones that actually cared for me and accepted me completely. They were the ones that supported me with my ants and tamagotchi. I think that was the best year of my childhood.

High school was ok I guess. At least I knew by that time that trying to be someone I wasn’t was not going to work, and that I could wait until I found my people. So I went alone to the high school library every day to read and play board games alone. I had some friend groups before them but didn’t worked, and they told me that I couldn’t hang up with them anymore. Just because I didn’t wanted to do some performance in class. Then, I met my new friends group there, in the next year, at the library. They were from another year, so I could only see them in breaks and after classes. But, it was ok, better than being alone 100% of the time.

I don’t use this blog for much personal stuff, but here I talk about autism sometimes so I figured that from my other blogs here is where it fits most :).

People underestimate how much it fucks you up to be subtly excluded as a kid. I would try to talk to my classmates and be met with disinterest or annoyance. The one friend I had, who I clung to and nodded along to his every word, had other friends he liked just as much or more. And his other friends didn’t care for me at all.

I look back at pictures from the time and see how separated I was from them. I remember knowing I was different. I remember posing questions about the world to the girls playing next to me and realizing that they had never asked the same ones to themselves. That the ways we thought couldn’t be more different.

I kept myself amused with my own fanatical stories and musings in my head. I would wander the playground on a circular path, imagining a friend and being sorely disappointed when it didn’t feel as real as I’d hoped.

There was a bubble separating me from everyone else, thin, and nearly invisible, but with a pearly sheen you could catch under the right conditions. I knew it was there, they knew it was there, and it changed me

[starsjulia]

everything we’ve ever wanted // leah williamson

a/n : i am very much ovulating and my body is physically aching for my baby in which i do not have, so here’s a fanfiction. also have you guys seen the tiktok’s where it’s like “future therapists are probably writing fanfiction” and like oh em ghee that may be me, i am supposed to writing an essay on piaget and his cognitive stages or some bs, but instead i’m a little bit stoned and writing fanfiction.

warnings : pregnancy

You sat on the bathroom floor, your knees pulled to your chest, staring at the little stick in your trembling hands. Leah knelt beside you, her fingers laced tightly with yours, both of you holding your breath.

This moment had played out too many times before. Too many heartbreaks. Too many negatives. Too many times you’d tried to convince yourself it was okay to hope.

The timer on your phone buzzed.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you forced yourself to look.

Two pink lines.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Leah sucked in a sharp breath beside you, her grip on your hand tightening. “No fucking way,” she whispered.

Your other hand flew to your mouth, your fingers trembling. “Leah…” Your voice broke, overwhelmed, disbelieving. “It worked?”

Leah’s blue eyes darted between your face and the test, as if waiting for one of them to change, to confirm this was real. Then, suddenly, she let out a sharp laugh, breathless and stunned. “Oh my God.”

A sob bubbled up in your throat. Before you could say anything, Leah surged forward, wrapping her arms around you. You collapsed into her, both of you shaking as tears spilled freely. “We’re having a baby,” Leah choked out against your shoulder. “You’re pregnant.”

A fresh wave of emotion crashed over you, and you buried your face into her neck. “We’re really having a baby,” you whispered.

Leah pulled back, cradling your face in her hands, her thumbs wiping away your tears. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. “We did it, baby. We did it.”

You both sat there, overwhelmed, laughing and crying in equal measure. Then, Leah suddenly gasped and reached for her phone.

“What are you doing?” you asked, still catching your breath.

“Telling Mum,” she said without hesitation, already hitting the call button.

Your heart swelled. Of course. Amanda had been with you both every step of the way—through every round of IVF, every late-night phone call when it all felt too much, every heartbreaking negative test.

The phone rang twice before Amanda’s face appeared on the screen. “Hey, loves—oh my God, why are you crying?”

Leah could barely get the words out, her voice cracking. “Mum… it worked.” She held up the test with a trembling hand. “We’re pregnant.”

Amanda gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Tears instantly welled in her eyes. “No,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Oh, my girls.”

You sniffled, smiling through your tears. “It’s real this time, Amanda.”

Amanda let out a shaky laugh, wiping at her face. “I am so, so happy for you both.” Her voice was full of so much love, so much warmth. “You’re going to be amazing mums.”

Leah let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “Mum, I don’t even care if it’s early. We’re telling everyone.”

Amanda chuckled through her tears. “I don’t blame you one bit, love.”

The moment the call ended, Leah turned to you with wide, excited eyes. “Beth and Viv next.”

You laughed, your heart nearly bursting with joy. “Go on, then.”

She quickly hit the video call button, bouncing on her knees as she waited for them to pick up. Beth answered first, Viv leaning over her shoulder, both of them immediately narrowing their eyes.

“Why are you two crying?” Beth asked.

Leah grinned, holding up the test again. “WE’RE HAVING A BABY!”

Beth screamed. Viv’s jaw dropped.

“No way,” Viv breathed.

Beth launched into a full meltdown. “I—OH MY GOD—ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”

Leah laughed through fresh tears. “Dead serious.”

Viv covered her mouth, her eyes glassy. “I’m gonna cry.”

Beth was already crying, wiping at her face aggressively. “You guys deserve this so much,” she choked out. “Oh my God, I can’t believe it.”

Leah beamed. “I don’t care if it’s too soon, you’re officially Auntie Beth and Auntie Viv.”

Beth let out another shriek. “BEST NEWS EVER.”

Viv nodded, still stunned. “I don’t even know what to say. Just—wow. I’m so happy for you both.”

You leaned into Leah, squeezing her hand, warmth spreading through your chest.

After years of waiting, of heartbreak, of trying again and again, the moment was finally here.

And it was everything you ever wanted.

[00valentina-writes00]

heyy love how abt vi x insecure reader where reader can’t come due to nerves and vi calms the reader down eventually and makes her cum so hard UGHHHH lots of angst too bby plssss

Angxx havxbajzb jahxbsn yes

♡♥︎Soft and Safe♥︎♡

Warnings: reader can’t cum, oral sex (reader receiving), Vi being comforting (I need her.)

Vi is patient. More patient than anyone gives her credit for.

People see her and expect fire—recklessness, heat, a fighter through and through. And she is all of those things. But she’s also something else. Something quieter. Something softer.

And thank God for that, because right now, you need that side of her.

You’re straddling her lap, your bare thighs framing her as she leans back against the headboard. Her hands rest on your waist, steady, grounding. She’s warm beneath you, her body solid, strong, unshaken.

You, however, are trembling.

Not because you don’t want this. You do. You ache for it. For her.

But your body won’t cooperate.

No matter how much you try to lose yourself in her touch, no matter how good she makes you feel, something inside you remains locked up tight, nerves tangled around your ribs like barbed wire. You can feel yourself getting closer—so close you can taste it—but then it vanishes, slipping through your fingers like smoke.

And now, frustration burns in your chest, acid-hot and awful.

Vi notices. Of course she does.

“Hey, hey, baby.” Her voice is soft, but the concern in it is unmistakable. “Breathe for me.”

You suck in a shaky breath, your nails digging into her shoulders as you try to will yourself into relaxing.

It doesn’t work.

“I—I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you whisper, voice thick with unshed tears. “I just— I can’t—*”

Vi’s hands tighten on your waist, not hard, just there. Just enough to remind you that you’re not alone. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” she says firmly. “Not a damn thing.”

You shake your head, shame curling tight in your chest. “I just want to make you feel good—”

“You do make me feel good,” Vi interrupts, her voice unwavering. “Every time. Even now.”

You bite your lip, chest tightening. “But I can’t—”

“Shh.” Vi presses her forehead to yours, her breath warm against your lips. “You don’t have to force it. I don’t need you to prove anything, babe.”

A lump rises in your throat. “But you—”

“But nothing.” Her thumbs stroke slow, soothing circles over your hips. “This isn’t a race. We’re not keeping score.”

You exhale shakily, trying to let her words sink in.

She leans back slightly, studying you with those sharp, knowing eyes of hers. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, huh?”

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. But Vi just waits, patient as ever, her hands never leaving your skin.

Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, you admit, “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

Vi scoffs. Actually scoffs. “Disappoint me? Baby, the only thing that disappoints me is hearing you say shit like that.”

You manage a weak laugh, but the ache in your chest doesn’t ease. “I just… I feel like I should be able to, you know? I feel like—like something’s wrong with me for not being able to.”

Vi’s expression softens, and she reaches up, cupping your face in both hands. “Nothing is wrong with you,” she murmurs. “Not now. Not ever. You’re safe with me, okay? We’ve got all the time in the world. You don’t owe me anything, sweetheart.”

Your throat tightens again, but this time, it’s not from frustration. It’s from the way she’s looking at you—like you’re everything. Like she’d hold you like this forever if you let her.

“Can I take care of you?” Vi asks, voice low, careful, like she’s handling something delicate.

You hesitate, but then you nod.

Vi’s lips brush against yours, barely a kiss, just a promise. Then she shifts, adjusting you gently until your back is against the pillows, her body sliding down the bed until she’s between your thighs.

“Just breathe, baby,” she murmurs, pressing slow kisses to your stomach, your hips, your inner thighs. “I’ve got you.”

And you believe her.

Her hands settle on your thighs, thumbs stroking slow, lazy circles against your skin. She doesn’t rush. Doesn’t push. Just waits, letting you feel every touch, every press of her lips.

By the time she finally kisses the inside of your knee, your muscles have loosened, your breathing deepening.

“That’s it,” Vi murmurs, nuzzling against the sensitive skin of your thigh. “There’s my good girl.”

Heat coils in your stomach, slow and steady this time instead of sharp and anxious. Vi feels it—feels the way your body reacts, the way your hips shift slightly, the way your breath hitches.

She groans softly. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

Then, finally, finally, she leans in and drags her tongue through your folds, slow and deliberate.

Your breath punches out of you, your fingers tangling in her hair.

Vi moans, low and satisfied, and does it again.

This time, there’s no panic. No pressure. Just the warm, wet heat of her mouth, the slow, insistent strokes of her tongue. She doesn’t rush you, doesn’t chase after your pleasure like it’s something to conquer.

She coaxes it from you. Draws it out like a secret only she’s allowed to hear.

And fuck, it feels so good.

Your hips jerk against her, a whimper spilling from your lips. Vi groans into you, gripping your thighs tighter, holding you right where she wants you.

“That’s my girl,” she rasps, voice wrecked and desperate. “Come on, baby. Let me feel it.”

You moan, thighs tightening around her, and—

Oh.

Oh.

The pleasure slams into you like a wave, crashing hard and unrelenting, stealing your breath, your thoughts, your everything. You sob her name, arching, trembling, falling apart completely against her tongue.

Vi doesn’t stop. Not until you’re gasping, twitching, oversensitive.

She finally pulls back, pressing one last kiss against your inner thigh before crawling back up to you.

“There she is,” she murmurs, brushing damp hair from your face. “Knew you could do it, baby.”

You let out a shaky breath, still trembling as she pulls you into her arms.

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

When You Call Them Clingy| Hyungline Pt3

Hyungline x Gn!Reader

(i was supposed to release this yesterday but things came up im sor sorry its late but here you go!!! idk how i feel about this :/)

Bangchan

The night air was cool as you walked into the dimly lit bar, Felix by your side, his expression a mixture of concern and forced cheer. You had told Chan that you had plans- and wouldn’t lie to him- and that meant actually going through with your impulsive decision to make plans.

So, here you were, out with Felix, pretending that the weight in your chest wasn’t getting heavier with every minute that passed.

Felix had noticed, of course. He always did. “Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked, voice soft. "Maybe you can-"

You forced a smile, waving him off. “Yeah, of course. I need a distraction.”

But the more you drank, the more you realized it wasn’t a distraction at all. Every sip burned, and every moment you weren’t thinking about Chan consciously was just a moment your subconscious filled with the memory of his face. His voice. The way he had shut you out completely after you made such a careless comment.

Meanwhile, across town, Chan sat in the corner of him an Jeongin’s apartment, drink in hand, gaze distant. Jisung had been invited over as well to have a few drinks and relax, since Chan also felt uneasy with the excuse he had made. Both boys sensed that something was off, but neither of them asked, just quietly sipping their drinks.

Until finally they couldn't take it anymore.

“You good, hyung?” Jisung finally asked, watching Chan down another shot.

Chan huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing his face. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Jeongin raised a brow. “You sure about that?”

Chan didn’t answer. He just stared at the ice in his glass, swirling it absentmindedly. The alcohol was dulling the ache in his chest, but only slightly. He had been pushing himself to stop thinking about you, to accept that you needed space, but it wasn’t working.

Not when his mind kept replaying the way you had looked at him before you left. The way your voice had sounded too quiet when you said goodnight.

The way it had sounded angry when you called him clingy.

Did he really do too much? What if-

Then his phone vibrated.

Felix.

Chan frowned, answering quickly. “Lix?”

“Hyung,” Felix said, exhaling sharply. “I need you to come get Y/N.”

Chan sat up immediately. “Who? You're with Y/N?" 

Was Y/N originally planning to hang out with Lix?...I thought they had just made an excuse-

Felix hesitated, his voice tight. “Y/Ns…not doing great- won't let me help-" Chris struggled to hear over the noise of the bar.  "-keeps pushing me away, saying they don’t want me to be ‘clingy'- out of -mind and refuses to- help them- get home.”

Chan felt the words like a slap to the face. His chest constricted, at the thought of you being drunk out of your mind.

“I’ll be there in ten,” he said, already grabbing his jacket. “Send me the location.” He stood up abruptly and wobbled slightly.

Jisung and Jeongin exchanged a look before quickly standing as well. “We’re coming with you,” Jeongin said firmly. "I'll drive, you drank more than either of us."

(For legal purposes disclaimer: y'all do NOT drink and drive. it's dangerous and can have serious repercussions. always try your best to have a sober friend around as well, in case of emergency)

Jeongin snatched Chris's key's and they all hopped into the car.

You tended to worry him when you were drunk, and he wasn't sure what to expect.

The drive felt agonizingly long. The alcohol still buzzed faintly in Chan’s system, but the moment he heard Felix’s voice and heard that you were in trouble - or causing trouble maybe -he sobered up fast. His heart pounded against his ribs as worry gnawed at his insides.

The second they stepped into the bar, his eyes scanned the room until he found you. And his breath caught in his throat.

You were sitting at a table, arms crossed tightly over your chest, brows furrowed as Felix spoke to you softly as he patted your back. But it was clear you weren’t listening. Your eyes were glassy, and your lips were pursed like you were trying not to cry as you shook your head, then slamming it onto the table like an angry toddler.

Felix noticed them first, exhaling in relief. “Thank God,” he muttered.

Chan wasted no time. He was at your side in an instant, crouching down so he was at eye level. “Y/N.”

Your head snapped toward him, and for a moment, your expression flickered with something so raw, so vulnerable, that it made his chest ache. But then your lips wobbled, and you hiccuped, looking away. “Go away.”

Chan’s jaw tightened. “Not happening, baby. Come on, let’s get you home.”

You shook your head stubbornly. “No.”

"You're being a pain, Y/N-ie. To Felix of all people do you want to upset him?"

Chan glanced at Felix, who gave him a knowing look. Felix wasn’t upset- he understood. It wasn’t that you didn’t want help. You just didn’t want it from anyone who wasn’t Chan.

You still stubbornly shook your head so Chan looked at Jisung who nodded.

Jisung sighed, mocking anger and crossing his arms. “Y/N you're being difficult, we can do it the easy way or the hard way. Or do you want to make us upset and disappointed?”

The moment Jisung spoke, you immediately nodded, causing a chuckle from the boys. "Okay, I'll listen."

The boys had long since known Jisung was your first bias, and that was often used for leverage in situations like these, when you're brain was too fogged to do much other that realize you didn't want to embarrass yourself in front of someone you admired. 

Carefully, Chan reached out, his fingers grazing your wrist. “Y/N,” he murmured, softer now. “Ready now?”

At that, your whole body seemed to deflate. Your lips trembled, and your eyes welled up with tears. “I was mean to you,” you whispered.

Chan exhaled softly, still caressing your wrist. “I know.”

“I didn’t mean it.” You whimpered.

“I know,” he said again, this time even softer.

Your face crumpled. “I’m sorry.”

Chan sighed, his chest tightening unbearably. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

This time, you didn’t fight him. You let him help you up, let him guide you out of the bar, his arm steady around your waist. The moment you were outside, the cool air hit you, and your steps wobbled. Chan adjusted his grip, holding you closer.

“I miss you,” you mumbled into his shoulder. Wiping your snot on him.

Chan swallowed hard. “I’m right here.” He noticed your were wiping your nose on him and he rolled his eyes lovingly. "You need a tissue?"

“You were mad,” you said, your voice tiny.

“I was hurt,” he corrected gently. “But I wasn’t mad.” He helped you get into the back seat of the car. "Sometimes, we just have to learn to handle our emotions a bit better. After some thought, I know we both could have reacted in better ways. I should have told you how I felt, and you should have told me how you felt. I know you were upset and didn't mean it, but it doesn't take away any of the hurt Y/N. I 'cling' to you because I'm deeply in love with you.

Your fingers clutched at his sleeve. “Are you leaving me?” You said looking up at him with wide eyes.

Chan paused buckling you in. His eyes widened as he turned to look at your face fully. “What?”

“You’re not gonna leave me, right?” you whispered, your voice thick with tears. “I feel so bad, Chris. I don’t want you to go.”

Chan exhaled slowly. He wanted to be frustrated with you- wanted to tell you how much you had hurt him, how dismissing his care had stung. But looking at you now, your face scrunched up in guilt, your body trembling slightly from the alcohol and the weight of your emotions…he just couldn’t.

Instead, he finished buckling you in and slid next to you and pulled you into him, his head resting atop your head. “I’m not leaving you,” he murmured. “You’re stuck with me, okay?”

You sniffled against his chest. “Promise?”

His grip tightened. “Promise.”

