#I think as sincerely as I can about anything

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hey. Hi. Hello. Today I learned about the existence of 15th century Welsh poet Gwerful Mechain and that she apparently has a surviving work of erotic poems.

Please. For Christmas. For Yule. Please tell me more because I can't read Welsh.

Heh heh. Oh, Gwerful Mechain is the absolute best.

(Quick housekeeping to keep the post manageable - I previously wrote about things like cynghanedd and cywydds and englyns and such here, so check that if you need an explanation.)

What's fun is that we don't know a ton about her, because not a lot got written down about people in her time. Her surviving work covers a 40ish year span at the end of the 1400s to just into the 1500s, but we don't know when she was born or died or anything like that. We know her parents' names? And that she was from Mechain, hence the bardic name. And that she married a guy and had a daughter, something which actually does mark out her body of work as different from her contemporaries; being a wife and mother, she couldn't do the usual bardic role of travelling the country to spread news and play at courts. This means she doesn't have any of the praise poetry that a lot of male bards produced about the lords that hosted them.

But, there's stuff we can piece together about her. For one thing, she was not just literate (not a universal skill for anyone at that point, but especially for women), but she was astonishingly well-read and had what appears to be a classical education, given her poetic references and traditional Welsh meters. For another, her work often had recurring themes of religion, sex, and women's rights, sometimes all at the same time.

At the point Gwerful was active, Welsh bardic culture heavily featured ymrysonau. An ymryson is like... well, I hesitate to say "sort of like a rap battle" after the way everyone and their dog now thinks that's what the Mari Lwyd does, but they were like a cross between a rap battle and the publication war between two rival academics. A bard would write an englyn and publish it in the local parish newsletter. Another bard would see this, and write their own englyn about how stupid the first bard's englyn was, and publish it in the same newsletter. The first bard would see this and retaliate. The second bard would retaliate to that. And on and on it would go, like a printed tennis match for all the parishioners to enjoy, until someone wrote a conclusive verse OR until someone went "Lol, you got me good there" and bowed out with dignity. Sometimes, these things were fucking vicious; but other times, they were just banter between two bards who knew each other and were enjoying the chance to keep their poetic skills in tip top condition.

Now, Gwerful was an active and enthusiastic participant in ymrysonau. We have many examples of her work from these. There are two of particular note that I'll list here, each against a different bard:

Dafydd Llwyd o Fathafarn. Mathafarn and Mechain are not so distant from one another, so no real surprise that these two locked horns a lot, but the impression I always got from their ymrysonau is that they were good mates, actually. These fell into the 'banter' category more often than not. Dafydd was a Welsh Nationalist who was hoping for a Welshman to rise up and throw off the yoke of English oppression, and most of his work is about that, but he turned up the filthy erotic shit for any ymryson with Gwerful because BOY HOWDY was that her specialty. IIRC she did occasionally poke fun at his Welsh Nash leanings, especially his obsession with Mab Darogan (OLD Welsh idea that translates to the Son of Prophesy - the Arthur-style figure that will one day drive out the English overlords), but mostly their ymrysonau were incredibly beautifully-written odes that could be summed up as "Dafydd, my man, my good friend, I mean this sincerely: suck my entire clit".

She often won.

Ieuan Dyfi. God, what a fucking asshole. This one was not banter. Gwerful played for blood with this prick.

We actually would know nothing about Ieuan Dyfi if not for Gwerful Mechain, because it was her poetic response to him that meant his only surviving poems made it to the modern day; that, and the record of him being brought before a church court where he admitted adultery with Anni Goch, a married woman. Oh, and the record of him being brought before the law courts at Liverpool, accused of domestic abuse and gambling? If I remember right?

Two things to know that set the scene for what came next:

One of Gwerful Mechain's surviving poems is an englyn considered to be possibly the oldest extant poem about domestic violence written by a woman: I’w gŵr am ei churo (To the husband who beats her)

Dager drwy goler dy galon - ar osgo I asgwrn dy ddwyfron; Dy lin a dyr, dy law’n don, A’th gleddau i’th goluddion.

There are a lot of translations for this one to try to keep its poeticness, but this one is pretty good:

Through your heart’s lining let there be pressed, slanting down, A dagger to the bone in your chest. Your knee smashed, your hand crushed, may the rest Be gutted by the sword you possessed.

She has others, too, that deal with sexual assault, and something scholars often note about Gwerful is her remarkable knowledge of the law as it pertained to women's issues. So she was not, you see, a woman with a high view of a man accused of domestic violence anyway.

But then Ieuan Dyfi wrote five poems about Anni Goch, the married woman he'd fucked, each more "Wow dude, she said no" than the last, culminating in I Anni Goch; a full cywydd of misogynistic Medieval-incel bullshit about how false and evil women are, which listed all the false and evil women of history including classical and mythological figures.

And. Well. Gwerful had some views.

Her responding cywydd - I ateb Ieuan Dyfi am gywydd Anni Goch - basically blasted the guy back into his own impact crater and disintegrated him. What she did with it, essentially, was to mirror his cywydd. Where he'd gone "Isn't it so true how great men throughout history have always been brought low by women, amirite lads? Here's examples", Gwerful went "Isn't it so true how 'great men' throughout history have behaved appallingly and fucked up through their own actions and then somehow managed to blame women, amirite lads? Here's examples." Where his examples had been historical figures, so were hers. Where his had been classical, so were hers. Where he went Biblical, so did she.