Jisung and Jeongin exchanged a glance but said nothing. Felix let out a quiet sigh of relief as he climbed in the back with you two.

"You're not clingy." You said quietly on the ride back. "I was upset but you're not clingy."

Chan hmmed in acknowledgement, petting your hair.

You scooted closer to him, burying yourself into him even more.

"Can I be clingy though?" You muttered sleepily, eyes fluttering to a close.

"That's all I want." He murmured quietly, kissing the top of your head.

"I love you." 

"I love you."

As Chan held you close, feeling the tension in your body slowly begin to ease, he knew one thing for certain: no matter what, he wasn’t going anywhere. And so he squeezed you a bit tighter, clung to you.

And as you drifted off into sleep you realized- 

How could you ever think you didn't want this?

——————————————————————————

Minho

The moment you got home, you regretted running away. The sinking feeling in your stomach wouldn’t let up, and your mind kept replaying the scene over and over. The way Minho looked at you- shocked, maybe even a little hurt- made you feel even worse.

You curled up on your bed, hugging your knees to your chest, guilt weighing you down like a stone. He deserved to be heard. You had made a mess of things, and now, if you wanted to fix it, you had to be the one to take the first step.

The next morning, you gathered your courage and went back to his apartment. Your heart pounded as you stood in front of his door, staring at the keypad, remembering how easily you had let yourself in the night before. This time, you knocked.

A moment later, the door opened, revealing a very tired-looking Minho. His hair was disheveled, his eyes slightly puffy as if he hadn’t slept much. When he saw you, his lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across his face before he stepped aside wordlessly to let you in.

You hesitated for a moment but stepped inside, greeted by the familiar scent of his apartment. The cats lounged around lazily, their tails flicking as they acknowledged your presence. The silence between you and Minho stretched, thick with unspoken words.

You turned to face him, gathering every ounce of courage you had. “I’m sorry.”

Minho’s brows furrowed slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “For what exactly?”

“For everything.” You exhaled shakily. “For calling you clingy when you were just being sweet, for lashing out at you because I was feeling insecure. And for last night- for not even giving you a chance to explain.”

Minho sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really hurt me, Y/N.”

“I know.” Your voice cracked. “And I hate that I did. I-” You swallowed. “I saw you with her and I just- jumped to the worst conclusion....”

He studied you for a moment, arms crossed, his gaze softer now but still guarded. "So...that is what you thought." He said quietly.

You blinked and nodded. "I...know you wouldn't though. I was emotional and I...don't..." You swallowed, trying to blink back tears.

Minho sighed and crossed his arms as he leaned against the doorframe to the living room. “You should’ve asked instead of assuming.”

“I should have.” You nodded. “Who...was she?” You asked quietly, feeling your face burn from embarrassment of still being wary.

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “My old neighbor. I asked her to watch the cats.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

He let out a small sigh, then motioned for you to sit on the couch. You followed hesitantly, your heart still racing.

“I was planning something for us,” he admitted. “A trip. I wanted it to be a surprise, but I needed someone to take care of the cats while we were gone.”

Your breath hitched. “A trip?”

Minho nodded, his expression unreadable, but his jaw twitching. “Yeah. Because I love you, and I wanted to spend time with you. But then you called me clingy and started avoiding me, and I thought…maybe you didn’t want that.”

Guilt surged through you so strongly it made your chest ache. “Minho…”

He met your gaze, something raw in his eyes. “I know that I was the first one to...shut down or...seek space; but you were the one pulling away. I was just trying to hold on. And forget what you said...”

Tears pricked at your eyes. “I didn't mean that Minho. I know nothing can take those words back, but I truly truly didn't mean it.” you whispered.

"I don't..." Minho sighed. "I don't act...this way with others. I don't really like all the mushy stuff but with you...it's different. Its like...I have to do all that stuff because I love you so much that it physically pains me not to show you just how much you mean..."

"Min..."

"So when you said that it made me think maybe you didn't want my love. That maybe...it was a burden to you."

"It's not!" You shout, making Minho jump slightly. "It's not at all. If anything I'm the burden for making things so difficult."

"You'll never be a burden to me Y/N. You just need to tell me when things are getting too hard so I can adjust my love language during those times. So we can avoid things like this, hm?" He lifted your face to look at him, slowly rubbing his thumb over your cheek. You nodded.

"You can be such a pain when your irritated you know, that?" He teased, his eyes narrowing.

"I was scared that I showed you I don’t deserve how much you love me. And that...you...”

Minho sighed before leaning forward, cupping your cheek gently, as he crashed his lips into your to shut you up.

“You can be scared, but don’t shut me out. Let me be scared with you if you are. And for the record you have nothing to be scared for. I'm clingy remember? What makes you think I'll let you go?"

A tear slipped down your cheek, and he wiped it away with his thumb. “I love you, Y/N. Even when you’re being a pain.”

A small, watery laugh left your lips. “I love you too."

He smirked slightly. “So, you ready for the trip?”

You blinked. “You still want to go?”

Minho scoffed. “Of course. I planned everything. It’d be a waste not to.”

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise." He said wiggling his eyebrows. "A very special surprise."

You pouted. "But I wanna know-"

He shushed you again with his lips, pushing you back onto the couch, and Dori's napping spot much to cat's dismay.

His hand entwined with yours, for a split second he played with your ring finger.

"You'll know soon enough, jagiya." He mumbled against your lips, his hand falling from yours to wrap around you waste as he lay on top of you. "But I missed you so let me just be with you in this moment."

He pulled you into his arms, his embrace warm and familiar, as he cuddled into you, and told you about everything that had happened recently; and for the first time in weeks, everything felt right again.

——————————————————————————

Changbin

You barely had time to process before you were rushing outside.

He was turned away from you completely. Your stomach dropped, and your hands instinctively reached out for him. "Changbin, wait!"

But he didn’t even try to continue walk away. Instead, his shoulders shook. His breath came out ragged, and when he turned back to you, his eyes were glossy, brimmed with unshed tears.

Your breath caught in your throat. "Bin...?"

You ran up to him and you started apologizing. 

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to steal your proposal or anything. I just wanted to apologize for snapping and calling you clingy-"

He let out a broken laugh, tears threatening to teeter over the edge, running a hand through his hair before looking at you with an expression so raw, so utterly vulnerable, that it made your chest pound. "You really think I’m upset because of that?"

Your brows furrowed. "Aren’t you? I- I took this from you. I ruined everything. I was so horrible-"

He cut you off with a shake of his head. "No, Y/N. God, no." He took in a shaking breath.

And then the first tear slipped down his cheek. Followed by the next, then the next.

Your heart clenched painfully at the sight, and you stepped closer, unsure if you should reach for him. He was crying. You had made him cry. And the thought of it made your own tears start to well in your eyes.

"Binnie, I-"

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice wavered. "I’m not crying because I’m upset. I’m crying because I love you so much that it makes me hurt to think about how you blamed yourself for all of this. That you thought the way to make it up to me was by planning your own proposal."

He let out another unsteady breath, wiping at his face roughly. "I don’t care about the proposal going wrong. I don’t care that you were overwhelmed or that we fought. I don't care enough about any of that to want an apology. I thought I did but being here I don't. I care that you thought for even a second that I would want you to feel this kind of guilt. I care that you thought I wouldn’t love you just as much, even after everything."

The weight of his words crashed into you all at once.

Tears slipped freely down your cheeks now, your throat tightening so much it was hard to breathe. "But I- I hurt you. I said awful things, I-"

"Yes, but seeing this-" He gestured towards your home. "I know you didn't mean it. We all say things when we're upset."

"But I do it so much-" You cried out.

"And I still love you, Y/N," he interrupted softly, stepping forward this time. "I still want to marry you. I still want every version of forever with you, no matter how messy it gets. I didn’t propose tonight because I thought it had to be perfect. I proposed tonight because I was ready. And I still am."

Your lips trembled, a sob catching in your throat as you reached for him, hands shaking when they met his chest. "Bin..."

He exhaled shakily, his hands coming up to cup your face. His thumbs brushed away your tears, his gaze searching yours as if to make sure you understood. "Don’t ever think that a bad night, a bad fight, or a bad moment could ever change the way I feel about you."

Your tears fell harder now, and a broken laugh slipped from your lips. "You’re supposed to be mad at me, and make me grovel and apologize 1000 times; not saying the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard."

He chuckled wetly, pulling you against him, his arms wrapping securely around you. " While I think that would be a sight to see I forgave you the moment everything happened. And I appreciate the apology Y/N-ie, I really do. But I could never stay mad at you. Not when I know how much you love me back."

You buried your face in his chest, clutching onto him like he was your lifeline. "I do. I love you so much, Binnie. And I’m so sorry."

He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head. "I know. I know, baby. We can move past now."

For a long moment, you just stood there, wrapped up in each other, breathing in the warmth and comfort that only he could provide. And then, in the softest whisper, he murmured against your hair:

"Marry me, Y/N?"

You pulled back slightly, blinking up at him through tear-soaked lashes. "You...You’re still asking? Even after all of this?"

His smile was small but so full of love it nearly took your breath away. "I wanted to hear you say yes."

A watery laugh bubbled out of you, and you nodded, gripping his shirt tightly. "Yes. Yes, of course, I’ll marry you."

He pulled the ring out of his jacket pocket and placed it on your finger, disregarding the box somewhere on the pavement.

And then his lips were on yours, warm and insistent, tasting of salt and relief and love. So much love.

 It was filled with every emotion under the sun, everything you could ever want and need.

And it made you pull him closer, cling to him a little more.

It wasn’t a perfect proposal.

But it was yours

Which made it absolutely perfect in the end.

——————————————————————————

Hyunjin

Hyunjin practically sprinted from your apartment, his heart hammering against his ribs. The cold air bit at his skin, but the chill was nothing compared to the ice creeping up his spine.

Where could you have gone?

He checked the usual spots first. The small park you liked to sit at when you needed air, the café down the street where you drowned your bad moods in sweet drinks, even the bus stop in case you had the ridiculous idea of running away from your problems altogether.

But you weren’t at any of them.

Panic fully bloomed in his chest. He couldn’t lose you—not like this. His mind was already spinning in worst-case scenarios, every single possibility sharpening his anxiety into something unbearable. He pulled out his phone and called again. Straight to voicemail.

“Come on, Y/N, pick up,” he muttered, frustration and worry bleeding into his voice.

Then, a thought struck him.

He quickly searched up convenience stores near your apartment. 

You tended to like to stress snack, and if you had wandered off, there could be a good chance you wandered into a place filled with snacks.

He tried calling again; even though he was sure you wouldn't answer becuase it seems your phone was off. 

But much to his surprise there was an answer.

"Hello?"

Hyunjin didn't recognize the voice, but it sounded like an older gentleman.

"Who is this? Why do you have Y/N's phone?"

"Oh, I see. Their phone died, so I'm charging it."

The man had given Hyunjin the address of the store and he took off in that direction, his long legs eating up the distance, barely noticing the way his breath came out in sharp puffs. And then, as he rounded the last corner, he saw you.

Sitting by the window, a snack in your hand, your eyes lost in thought.

Relief hit him so hard he nearly staggered. His chest rose and fell as he tried to compose himself, to shake off the raw terror that had gripped him just moments before.

You were okay.

But God, he wasn’t.

The door chimed as he stepped inside. You looked up, startled, and your eyes went wide as they met his.

“Hyunjin-”

Before you could finish, he was in front of you, his hands cupping your face, looking at you all around his warmth enveloping you entirely. His brows were drawn together, his eyes dark and searching.

“Do you have any idea how scared I was?” he said, voice tight. “I came back and you were gone. Your phone was off. I thought-” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I thought something happened to you. Why are you even at a store this far from your home?”

Guilt curled deep in your gut. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just- I tried going after you and then my phone died, and I had taken a wrong turn and-”

Hyunjin let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but it was too shaky, too broken. He pulled back just enough to look at you properly, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones.

“You don’t get to disappear on me like that,” he murmured. “Not after what you said. Not after the way you made me feel.”

Your stomach twisted. “Hyunjin, I-”

“No, let me talk.” His voice was soft, but firm. “You hurt me, Y/N. You made me feel like I was too much, like the way I love you is suffocating.”

Your lips parted, a lump forming in your throat.

“But that’s just how I am,” he continued, his fingers tightening slightly against your skin. “When I care, I care with everything. I don’t know how to be any other way.” His voice cracked. “And for a second, you made me feel like that wasn’t enough. Or maybe…too much.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. “Hyunjin, I never meant to make you feel like that.”

He searched your face, his own emotions laid bare. “Then why did you say it?”

"I was upset. But after some thought..." You swallowed, forcing yourself to confront the truth. “I think I don't like change. And being cared for this much is new to me. So, I was irritated, and I used it as an excuse to say something I had been thinking. Because I think I'm scared,” you admitted. “Scared that if I let myself lean into it too much, I’d get used to it. That I’d get used to you being there, and then one day maybe you wouldn’t be, so I shouldn't let myself get used to it."

Hyunjin stood there blinking.

“I thought pushing you away would make it hurt less if that ever happened, And after today I realized that I was wrong. And I'm sorry.” you continued, voice shaking. “I'm sorry all I did was hurt you instead of expressing how I felt. Whether about the rough days or anxiety for the future. There are no excuses...”

A heavy silence stretched between you before he finally spoke.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly. “Not unless you tell me to. And even then, I’d probably still find a way to stay and cling to.”

A nervous laugh bubbled up in your throat.

"I mean it, Y/N. More than I've meant anything before." He sighed. "I wanted you to grovel and I was going to be all dramatic and everything but...I guess you just make me way too soft don't you?" He kissed your forehead. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to cling to you. Even if you tell me not too."

You let out a full laugh now. “You’re persistent.”

“And you’re impossible,” he murmured, brushing a tear from your cheek. “But you’re mine. Right?”

You nodded, fresh guilt and love swelling in your chest. “I am. And I know I already said sorry but I really am. I’m so, so sorry, Hyunjin. For what I said, for making you feel like you weren’t enough. You are. You always have been.”

Hyunjin studied you for a moment before his lips quirked up just slightly. “You’re lucky I’m weak for you.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” you promised. “Whatever you want.”

His eyes sparkled mischievously. “Anything?”

You hesitated. “Yes?”

A full grin broke across his face. “Then you owe me unlimited cuddles for a week.”

You let out a relieved laugh, nodding. “Deal.”

And just like that, Hyunjin pulled you into his arms, burying his face into your shoulder, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

Because he didn’t.

——————————————————————————

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads @jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg @leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon @night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz @rockstarkkami @emilyywhyy

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[draculasstrawhat]

A lot of this also goes for the various “strikes” I saw floating around last year. But, y’know, moreso.

A strike needs clear goals, a clear term, and is the last stage in a failed negotiation.

There are, have been, and will be spontaneous “downing of tools” and walk outs - and when these happen they are either remarkably effective or ruthlessly suppressed, but these cannot be manufactured. Which means your strike needs to be organised.

Strikes take a lot of organising. Especially general strikes. Even wildcat strikes (which the above is an extreme example of) generally take organising.

Also, a strike is a tool to get a result, and the types of results they’re best at getting are the ones that directly affect (at least the core of) the strikers. Impromptu strikes work best when they are directly reactive to a situation: no, I will not do this specific thing you’re asking us to do, and neither will anyone else here.

That is a very rare situation.

Idk if you’ve ever followed reporting on strikes, but a term that gets used a lot is “come to the table,” as in “the management have refused to come to the table.” That is the negotiating table. The aim of a strike is to get the bosses there, and to get them to meet with your demands.

If there is no boss whom your actions directly affect that you can bring to the table, and no clear list of demands, your strike is unlikely anything but a protest, intended to show popular feeling. Mostly these methods act as a demonstration rather than effective industrial action.

And even a demonstration needs a clear message.

For example, a really well organised demonstration of this type was the mass walk-out around the invasion of Afghanistan. It was a very significant protest, and took a lot of organising, and communicated widespread disgust at the government’s actions - but it had no bargaining power. The protestors were sufficiently diverse, diffuse, and unrelated to what was being protested to have an effect. Even if they had “struck” for three or four days, there was not a sufficiently large collective of them to have significant effect on the running of the country, nor for the participants to be safe from reprisal.

It did what it had intended to do - register anger and refusal in a way it was difficult to ignore - but it could bring nothing more than that.

A strike is meant to do more than that. It is designed to force your employers to meet with you, and reach an agreement. It is, in the end, a negotiation tactic. You don’t go in saying, “we’re having a strike about this on 13th,” and expect it to work.

With a functioning management-union relationship, it goes a bit like this:

Union: Our members feel you should provide [paid time off, pay increases, better working conditions, an environment without hazardous materiels].

Management: No.

Union: We have balloted our members, and they have agreeed that if you don’t provide [ ] we will have recourse to industrial action.

Management: No.

Now, at this point, what happens depends on how reasonable the management is, and how cordial the relationship is, because at this point, the Union could just down tools indefinitely.

What normally happens, however, is this:

Union: Very well. We will be taking strike action on 12th and 13th of this month.

If the management comes to the table, and an agreement is met before those dates, the strike doesn’t go ahead. If they don’t, the strike happens - throughout which the union is pushing for them to come to the table.

If no agreement is reached by the end of 13th, the Union still has a members mandate to strike, and might say, “We shall be striking from 20th to 25th of this month.”

And so on. Eventually, a full strike might be called, but mostly it doesn’t come to that - because strikes are financially stressful for workers, and disruptive to communities, and neither the workers nor the bosses really want one.

Which is the WHOLE POINT. You don’t want a strike, you want your demands met. Which means you’ve got to give people a chance to meet them.

Boss/worker relationships are inevitably unequal, and in a strike, the workers are using the one power they really have over their boss (their labour) and saying they care about this sufficiently to *sacrifice their pay* in order to have those demands met.

(As such, think very VERY carefully about asking folk to strike if you don’t have a strike fund. ‘Illegal’ and unsupported, grassroots strikes are powerful tools of industrial action, especially in areas that are not heavily unionised, but they can be EXTREMELY risky for the participants. Part of solidarity is taking care of each other, and thinking before you put people in danger is a big part of that.)

Hey remember that a boycott if actually MORE effective under capitalism if you profess you would actually end the boycott under certain conditions.

“Nothing this company does can make up for their bad actions, I will never buy from them again!” Okay so they’ve lost you as a customer and have no reason to try and get you back. You can HOPE to drive them into bankruptcy but Chic-Fil-A is evidence of how well that works.

“This company did something bad. I would not consider buying their product again, UNLESS, they publicly apologized and made up for it by … [donating money to a cause, promoting different content, offering better care to their employees, etc.]” This is actually MORE likely to be effective because if enough people say this, the company m sees them as potential customers of a certain demographic, and is willing to make changes to get those customers back and, long term, make money from them.

[urge4divinty]

Your ex’s hidden feelings about you ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

pac tarot reading paired with intuition, take what resonates and remember energy can always change readings aren’t set in stone. + their signs or dominant placements

3 cards pulled for each pile ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ gender neutral

Pile 1

the first thing i feel before even pulling cards is warmth, a warm feeling? maybe they felt that with you and it was something they miss deeply they can’t find that in someone else so they might be completely tweaking out about the kind of warmth you brought them. song i’m also channeling is just dance by lady gaga? “wish i shut my playboy mouth—control your poison, babe, roses have thrones they say”

after pulling cards the exs hidden feelings give a very “i need to be soul searching after you”they are alone and possibly becoming independent in a introspective state. dealing with insecurity and trying to understand their inner feelings it confuses them how hurt they are and they never expected to be—they are trying to distract themselves so they might be in a hustling state where they obsess with work/or obsess over material possessions. i’m getting heavy insecurity they’re not able to express how they feel nor do they want to their usually assertiveness is muted, they feel imbalanced like maybe you weren’t giving a even amount? could be hesitant due to past hurts. they’d invest in the connection again if they felt it was safe to right now they struggle with vulnerability. guarded, uncertain, wanting clarity? signs: leo virgo taurus/libra

donut pile what’s teaaaa omg

Pile 2

the first thing i feel is slight annoyance? like very annoyed—it’s this energy of being slightly bothered. the song that came on while thinking of pile 2 was off to the races by lana del rey “god , i’m so crazy baby i’m sorry that misbehaving” oh?? “i need you i breathe you ill never leave you” “i love you forever? not maybe you are my one true love”

After pulling cards their hidden feelings is definitely defeat? like they lost something big? could’ve been married or just a really committed and serious relationship it gives a loving bond, or was loving such a “i wanted to propose to them i wanted marriage” oh they are in deeeeeep dude. but they are trying to seem stoic like they aren’t totally sick but they don’t seem like they’ll openly express any of this. they still think of you as their ideal partner!! but the ending was so painful for them they feel emotionally done and still hold on to the memories of you two. forcing themselves to accept that it’s actually over. signs: aries cancer/pisces gemini/scorpio

Pile 3

this piles energy is so different from the rest? its almost unexplainable it’s like they don’t know what they feel but they definitely know what they lost “i feel stupid” popped into my head.

after pulling cards i’m getting that they are having a lot of thoughts about you they have a strong urge to reach out to say something replaying conversations thinking of what they SHOULD of said or done to make a difference. they might’ve been emotionally detached while with you but after you left they got out of this state with a quickness they stopped ignoring their feelings and now they feel regret—they are becoming aware of what this relationship meant to them lots of self reflection going on for them and they are understanding their role of what happened, they feel pulled towards closure they want to try again tbh. their feelings are active and shifting going from indifference to “oh shit i lost them” they see the relationship in a way they didn’t see before this urge to reach out could be impulsive they are rushing into it to say their piece it’s chaotic and not at all well thought out so it could lead to aggressive communication.

signs: gemini/libra/aquarius cancer scorpio

[mechncheese]

So I’m curious, what are your science guys even up to? Like what’s the concept for them being a team out in space during the war? Is is it not? Very interesting stuff 👀

Oh I am so glad you asked ! This gives me the perfect excuse to yap about the Science Continuity, so buckle up !

So all this stuff is in my Pitchdeck Work in Progress but I'll share what I got (things are still up in the air to change but this is the general gist I'm going with !)

But first I want to begin with a disclaimer !

This continuity does not feature any humans and does not feature Earth. References to Earth related things (media and swears) will be made but overall, this is a story about Cybertronians.

The genre for this continuity is comedy and drama with some lighthearted moments, though it features content such as robot violence and gore.

Romance is not a huge focus in this, though I would be lying if I said there wouldn’t be tension between some characters but for the most part the audience is free to interpret character relationships however they please.

There will be Jetfire and Starscream being messy, that’s the only definitive relationship I can say with certainty but this isn’t reeaaally a Jetfire and Starscream centric/focused story (I'm booed off stage). It’s more like a side thing, so don’t expect to see them interact too much right away. I want to let Jetfire shine and stand out on his own without Starscream and develop Jetfire’s relationship with the other bots as well as explore other bot's relationships in general ! BUT THEY WILL BE FEATURED EVENTUALLY I just draw the funnies that come to my head and right now they're on the backburner in favor of other character interactions.

I'm also not making a full-blown webcomic or anything, I'll have an outline for the timeline / episodic summaries of what happens when I finish this Pitchdeck with illustrations and such ! I will be drawing short comics and other illustrations featuring character interactions + major moments I want to emphasize visually. I do this for funsies on my free time so I may be slow when it comes to that and also don't expect anything really grand, sorraayy !

With that out of the way, here's the Logline for the Science Continuity !

"As war continues to rage on planet Cybertron, A desperate Optimus Prime entrusts Autobot scientist Jetfire and his team of scientists the task of restoring life to their dying planet as they battle against the Decepticons."

Here are the settings/locations of significance/context:

Cybertron - Once Home, Now A Barren Wasteland

In this continuity, Cybertron has turned into a dystopian post-apocalyptic wasteland, drained of its resources and energon amidst the war. The weather on the surface is extreme and fluctuates, forcing Autobots and Decepticons to make their bases within the planet itself.

Cybertron - Iacon - Decepticon Controlled City

Decepticons currently have the upper hand. They’ve overtaken Iacon, Cybertron’s capital city. A majority of the city was destroyed in a major battle with the Autobots. The Decepticons have built their base underneath the city itself, leaving the surface to erode with the elements. 

With the energon shortage, Decepticons have been carefully scavenging the surface for any scraps remaining.

Cybertron - Abandoned Mines - Autobot Hideout

The Autobots have been cornered into the abandoned mines near the outskirts of Iacon. Desperate for any energon, Autobots have resorted to digging further within the mines in hopes of uncovering any untapped veins. They've been sending out expeditions into the mines and onto the surface in search of resources.

Luna 2 - Decepticon Science Base

Luna 2 orbits Cybertron and was the location of the former Autobot Science Base. It was ransacked by Decepticons in the midst of war, forcing the Autobot scientists to abandon Luna 2 through the space bridge. The space bridge is now under Decepticon control, giving them a huge advantage over the Autobots. 

Ambition - Moon of the Hidden Science Base - Main Location of Focus

Ambition is the moon the Science Team ended up on after escaping through the space bridge. The location of this moon is within an uncharted solar system, orbiting a large gas planet among many other smaller moons.

The Science Team has made their new base on Ambition and intend to see their mission to find a way to save Cybertron through. But now they’re saddled with another mission.. How to get back home.

(Note: I made up this location for this AU specifically </3)

--

TLDR: Jetfire was sent out by Optimus with the other Autobot Scientists on a mission to save Cybertron, the war has taken a heavy toll on the planet and he hopes that they can find some scientific means of restoring their home. Wow ! That is a VERY heavy task, no pressure !

This is mostly a story about Jetfire in a leadership position and how he is coping with the weight of such a task on his shoulders while everything goes wrong and the world is against him.

Character personalities are different in this continuity so this a more stern/serious Jetfire than the gentle natured Skyfire G1. He has a team to manage after all !

Thank you for reading if you made it through this beast length ramble, here's Jetfire getting scrubbed

[vettelsvee]

THE CALL OF LOVE | Sebastian Vettel

Primary School Teacher!Sebastian Vettel x Primary School Teacher!Reader ↳ Teacher AU ⋆ Part of CLASSROOM GOSSIPS

SUMMARY: Seb is the cool, annoying, extroverted teacher, while you are the shy, introverted and perfectionist one. Seb phones you all the time because he wants to get closer with you somehow but, also, he knows that you suffer from pretty bad anxiety and wants to respect your boundaries. However, when you have to go to Seb's class and ask him for help after your classroom becomes pure chaos, he finds the perfect opportunity to become closer with you... only to find out that, definitely, you want to get closer with him as well even your anxiety says otherwise ↳ BASED ON THIS POST I MADE TODAY!

WORD COUNT: 4798

WARNINGS: Mentions of anxiety, curse words. Lots of fluff (I loved this Seb btw).

TAGLIST: @koalapastries @blushmimi @herdetectivetheorist @awnmaneez

VEE'S NOTES: Third Teacher!Seb fic in a row since you asked! Hope you liked it as much as I loved writing it! Thank you for all the love you're giving to this, really, I'm so grateful <3 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

Although it wasn’t enough for many, you were more than happy being a teacher at one of the most well-known schools in Heppenheim, a small town in Germany. 

Now that you had achieved your dream, all you wanted was things to flow perfectly. The main problem? Your anxiety and constant need for perfection, which were the most notable things about you. On top of that, there was the strict routine that was almost impossible to deviate from. However, the real problem lay in everything related to socializing... not with your students or their parents, but with the rest of the teachers.

Sebastian Vettel, the teacher of the other 2nd grade class, had also started working there that same year. Although you initially thought your relationship would be a calm one, the reality was far from that. Seb was the complete opposite of you: a walking chaos, with more than enough confidence and a charm that made him some kind of superhero to his students.

You tried your best to keep a professional relationship with him, but it was impossible. When you wanted to do a project on biodiversity with perfectly structured activities aligned with the curriculum, Seb preferred to take them outside to let them see it for themselves. If you thought it would be a great idea for them to write a small essay about Christmas, Seb preferred to show them a movie because, in his words, “they would have time to write when they’re older.”

And if that wasn’t enough, Sebastian had the annoying habit of calling your classroom phone several times a day with ridiculous questions:

“Miss Y/L/N speaking,” you answered as calmly as you could, while still supervising your students coloring.

“Y/N!” Sebastian shouted from the other end of the line. “Hey, quick question... Do our students need permission from their parents to go out?”

“To go out? Do you mean… recess?” you frowned.

“Of course!”

“No, Sebastian, the kids don’t need permission to go out during break. It's mandatory,” you added with a hint of sarcasm.

“Great, thanks! By the way, did you know the hold music is super cute? I thought you'd want to know since it's as cute as you and…”

You hung up before he could continue.

The next day, the same thing: Sebastian called just to ask whether necessary needed one "c" or two. The day after, it was to ask whether the coffee in the teacher's lounge was free.

It was never anything serious. There was never an emergency or anything like that. It was simply Sebastian Vettel asking you the most stupid things, things he already knew perfectly well. Despite that, you forced yourself to answer the phone, trying to calm your anxiety while giving him a quick, convincing response to get him off the line, before hanging up.

You knew you could ignore him, but deep down, this strange routine had become your favorite part of the day.

And, unbeknownst to you, for Sebastian, it had too.

Seb knew exactly how you felt about him; about any interaction with your colleagues, in fact. He was fully aware that you were a little scared of speaking in public. He could tell by moments like when you nervously played with a pink pen with butterflies every time you had to speak during staff meetings, or when during the Christmas play, just before going on stage with him and your students, you excused yourself by saying you were about to vomit... something that wasn’t entirely an excuse.

To him, you were the brightest person he had ever met. The way you taught, how you cared for your students, how he noticed you watching him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention... Seb knew that being this persistent could have the opposite effect on you, but as much as he wanted to take a step forward and maybe become a friend, he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or pressure you into anything you didn’t want.

So, Sebastian decided to stop calling you.

You were puzzled when the phone didn’t ring. At first, you considered it a good thing, but as the hours went by, you realized something was missing.

The day felt endless, something that rarely happened to you. The same went for your mood, which had plummeted. And as if that weren’t enough, the art class turned into an absolute disaster, and you didn’t know how to manage it, no matter how hard you tried to calm your anxiety and think of alternatives to wrap it up as soon as possible.

Your students only needed a few minutes working on their own, making animals out of paper-mâché, while you corrected math tests, to turn the class into a total mess. There were strips of paper everywhere. The younger kids had glue all over their hands, leaving trails everywhere. One of the blue paint cans had even fallen to the floor, spreading quickly.

To make matters worse, when you tried calling Sebastian to see if he could bring you a mop, the phone decided to stop working.

You sighed and looked at the door separating your classroom from his, realizing that you had no choice but to admit to yourself that, as hard as it was to ask, you needed help.

Without saying anything to your students, you took a deep breath and shyly cracked open the door.

Sebastian was sitting at his desk, gesturing dramatically with his hands while his students stared at him as he seemed to be telling them a story.

"So, there I was, in front of a goat, after losing my parents. And do you know what happened next?" he said, walking dramatically and opening his eyes wide.

“What happened, Mr. Vettel?!” the kids shouted.

“The goat ate the sandwich my mom had made me for the trip.”

The class burst into laughter.

You couldn’t help it and laughed too, stopping when the embarrassment of having to interrupt the class just to ask for help washed over you once again. You couldn’t just walk in there like it was nothing, and—

“Oh my goodness! Look, kids, we have a surprise guest!”

You paled. The 30 second graders all turned towards you at once, their faces lighting up as if they’d seen an alien.

Then, they started chanting your name and running toward you to hug you, forcing you to step inside. Sebastian hopped down from his desk and approached you, arms crossed and wearing a smile that, if you were honest with yourself, you were dying to see.

“What do I owe the pleasure, Miss Y/L/N?”

You clenched your fists, knowing there was no way around it.

“Well… I need your help, Mr. Vettel,” you admitted in a low voice.

Sebastian blinked. Although it took him completely by surprise, he didn’t say anything else. Instead, he turned to his students.

“Alright, kiddos. I need you to be really good and stay quiet for a moment while I help our favorite teacher, okay? I’m right here, so if I hear any shouting, I’ll take away your snacks and Friday’s movie tradition.”

A collective gasp spread through the class, but Sebastian didn’t have to say anything else. Immediately, all the kids went back to their seats and pulled out books to read.

To your surprise, they didn’t make another sound.

“Come on, Miss Y/L/N, lead the way.”

You followed his lead, and then it was you who invited Seb to come in. Once he stepped inside, the German had no words. Instead, his eyes started to scan the room.

“Wow…”

“Yeah, I know…” you sighed.

Sebastian slowly turned to face you, trying not to laugh. Of all the chaos, what surprised him most was that one of the kids, named Martin, had his shirt stuck to the chair, covered in glue, and three desks were completely covered in the same blue paint that was on the floor. To top it off, the stain you had seen moments ago had spread not only on the floor but also on the clothes and faces of many of your students.

That’s when you realized the worst.

A group of girls was standing, whispering to each other, around the hamster cage in the class... which was empty.

“Y/N…” Seb lowered his voice. “Tell me the hamster’s in the cage, but I don’t see it…”

“It’s somewhere in the classroom. The problem is, I don’t know where, and there’s only half an hour left before the day ends…” You admitted, feeling quite embarrassed.

“Are you telling me there’s a dwarf hamster loose around here?”

“Are you going to help me or what?” you snapped, frustrated, glaring at him. “Look, Sebastian… We don’t have much time before we have to leave, and if I don’t get the kids out at the exact time, just like they were brought in, you know the parents are going to go crazy…”

“Relax, Y/N. I got it.”

You didn’t have much idea what could be going through Sebastian’s head, let alone how he’d manage to fix this, but you tried to relax and give him a chance for everything to return to normal little by little.

To your surprise, that’s exactly what happened.

Not only did he divide the children into small groups to do simple tasks, like going to the bathroom to clean up, looking for the class hamster (which they found almost immediately, curled up beside a cabinet), or collecting the materials they’d used and putting them away, but he also took both classes to the school exit so you wouldn’t have to face desperate parents asking why their kids looked like they’d just been on a jungle expedition.

The bell marking the end of school had rung half an hour ago, and you were fully aware that most teachers had probably packed up and gone home by now. Sebastian hadn’t even appeared to tell you that his students had returned safely to their parents, and, for a reason you knew all too well, that disappointed you.

You sighed, trying to let go of those thoughts and illusions that shouldn’t matter so much. Instead, you focused on the pile of papers on your desk, the art supplies that still hadn’t been put away, and the paint that, no matter how hard you tried to clean it off the floor, seemed impossible to remove. You decided to calm down and start with something simple, like putting away the materials and picking up tiny pieces of paper from the floor.

“Do you know school’s over for today, right?”

You turned to the door. Sebastian was leaning against it, arms crossed and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. He threw his backpack on the floor and walked over to sit next to you, helping you pick up the papers without any explanation.

“No… I didn’t hear you come in…” you confessed in surprise. And I wasn’t expecting you, you thought.

“That’s because I’m as sneaky as a ninja. The kids tell me that all the time,” he smiled, glancing at you sideways.

Seb continued his task, silent, scanning the classroom. It was no longer the disaster it had been just an hour ago. Now, the desks were perfectly grouped in fives, the class materials seemed to finally be in place, and, to your surprise, the stains had disappeared from everywhere.

“Y/N, you should go home,” Sebastian told you, standing up and helping you to do the same.

“I just need to finish cleaning up a little more…”

“Or you could not do that,” he interrupted.

You let out a small laugh for the first time that day, carefree. You were nervous and exhausted, and Seb knew that perfectly well.