And what's so interesting about that last one is how pointed she was with it - for some reason, in his big list of evil women, Ieuan Dyfi did not go for the most obvious and low-hanging of fruit (no pun intended) - he doesn't cite Eve. In response, Gwerful also sidesteps the most obvious and low hanging of fruit - she doesn't cite Mary. In so doing, she makes it clear that she doesn't even need to.

There is no record of him responding to her. IIRC, there is a record of him doing three years in prison.

But! Outside of all of that, the big thing Gwerful was known for was her erotic poetry. You'll be unsurprised to hear that it wasn't written for shits and giggles - much like today, women of the time were told that most of their value was in their looks, and they had plentiful insecurities about their bodies. Gwerful wrote her erotic stuff to confront those insecurities and shine a light on the issue. There are so many examples of this, but far and away the most famous is definitely Cywydd y Cedor - roughly translated, 'Ode to the Vulva'. Though I have also seen it titled Cywydd y Gont - Ode to the Cunt. It's such a shame that the English language is literally, physically not capable of cynghanedd, because it means unless you learn Welsh you will never understand the beauty and the lyricism of the piece, and how it elevates and undercuts the content at the same time; but it's a joyful, masterful, irreverent work that uses the fancy language male poets were forever dedicating to the rest of a woman's body and applies it squarely to the vulva. In fact it basically opens with "Men are cowards, describe more cunts or gtfo" before launching into its main subject matter. The last line is pro-pubic hair, too, like I really must stress how much Gwerful Mechain would have to offer Tumblr if you could speak Welsh. This is probably her most widely translated piece, though, you can definitely find English versions. Although you can tell how blushing and reticent the translator is - and therefore how sanitised their translation is - by whether they've called it Ode to the Vulva/Cunt, or Ode to the Pubic Hair.

Needless to say, the original is not sanitised.

(Actually, I should also say - this one is also a response piece, probably, but in this case to a bard who lived a century earlier - Dafydd ap Gwilym, the absolutely legendary and uncontested king of Welsh romance poetry. He wrote a poem called Cywydd y Gal - Ode to the Penis. I have only just put two and two together on that.)

As a final note, I should say that my personal favourite Gwerful Mechain poem on this subject, mind, is actually I'w morwyn wrth gachu - to the maiden who is shitting. It's an englyn written in Gwerful's customary high poetic form, but it is what it says - it describes a woman taking a shit, and farting as she does. Beautiful and magical and disgusting and banal, all in one go:

Crwciodd lle dihangodd ei dŵr - ’n grychiast O grochan ei llawdwr; Ei deudwll oedd yn dadwr’, Baw a ddaeth, a bwa o ddŵr

Funnily enough, it's hard to find a good translation for this one lol.

My attempt:

She crouched where her water escaped - creased From the cauldron of her heat; Her two holes were arguing, Shit came, and a bow of water

Eh. It's so bland in English. Honestly, if you could read Welsh...

Anyway, if anyone reading this can read Welsh and wants to read some of Gwerful Mechain's stuff - including some of the pieces she was responding to in the ymrysonau - you can find a load here. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed!

[goldsbitch]

That one night stranded

There is good sex...and then there is good sex. And when you know and love someone, it's very easy to tell when they fall into an anxiety trap and try to fuck it out.

Lando is determined to have good sex only for the rest of his life.

Or - Lando and Y/N get stranded in between flights. accidental 7k epilogue p.2 to That one Christmas flight, but can be read as a stand-alone

warning: angst, shit family, smut, p in v, oral, minors DNI, typos, couple therapists, please leave, i'm not ready for your judgement

//

There were two very different text message chains happening in the hotel lobby, where the young couple stood, waiting for the receptionist who was coding they key card.

Lando's phone was bursting up with family photos, taken the day before. Lots of smiley faces, tables overflowing with food and pictures blurred up, because the person taking the photo was most likely laughing too hard to stay still. And even better - most of the messages were words of praise his family had for his no-so-new girlfriend. He knew well enough his family was proud of him nevertheless. Somehow, bringing home someone who fit in right easily, laughed at the same jokes and earned a sincere approval, filled up a hole he had no idea was present in his heart.

This one night they'd "earned" by the delayed flight felt like a reward. They'd done great together. Alone time was a rare luxury, especially when it was unexpected and not planned out for weeks. He glanced over to her, glued to her phone in a similar way that he was. Only difference being the furrowed brows.

The other text chain was Y/N and her mother. Right when the reality sank in - the fact that no plane would be able to fly to Japan with these weather conditions - her heart did too. She'd somehow hoped it would be different. That her mother would save the snarky comments. Yet she found a way to make this all seem like Y/N's fault.

You should have taken an earlier flight.

She knew it was irrational. But yes, if they had opted for the earlier flight, they'd be in the air by now. Funny, how only parents know the exact formula to make one’s brain switch off the rational part. It was the hidden undertone in the text messages. Her mom would usually save those for phone calls. The last thing Y/N wanted to do at the moment. You're too reckless. Not organized enough. Being late is your fault. Bad planning. Do you even care about seeing me? I took a day off from work to spend time with you. Are you sure about bringing the racer boy over here?