“I just want to make sure everything’s perfect for tomorrow,” you admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“We managed to not kill a hamster with twenty-something kids running around and stopped the paint from getting on the walls, and you’re telling me you want to make sure everything’s perfect for tomorrow?”

“Well… yes,” you answered, looking down and biting your lip.

“That’s pretty adorable, honestly,” Sebastian said. Realizing what he’d just said, and that it might make you uncomfortable, he corrected himself. “I mean, as in your passion for teaching and everything…”

Stop fooling yourself and be honest with her, Sebastian.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s that, but…” you tried to articulate, your cheeks completely red.

“Well, the thing is: what else can I help you with?” Sebastian asked, unable to stop smiling. The fact that you were embarrassed by something so simple seemed so cute to him that he couldn’t stop looking at you.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, what can I help you with, Y/N?” he repeated slowly.

“Well… the truth is, you don’t have to—”

“I know,” Sebastian interrupted. “But I want to help you.”

You stared at him, unable to respond. You were used to helping people, not being helped yourself, and that left you speechless.

“What’s left to do?” Vettel insisted with care, moving a little closer to you while still keeping his distance.

“If you want, you can put the exams on the desk into the folders beside them,” you finally said, giving up.

“On it, Miss Y/L/N.”

“But really, Sebastian, you don’t have to—”

“If you tell me again you don’t need help, I’ll have to punish you with no recess.”

You burst out laughing, and to Sebastian, it sounded like pure medicine. For the first time that day, you didn’t feel like a total failure.

You worked in complete silence, letting time pass as you finished organizing everything. When you were finally done, you slumped into the chair and started checking your emails, wondering if any parent had decided to make your day even worse by sending a complaint after the day you’d had. To your surprise, there was nothing. What did surprise you, though, was that Seb came in with two cups of hot chocolate and a bag of sweets that, even more surprisingly, were your favorites.

“Here you go,” he said, offering you one of the cups while placing the bag on the table. “You were so focused that I didn’t want to bother you by saying I was leaving. And, well… I also wanted to brighten your day a little.”

You thanked him with a smile and didn’t hesitate to try the chocolate, which tasted like a real victory after such a bittersweet day.

Then, you closed your computer, put it in your bag, and, to your surprise and his, turned your chair to face him.

“What’s going on?” you said, noticing that Seb was looking at you… strangely.

“Nothing. It’s just… you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Sebastian cleared his throat, not knowing what else to say. Instead, he shook his head and set his mind on doing what he had promised himself when he started working there: to try to become friends with you.

“Tell me about Miss Y/L/N’s teaching philosophy,” he finally said.

“Excuse me?” you hesitated.

“Come on, let’s go. I know you have one. You take this job too seriously not to have some kind of ritual or something to make everything go perfectly…”

“Except for today,” you replied.

Seb didn’t say anything because he knew how much you’d keep beating yourself up. Instead, he took a chocolate from the bag he had brought, unwrapped it, and placed it beside you. You finally accepted it without complaint, but with a smile in return.

“Well… I guess I want them to feel safe,” you started to say. “I want them to know that no matter what happens, it’s okay to make mistakes or not be perfect sometimes… I want them to know that I’m here for whatever they need, and that they can be great people in the future.”

“That’s amazing, Y/N,” Seb nodded slowly, unable to take his eyes off you.

“It’s not a big deal…”

“Of course it is,” he replied. “You care a lot, don’t you?”

“More than you can imagine…” you swallowed, feeling a little vulnerable.

“I can see that perfectly, yes.”

“Really?”

“Seb nodded, playing with his mug.”

“You’re always the first one to arrive, and I’d swear the last one to leave. You do the most original activities and, at the same time, try not to die in the process, even though today was the exact opposite,” you both laughed. “You want to be perfect for them and try to give your best.”

“Is that bad?” you asked cautiously, tensing up a little.

“Not at all,” Seb answered immediately. “But sometimes I think you should stop being so hard on yourself and just go with the flow. You know... let things just happen by themselves.”

You were about to answer, but he continued:

“You’re a great teacher, Y/N. You don’t need to prove it to anyone but yourself, okay?”

Something in your chest tightened. You weren’t used to hearing things like that, especially not from your colleagues.

Or maybe you never gave yourself the chance for someone to recognize your well-done work, thinking it had never been, and would never be, enough.

You kept talking to Sebastian about a bit of everything, feeling right at home. The hours passed, and between questions about how you both ended up being teachers, what motivated you to dedicate your life to it, and how you both ended up in Heppenheim, it was already 7 PM.

You glanced at the clock and immediately stood up, quickly starting to gather your things, which made Seb alarmed.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, worried.

“I should go…” you said, grabbing your backpack and slinging it over your shoulder. “I need to catch the bus before it gets too late. It’s the last one of the day and…”

“Wait,” he interrupted you. “You take the bus home?”

“Uh... yeah?”

“This late?”

“I’ve been doing it since I moved here, so it’s nothing new.”

“And no one’s offered to take you home? Not even to share fuel expenses and stuff?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Of course it is,” he replied. “From now on, I’ll take you home.”

Your eyes widened, surprised.

“Sebastian, you really don’t have to…”

“I’m not going to argue with you,” he cut you off, taking your backpack, offering his hand, and leading you out of the classroom, making sure to turn off the lights before you left.

“I don’t want to be a bother…”

“Do you think you’re a bother just because I want to take you home and make sure you arrive safe?” he asked, stopping in the middle of the hallway and still looking at you. “I’d be a terrible friend if I let you go alone on the bus, especially this late with all the drunk creeps around.”

You froze. Friend.

“Come on, let’s go,” Seb spoke again. This time, noticing you were shivering, he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or from your nervousness, so he decided to put his jacket over your shoulders. “The day you let me help you a little more, we’ll be the best team the world’s ever seen.”

You didn’t say anything else until you reached Sebastian's car. Not even when you sat inside after Seb opened the door for you and turned the heat on full blast.

“Well…” Seb broke the silence as he placed his hands on the steering wheel. “Where to, Y/L/N?”

“You want me to guide you all the way?”

“Do you expect me to guess the way?” Vettel joked. “Y/N, I’ve got balls, but none of them are crystal, so…”

Embarrassed, and especially starting to overthink whether Seb would start judging you not only for your answer but for the entire day you spent together, you simply gave him the directions.

Seb, knowing you might be feeling down and, unlike the whole afternoon when you talked about everything, seeing you retreat into yourself again, started asking you a bit of everything. Why did you decide to move to Heppenheim, such a small town? What was your favorite place? Did you like your neighborhood?

You weren’t used to that flood of questions, and especially not to people showing interest in you. Since you were very young, you always felt left out, like you didn’t belong to any group...

But with Seb, it was different. It was like he actually cared about you, and you couldn’t help but feel incredibly good about it.

“I like the new neighborhood. Quite cozy and nice...”

Seb parked the car in a small free spot in front of the apartment block where you lived. Then, he turned toward you with a smile, placing his arm behind your seat.

“It’s very quiet, which is great when I need to grade or when I just want to read and relax.”

“Oh, are you one of those?” Seb teased.

“One of what?”

“One of those teachers who reads all the time.”

“Seb, we’re teachers,” you were surprised to call him by his nickname so naturally, but you didn’t regret it. “Of course, I read all the time.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but what I mean is, do you read for fun?” he corrected himself. “Do you read those dirty books or the inspirational ones that tell you how to be the perfect teacher?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you hit him on the arm.

“I read for fun.”

“That confirms it, you do read those dirty books where they’re constantly... you know… having sex in the dirtiest ways…”

“They’re called romance novels, Seb,” you corrected him, ignoring his comment. “The last thing I read was a romantic novel, okay? With no sex in it, by the way.”

“I knew you were a hopeless romantic…”

“I don’t know why I even told you anything…” you whispered, hiding your face in your hands.

Seb wanted to reply with something more, to joke around with you, but he knew that for today, it had been enough. What mattered was that you had felt comfortable and, most of all, opened up a little more with him that day.

Silence fell between you both again, but neither of you dared to say anything else. Not even you, who had yawned a couple of times and were dying to get home and get into bed without even having dinner, made the effort to get out of the car.

You didn’t know why you were so hesitant to leave. It was easy: thank Seb, say goodnight, get out of the car, and walk into the building without waiting to see if he drove off. Instead, you decided to stay there, by his side, your hands resting on your legs, feeling safer and, above all, happier than you had in a long time.

Seb didn’t say anything either. Instead, he focused on the streetlights, growing brighter with each passing moment, while his fingers drummed on the leather steering wheel.

Finally, you were the one who decided to take the step, to both your surprise:

“Well... I felt really comfortable today,” you admitted, with a calm voice.

Seb turned toward you suddenly, surprised.

You swallowed nervously, trying not to let the anxiety consume you and, above all, trying to stop the embarrassment from taking over. 

"Well, I was thinking that... we could do this once in a while..."

Sebastian's lips curled into a smirk.

"What, reorganize a class and try not to die in the process? And not killing a hamster?"

"No, I meant...," you hesitated, then looked at him shyly. "I meant… spending time together. Outside of school."

That caught Sebastian off guard, but he couldn’t help the huge grin that spread across his face. He hadn’t expected you to say that, especially not after the chaotic day you'd both had.

"Wait..." he murmured, searching for the right words. "Are you telling me that... you want to spend time together, and not during class hours?"

You felt like you were going to die from embarrassment. Nervous and a little regretful, you weren’t going to back down though. You held your backpack tight, like some kind of protection, while fidgeting nervously in your seat.

"Well... I felt really comfortable today with you, and I thought maybe we could do it again. You know… grab a coffee, go for a walk..."

Sebastian didn't say anything. He just stared at you, unable to recognize the person in front of him, yet delighted that maybe, with a little bit of help from him, you had stepped out of your comfort zone, even if you didn’t seem entirely comfortable.

"Forget what I just said..." you mumbled.

You bit your lip, lowering your gaze, unable to look at him in the face. Sebastian, however, couldn’t have been happier in that moment.

"Not a chance. I like your idea. Actually, I’m more than happy with it."

His voice was calmer now, which gave you the courage to look at him. His blue eyes, which normally made you nervous and stole your words, now made you feel the same, but for an entirely different reason. You felt pressure in your chest, but this time it was nothing like the anxiety or fear of being judged and rejected.

"Hey," Sebastian spoke again, gently taking your chin and forcing you to meet his gaze. "Since, from what I’ve just heard, you don't mind spending time with me..."

"Seb, please, don’t ruin this moment..."

You narrowed your eyes, instinctively leaning toward his lips, and Sebastian didn’t hesitate to close the distance, pressing his lips to yours. At first, it was soft, like you both were making sure that was really happening not just in your minds. When Sebastian felt you sigh against his lips, something in him clicked. His hand, still resting on your chin, slid to your cheek, caressing it tenderly, while his other hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

You let yourself go, feeling butterflies in your stomach for the first time in a long time, not because you wanted to disappear, but because you felt more alive than ever.

When you finally pulled apart, Sebastian rested his forehead against yours, eyes still closed.

"Tell me this isn’t a mistake, Seb..." you whispered, still confused about what just happened.

"If it is, I hope you, Miss Perfection, don’t mind."

You laughed nervously, filled with emotions and confusion, but mostly happiness.

"So... what now?" you asked, breathless.

"I love the idea of kissing you in my car like a couple of teenagers, but I think it’s getting too late and we have to get up early tomorrow. So, I have an idea."

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop smiling.

"I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. How does that sound?"

"What?"

"Tomorrow's Thursday, Y/N. We have to go to class," Sebastian explained, as if you didn’t already know what he meant. "If I pick you up, you won’t have to wake up extra early to catch the bus."

Your heart skipped a beat. Yes, it was a simple offer, nothing extraordinary, but to you, it felt like more... like Sebastian wanted something more with you.

Like you mattered to Sebastian Vettel.

Seb saw the hesitation, the doubt in your eyes. He leaned in gently, and after placing a short but tender kiss on your lips, he spoke again.

"I know I don’t have to do this, but I want to," he assured you.

You swallowed hard.

Sebastian was serious. It wasn’t some bad joke like many other guys had made in the past. He really meant it.

"Okay," was all you could say.

Sebastian’s smile lit up his face.

"Great, princess. I’ll see you at seven-thirty here tomorrow. And I know it’s not necessary, but I have to remind you: please, don’t you dare being late."

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you opened the car door and stepped out, a smile forming on your lips like never before.

Then, you hesitated at the door, but you were ready to, for once in your life, stop trying to be so perfect.

"Goodnight, Seb," you said softly. "And... Thank you. For everything."

"Sleep well, best teacher in the whole world."

You walked toward your building, and when you were inside, you turned around to see if Sebastian had left. To your surprise, he was still there, making sure you had entered safely.

You both waved to each other, and as you climbed the stairs to the fifth floor, you realized that, for the first time, the anxiety about tomorrow wasn’t paralyzing you. 

Instead, it was tomorrow, alongside Sebastian Vettel, what were making you feel alive.

[ladycremecaramel]

So this was my ask from a long time ago, and I had thoughts of mgit (modern girl in thedas) story for this, but it never came to fruition. What I did do, though, was write a drabble from the Inquistor's POV. I thought it was long gone, but I stumbled upon it through my Google docs. After reading it, I thought I would post it here.

For context, the woman's name is Nora, and she is married and has a kid. There was an accident of some sort where the husband and child didn't survive, but she did and wound up in Thedas with the mark on her hand. She didn't want anything to do with the Inquisition as her spouse and child were her whole world and was grieving. She didn't care if she lived or died, but her moral compass of wanting to help those in need prevented her from outright killing herself.

Over time, the grief becomes...less in a way. After the fall of Haven and becoming the Inquisitor, her depression ramps up again but also has conflicting feelings about Cullen.

Then she becomes kidnapped red templars and...I forgot what they called the evil mages that worked for Corypheus were called. The ones that went crazy or were they called blood mages? Anyway, their plan was to 'kill' the Inquisitor and then use necromancy on her dead body to have control of the mark. Obviously, that doesn't happen cuz the Inquisition comes to the rescue juuuust in time.

So here it is. Below this is a TW of depression, blood, thoughts of suicide, and mentions of rape

Whack.

She yelped in pain as he punched the side of her face again. Another swollen bruise to add the collection on her body and face. She tried to wrench her wrists free of her binds, but the rope held tight was starting to cut into her skin. “Why am I fighting this? Don’t I want to die?” She thought to herself as her body struggled against her captors. 

She wasn’t sure, but her thoughts were stilled when a rough hand grabbed her by the throat. The red templar forced her to look up at him as he tightened his grip. Staring into the glowing crimson eyes, he snarled. “Should I let them rape you, mage? If you keep fighting, I won’t let you have any dignity left.” 

Nora froze upon hearing those words. To be raped and let whatever was to be become of her? His grip was tightening as she went limp with fear. If she were to die anyway, she wanted to at least have the choice to stay intact. The man stilled his tightening grip and slowly loosened his hold to see if she would struggle again. She didn’t move. Taking as a sign of surrender, he ordered the other men to bind her legs quickly. 

Everything moved quickly in a blur for her after that as she was carried to the open wooden box and placed inside. Her eyes began to sting with tears while her captors placed the lid on top and hammered it down with nails. She couldn’t see anything, but she could hear their voices. 

Soon she heard what sounded like chanting. It sounded low and in another language. What was going on out there? Did it matter? She watched interior of the box glow at the seams with a dark purple energy. It glowed brighter and brighter what felt like the longest time before it faded away, plunging her back into darkness. 

The next thing she knew was that box was being lifted and then lowered back down. She rocked back and forth with the casket, but it soon lurched with a soft thump. Nora fidgeted around with her hands tied in front of her until she heard the sound dirt being poured on top of the box she was in. Her eyes grew wide, and she sobbed. “This is it. This is how I die.” She thought as she tried to calm herself and accept her fate as she was being buried alive. 

“It shouldn’t be painful. I’ll fall unconscious as I lose oxygen. I’ll get to see my boys again soon. Just like I always wanted. I would have already offed myself if I didn’t have this fucking curse on my hand. They wanted their world saved though. My stupid guilty, noble do-the-right-thing just HAD to win out…” 

She thought like this as the sound of the dirt grew fainter. She assumed it was because her grave was almost filled up. She wondered how much time she actually had. It could be a few minutes to possibly a few hours or so she was told by Google. Looks like she was going to test that theory. 

Nora let her mind sift through all her memories. From her childhood to her adolescent days to adulthood. Then it went to more recent memories of losing her husband and child in a flash of green and then winding up in Thedas. Going through the story of the game or most of it anyway. She thought about the companions she met and actually becoming friends with them. She even thought about him. She wasn’t sure how she felt about him still but he definitely made her heart race. 

She wasn’t sure how much time has passed but the sound of the dirt stopped and she heard muffled shouts and what sounded like metal clashing. She strained her ears as best as she could. She couldn’t tell how deep she was buried but it didn’t sound like she was buried too deep or she wouldn’t have likely heard anything. 

She was starting to feel tired. When she heard a muffled angry voice that sounded like...

“Cassandra?”

They came all this way for me?

--------------

Aaaaannnnd end. That's it. Then my ask picks up from there.

You don't have to do this one. DAi: LI's only. After locating the Inky's they find that their leader is nowhere in sight. After some fruitless interrogating, they hear a faint THUMP THUMP THUMP and muffled screaming. They search for the source and find a half filled grave and the sound of their leader under the dirt. Their reaction: Discovering their Inky was buried alive.

Cassandra: Her heart drops, and the panic doesn’t even have time to settle before she is loudly barking orders and trying to steady her breathing. The second she gets the Inquisitor out of his shallow grave; she grabs him in a big hug and refuses to let go. The seeker is far from a merciful person, any may Andraste protect whoever dared do this to the person she loves. For a second she looks up at the man she loves, dirty and bruised with a mixture of panic and fear in his eyes. She doesn’t even want to think about what would’ve happened if they hadn’t gotten there sooner. 

Solas: Bring along the fury of a wolf and you will end up being ripped apart by the pack, this is very much apparent with Solas. The apostate is quick on his feet, helping his vhenan out of the grave and staring at the people responsible whom they just questioned; he has murder in his gaze. The only thing stopping him from acting then and there is the soft touch from his lover, her shaking body quickly moving closer to him for comfort. He would never forgive the people who did this and the ones who survived his visit later that night were the unlucky ones.

Dorian: At first he is rather unsettling, extremely calm and soft-spoken, only to lash out when someone makes a rather poor comment as the Inquisitor is helped out of his grave. Dorian feels utterly helpless and furious when he sees his Amatus like that, the man has bruises around his wrists showing he was tied; a busted lip and a tired gaze. he knows that if they had been slower the man he loved would’ve been underneath them all along but lacking the consciousness to ever speak up about where he was. One wrong clue or details lost could’ve led to being one minute too late. And that terrifies him.

Sera: May whatever god these people look up to be a just and forgiving one; because Sera sure as hell isn’t. As soon as Inky is out of that grave, an arrow is lodged into the leg of the nearest guilty person; and she has to be held back from jumping the man. She has no mercy for these people, and absolutely no pity for them as their screams reach her ears. Sera is scarily silent as she calms down, quickly finding her girlfriend and latching onto her- a shaky breath escaping her as she promises that she won’t ever let this happen again.

Blackwall: Honestly; it would surprise noone if Thom admitted to having done this himself, seeing as how calm he was when he was met with the issue itself; quick and steady hands knowing what to do right away. He doesn’t speak much when the Inquisitor stumbles out of the grave, clinging onto him and gasping for air and shaking. The tears in her eyes is enough to send his very being into a angry rampage; but he simply stays silent. Comforting his lover as he leads her away from the site, the others can deal with the vermin.

Iron Bull: May whoever did this rest in peace, because honestly they messed up the second they dared to mess with anyone who had contacts within the chargers. Bull is extremely gentle and careful with his lover; the poor thing shaking and it breaks his heart the second he sees the bruises on their face. Being buried alive is not fun, he would know. He is more aware than anyone else how lucky they were; because you loose oxygen fast in a casket. He lets out a shaky breath before kissing their face, muttering an apology for taking so long.

Josephine: When she had heard the word of what happened, she couldn’t help but close herself inside the office and just cry. Leliana had made sure she got time to let out all the worry and stress as she awaited for her lover to return. When they did? They were met by Josephine, puffy eyes and a lip that she had clearly chewed on more than enough to draw blood. And she only started crying again when she saw their bruised face, just about starting to heal from traveling back. She hated that she had to let them go on these trips; but she knew stopping them would only make things worse. With a tired sigh she grabs their hand, they needed a few hours. Just to be.

Cullen: He was the one leading the rescue operation, and he thought he had the ability to act cool. But when the Inquisitor is helped up from the casket and is finally able to see in the much brighter area; she sees him acting extremely out of character. The man on the ground is bleeding heavily from his face as Cassandra pulls the commander away from him. Cullen had been scared, he had felt so lonely when he found out that his rage blinded him and for a split second he wanted nothing else but to kill the person responsible. He feels his anger melt when the hand of his loved one is carefully placed on his cheek, as she whispers for him to calm down. She is bruised, tired and was probably on her last breaths. He would never forgive himself for allowing this to happen to begin with, but may the maker have mercy on the people responsible. They would face the wrath of Cullen Rutherford.

[truefandemonium]

Part 1/? of my Thanos xFem!Reader thirst fic (unrelated to my previously posted fic cover) Hope y’all enjoy and uhhhh keep an eye out for part two I guess? 😭 (this was written for @i-think-youre-a-work-of-art pls keep all replies and reblogs SFW thank you) also tagging @heavenlyraindrops Ty all for reading! 🫰

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Princess and the Pills (pt. 1/?)

Thanos xFem!Reader, fluff, angst, toxic!Thanos, but also sweet!Thanos, Nam-gyu abuse sksksks, SFW, some mild spicy talk, cuddling, uhhhh idr what else is in this part, drug use, swearing { pt. 2 }

*✨*✨*✨*

You hear him before you see him, and his butter smooth voice makes you wish you never turned around. “Señoríta,” he purrs, pulling his jumpsuit jacket collar higher around his neck. “I couldn’t help but notice— you’re all alone out here. Y’know, I could protect you.”

“I can manage just fine, thanks,” you bite back, not looking to make any friends here. Least of all… this guy.

The man’s nose wrinkles in disbelief, his brows shooting upward. “Oh yeah? Well— we could still make a pretty good team. Keep each other safe, y’know?” His expression calms, and you find him… almost handsome with the small smile playing on his lips, sunlight dancing in his purple tipped hair from above. He continues with a growing smirk, “Keep each other warm.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes hard as you nudge past him, and you feel him practically cower from your touch as you do so, your shoulder knocking him backward a foot or two. “Whatever.”

Before you can completely remove yourself from his vicinity, you feel his warm hand wrap around your wrist, a surprisingly gentle touch in comparison to his furious eyes as he pulls you to face him.

You suck in a gasp at his proximity, his face only inches from yours as he studies you. His gaze flicks over your expression, down to your lips for a fraction of a second longer than anywhere else, and then back up to your eyes, where he narrows his own and lets go.

“Don’t forget you got a place to come running,” he assures you with a sniff, tipping his chin skyward. “I’m Thanos.”

“Thanos,” you repeat, taking your turn to look him over. “You got the infinity stones?”

Thanos’ eyes light up in amusement, and he nods, holding up his hand to begin counting off each painted finger. “Red, orange, yellow, green, I’m a legend, Thanos.” His smile after that seals the deal, and you decide to humor him.

“So what made you choose me, huh? To team up with?” you ask, crossing your arms. You didn’t understand it. He must want something from you. Why else would he seek you out?

“You kiddin’?” he snorts. “I’d have to be crazy not to snatch up the prettiest girl in this whole place.”

You roll your eyes again. Ah. “Right,” you say. “What about your buddy over there, hm? He seems pretty attached to you.” Your eyes fall over to the man shifting from foot to foot several yards away, pushing his greasy hair from his face to look toward Thanos.

“Wha— Nam-gyu? Nah, he aight,” Thanos says with a shrug, “But you?” He shakes his head before nodding to a silent rhythm and spouting a few lines of rap; “In the sea of faces, you caught my eye. My beauty, my flower blooming among weeds…” His teeth shine in the sunlight as he grins and tugs the front of his jacket. “Look at us in this blue-green. Now give me the green LIGHT.” He dramatically spreads his arms above his head and shoots the sky a wide smile, looking back at you with a raised brow as he positions his finger and thumb into a tiny heart. “I. Like. You.”

You smack a hand over your mouth, a small giggle erupting from your chest. Laughter, but also… something else. Something warm, and fuzzy. You tamp it down and turn away, dropping your hand.

“Cute song,” you say quietly, dismissing him along with whatever feeling just rose in you.

“See you at the finish line, girly,” Thanos bids you farewell, waving one bejeweled hand before disappearing into the crowd.

You force the image of his endearing smile and buttery voice from your mind as you ready yourself behind the starting point and listen to the game rules.

Before the game starts, some maniac begins screaming about how everyone will die if they move during red light. Yeah, you think annoyedly, that’s how you get disqualified, idiot. Had this loser never played red light green light before?

“He on some crazy shit,” a familiar voice sounds over your shoulder. You turn to curl your lip at Thanos and shrug in agreement.

“He’s kinda right,” you say, itching to disagree with the purple haired rapper if only to see his eyes alight with fury again. “Though that ugly doll already told us all of this a minute ago.”

“How much you wanna bet he’s totally bonkers,” Thanos whispers to you, shifting closer to your side. You resist the urge to lean into the warmth he offers and instead square off, shooting him a sideways glare and nudging him away with your elbow.

“Quit distracting me,” you hiss, listening as the doll sings ‘green light’ melodically.

The man far in front of you screams to run and you obey, booking it forward several feet and hoping Thanos biffed it somewhere behind you.

Soon, you’re stuck at your fourth red light, and no one has been eliminated yet. Which is honestly— amazing. You remember playing this in school and there were kids that would throw tantrums after getting ‘out’ on the first turn.

And then something in front of you catches your eye.

“Is that a bee?” Thanos whispers dumbly from beside you. He’s stayed pretty much right at your side since the game started, and you’ve avoided his incessant blabbing successfully up until now.

“What?” you whisper back, staying carefully frozen.

Thanos chuckles. “The chick in front of you. She’s got a bee on her neck.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “Surprised it couldn’t tell you’re the only flower around here.”

“Just leave it,” you scold him, but he calls out anyway.

“Hey, senorita!”

The girl shifts. “Huh?” she squeaks.

“You got a bee on ya,” Thanos giggles playfully as the girl wails and flails and screams and leaps until the bug is long gone. Casting a teasing smile at Thanos, she muses, “Huh. I moved! Guess I’m out—”

A sound rings out and echoes painfully in your ears, a hot spray hitting your face at the same time. You blink the dark liquid from your eyes in confusion, trying to figure out what just happened, and then you see the body.

A sharp inhale of breath prompts you to turn your gaze to the side, but you’re stopped by a scream.

“HOLD STILL!” the crazy man in front wails at you, his voice commanding attention. But it’s too late. People have seen it: the body of the girl in the sand, blood staining the ground around her.

Shrieks of fear echo around the courtyard as people begin running for the exit, frantic.

“They’ll shoot you if you move, just HOLD STILL!” the same man cries, his tone almost pleading now. It takes all of your willpower to stay upright and steady as the shots ring out one after the other. Screams of pain and horror cut short by loud bangs and splatters of blood.

Until all falls silent, and the rules are repeated over the loudspeaker. The man calling out to you speaks again after green light. No one moves.

“You have to move before the timer runs out or they’ll still shoot you!” he says, but you’re no longer listening.

You tip your head up from where you’d been watching the still body of the bee-girl, and look at Thanos instead. He’s trembling, his eyes wide and slightly glazed over as he stares at the corpse at his feet.

“We have to move,” you tell him as the light turns red once more, then green again. Your heart is in your throat. You don’t know why you’re bothering to talk with this psycho— you’re here to win. Well… now you’re here to survive.

But Thanos doesn’t even look at you. With his eyes still glued to the girl’s dead body, he scrambles at the crucifix around his neck, popping open the metal locket top and digging out a small colored pill.

His hands shake so violently that the crucifix tips, and several of his stash tumble out and into the bloody dirt below. Thanos curses, his voice breaking as he drops to his knees and begins frantically picking them out of the sand, stuffing one into his mouth in pure panic.

“Thanos,” you hiss, heart starting to stutter like it’s threatening to stop completely. “Move.”

He slams his eyes shut for a second as he bites down on the pill, his hands still shaking hard as he drops a few dirty pills back into his locket and snaps it closed.

“I can’t,” he whispers back, opening his eyes again, but unable to meet your gaze. You feel sick.

The kook in front of the group that’s leaving you behind yells for you to run, and you take off, ignoring the nagging voice telling you to drag Thanos along with you.

Time doesn’t feel right as the minutes tick down on the giant clock, but only a few rounds of the game have passed.

You feel like it’s been days under the hot sun, watching people die around you as you strive for an unreachable finish line. You force yourself not to wonder if Thanos made it— his body is probably lying in a pool of blood and mysterious colored pills thousands of yards behind you by now.

You clear your mind of him— of everything— as you run without fear. Pure adrenaline keeps your legs from buckling beneath you as your feet pound the earth, sweat trickling in rivulets down the sides of your face. Some from the heat and exertion— more from complete and utter terror.

You’re close to the finish line, now. Red light seems to drag on this time, and a man several feet in front of you is blasted directly in the head, showering you in gore.

You suck down lungfuls of air to keep your stomach from flipping as you listen for ‘green light’ and make your mad dash for the finish line.

As you dart out, someone trips and collapses hard in the sand just in front of you, body checking you off trajectory and sending you spinning. You yelp, shifting midair and falling back, having flipped a complete 180 degrees to face the back of the courtyard.

“Red Light.”

Shit.

Time slows as you make your descent, the sound of the doll’s whirring head turning to spot your movement the only thing you can hear.

But instead of the hard ground beneath you, followed by a gunshot, you feel a jolt as you’re caught by the front of your shirt and held in a vice grip. You don’t want to open your eyes, too afraid to see who saved your life. Maybe you’re already dead.

But you open them anyway, and you realize you left your heart in the sand with Thanos at the start of the game.

The rapper stares ahead, his brow knitted in concentration, his arm flexed and holding onto your jumpsuit firmly to keep you from landing on your back. You blink up at him in bewilderment. In confusion.

Why would he risk himself to save you after what you did?

But when he finally looks down at you, it makes sense. His brows bounce, shooting you that award winning smile with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. “Tag,” he giggles, his eyes wild and dangerous.

Yet somehow, you’ve never felt so safe.

As the green light sounds, he yanks you back to your feet hard, and you collide with his chest, hands coming up to brace you.

His strong hands grip either side of your upper arms, his lip stuck in a thoughtful pout as he stares into your eyes menacingly. He exhales slowly, eating up precious seconds of running time to curl his lip and let out a little growl. You can’t decipher his coded sounds, but relief floods you as the scouring expression disappears and he grabs one of your hands in his own, the unnaturally cheery demeanor back in full force.

“Let’s GO!” Thanos whoops, breaking into a run, clutching your hand like a lifeline as he drags you along with him toward the finish line.

You feel lighter than air as you’re pulled behind this crazed man, the sounds of gunshots broken up by his joy filled laughter. Only seconds before the final red light, you and Thanos explode over the painted white line at the end of the track, and stumble into the crowd. Battered by elbows from every direction, the two of you topple to the sand, limbs tangling as Thanos lands beneath you with a deep groan.

You wince as you land square on his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs and reveling in a soft grunt that leaves his lips.

“I— sorry,” you pant, your arms bracing you above him on either side of his head. Once recovered, Thanos smiles languidly, his eyes still glazy, but now unregistering and carefree.

One hand slides idly up and lands gently on your waist, his other arm sprawled out as he lies beneath you, apparently content. “No problem,” he coos, shaking his head once. “Didn’t even feel it.”

“No,” you choke, unable to form the words but acutely aware of hundreds of eyes on you in this moment. You want to apologize for leaving him. The reality of that choice feels like a death sentence, though you know you couldn’t have saved him anyway. “I'm sorry for… for ditching you.”

It ends with a question mark, and Thanos’ smile fades slightly. “Didn’t notice,” he rumbles numbly.

You’re about to ask— well, you’re not sure what, but you’re compelled to say a something, when a pair of feet appear above Thanos’ head, and you look up.

Nam-gyu looks down at the two of you, mouth hanging open as he drags his gaze over your compromising position. “Huh,” he muses. “That’s kinda hot.”

“Nam-su!” Thanos belts out, his face breaking back into a buzzed grin. He starts to get up, inadvertently knocking you into the dirt and you tamp down the small amount of hurt at his sudden indifference to you.

The men embrace, Nam-gyu eyeing the cross necklace around his friend’s neck with a hungry gaze.

“It’s Nam-gyu,” he corrects passively, wincing as Thanos shoves him off and proceeds to leap in the air a few times.

“AY, we did it, my friends! First game: SUC-CESS!” the purple haired man whoops, his brown eyes nearly disappearing in the black of his dilated pupils. He cuts his words into multiple pieces, like he’s trying to put emphasis on as much as possible for the shock value.

It makes your stomach flutter against your will: the way his voice pitches high and then falls again, his teeth flashing in the sunlight and contrasting sickeningly with the spatter of crimson on his cheek.

Maybe that’s what’s making your belly hurt: the blood. So much blood. You make the mistake of looking down and find your shoes painted with the stuff. Bright red stains that will eventually fade to a dull brown that you wouldn’t even be able to identify if you hadn’t known the people it had come from.

“Hey, you okay?” That slimy voice sounds in your ear and you look up with a grimace, locking eyes with Nam-gyu and feeling yourself squirm under his scrutiny.

“She’s fine,” Thanos interrupts before you can spew all over Nam-gyu’s shoes, knocking into your side and throwing one arm over your shoulders. He tugs you flush against his side, under his arm and you’re surprised to find the musk permeating his jumpsuit is… nice. Sweat, sure, but also a lingering cologne and the strong smell of fresh ink, which strikes you instantly as odd but incredibly pleasant.

Of course a faint smoky scent remains on his skin, but you don’t pull away quite so quickly from his touch this time.

He turns to grin down at you, eyes half lidded. “Right, jagiya?”

In an attempt to quell the hammering of your heart, you nudge Thanos off of your shoulder and shoot a glare at Nam-gyu, successfully diverting his wolfish gaze back to the ground.

“Yeah, I don’t need either of you jerks, so just leave me alone,” you snap, brushing sand off your knees and trying to take calm breaths, though it’s hard with so many dead bodies lying only feet from you.

Thanos rumbles a laugh. “Yeah, you won’t be saying that for long, sweetheart. Come find my bunk if you get lonely.” You narrow your eyes over your shoulder, hating that his wink and heart gesture combo make you almost double over in adoration before you look away.

You find yourself drawn to the corners of the sandy arena, as far away from anyone else as you can possibly get, but that’s not much because most everyone made it through the game, so you’re surrounded by nearly 400 people at least.

Still, you sit in the corner until the guards lead you back to the large room, and you follow numbly, head aching and stomach still clenched in disgust and horror at what you witnessed. You’re surprised Thanos was so… okay with what happened right in front of him, until you remember the pills. How happy they made him almost instantly.

You’re almost jealous. But more than that, you’re sad for him.

You can’t seem to avoid him, because as soon as you’re all back in the gathering room full of bunk beds, he’s there, sauntering up the stairs in your direction.

“Hey, senorita,” he coos, his eyes watery and big like a puppy’s. “Room for one more?” You’re startled out of a bit of a daydream of returning back home and leaving all this behind, and Thanos is sitting on the other side of your bunk bed with a smirk. Nam-gyu frowns, and you can’t help but smile to yourself at the way they resemble a pair of idiot circus clowns.