Guilt filled up her stomach and her eyes were glued to the phone, hoping for more letters to appear. Something along the lines like "have a safe flight". Or "I'm looking forward to finally meeting Lando". Words she knew would never appear. She felt her boyfriend's arm embrace her as he exchanged few final words with the receptionist. The specific info got lost on her, but the tone spoke on it's own. Even a stranger could pick up on his unmasked joy and comfort. He didn't mind they were stranded for few hours. She wished for that kind of peace of mind. His family had been incredibly lovely to her. Accepted her the way she was and gave her enough space to express herself. She was ready for "double checking" or some sort of acceptance tests. Expected to have to prove herself to them more. None of that came. Part of her was secretly infuriated by that. There was no way in hell Lando would get the same treatment. Y/N wished she could provide that comfort for him too. It resembled the same feeling she had when he came to her apartment for the first time and she forgot to put away all the mugs overflowing the nightstand. Like something that was her responsibility to fix, clean up before he even knew this was a thing.

"Look at me, honey," he said in the elevator, his finger pulling her chin up. His eyes scanned her with a look she grew to love. Pure, unfiltered adoration. "Feels like we got gifted a night only for ourselves. I can't think of anything better to receive." She smiled as best as she could, trying to get on his level of ease. But one thought sat in her brain, unwilling to make space for anything else. Today's bliss for tomorrow's misery.

"You're right, as always," she replied, trying to convince herself maybe more than him. The kiss she gave him afterwards was to divert his attention from looking at her, because she knew from experience, he'd soon see right through her.

"Have you texted your mom that we'll be late?" he asked, unaware of her bubbling anxiety.

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbled, trying to dismiss the situation.

//

Who cares that mom thinks he's just a reckless celebrity. Would an immature asshole who "can't possibly care about me in the longterm" be say things like that? It was pure fire running through her veins. Maybe it really was a gift, these few hours they got extra. The reality was that even if they'd arrived on time, fresh and dressed up as a cookie cutter loved up couple, her mom would still find something wrong to drill about later. Screw that. Last few moments of solitude.

She was standing in a hotel room bathroom, looking into the mirror, trying to calm herself down.

This worked perfectly into Lando's favor, him still being completely high on the good Christmas vibes. The minute she excused herself, he got on the phone with the hotel concierge and offered to throw any amount of money at them if they'd manage to follow up on his impromptu request. By some miracle, the trail with cold champagne, strawberries and few roses arrived before she returned from the bathroom. When his lovely girlfriend entered the room again, he greeted her with a dramatic spin, rose in one, a tall glass in the other hand. His interpretation of an angelic smile plastered on his face. The plan of catching her off guard worked. She stood there for a moment, taking the scenery in.

"Lando..." she said, speechless enough to muster anything more.

He winked at her and stepped closer. "It is technically our anniversary..." he said, like an open invitation.

Y/N stared at the loved up guy standing in front of her. Mother's voice still ringing in her head. All composure she managed to gain by staring at herself in the mirror gone in a second. How can anyone, ever and anywhere think that Lando, her Lando, is anything but a perfect boyfriend. How can her mother feed her with words like reckless, immature, wild and careless...without ever even meeting him in person. Her phone dinged with the sound a text message and she just knew it was her mom again. She didn't even bother looking at the notification.

"You're perfect, you know that?" she blurbed slowly. Once again, as if more to herself than to him.

His smile grew wider. "I try my best," he noted with a tone that could only be described as playful.

"Many people forget anniversaries..."

"To be fair, it is easier if it's pinned to annoyingly recognized holiday..." he joked and handed her the glass. "Do not ask me when we actually got together, because I don't think there is enough champagne around here for me to apologize for not knowing that date."

She smirked and accepted the glass.

"You did kind of just admit that yourself, you know..."

"I know, but, you didn't ask, so it doesn't count."

He knew her well enough to know that she was about to ask exactly that just to tease him, so interrupted her before she had a chance to even breathe in.

"Toast! To us! To the best outcome a desperate secret meeting at Honda could ever have!"

Giving up on teasing him, she clinked her glass with his. "To the Christmas champagne tradition."

He leaned in and kissed her before tasting the champagne. If it weren't for the symbolic gesture, he'd order anything else. Champagne had a weird undertone of podiums and that was something he hated to get reminded of during off season. But that was not something he needed to tell her.

She gulped the whole glass, happy have something to take the edge off.

"How bizarre, we managed to make it here," she remarked, courage building up.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, honey."

That's it. He was being the ultimate boyfriend, while she was there, barely participating. No more of that. She grabbed the glass from his hands and downed the liquid he barely touched anyway. Surprised Lando only raised his eyebrows and watched her put both of their glasses away.

"Bed. Now," she ordered him, changing the tone of the conversation.

Fascination overruled Lando's facial expression and he obeyed, without a single word. Usually, he was the more dominant one in their sex life. He couldn't help himself, forever horny teenager. But, sometimes, out of nowhere, she whipped up her bossy side. He often fantasized about that when he was alone, racing around the world.

She waited for him to absentmindedly kick his shoes to the corner only to sit at the edge of the bed. Shook her head and nodded toward the pillow. He obeyed and pushed himself further to the back. His eyes were literally inviting her, encouraging her to continue.

With full determination, she took her shirt off, following by swiftly removing her bra. Then she climbed over to him, never breaking eye contact.

Lando wanted to say something, anything, but he was worried that would somehow break the spell. He followed her every move, tuning in. They had spent few days in the family circus and they were about to enter another one. It's been the longest they'd gotten without sex while being in the same timezone. Even though he was not demanding or expecting anything, he was craving it like a starved man.