“Two more,” he says, shooting daggers in Thanos’ direction.

Thanos doesn’t hear him, nodding his head to a song you can’t hear as you ignore the both of them and stare down at your bagged bread and bottled soda.

Nam-gyu sits solemnly on the steps by your feet, his eyes dragging over you like a snake flicking his tongue to taste the air, and you pull your legs onto the bed in fear.

After a few minutes of silence, you hear a soft hum. You jump hard at Thanos’ hand nudging your own, his eyes full of genuine concern as he lifts your hand holding the packaged bread toward your lips. “Hey, eat up, c’mon,” he urges in a low tone, serious. “A passed out Princess ain’t no good to us,” he teases, his teeth flashing again. His eyes flick down to your unzipped hoodie as he adds, “Sure would be pretty, though.”

You immediately set your food in your lap and zip your tracksuit up, turning your face away. Screw him. And his stupid, weird friend. These guys were junkies, and nothing more. Thanos has NOTHING to offer you, least of all protection in this madhouse. Why believe a word he says?

Because he needs someone to, your mind whispers. You shut your eyes as if that will help make everything go away, silence those thoughts that ring so true.

And you only open them to find Thanos has set half of his own bread in your hand, emptying his soda as he makes his way toward the crowd to vote.

…

It’s that psycho again. Screaming. Grabbing someone and insisting that you all vote to leave.

You want to understand his desperation, but… you have nothing back home. If you return without that money, you’ll be a dead woman anyway.

Your eye lingers on the blue button as the guards break up the fight and order everyone to vote without further conversation between players.

You’re going in order from last to first: 456 taking his turn to hit the red button and stand alone on the far side of the room. You glance at your own number for the first time and realize you’re just ahead of Thanos: 231. Hiding from him, you wait for your number to be called.

You vote when it comes time, pressing the blue ‘O’ with shaky hands and turning around to face the gathered crowd. Two sides: red and blue. Life and death, only not so black and white. To people like you, desperate slobs in more debt than you could ever pay off in a lifetime, voting to leave would be a death sentence.

456 stares you down as you walk with a certain shame toward the blue side, his brown eyes boring into your flesh like flames. He wants you dead, most likely. You don’t look up until you feel a strong hand wrap dexterous fingers around your bicep and your head whips up.

Thanos is there, on his way to the voting buttons, a wicked smile spread across his sharp features. His nails dig into your arm, not enough to hurt you, but a reminder of his closeness. A reminder of his presence. The safety he promises.

And he mutters, “Good girl.”

Your heart is in your throat. You can’t breathe as he releases you and struts the rest of the way to the podium to vote, and you realize that this is the first time you haven’t pulled away from his touch.

[stickandthorn]

As I’ve already said before, the main thing that’s made Bells Hells really fall flat for me as a campaign is the lack of consequences. My desire for consequences is not because I want the characters to be “punished” or anything like that. Consequences are not inherently good nor bad, they are the world responding to the character’s choices, they are what give the characters true agency in a story. Consequences are what A) makes a setting feel alive, and B) initiate character growth.

When the characters face no repercussions for their actions, it makes the story feel dead. It makes the character’s choices meaningless, because nothing is lost if they fail. It also makes victories meaningless, because once again, if they had failed, nothing would have gone wrong. In fact, it takes failure completely off the table. An example from the finale, Bells Hells couldn’t have failed at convincing Vasselheim they did the right thing, because the Raven a Queen swooped in and protected them. So why even go to Vasselheim? Why even try if it was always going to work out? It makes it feel like the world around them isn’t a setting they live in, but extension of their story that bends to their whims, which makes the characters feel uninteresting and the story one track. The setting isn’t alive.

It also make character’s individual stories feel one track. Characters don’t grow without consequences, because there is no outside force pushing them to change their status quo. What was the consequences for Delilah being inside of Laudna? In the end, net 0, because every time she started acting up, they were able to reverse back to the status quo. So Laudna never had to change. People die? Just bring them back- the only exception being FCG, and that was for real life reasons. There is no motivation to change, so the characters become stagnant, and the stakes don’t feel real.

If Bells Hells had suffered consequences, at all, their victories would have felt so much more earned, and their characters would have felt alive. But instead, everything roughly worked out for all of them, despite moments where it feels like they should’ve failed, and so the story feels untethered and somewhat meaningless. No choice could’ve been wrong, so therefore none were really right. If no failure could’ve kept them from reaching this destination, why did they start the journey in the first place?

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

The Lioness

Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem!reader

Warning: 1940-1950, slight misogyny, Tom is the perfect husband, fluff, swearing

Summary: To be a woman after the Second World War...

Tom was home early for once. The body shop had been slow today—no new cars or engines to repair.

He was just pulling his work clothes from the washing machine to hang up when he heard the front door open and slam shut.

He raised an eyebrow but shrugged. Bad day at work, maybe, he thought.

But then he heard her angrily toss her keys into the crystal bowl by the door, followed by the loud crash of glass.

“Shit!” she shouted.

Tom sprang into action. Laundry could wait—his wife needed him.

He bolted down from the bathroom and stopped in the foyer, taking in the sight of shattered glass strewn across the floor.

“Don’t move, darlin’. I’ll get the broom.”

He turned and walked into the kitchen to grab the broom, dustpan, and garbage bin before heading back to the entrance.

One look at his wife told him this was more than just a bad day. It was shit. The unshed tears in her eyes were proof enough.

“I got your favorite flowers on my way home,” he mumbled as he carefully swept up the shards. “Nearly nicked my thumb cuttin’ the stems. You gotta show me again how to do it right.”

A small chuckle escaped her lips, making his own lift slightly.

“You shouldn’t have,” she whispered.

“Yes, I do,” he said. “I love you, and I wanted to show you. Also bought everything for dinner. I waited for you. Ya know, ‘cause I keep burnin’ the kitchen down without your supervision.”

More giggles escaped her lips.

He finished cleaning, then grinned as he tossed the awful crystal bowl into the bin.

“You hatin’ it that much?”

She rolled her eyes. “It was from me mom. You know how she gets when we don’t put her stuff up.” He knew all too well. One ugly dust catcher less in their house.

Tom grinned down at her. He set the broom and dustpan aside before stepping closer. His strong, left arm wrapped gently around her waist, and he pressed his nose to her forehead, pulling her into his chest.

“What happened?” he asked simply, holding her closer. Letting her know she was safe and she could cry her heart out to him.

He felt her body tremble. At first, he thought she was cold, but then he felt her fists balled up against his chest—warm, tense. She was furious.

“They’re letting me go,” she whispered, her voice hollow.

Tom stiffened at her words. Letting her go? She was the hardest-working person in that damn office.

“Why, darlin’?”

She let out an angry huff—cute, but now wasn’t the time to think about that. He needed to listen.

“Because I’m married,” she gritted out.

Tom frowned, more confused than ever. “I don’t see the problem. I’m married, and no one bats an eye. What’s so different between the two of us?”

He loosened his hold just enough to look down at her. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and his chest ached at the sight.

“You aren’t expected to care for our future children,” she whispered, gaze dropping to the floor.

Tom took a deep breath, his mind racing. The whole situation made no damn sense.

“But I will be their father,” he mumbled. Then, suddenly, it clicked.

“Bastards,” he scoffed, looking down at her. He gently hooked a finger underneath her chin and lifted her face to look at him. “They want you gone so you stay home and be a good little housewife?”

She nodded.

Tom’s jaw clenched. He knew plenty of women chose to stay home and care for the house and kids. But then there were women like his wife—like his sister Lois—who wanted to work, to contribute, to build something of their own. And now, they were just forcing her out?

Over his dead body. “Not gonna happen while there’s air in my lungs. I’ll go to your office myself and fight for your job.”

But she shook her head. “Don’t. Maybe it’s an opportunity,” she whispered.

He raised a brow. “Oh?”

She nodded. “I was already looking for another job and found one. The head of the office is a woman. And honestly? I hate that job anyway,” she murmured, cuddling closer to him.

He chuckled softly, holding her closer to his chest and wrapping his other arm around her shoulder. He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head.

“You’re too precious for this world, sweetheart,” he mumbled against her hair, breathing in the sweet scent of her soap.

The tranquillity of the moment was interrupted by the low growl of her stomach.

“The lion woke up,” he whispered teasingly, kissing her forehead before looking down at her.

She grinned. “It’s not sleeping tonight.”

He laughed softly, knowing she’d caught onto his little jab.

“Come on, my darling. Let’s feed it before it wakes the goddamn jungle,” he murmured, pulling her along to the kitchen—ready to once again learn to cook from his brilliant wife.

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[beesandwasps]

I am 100% serious with this: in the US we are not talking about it because it was bipartisan. If you go and examine the records of the vote for the AUMF (Authorization of the Use of Military Force) against Iraq in Congress in 2002 [House | Senate] you will see some very familiar names in the list of those who voted for it: Biden, Clinton, Feinstein, Lieberman, Kerry, Reid… pretty much the only Democrat who was in Congress at that time who was a major figure later who didn’t vote for it was Pelosi. (Obama was not in Congress at that time.) So right from the start the Democratic Party could not really blame the Republicans for the war, and were only halfheartedly interested in campaigning against it.

By 2006, it was obvious that the Iraq invasion had been a bad idea all along and the Democrats started to talk about how they had been misled by the Republicans. This was a hugely popular stance — so popular that in the 2006 midterms, the Democrats gained a majority in the House and a technical majority in the Senate (with Sanders and Lieberman, who by that time had split from the party and was nominally Independent; the way that the Democratic Party pandered to the creepy asshole Joe Lieberman is another major topic which deserves more attention), and almost immediately after the election, the Democrats announced that they weren’t going to take any action after all — impeachment was “off the table” (a favorite phrase of Nancy Pelosi) and funding proceeded.

Antiwar sentiment grew even stronger as the GWB administration failed to make any headway despite renewed funding. (It’s worth pointing out that there were no stated concrete goals for the US army in Iraq. The unofficial goal of the administration was to seize control of Iraqi oil for western oil companies — eyewitnesses report that they had a map ready to show which companies would get which oil fields — but officially there were no milestones by which one could say “okay, we’re done, time to go home”.) In 2008, the Democrats once again ran largely on an antiwar platform — and added in anti-Too-Big-To-Fail-Institution rhetoric when the economy melted down — but as soon as Obama got into office, he refused to follow up on either one. He asked Congress to fund another “surge”, and tried to negotiate an extension of the 2011 troop withdrawal deadline set by GWB.

(This is also worthy of note: the puppet Iraqi government created by the US signed an agreement not to accuse the US of war crimes. This agreement expired at the withdrawal date set by GWB in 2011. The government refused to renew this agreement, and that was the real sticking point which prevented Obama from extending the official US occupation. The US absolutely was committing war crimes in Iraq and the US government knew it and even planned them in advance, otherwise the agreement would never have been necessary and certainly would not have been negotiated beforehand.)

So… if you’re going to talk about the Iraq war, you really can’t do it without condemning it. But to condemn it means not merely condemning the Republicans for starting up — it also means condemning Obama for extending it and making it worse, Hillary Clinton for voting for it in Congress and then for extending it and making it worse as Secretary of State under Obama, Nancy Pelosi for refusing to take any action to end it early by defunding it or seeking impeachment, and Joe Biden for basically all of the above as a Senator and later VP. (The Democrats, incidentally, spent at lot of time insinuating, both in Kerry’s 2004 campaign and in Obama’s campaign and early administration, that the war was somehow “winnable” and that the only reason it wasn’t being won was that Republicans were too stupid and incompetent.)

Republicans don’t want to talk about it because it was their team’s idea. Democrats don’t want to talk about it because they enthusiastically supported it, and when they took it over they couldn’t make it work despite bragging that they would manage to do that. Since essentially all US media is partisan to one party or the other, there is no discussion.

I missed most of the Iraq war due to being a baby, but every time I read about it I start wondering why we aren’t all talking about it all of the time

[etherealrin]

Hey! Love your works, it's really nice to read them and I just love your style💖, may I request an isagi x reader but the reader is kaiser's little sibling? It sounds fun ☺️

⋆｡˚꩜ a comprehensive tutorial on how to piss off michael kaiser in his penthouse; by yoichi isagi.

yoichi isagi just wants to hang out with you...but your brother is making it quite uncomfortable

warnings: slight violent descriptions (as a joke), michael kaiser gives you no privacy, one mention of google translated german // wc: 957

note: i was giggling the entire time writing this LMAOO imo such a funny dynamic, the rivalry goes crazy.

your bubbly laughs that echo through the penthouse allow isagi to relax, just a little bit. the environment is new to him, and he’s afraid that the smallest slip-up will result in his head being chopped off by one of the rather large, menacing butcher knives lined against the marble kitchen walls.

but what’s even more threatening is the way kaiser is glaring at him, blue gaze more piercing than any dagger.

“micha, you’re making yoi uncomfortable,” you begin, shooting the blonde haired man your own look of annoyance. you turn your attention away from the mixing bowl in front of you to interlace your fingers with yoichi’s, trying to offer him some comfort. isagi wonders if theres nervous sweat on them.

“he’s in my penthouse, with my sibling? am i meant to leave him unattended, to let this donkey roam around with free will?” kaiser huffs, arms crossing.

yikes, was he in a mood today.

“you’re calling my boyfriend a donkey?” yeah, you were ready to throw hands right there.

isagi had practically jumped for joy when you’d invited him over to bake cookies. he somehow managed to forget that you were rival’s little sibling, and that your house was technically also michael’s—of course he would own a penthouse with a city view. michael was an oddly protective elder brother, or maybe his rivalry with yoichi just ran that deeply; was it not enough for isagi to steal the soccer ball on court? did he have to steal michael’s bloodline too?

“go, um, read a psychology book or something,” you say, wanting to get your brother off the scene. “hang out with ness! i’m sure he’d love to!”

yoichi nods his head hurriedly in agreement.

“you think you two are getting rid of me that easily? that’s-��� your brother is cut off mid-scoff, his phone ringing loudly and persistently. you snicker, knowing that you were about to win.

“was zum teufel,” michael spits, picking up the line.

“no, ness, i’m busy…what? you seriously can’t drive yourself? can’t i…uh….i guess you’re right,” he seems to be arguing with ness, going back and forth.

“you two lucky idiots are getting your wish,” michael snaps as he hangs up, hurrying out the door. before it closes, a warning: “isagi, if you try anything, i’ll screw you over before you can blink twice.”

“yeah yeah, shitty rose.” yoichi’s ego gets the best of him. great, now he’d been rude to your brother in front of you!

but you don’t seem to mind, maybe you didn’t care, humming softly as you add chocolate chips to the mix.

"you need to move out," yoichi doesn't think he can visit you if this is how your brother was going to be.

“hmmm, could be worse. what if we made s’mores cookies?” you reply excitedly.

“the ones with marshmallows?”

“yep! i think i have them somewhere,” you pull him into your startling large pantry. the size is almost that of a grocery aisle, and it’s stocked with an insane amount of protein powder—likely your brother’s doing—but you find the small package of the fluffy white sweets tucked away in a corner.

except, you can’t quite get to it, the nook being far above your head.

“let me,” yoichi says, reaching up. he has to be on the tips of his toes, curse michael kaiser for being so damn tall!

as yoichi fumbles above you for a bit, he doesn’t notice the odd position he’s forced you into, your back flush against the shelves. you’re not that much shorter than him, but he’s gripping onto your shoulder for support, and the proximity makes you flustered. he smells good, crisp and clean, a hint of citrus in the mix.

with a small flop, the bag finally comes crashing down, along with yoichi’s balance. he lets out a startled yelp, hurriedly latching onto your other shoulder.

oh.

you blink, fazed by his deep aquamarine eyes, and the way that your noses are practically touching. his breath is ticklish, irregular from the earlier struggle, and a cherry red blush painted across his entire face.

you’re both too scared to move, stuck in the haze, should you move? closer? maybe further?

it’s like that for an agonizingly long second—still—until yoichi chooses for the both of you, his fingertips make contact with your jaw and they’re warm, hot like the kiss he suddenly pulls you into.

you’re far too eager to reciprocate, hands finding their way into his soft dark locks. the cookie batter stays neglected on the sleek white countertop, both of you distracted and lost in another world.

when your lungs threaten to implode from lack of air, that’s when you pull away, gasping softly.

your boyfriend’s face is ten times redder now.

“sorry, i- i should’ve asked first,” yoichi stammers, flustered and unable to meet your eyes.

“it’s fine, i like you when you’re confident, yoi,” you smile, twisting a strand of his hair.

you fail to notice how the front door had opened, and you’re greeted with michael kaiser standing in the hallway, gawking at the two of you.

“why’s he in my pantry?” michael’s pissed now. “of all damn places, could you two not make out in the middle of my protein powder? seriously, that is gross. i won’t be able to drink that shit now!”

“oops,” you giggle. “you’re just upset that you don’t have someone.” your brother lets out an indignant huff, ready to start hell as he marches closer. you’re still snickering.

unfortunately, yoichi cannot find any of this nearly as funny as you do—no, he’s already thinking about the hell your brother’s going to give him during the game tomorrow, convinced that both of the kaisers would be the death of him.

a/n: michael says "what the hell" in german, i just wanted to make it diverse idk. like genuinely isagi is lucky if he makes it through the week dating a kaiser sibling...kaiser is not giving his blessing for the wedding LMFAO

masterlist!

[shaunamilfman]

Shauna Shipman NSFW Alphabet

pairing: Shauna Shipman x f!r note: minors dni

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

your ass isn’t going anywhere. she’s picked the position she wants to lie in, and you will be there until she decides you're done. she can be very sweet and caring, but she’s not great at the emotional part of it (anything to do with actually communicating her feelings), so she just grabs on for a while and hopes it suffices. holds you tight, runs her fingers through your hair, traces shapes on your back, the works. won’t talk unless pressed most of the time.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

her thighs. she used to resent how toned they were from all of those years she was forced to play soccer–just another thing she could grumble about underneath her breath when she was mad at Jackie–but she’s grown to love them. loves the way she can use them to wrap around your hips and keep you where she wants you, whether that’s in bed or just cuddling; it doesn’t matter. Shauna also loves the way your head looks between her thighs and the way they squeeze around you.

She likes your hands, always has. Shuana enjoys how capable they are. likes to watch the way your fingers wrap around handles or tap absently against things when you’re bored. of course, she likes them the most between her legs.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

she loves when you’re messy, especially when you’re covered in her. sometimes she grabs a fistful of your hair just so she can better rub herself over your face. she’s not even trying to get herself off. you’re just too clean. shauna loves when you pop your head up after eating her out just so she can smear herself all over your face better. dragging her thumb along your lips so all you can do is taste her. she likes to make you sit there, just dripping with her as she recovers. she worked hard to get you so messy. she’s going to enjoy it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

I don’t think Shauna Shipman is familiar with the concept of shame when it comes to things that get her off unless it involves Jackie. 

she has far too many thoughts about threesomes and refuses to acknowledge any of them. thinking about them means considering the implications of what having the two of you mouthing at her skin is, and Shauna Shipman is not about to do that.

if there was anything other than that, it would just be so ridiculously violent that she knew she couldn’t actually do it without serious injury, but she usually just finds a way to modify it before she springs it on you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

slept with Jeff so she’s not completely inexperienced, but it’s not like she knows much about women. she’s very well versed in getting herself off and figures it can’t be all that different. pretends to know a lot more than she does and would not react well if you mentioned that fact.

knows what she wants and gets it. she texts you for a hookup, and you say you’re busy? shauna shipman has sent three attachments. all of which are enticing enough to get you into the car. it’s overkill, truly. one would’ve been enough, but she’s thorough.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Shauna likes to ride. your face, your fingers. it doesn’t matter. Shauna wants to be on top.

she loves to sit on your face. there’s just something about being able to look down at your face buried between her thighs as she fucks your face that gets her going like nothing else, especially with how prone and vulnerable you look beneath her. you can’t pin her hips down as easily as you can when she’s on her back, and she enjoys knowing she’s the only one that gets to decide when you get air.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

shauna’s not that goofy in general, but especially during sex. sometimes you may catch a smile or two and an occasional laugh during slow, early morning sex, but that’s few and far between. she has a goal in mind, and any laughter makes her feel like you’re not taking her seriously.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

shaves her legs fairly often just to keep Jackie off her back. everywhere else just gets shaved when she remembers to. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

romance doesn’t always have as much of a place in sex for Shauna as other emotions do (jealousy, anger, possession). it’s not to say that she’s not romantic in the moment. in fact, it’s some of the only times she properly communicates, babbling confessions about anything and everything in the bluntest way possible as her nails scratch down your skin.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

constantly. all the time. shauna’s cunt hates to see her hand coming. doesn’t like to take her time like she might’ve if you were the one stimulating her. masturbating is only ever to soothe an itch for Shauna, quick and dirty until her thighs clamp around her hand and she can go back to her business. washes off and goes back to whatever she was doing like nothing happened.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

so possessive. she won’t admit it, but as angry and jealous as she gets when she sees someone come up to you, she also gets turned on. she already knows how the night’s going to end, your head between her thighs in the cramped quarters of her back seat as you struggle to get a hand between her legs to get your fingers inside.

wants to bring a knife into it. she thinks a lot about holding a knife to your throat as she makes you do whatever she wants. has a recurring fantasy of making you back up into the wall and plead with her not to kill you. it always ends with her pressing it against the delicate skin of your neck and slowly making you slide down to your knees.

likes to bite, which is obvious. if she’s close enough to sink her teeth in, she will. bites you hard enough that you bleed a few times, and though it was honestly an accident, she can’t deny how much it turned her on to watch.

it goes without saying, but she wants to chase you down and catch you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

any place but a bed, for the novelty but also for the risk. fantasizes about someone walking in on the two of you and seeing that you're hers. those fantasies always involve you on your knees, her thighs pressed so tightly to your ears that you don’t even notice anyone else coming into the room because you’re so focused on getting her off. she doesn’t like to acknowledge the fact that it’s usually Jackie who walks in.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

jealousy, anger, obsession (either way), and attention. she thrives on intensity, on knowing you want her just as much as she wants you. needs you to match her freak. fighting is nothing but foreplay, angry words spit in your direction that she wants you to take out on her.

the better question is what doesn’t get her going.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

as much as she somewhat enjoys her jealousy, you can’t ever bring up someone else while you’re hooking up. she does, often referencing whatever girl stood too close to you and pissed her off, but you can’t ever or she’s done. she also doesn’t like to be made to feel lesser than you for any reason.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

shauna definitely has a preference to receive rather than give when it comes to oral. she likes to watch you between her thighs, brushing your hair out of the way so she can really see your mouth work. there’s something about the way you’re entirely focused on her when you’re going down on her that nothing else can match. the way you can’t really look at her, can’t talk to her, can’t do anything but make her come.

she can give. she’s good at it even. shauna would prefer to use her fingers, just because of how much she likes to watch. she needs to be able to use her mouth to leave little marks everywhere to stake her claim. what she doesn’t want is to see you try to cover them up the next day. that’s just not allowed.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

fast and rough 90% of the time. she’s always got something to prove (mostly to herself). she’s got you on your knees in the backseat of her car before you’ve even realized that she wasn’t taking you home first.

she indulges in slow, loving sex when the mood strikes her, but that’s nothing she would really enjoy all the time.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

shauna shipman invented quickies. wants you anywhere and everywhere she can have you. she gets turned on at the drop of a hat and isn’t shy about telling you about it. 

she does enjoy getting to take her time with you, though. likes to grind against your thigh and enjoy your wandering hands as you make out until she’s so worked up she’s desperate for it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

goes without saying. half of the time she barely thinks things through before she’s going for them. that’s just who she is, and she’s not planning on changing.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

doesn’t last long. she’s so easy. she can go forever and ever, though. loves to be overstimulated. she’ll have tears running down her face and still want more.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

shauna shipman’s vibrator is her best friend. they know each other intimately. when it finally dies on her and she has to buy a new one, she briefly considers holding it a funeral before deciding that would be dumb as shit. threatens to replace you with the vibrator whenever you’re teasing her.

she doesn’t have all that much experience with other toys, but she’s definitely not averse to using them. likely to bring up the idea first if she thinks you’ll be at all amenable.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

shauna’s not that big into teasing just because she’s too impatient to really commit to it. she’s only teasing herself when she’s teasing you. does enjoy watching you squirm a little, though.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

she’s not that loud. more of a gasps and sighs kind of girl, but has been known to get loud if the vibes are right. if you turn her down for sex for reasons she doesn’t consider “valid” (busy or engaging in a hobby), trust that she’ll be shouting her pleasure from the rooftops when she stalks off into the room to grab her trust vibrator.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

secret love for sleep morning sex, but she’ll never ever admit it. she’ll roll her eyes and groan, but it doesn't stop her from murmuring your name in breathy little sighs as she lazily rolls her hips up.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

boxers wearer shauna shipman my beloved. buys bras and underwear almost solely based on practicality and what��s comfortable but has a few racier things shoved in the bottom of her drawer to bring out to manipulate you into forgiving her crimes. someone’s got to remind you why you put up with so much shit.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

ridiculously high. if she’s not doing it, she’s probably thinking about it.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

if anything, Shauna feels more energized after sex, but if you keep her in bed long enough, she’ll grumble her way to sleep. she really enjoys feeling you pressed up against her afterward, even if the two of you are so hot that your combined body heat just makes her sweatier.

[imjustatorturedpoet]

Meet me in the Hallway

chapter 7: I remember now.

Pairing: Hwang In-ho x Reader

also available on ao3💘

word count: 6.1k

————

”Lights out in ten minutes. Please prepare for bedtime."

The announcer’s voice echoed through the dormitory, artificial and indifferent.

Your group moved with quiet urgency, working together to execute Gi-hun’s plan. The idea was simple—cluster the beds together to create a barricaded sleeping area, a makeshift shelter beneath the bunks where mattresses could be laid out on the floor. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than being exposed.

There was an unspoken understanding between you all—this wasn’t just about comfort. It was about survival.

Dae-ho, Jung-bae and Young-il handled the heavier lifting, dragging the mattresses around.

Others were watching. Observing. You could feel it. Some players had already claimed their spots in isolated corners, eyeing the way your group worked with something between curiosity and calculation.

Meanwhile, you and Jun-hee gathered pillows and blankets, tossing them onto the newly formed sleeping space. You weren’t just setting up beds—you were creating a stronghold. A space where no one could slip in unnoticed. Hopefully.

Jung-bae exhaled loudly, adjusting one of the mattresses with a skeptical glance. "Is this really necessary? I don’t like sleeping under there."

Gi-hun didn’t hesitate. "Once the lights go out, somebody might attack us."

Dae-ho crouched beside Jun-hee. "What? Who?"

Young-il approached, wordlessly extending his hands to help you move the stuff around. You should have ignored him. Pretended not to notice. Pretended you were too busy, too focused, too anything to acknowledge him. But you weren’t rude.

Even if you wanted to be. At least, not to him.

Your fingers twitched around the fabric in your grasp, the weight of his presence pressing against your senses like an unwelcome reminder. You had barely spoken since dinner. Since the vote. Since the moment his name had been paired with a word you weren’t prepared for. Wife.

The thought still sat heavy in your chest, thick and cloying.

You weren’t stupid. You weren’t naïve. You knew what kind of man he was. Controlled. Always a step ahead. He could say so much without saying anything at all. And yet, earlier, when that word had slipped into the conversation, he hadn’t said much of anything at all.

And that was what bothered you most.

Not the fact that he was married—okay, maybe that did bother you a lot—but the fact that when Gi-hun said it, Young-il hesitated. Froze. And looked at you.

Like there was something he wanted to explain but didn’t.

Like he had expected something from you.

And that was dangerous.

Because what the hell was he expecting? And more importantly—why did you care? You only met him yesterday.

Right?

It should have felt that way, but it didn’t. There was something about him—something that lingered just beneath the surface, threading through your thoughts like an old memory you couldn’t quite grasp. Like a name on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach.

And if you had met him before, if he really was the man from the rain—then why was he acting like you were strangers?

You clenched your jaw, shoving the thoughts down as you forced yourself to move.

Without a word, you handed him a blanket. Your fingers brushed his for half a second longer than necessary, and you swore you felt the slight shift in his posture, the way his grip adjusted just a little too slow.

You ignored it. You had to ignore it.

Because if you didn’t, you’d start thinking about the way he looked at you across the dormitory earlier. Or the way his hand had rested on your thigh at dinner. Or the way his voice dropped when he spoke to you alone, low and deliberate, like he wasn’t just speaking—he was choosing.

And you couldn’t do that.

So, instead, you exhaled sharply, turned away, and pretended that handing him that blanket hadn’t felt like handing him something much heavier.

Gi-hun continued, his voice steady but firm. "The prize money still goes up if we kill each other. It’s part of the game they designed."

Young-il, after positioning the last mattress beneath one of the bunks, finally spoke. "Gi-hun, I think you’re overreacting. Even if that were true, people wouldn’t do that."

The shift in the room was immediate.

Gi-hun’s head snapped toward Young-il, his gaze was full of hurt and anger. "In the previous games, dozens of people killed each other at night. Right here."

He stepped closer, his posture rigid. "You have no idea how people can change in this place."

Silence stretched between them.

Young-il didn’t flinch, but something unreadable flickered in his expression. Then, after a beat, he inclined his head in a slow, measured nod. "Alright. I guess I didn’t know what I was talking about. I’m sorry."

The words came easily, too easily. You weren’t sure if he meant them or if he simply didn’t see the point in arguing.

Gi-hun studied him for a moment longer before finally shifting his focus back to the group.

"We need to take turns keeping watch after lights-out. I’ll take the first watch. You should decide the order for the rest."

——

September 6th. The day the world ended. Not for everyone—just for you.

The speckled linoleum stretched endlessly beneath you, tiny cracks splitting across its surface like fault lines. You traced them with your eyes, again and again, mapping their paths like they meant something, like they were trying to tell you a story. But there was no story. No meaning. No reason.

The hallway was silent. Not the kind of silence that came with peace, but the heavy, suffocating kind. The kind that swallowed you whole, that pressed against your ribs until it hurt to breathe.

The machines had stopped beeping. The nurses had stopped moving. The world had stopped making sense.

Jonah was gone.

You thought maybe if you didn’t move, if you sat still enough, you could pretend it wasn’t real. If you kept your hands in your lap, fingers curled so tightly into the fabric of your jeans that your knuckles ached, then maybe you could keep yourself from shattering. Maybe you could stop time. Maybe you could pull him back.

But you couldn't.

Because the machines had stopped beeping. Because the nurses had stopped moving. Because the world had stopped making sense.

Now you were truly and utterly alone.

Your body didn’t feel like yours. It was too heavy, too empty, too cold. Your arms felt like they weren’t connected to you, your legs stiff and numb. You weren’t crying. You weren’t breathing. You weren’t anything.

You just sat there. Frozen. Hollow.

Somewhere, a clock ticked. A door opened. Someone whispered. The world kept moving.

Didn’t they know? Didn’t they realise?

Everything should have stopped. The walls should have cracked, the ceiling should have caved in, the earth itself should have split apart. The sun should have burned out. The sky should have fallen. Something. Anything.

But it didn’t. People were still walking. Talking. Breathing.

And Jonah wasn’t.

Your stomach clenched.

That wasn’t right. That wasn’t fair.

He was supposed to be here. He was supposed to be laughing, teasing, rolling his eyes at you. He was supposed to be alive.

But the machines had stopped beeping. The nurses had stopped moving. The world had stopped making sense.

A buzzing sound curled at the edges of your mind, dull and persistent. Your ears were ringing. Or maybe that was just your brain, trying to drown out the truth. Trying to drown out the nothingness swallowing you whole.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to sob. Because all the love you had for your brother was clawing at your chest trying to get out. You loved him so much. You still do. Where are you going to put it now?

You also wanted to rip the stupid linoleum tiles off the floor, to claw your nails into the cracks until they bled, to make the world feel the way you did—broken, jagged, wrong.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. So you just sat there. Alone.

And the world kept turning. Your fingers twitched, but they didn’t feel like yours. Your skin was ice cold, just like his now. You wanted to do something—anything—but you couldn’t.

Because if you moved, if you let the weight settle fully, you might shatter.

You didn’t know how long you sat there. Time had lost its meaning. It stretched and folded in on itself, minutes bleeding into hours, into nothingness.

Then you heard it. At first, it was distant. A sound curling at the edges of your awareness, fragile, barely there. But then it sharpened. Louder. Raw. Broken.

A sob, choked and gasping. Then another. And another.

It clawed its way through the heavy quiet, through the walls you had built around yourself.

Your breath hitched. You knew that sound.

It was the same one crawling up your throat, pressing against your ribs, desperate to escape. The one you wouldn’t let out. The one you didn’t want to. Because you knew once it was out, it would never stop.

Your head lifted, your gaze pulling away from the lifeless floor for the first time.

And then you saw him. Sitting on a bench at the far end of the hall, elbows braced on his knees, head bowed low. His body curled in on itself, his fingers digging into his skull like he wanted to rip something out.

The man from the rain. Young-il?

You didn’t know how you knew—it was just instinct. Recognition without reason. Like something deep inside you had already decided before your mind could catch up.

For a moment, he didn’t see you. Then—he lifted his head. And your eyes met. Something in your chest cracked, sharp and sudden. A hollow ache you didn’t have a name for.

You didn’t know why you moved. Maybe instinct. Maybe something else.

You pushed yourself to your feet, your legs shaky, unsteady. He watched you as you walked toward him. He didn’t tense. Didn’t flinch. Just sat there, his gaze flickering between you and the floor.

You hesitated when you reached him. Too close. Not close enough.

Without thinking, you sat beside him. Neither of you spoke.

The hallway was quiet except for the distant hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled voices of nurses in another room. The world kept moving. It always did.

A sharp, shaky exhale. A sound caught between a sigh and a sob.

"She’s gone."

His voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse and hollow.

You didn’t ask who. You didn’t need to. You already knew.

"So is he," you murmured.

He didn’t respond. Didn’t move. But something in the space between you shifted, heavier, thicker.

You didn’t tell him you were sorry. You didn’t tell him it would be okay. Because it wouldn’t. Because words were meaningless here. Instead, you reached into your pocket.

Pulled out a cigarette. Held it out to him without a word. He looked at it. Then at you. Then back at it. And then, finally, he took it.

You pulled out your lighter, flicked it open, let the flame dance between you. He leaned in, letting the fire catch, the orange glow casting flickering shadows across his face.

For the first time, you really looked at him.

The exhaustion was carved into his features, deeper than just a sleepless night. His shoulders were hunched, his jaw tense, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he brought the cigarette to his lips. But he was still beautiful. In a cruel way.

You exhaled, lighting your own, taking a slow drag. The two of you sat like that, side by side, smoke curling around you in quiet spirals.

Strangers. But not alone. After a while, he spoke.

“You asked for my name.”

You exhaled, watching the smoke drift toward the ceiling.

"Does it matter?”

The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Barely there. But there.

"No. Guess not."

The silence stretched again, but this time, it wasn’t suffocating. It just was. You didn’t know how long you sat there. Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. But eventually, your cigarette burned down to the filter, the ember flickering out.

But you still sat there. Till he ran out of tears.

You stood first. He didn’t stop you.

You took a few steps toward the door before pausing, glancing back over your shoulder.

He was still there. Watching.

Your lips curved, just slightly. Not quite a smile, but the closest thing to one you had in you.

And he nodded. Like he understood. Like he had always understood.