She wanted to feel hot. Determined to prove that she is a good girlfriend. Swung her leg over his, practically sitting on him. Their lips crashed together in a messy kiss, tongues fighting for dominance. Lando sighed when she parted them. But she was on a mission now. Knowing well enough Lando was a boobs man, she pulled his face towards her nipple and he didn't think twice about what to do next. She watched him suck and pure physical relief washed over her. All will be well soon.

She grabbed him over his jeans, pleased to find that he was already getting hard. Abandoning the kiss, she moved over to gain access to his crotch. Locked eyes with him while opening his zipper, almost violently.

"Take this off," she ordered and boy, did he do as he was told.

The air was heavy with anticipation on both parties.

With thick determination, she knelt over and took him into her mouth. He grew in her instantly, reaching full erection almost immediately.

Wasting no time, she started to move, up and down and suck him off. One hand called over to help at the bottom of his shaft, the other used as a support for her to lean on. She quickly got lost in the rhythm and continued, almost like someone dead set on completing a task. She had to prove herself. He was a great boyfriend and she needed to be the best girl he had. Because tomorrow, only ugly judgemental looks from her mother would await. No warm family welcome, this bliss they lived in for the past few days would be long gone. She could almost see it already happening, Lando desperately trying to impress her mother and her just dismissing him, because she had already made up her mind about him.

But he was perfect and Y/N was head-over-heels in love. With her eyes closed, she kept on moving, barely reaching for breath, ignoring the growing pain in her back, because the pit of despair growing in her stomach was louder anyway. It was all worth it for making her lover happy. Because who knows how it will all look tomorrow. If she could back down from the trip, she would. Her mom does not deserve to criticize someone so perfect like Lando.

Out of nowhere, felt his hand reaching over to her shoulder, somewhat bringing her back to Earth.

"Y/N," he moaned, with an unusual undertone. She took it as a sign to speed up her movements.

"Stop," he continued instantly. She froze, not quite sure what had happened.

"Ok, ugh," he pulled away unwillingly. "I can't believe I'm about to interrupt...Whatever amazing thing is happening right now."

She swallowed her own saliva. Got up a bit, slightly mortified. Why did he stop her. What has she done wrong? He never complained before? That's it - this connected with the treatment her mother had prepared instead of Christmas dinner would be the final straw ending their lovey-dovey period. Her thoughts were tripping one over another, making up an incoherent mess.

Once again, he pulled up his finger and arched her chin up.

"Is everything alright?"

Silence followed. He gave her a questioning, puzzled look.

"I thought you liked my blow jobs," she said with a stern look stripped of any emotion.

"Believe me, I do," he said with a heavy sigh. He couldn't believe himself, never expected himself to pause a perfect blow. "But something feels off about you."

She failed. She failed at going with Lando's flow and ruined what was suppose to be a nice romantic holiday evening. Giving up, she threw herself on her back, lying 90 degrees next to him, eyes glued to the ceiling. If they hadn't been so comfortable with each other, she'd feel very small, lying there like that, him with his dick out and her topless.

Lando had hoped his intuition was wrong. But sadly, he recognized the signs correctly. Without knowing this emotion had pained her ever since the plane got delayed, he felt his own anxiety pile up. Only years of mental preparation for his overly demanding job had helped him to avoid jumping into conclusions too quickly. Even though, deep down, he was terrified that her sudden mood change was due to the fact she didn't love him anymore. It was always the first thing he thought about, no matter how much he tried to work on it. But - years of mental training - he was going to cash that in.

He watched her, hoping she'd look back at him. When she didn't, he reached his fingertips towards hers. Her own hand responded instantly and their fingers tangled together.

"What happened...Did I do something wrong?" he opened with, reaching for any clues.

She kept her stare up the ceiling and chuckled. How cute it was, finding him so unaware.

"No. Lando, you're amazing. Annoyingly so, lately."

He took that as an invitation and shifted his body over so that they shared the same angle and joined her at the "staring at the ceiling" activity.

"I hope that is not the problem - I have hard time not being like that," he joked, hoping it would diffuse the tension a bit. The Lando she met a year ago would probably run away in a situation like this. Or maybe even ignored the obvious distress of his sex partner and let he blow him to his release. But not the Lando of today.

Her lips curled into a small smile.

"Oh, if only all of us were like you," she couldn't help but comment sarcastically.

"You know that you're more than perfect to me, right?" There was no lightness to be detected in his tone. She shifted, a wave of uncomfortableness washing her over.

I may be, but not my family.

"Yes, but I need you to know...I need you to understand, that I truly love you and I am totally mesmerized by you. To me, you are perfect. Even when you irritate me to heavens," she admited, making sure to highlight the words of praise. Scared that if she didn't build enough foundation today, there will be nothing to stand on once the challenge comes tomorrow. She'd tried to warm him about the meeting, but it always seemed to go through his ears.

It was like she was speaking in riddles. "Why do you need me to understand that now?" he asked, eyes now fully glued at his girlfriend, searching for some clues.

She felt his eyes on her and out of nowhere felt very naked. "Because...." ...Words were hard.

"Go on, I'm not backing away from this," Lando insisted, trying to get them both on the same page.

A loud sigh. "We had such a great time with your family..."

It was like she was speaking in a language he was not yet fluent in. "Don't divert the conversation," he hissed, eyes on her like she was some sort of target.

"I'm not!" she gasped, almost offended.

Lando was still not following. "My family is basically in love with you, I have messages if you need proof."

"Yeah. And that's the problem," Y/N smirked bitterly.

He leaned closer to her. "I think we should look up a definition of the word problem..." he joked.

She was still burning holes in the ceiling with her look. "We missed the flight. It's another bullet to my mother’s gun." Stupid, stupid mistake.

"Who is she planning on shooting?" Lando asked softly.

"Us, I'm afraid." She finally met his look and the only emotion he was able to read in her eyes was concern.

If this relationship had taught Lando anything, it was that the hard way is sometimes the only way. So, he finally allowed himself to ask the one thing that had been on his mind for a while now. "Does she not like me?"

Deep down he was suspecting this might be one of the reasons why his girlfriend is acting sketchy. He just hoped it was something more trivial. "She's never met you," she whispered, as if she was defending him for something he hadn't yet committed. So far, there had been only one moment when her mom Facetimed her when he was right next to her. One greeting, awkward wave and a smile that was not reciprocated. He made up some excuse to leave them alone promptly after that, feeling like he was intruding on a private conversation.

"I wondered when you were going to tell me that," he remarked, ready to go full on. He was just now allowing the thought that his lover's parent might have been feeding her bitter doubts for some time now enter his brain.

The obvious change of Lando's expression made her stomach turn, kind of like drinking milk that's gone off does. But, they'd vowed to be fully honest with each other after their first big fight. Deep breath. "She um...It's not like you can say she is exactly on board with all of this,“ she gestured between them. 

And there it was. The confirmation he feared. He did his best to remain as calm as possible. "Don't worry, I figured, you sort of hinted at that few times before. And I'm planning on charming the hell out of her. After all, you do share genes. Some of my tricks gotta work on her." It was more of a plea, lacking his general playful confidence. When she studied his look, it reminded her of the times when he was hiding his real emotions in front of hungry reporters.

He told her once he wanted her to be blunt, rather than deceptive in difficult times. The words started to leave her mouth without much of a filter. "But, what if it does not work. She has this habit of making her mind up before I have any chance to affect it."

Somehow, the fact she voiced it, made it easier for him to react. "Honey, don't take this the wrong way. But, I only care about your opinion. It would be great to have your mom on our side...However, I'd like to believe it's not the base of our relationship."

"No, it's not," she said quickly, silently hoping it was going to be enough for them to survive this challenge.

"So, tell me. What does she think about me?" he asked, suddenly craving to know it all.

She bit her lip. "Lando, don't make me say things like that."

Wow. That bad. "I'm used to getting hate from thousands of people who don't know me. I can cope. The more specifics I know, the better I can prepare...Come on, spill it," he countered, trying to convince her that he can handle it. However, it wasn't like he himself was completely sure of that. Her face was expressionless and he nodded to confirm it nonverbally.

"She thinks you're reckless," she spoke slowly, skipping few heartbeats. She was used to being on the other side, praising Lando when he doubted himself. This place, where she found herself at, was not one she liked.

He analysed it for a moment. "Well, I do get into a car every week to purposefully drive it as fast as possible, so I can she from which angle she might be coming from. Nothing new."

"You're a party boy," she shot back faster than she could think.

And he shot right back at her. "You're a party girl, but I assume your mom has no idea, huh."

"No...," she admitted. For some reason, this calmed her down a bit. She finally took another breath.

"What else," Lando's stared at her, following his internal feeling they hadn't arrived to the end yet.

No point in holding back now, she figured. There was a weird ball of tension in her chest, almost asking daring her to push him to the limit. "She googled you. A lot. And she made sure to tell me names of all your model exes. Then proceeded to tell me I look nothing like that," Y/N deadpanned.

Lando knew this was probably the one thing that stung her the most. But, the thought of someone she held so dearly voicing it her was making him extremely angry. "That's just fucked up-"

She continued, before he had any chance to react more.

"And, she thinks you'll affect my school. That the lifestyle around you is shallow and only attracts bonehead people."

Now, this was finally getting to Lando. Of course, he could not let Y/N know that, not in this moment.

"Do you think that too?" he asked, because he craved to know the truth. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, when the world around felt silent and his mind had time to roam freely, he found himself thinking about this. He never really studied and was never going to. His life was based on different approach. He loved it. But that didn't stop him from feeling a bit inferior from time to time.

He expected anything, but a laugh. For a moment he figured she was mocking him. Only once she reached to touch his face he realized just how still and stiff he became throuout out their conversation.

"I think it's shallow and bonehead to assume that. I've met some amazing people in your team, smart people who have dedicated their lives into the sport I'd grown to love while watching get so passionate about it."

There was an unspoken question hanging in the air. Lando dared not to say it outloud.

"And, no. I don't think you deserve to be called any of those words. Only when you're looking in the mirror, because that smug face deserves to be punched one day."

He chuckled. It would take him few moment to truly let her words sink in. "You didn't seem to think that one time in Abu Dhabi." That time when he fucked over a bathroom sink and made sure that she watched them the whole time. Lando watched with joy as her face started getting some color again. He couldn't fight his urge to get closer to his partner, break the tension even further. So, he rolled over to bury his nose in her neck. It was almost automatic at this point. None of his previous girlfriends were this understanding of his overly touchy needs. Words were important, but they grew more on meaning when he could feel her skin, explore her light shiver, watch how her body reacted. When he felt her pushing towards his touch, he swung his arm over her, with the notion of providing some heat to her naked chest.