——

Your eyes snapped open, your chest heaving, lungs pulling in air too fast, too shallow.

The ceiling above you blurred in the dim light of the piggy bank, your pulse pounding in your ears.

You turned your head, struggling to piece together where you were—what was real. The steel bed frames above you, the concrete walls, the distant sounds of breathing. The dormitory. The games.

A nightmare. But not really. More like a bad memory, finally breaking through the thick walls your brain had built to keep it out.

Your brain does that—it buries things, tucks them away in the darkest corners, convincing you they never existed. Just so you wouldn’t hurt anymore. But now, the barriers had crumbled, and the truth stood bare. You remembered.

You looked at the makeshift bed to your left, but it was empty. Glancing at the stairs, you saw that Young-il was taking watch.

Your stomach twisted painfully, like you were going to puke. You pushed yourself up slowly, careful not to disturb Jun-hee beside you. The cold floor bit into your palms as you steadied yourself.

Young-il’s eyes scanned the room with quiet vigilance. The light cast shadows across his sharp features, making him look even more unreadable. Detached.

But you knew now. You knew. Finally.

Before you even processed what you were doing, you moved. Crawling out from under the bed, you crossed the small space between you. He didn’t react when you sat down beside him, only his eyes flickered to you for a moment.

For a long moment, you said nothing.

The weight of it sat in your chest, pressing down, making it hard to breathe. You stared at your hands, your fingers twisting together in your lap.

Then, finally, your voice came—soft. Unsteady.

"Why did you lie?"

Young-il stilled. A pause. Now, he looked at you.

You swallowed, your throat tight. “I remember now.” The words came out quieter than you intended, almost fragile.

Young-il didn’t look away. His dark eyes studied yours, with a hint of regret. For a second, you thought he might pretend not to know what you were talking about, might brush it off the way he always did. But he didn’t. He exhaled slowly, a breath that barely made a sound. “I know.”

You blinked. That was it? No denial? No feigned confusion?

Your fingers curled against your knees. The memory was still raw, still bleeding at the edges. Jonah, lifeless in that hospital room. The cigarette smoke curling in the dim hallway. The way the man from the rain—no, Young-il—had sat there, just as lost, just as broken.

"You knew who I was this whole time," you whispered. He didn’t answer.

I wasn’t imagining things.

Your chest ached, something sharp and tangled clawing its way up your throat. “And you—” Your breath caught. You weren’t sure which hurt more: the fact that he had remembered you and still chose to lie, or the fact that, for a while, you had believed him.

Young-il’s gaze flickered downward, toward his hands. He rolled his knuckles absently, like he was testing the weight of the silence between you. Then, finally, he spoke. “I thought it would be easier that way.”

Easier? You let out a bitter, hollow laugh, shaking your head. “Easier for who?”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw twitched, his eyes flicking back to you. And this time, for the first time since you’d met him, there was no smirk, no teasing remark, no shield of indifference. Just something quiet. Something almost… resigned.

“For both of us,” he murmured. You stared at him, the breath hitching in your throat.

Easier. Like it was some kindness. Like pretending he didn’t remember wouldn’t make it worse when the truth came crashing down. Like there wasn’t a big hole inside your chest. You clenched your jaw, looking away, focusing on the cold concrete beneath you.

“That’s bullshit,” you muttered, barely above a whisper.

Young-il sighed, tilting his head back against the metal railing. The exhaustion was etched into every inch of him now, but you didn’t care. You weren’t going to let him off that easily.

“I needed to know,” you said, forcing the words out before you lost your nerve. “I needed to know if I was crazy. If I was just seeing things. If—” You exhaled sharply. “If you were real.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Young-il exhaled and looked away, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly.

“You were real to me too, you know.”

And just like that, you weren’t sure if you wanted to hit him or let yourself fall apart right there beside him. The silence between you stretched for a moment before he spoke. “I’m sorry.”

You raised your eyebrows. “About what?”

He clarified. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about her sooner.”

You already connected the dots, but you still let him speak of her. He needed this. And you secretly did too.

“She was very sick,” he said. His voice was calm but carried a weight that made you hold your breath. His eyes fixed on the ground as he continued, “Acute cirrhosis. She needed a liver transplant, but she was pregnant.”

Your eyes widened, and your face fell as his words sank in. He kept going, his tone growing heavier. “When the doctor warned her about the risks and advised ending the pregnancy, she wouldn’t hear it. She was resolute. determined to carry the baby, no matter what would happen to her.”

You stayed silent, letting his words wash over you, as he went on. “When she felt worse everyday and no donor appeared, I borrowed as much money as I could from my brother to find a solution. But it was not enough.”

You turned your gaze away, unsure what to say. His voice softened but didn’t lose its seriousness. “I was desperate. A criminal heard about my situation and offered me money. I borrowed from him. But when you’re a police officer, that kind of stuff will get you fired. But I didn’t care. She needed it. My boss, however, saw it as a bribe. He fired me the next day. I’d devoted my whole life to that job. It was one of the few things I truly enjoyed, truly loved doing.”

You frowned deeply, feeling an ache in your chest for him.

“Then I was invited to join the games,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. “I was gone for a week. As you probably noticed, in the hospital. By the time I won…she was dead.”

That’s when you noticed his eyes, glistening with tears. They silently fell, the weight of them was undeniable.

“It was horrible. There were so many times I became angry. Angry at my boss. Angry at those who didn’t step up to donate a liver. Angry at the world. But I was mostly angry at myself for leaving her when she needed me the most. That evening with you in the hospital… I wasn’t angry then.”

The room felt heavier with every word he spoke. You listened intently, unable to look away as he continued.

He exhaled deeply, his shoulders slumping slightly. “And now, I have decided to come back. Because the last time I was here I felt useful for once.”

The tears in his eyes and on his cheek caught the dim light, making them shimmer as he gave a single, solemn nod.

His voice was steady but carried a note of vulnerability. “I didn’t- I couldn’t tell Gi-hun. Couldn’t tell anyone actually. Except you. Talking about her is really hard for me. But, with you it seems natural in some way.”

He took a deep breath.

”All I wanted was to play these games and… find the slightest bit of purpose in life. Even if it was the last thing I did.”

Suddenly, all the anger you had felt towards him the last few hours had completely vanished.

He was just a broken soul. Like you.

“And I think I found it again. I mean- what were the odds?”

Oh my god. Did he mean me?

You swallowed. Then, softly—almost too softly—you answered. "Better than you think."

You stared at him, at the way his hands curled into fists against his knees like he was bracing for something. The space between you felt heavier than before, like it was holding something fragile, something unsaid.

Then, before you could think about it, before doubt could creep in, you moved.

Not just a brush of fingers. Not just a hesitant touch. You reached for him fully.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his jumpsuit as you pulled him in, holding on like he was the only solid thing in a world that kept shifting beneath your feet. Like letting go wasn’t an option.

And for a second, he didn’t react.

He stiffened—caught off guard, unprepared. For a single, agonising second, he didn’t move. You almost thought he wouldn’t.

Then, he exhaled fully. Like he let go. Slowly, his arms came up. His hands pressed against your back, hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you. If he should.

But then something broke.

He tightened his grip, pulling you flush against him, his chin resting near your shoulder, his breath uneven against your neck. His fingers curled into the back of your shirt, not rough, not desperate—just there, like he needed something to hold onto just as badly as you did.

Neither of you spoke.

The dormitory around you disappeared, swallowed by the sound of your own heartbeat, by the way his breathing evened out against your shoulder. His warmth bled into you, steady, grounding, like an anchor in the middle of something vast and merciless.

His fingers curled around the fabric of your shirt. The message was clear, don’t let go.

You exhaled, barely above a whisper. “I get it.”

Young-il let out a soft, humourless laugh, the vibration of it sinking into your skin. “Oh, I bet you do.”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

And you did.

Not just because of Jonah. Not just because you knew what it was like to lose someone who was supposed to be there forever. But because you understood the hollow space grief left behind. How sometimes, survival wasn’t about living. Sometimes, it was about finding something—anything—that kept you moving. Even if it didn’t make sense. Even if it killed you a little more every day.

Young-il buried his face in your soft hair and inhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake something off. But he didn’t let go. Not yet.

“When I saw you here…” His voice was quieter now, lower, almost lost between you. “I thought I was imagining things.”

You swallowed. “Me too.”

He huffed out a breath, shaking his head. “I wasn’t sure if it was a coincidence. Or if it meant something.”

A long silence stretched between you. Then, softly, you said, “It means something. And… I’m sorry for how I acted earlier. If I had known—”

Young-il stilled. “It’s okay. I’m sorry too.”

You felt him exhale again, his breath ghosting against your neck. His grip on you loosened, just slightly, like he was grounding himself. Then, finally—reluctantly—he pulled back.

Not all the way. Not far. His hands lingered at your waist, your arms still loosely looped around his shoulders. His face was close now, closer than it should have been, his eyes searching yours for something unspoken.

You weren’t sure if he found it. But he nodded. Like he understood. Like he had always understood.

You pulled back fully and moved to sit beside him. But his hand remained on your waist. Like it belong there. It felt like that, at least.

The silence between you wasn’t heavy anymore—it just was. Steady. Quiet. A fragile sort of peace.

You pulled your knees to your chest, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. His face was unreadable, but his shoulders were no longer tense, his breathing even. He looked… tired. More than tired. Exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with the games.

Eventually, you let your head tip to the side, resting against his shoulder. You expected him to shift away, but he didn’t. He just stayed there, solid and warm.

Minutes passed like that, the two of you sitting together in the dim glow of the piggy bank. The distant sound of steady breathing filled the dormitory, the world outside this moment fading into something far away.

For the first time since arriving here, you didn’t feel entirely alone.

As your head rested against Young-il’s shoulder, the exhaustion finally started catching up with you. Your body, tense for so long, slowly began to relax against him, the warmth of his presence lulling you into something close to rest. Not quite sleep—but something softer. Something quieter.

A small noise from behind you made you stir. You pulled back from Young-il. The absence of his warmth made you shiver slightly, but you ignored it, pushing yourself upright.

Dae-ho. You barely noticed him at first, still caught in the haze of half-awareness, but when you finally blinked, you saw him standing a few feet away, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

His gaze flickered between the two of you, something unreadable flashing across his face before he exhaled and stretched his arms above his head.

“My turn?” he asked, voice rough with sleep.

Young-il nodded. You both stood up and made some space for 388. Dae-ho settled into the spot where Young-il had been, shifting his weight as he adjusted to the watch position.

“You should both try to get some sleep,” Dae-ho muttered, his usual easygoing tone softened by the quiet of the room.

Young-il hummed in response, offering you a hand. You hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking it. Neither of you spoke as you padded back toward your sleeping area, careful not to disturb the others.

When you reached your beds—placed right next to each other—you both hesitated.

For a moment, the only thing that existed was the space between you. The unspoken understanding hanging in the air, thick and palpable. Then, at the exact same time, you both moved.

Neither of you said a word. You just pushed your mattress toward his. He mirrored the action, closing the distance until there was no gap left. Until it was just one space instead of two.

It wasn’t about comfort. It wasn’t about warmth. It was about not being alone.

You settled in first, pulling the thin blanket over your shoulders as you lay on your side, facing him. Young-il followed suit, his movements slower, more deliberate.

In the dim light, your eyes met. No words. Just a glance. Just a silent agreement.

You exhaled, closing your eyes. You felt Young-il shift slightly beside you, the faintest rustle of fabric as he adjusted, and then stillness.

For the first time in a long time, your mind wasn’t plagued by nightmares.

——

You barely noticed it.

Your body was warm, your mind floating somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, caught in that hazy space where the world didn’t quite feel real yet. The concrete floor beneath the thin mattress should’ve been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. Not really. Not when there was warmth pressed against your back, solid and steady.

Not when there was an arm draped over your waist.

Your breath hitched, the realisation hitting all at once. Your body stiffened. The weight of it was undeniable—the firm press of muscle through the thin fabric of your uniform, the slow, even rise and fall of his chest against your back.

Young-il.

A slow warmth crept up your neck. You swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of where your bodies touched. His arm wasn’t just resting against you—it was holding you. Not tight, not restricting, but there. His hand was relaxed against your stomach, fingers curled loosely into the fabric of your uniform.

You should move. You should wake him up. You should do something.

But you didn’t. It felt too nice, too right.

You stayed still, barely daring to breathe, your mind racing through the events of last night. The weight of his grief. The way his voice had cracked when he spoke of his wife. The way you had pressed yourself against him in that desperate, suffocating hug, needing him to hold you together just as much as he needed you.

And then, the mattresses.

The quiet, unspoken decision. The way neither of you hesitated when you pushed them together, filling the space between them, letting your bodies rest closer than they should. You hadn’t thought about what that meant last night—hadn’t let yourself.

Now, in the dim morning light, with Young-il’s arm wrapped around you, you couldn’t ignore it.

A slow inhale. A shift. His breath stirred against the back of your neck—barely there, but enough. Enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Then, a pause. A slow tensing of his body. He was waking up.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, squeezing your eyes shut, pretending to be still asleep.

For a second, neither of you moved. His breathing slowed, like he was processing what he was feeling. Then, you felt it—the tightening of his grip, his fingers twitching slightly against your uniform like he was anchoring himself, pulling you closer to his chest.

The warmth of him seeped into you, steady and grounding, his presence a solid weight against your back. You could hear the slow, even rhythm of his breathing, feel the faint rise and fall of his chest as it pressed against you with every inhale.

It should’ve been suffocating. It should’ve been uncomfortable. But it wasn’t.

You stayed still, barely daring to breathe, unsure if you even wanted to move.

Young-il’s arm was firm. There was no hesitation, no awareness of the line you had crossed last night when you’d pushed your mattresses together. Just quiet, instinctive closeness.

You weren’t sure how much time passed like that. A few minutes? An hour? It didn’t matter. Because for those few stolen moments, you weren’t in the dormitory. You weren’t in the games. You weren’t fighting for your life. You were just warm.

Then, the music started.

That familiar, eerie swell of classical strings echoed through the dormitory, signalling morning, pulling you both out of the fragile cocoon of sleep.

You felt the shift before anything else. The tensing of Young-il’s body. The slow, dawning realisation sinking into him like a stone. His breath hitched, and then his arm moved. Fast.

He withdrew from you like he’d been burned, fingers jerking away from your waist as he shifted back onto his side of the mattress. You felt the absence immediately—the cold rushing in where his warmth had been. For a moment, neither of you moved. You opened one of your eyes, hoping he wasn’t looking at you, to see what he was doing.

From the corner of your eye, you caught it—Young-il rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze flickering anywhere but at you. He looked flustered.

You almost laughed.

But instead, you waited. Just a second longer. Then you stretched, exhaling like you had just woken up, rolling onto your back and blinking blearily at the ceiling.

You made a sleepy sound of protest at the music, rubbing your eyes before glancing at him. “Morning already?” you muttered, voice groggy.

Young-il cleared his throat, sitting up fully. “Yeah,” he said, voice a little rough.

God, his morning voice was sexy.

You didn’t mention the waist-situation. Didn’t acknowledge the way his arm had been wrapped around you, the way his body had been pressed against yours. And neither did he.

But when you sat up beside him, feeling the ghost of his warmth still clinging to your skin, you swore you could feel the weight of something else, too. Something unspoken.

Around you, players began to stir, and the familiar voice of the announcer filled the dormitory:

“The third game will begin momentarily. All players, please prepare.”

You stretched, exhaling a quiet groan as the weight of sleep clung stubbornly to your limbs. The dormitory stirred around you—murmurs of waking players, the rustle of blankets, the low, grating snore of Dae-ho still lost in whatever dream he was still having. Jung-bae shifted nearby, Jun-hee rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Next to you, Young-il sat still, watching. His expression was unreadable at first, but then—there. A small, amused smile.

“Sorry,” he murmured, voice lazy, playful. “Didn’t mean to stare.”

You blinked at him, catching on immediately. Tease.

With a roll of your eyes, you pushed yourself up, shaking off the lingering fog of sleep as you followed the others toward the centre of the dormitory. The room was cold, your movements sluggish as your mind struggled to fully catch up. You were walking along side Gi-hun as you tumbled a little bit.

Then—warmth. A touch. Steady, deliberate. Fingers curled around your waist, stopping you mid-step.

Your breath caught, your body tensing on instinct. But before you could react, Young-il was already there, closer than before, his hand firm at the dip of your waist. He pulled you closer into him. Like it was nothing. Like it was natural.

“You walk like you’re still stuck in your dream,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, amusement threading through it. “Thought you were gonna run into me.”

Your skin burned where he touched you. His thumb pressed slightly against your hip, the motion slow, absentminded, like he wasn’t even thinking about it. But you were.

You exhaled sharply, smirking up at him. “So instead of moving, you just—grab me?”

Young-il smirked. “Didn’t hear you complaining.”

Your lips parted, but no retort came. Because he was right. And you hated that.

His smirk deepened, like he could hear every thought running through your head, like he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on you. And then, just as easily as he touched you, he let go, stepping past you without another word.

Leaving you standing there, fully awake now, pulse hammering against your ribs, his warmth still ghosting over your skin. You exhaled, steadying yourself before moving forward, ignoring the way your body still buzzed in the wake of him.

The guards herded you through the dormitory doors, leading you into the labyrinth of the massive staircases. With every step, the tension in your chest coiled tighter. Another game. Another chance to live or die.

The uncertainty was suffocating. What if it was something unfamiliar again? What if you weren’t good at it? Worse—what if it was a game that turned you against the very people you had come to rely on? The thought sent a sharp pulse of unease through you.

Eventually, you were guided into a large room, the path ahead obscured by a heavy white curtain. Four triangle-masked guards stood at the forefront, weapons gripped tightly, their presence a silent warning. The crowd stilled, uneasy whispers fading into tense silence.

The curtain began to slide open.

The announcer’s voice rang out, calm and detached, cutting through the stillness like a blade.

"Welcome to your third game."