A more comfortable silence fell upon the hotel room. Both of them lost in their own thoughts. Lando was taking in all of the newly found information. It was a heavy burden, not because of the substance, but because it was coming from someone Y/N held dearly. It was hard not to feel a little injustice of it all. But more than that, he was grateful that she was able to avoid internalizing all of that what was fed to her from her mom. He approached all of this as he would any strategy meeting before a difficult race. Find the strengths, capitalize on them and try to minimize the advantage "the opponent" might have. But truth be told, he'd rather not have to have this sort of competition.

"Thank you," he whispered into the crease of her neck. "Thank you for not giving into it all." He hoped, prayed, that was he as saying was true. It was not just about her mom. It was the press, some of the overbearing fans and anyone who dared to challenge them without having any real insight in their relationship. "I know it must be really hard and not exactly what you might have signed up for."

What did I sign up for? 

She reached over to embrace him, mindlessly drawing circles on his back. The pit inside her stomach was growing smaller. Without really intending to, signed up for a partnership, exciting love affair that got out of hand. Anyone who came before him was redundant. He outshined everyone. 

"I’m pretty sure I must have bribed faith in my past life to have you thrown in my life." 

"Aren’t you my little smart poetic girl," he murmured approvingly and started to cover her skin with kisses. Few moments flew by. "We could order some food, put on the show you like and drift away. How does that sound?" 

She understood his intention. It had been a long day and another one was coming. Her emotions were clashing from one end to another and as much as she tried to hide it all, Lando was proving to be hard to fool. And no - she did not want to chill in. Burning all of it out sounded more fun. To be held for a moment, stuck in the timelessness only lightheaded orgasm created. 

He was still trailing her neck with small pecks, arm locking her in. The untamed curls almost tickling like small feathers. Everything was heightened, as if his skin was loudly calling her in. His words of initiating a calm wind down not matching his action. 

"Please, no more of this PG fun. It’s been days."

He stopped all of his movements. "Well then, pray tell, what do you have on mind?"

The next words flew out of her mouth before she could filter them. "Are you in the mood to fuck me?"

"Am I in the mood to fuck you," he repeated, in his signature sarcasm dripping style. He was having trouble processing how his sexual partner could ever arrive to this question. Unsure whether to address her clumsy dirty talk first instead of the absurdity of the question, he arrived at a simple "Charming…".  Of course he was in the mood. Always, anytime and quite literally anywhere.

"Well it's just, it's been quite a tense talk..." she hinted back carefully. To her surprise, his face went into smirk mode. 

"I will ask you the same thing next time you're hyperventilating about school and you come in begging for stress release," he jested, once again making her eyebrows shooting up. 

"I am never begging," she defended, unwilling to give into his narrative. 

And then he shot back, with his signature you-don’t-have-any-chance-to-resist look. "I said what I said."

Blood ran boiling in her veins. If oil had been in such abundance as his audacity, the world would be able to run cars freely for centuries. "Tell me one example of me begging for sex with you."

Lando turned his head slowly. Oh. Oh, it was on.

Very quickly she realized her own mistake. She ran into that one like a fool. "No, Lando, don't-"

"You know, it has been indeed quite a long day, I think I'm gonna hop in the shower and get a healthy dose of beauty sleep," he declared dramatically, sat up and removed his t-shirt. She rolled her eyes as high as humanly possible. No way would follow through with this premise. "Fine, Lando. I’ll be here, munching on strawberries, naked and horny, all by myself," she tried to tease and leaned over to grab one of the bright red fruits from the trail. Eyes locked in with him as she shamelessly sucked on it. There was a glitch and a twinkle in his look. Almost got her thinking she had this one in the bag. He stepped closer, noses almost touching as he whispered: "Have fun, honey," gave her a little peck on the cheeks while having the nerve to grab her exposed breast. His tone was teasing, daring her to dare a little more. It was annoying in a typical Lando fashion.

"Lando, you gotta be kidding me right now," she sighed, impatience getting the better of her. 

"Few magic words and you get exactly what you want from your reckless racer fuck boy,“ he mocked everyone who ever doubted them. "Oh, sorry, forgot to add, very good at taking your edge off. Am I right?"

His presence was more intoxicating than usual. As if he radiated some hormones making her feral. All the complicated emotions leaving the conversation one by one. Nothing but the two of them left in the room. His hot breath on her cheek, fingers circling over her nipple and his body heat reminding her of each time she wrapped her arms around him as he pushed into her. 

"Yes, that you are," she responded mindlessly and searched for his lips with her own. He allowed her a small peck, like a chef would at a tasting menu. Enough to hook, but not enough to fill up. And with that thought in mind he broke their kiss. "Come on, say it. I want to hear it."

Few moments of silence, her breathing heavy and his almost undetectable. Two ego’s fighting a battle so pointless it was almost amusing. She couldn’t just give in like that, no matter how dizzy her head was getting. 

"Fine by me, honey. Your choice," he danced away, letting her hanging. There was something infuriating about how nonchalantly and elegantly he smiled, knowing well enough her was winning this battle. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes as to prevent herself from watching his tone back. 

This. This was her Lando. Always pushing her into a direction she had no idea she wanted or needed to go. Never the same thing twice, somehow, he always dug up something new. 

She sat on the bed, dumbfounded, playful anger replacing all the anxiety she had felt just moments ago. Was this his plan all along, or did he just have a natural talent at steering her mood into a place where she’d happily go and give into anything he’d suggest her to do?

He was grinning all the way coming to the shower. It was a statement, a game and something to ease the tension. Once the water started, he’d allowed himself do a light check-in with his own feelings. It wasn’t easy to hear all those things. In fact, some of them hit a little close to home. Lando made sure to separate what he had heard from Y/N as a person. She wasn’t the author of these thoughts. Someone else was. A person who he had not yet even met. There wasn’t a single cell in him that would doubt that everything she stared had been said by her mother at some point. 

He closed his eyes and aimed his face directly under the shower head. Images of him and Y/N all coupled up at his family house started to come in, like a set of developed photos. So natural, calming and most of all - honest. Comfort memories he knew he’d be reaching for once the new season and it’s challenges catch up, when the distance and loneliness hit. But at that moment, there she was, right next door and probably still a bit fired up by his uncharacteristic postponing of sex. His hand slid over to his crotch, squeezing himself casually and switching up the mental images to less family-friendly moments. He was sort of expecting her to come and join him in the shower. But no, of course not. Not when he set her up like that. They were all too similar for their own good.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, towel purposefully hanging dangerously low, he couldn’t stop himself from simpering. Once he got a look at her, sitting under the covers, phone in her hand and too stingy to pass him more than two looks. But, she did come for the second one and that betrayed her, aiming directly to where his tower barely covered his waist. 

To prove his point, he shuffled his wet hair, sudden movement making her glance once again. It felt really addictive to know he was the centre of her attention, despite how much she tried to hide it. 

Smugness and water dripping from him, he landed shamelessly on the bed, towel giving up on trying to participate. Her reaction was to frown, making her pet peeve of people getting into the bed wet known, once again. Something Lando became aware very early on. He used this information only when the situation required it. No words were said, as he leaned over her, making sure to leave some remaining water drops on her, and grabbed a moisturizer. 

Then he proceeded to slowly plump it and rub it on his body. The unreasonably loud sounds of him doing that were cutting the silence of the room like a knife. 

His partner sitting next to him hummed quietly. "Whatever this is, it’s not working."

He replied, elegant as ever. "I don’t know what you’re insinuating." He pretended to be as focused on his activity, the same way as he did when doing PR bullshit. "Ah, honey. Would you be so kind and help me reach to my back?" Lando asked overly nicely. Y/N watched him, almost admiring just how bad his acting skills were and how he proceeded with his act without any remorse. He was reaching over to his back, unable to do so, and making it look like the biggest tragedy human kind has ever experienced. And with puppy eyes, he decided to go for a low blow. 

"Please, baby," he said in a tone so insincere it wouldn’t fool a child. This was yet another provocation. 

"You know it irks me when you’re wet in the bed."

He let out a chuckle. She was so bad at keeping herself in check. It was adorable. She just sat there, pretending to be scrolling Instagram, little lines around her eyes forming from how tense her eyebrows frowned. "I do. And we seriously have to get your accidental innuendos under control. Can’t have you walking in public saying these things." He wiggled the moisturizer in front of her face. 

Finally, she snapped. "You are the most annoying and immature guy I’ve ever met. You’re impossible." Lando looked at her, like one would at an angry puppy that’s trying to jump a little too high. 

"One would almost say a miracle, huh."

Once again, he shook his bottle of moisturizer. Having had enough, she snatched it from his hands and put it back on the nightstand.  "It’s a miracle I haven’t killed you yet."

Without missing a beat, he shot back. "And how will we celebrate?"

She let out a sigh so loud the people in the next room must have heard it. Sitting there, not knowing what do with her hands anymore. He wished they were pulling his hair. 

"Are you seriously gonna make me say it."

He simply nodded, arching himself up. If her mind had been clouded before, it was now full on can't-see-further-than-my-nose type of situation.

He leaned over even closer, getting up all over in her personal space. As if that was even a thing anymore. 

Somehow, for some reason he would have yet unpack, his heart was beating like crazy. Say it. 

Accepting that he won what ever this was, she gulped and finally whispered. "Please."

He gave her a questioning look, as if he didn’t hear her. "Hm? Sorry?"

Still debating whether she should smack him or not, she repeated herself. "Please."

"What, do you want me to put the cream on you too? Hydration is important for the skin,“ he teased, enjoying himself immensely. 

"Lando."

"Y/N."

If he were to be completely honest, he was extremely proud of himself to withholding this long. Also, not sure how longer he could go on, given the fact his erection has entered the chat. 

To make it more complicated, she sat up and put her mouth almost onto his. He could smell her aroused energy. Almost taste her on his mouth. And that as even before she licked his lips lightly with her tongue.

"Say it," he mumbled, unable to make it not sound like a plea. 

It was different than what they’d usually do. Many couples dabbled in talking during sex, they never really did. Then something hit her. Like a secret wavelength he was sending her way. Maybe he needed her to talk today. So, finally, she broke in. 

"Lando, please, fuck me.“ 

All those times, he waited for the five red lights to go out only for him to smash the pedal, paid off. Like opening windows in a stale room, he let the fresh air in. Ripped the duvet covering her off, he grabbed her legs to pull her into a laying down position, not even giving her time to gasp. His moves were quick and oh-so-sure of himself. 

"Tell me what you need, love,“ he ordered, while he traced the line of her neck with his tongue. 

He wasn’t certain if she was finding the idea of talking as hot as he did. But he sure as hell hoped. It wasn’t like he needed any guidance at that point. Had every inch of her body mapped out already. But he longed to hear it from her mouth. Towering over her, he nibbled on her neck, one hand running through her hair and the other squeezing her hips, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. 

He noticed she stopped her breathing and locked him with her arms, holding on for dear life. 

"You, I need you, Lando,“ she let out, suddenly all uncertain and shy. It was the vulnerability in her tone that got him. He moved his lips a little lower, so that he could leave a mark on her collarbone, without fearing she’d regret it tomorrow. 

His body was moving on its own. Brushing on her upper thigh, opening her legs up and positioning himself between her. All the blood left his brain. 

"I want you to touch me. I want to walk with marks made from you in public, a secret only you will know.“ 

He was only now realizing how good of a fuel this was for him. Lightheaded, he folded her legs and pushed them to her stomach, making as small as possible. So that she would be completely in his control. 

To grand her wished, he left one mark just below he collarbone and moved to leave a second one on her breast. She let out a heavy breath. 

"Lando, please. I need you inside.“ 

He was almost getting too dizzy not to comply immediately. His erection throbbing into her leg. 

Then, out of nowhere, he flipped them both. 

"Get over me, baby,“ he hummed and positioned himself on his back. She gave him a questioning look and knelt above his dick. 

But he shook his head and grabbed her hips once again. "Up here.“ 

His hungry look must have encouraged her, so she moved until he stopped her, ending up directly above his mouth. "Sit down.“ 

His statement was followed by his strong hands literally pushing her down on his mouth. 

Eyes finally locked again, he smirked for the last time, before he buried his mouth in her. 

Lando wished he knew what he looked like from her perspective. Squished between her, licking and sucking, letting her move in the exact way how she wished. He felt her legs tense up with each move his tongue made. This all got even more intense when he squeezed her nipple between his fingers. 

He twirled his tongue through her folds, circled around the clit, which had her melt. 

"More,“ she demanded and positioned herself so that he could only access. 

Saliva and her juices were mixing in his mouth, the smell of her arousal hitting his nose and making him high. 

He upped his pace and went for the moves he already knew from the past would work. Watching her crumble, barely being able to keep herself up, to the point where she had to balance herself against the wall, was probably becoming his definition of heaven. His tongue moved in a fixed rhythm, exploring every possible place she had to offer. 

"Lando..." she moaned, completely lost due to the moves his tongue was making. 

He felt the urge to stop and take a breath, because judging by the slight movements of her thighs, she was getting close. 

And only moments later, her first release came. Wetter than ever, she held on dearly and with one high pitched sigh, she collapsed almost completely. He had to stop her from crushing his face. 

"Sorry," she let out mindlessly, unable to give him more reaction. 

Amused, he helped her back down and rolled her over on her back. 

Wasting no time, Lando pushed two fingers in her immediately, not giving her any time to calm down or rest. 

Wondering in which dimension he managed to send her off to, he watched, as she squeezed her eyes shut with every little twist her made. As her moans target to get intense again, he shut her off with a kiss. His tongue matching the movements of his fingers. He waited patiently, before he felt like she was getting lost in the same haze as bare minutes ago, only to remove his fingers and stop kissing her out of a sudden. 

Confusion and mild anger washed over her. 

"What-"

"I can’t hear you, baby," he teased and hovered his wet fingers above her mouth. "What was it that you wanted from me? Must have slipped my mind."

The look of pure desperation she gave him was the hottest shit he’d ever seen. 

"Lando…"

"Let’s made a deal, sunshine," he proclaimed and slowly shoved his wet fingers into her mouth. Like the good girl she was, she sucked on them without hesitation. „I’ll stop anything we’re doing, the moment you shut up. Ok?“

They were so close to each other with every possible body part. But it was not enough. It would never be enough. She nodded and he pulled his fingers out, slowly. 

"Deal, Norris."

A lightning shot through his body and nearly split him in half. She never used his last name before, ever. Why was that, out of all the things, doing it for him. She must have picked up on his momentary relapse and gained more confidence with that. "Stop fucking around, I want you inside. Now.“ 

He was already almost touching her entrance with his dick. Eye locked, he reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers. 

"Please,“ she said, loud and proud, making it sound like a demand.

When he finally pushed into her, it was like anything else stopped existing. He belonged there and nothing else mattered. 

"Oh my God, yes,“ she whined, keeping up at her promise. "This is the best shit ever.“ 

Lando’s autopilot kicked in as the last braincell was truly gone. He started to move in a steady beat, finding it incredibly hard to keep himself from literally pounding into her immediately. 

„Faster,“ she encouraged as she held his shoulder with her other hand, to help her find balance. 

Lando was lost, in the best way possible. In her body, in his mind, in the fact that having sex was something completely different when you absolutely adored the person you’d be lying on top of. The built up energy finally finding its release, after days of dancing around. With each thrust, he lost touch with reality more. Only pure pleasure and reminiscence of her voice finding their way in. 

"Oh, God, baby." "Yes." "I need you." "It’s only you." "Shit, you’re so good."

Lando figured a long time ago that, for the lack of better comparison, their bodies must have been made for each other. Different shapes fitting perfectly into each other. They shared their sense of rhythm. It was never too short or too long. She scratched the itch before he got the chance to mention he had one. Lando felt almost sad for anyone who did not get to experience that. 

Somehow, their sex got better every time. 

He missed when she came for the second time, as he was too lost in his own release. His thrusts got more uneven, his body completely arched and then finally - like the slap in the face, pure bliss washed over him. He felt it in what seemed like every muscle, every strain of hair and in every inch of his lower stomach, spreading like nice hot drink in the middle of winter. All was good. There were no problems, only good things. She was perfect. 

He had a hard time recalling what were the exact words they’d share right after he came. The haze started to clear few moments after, when he found himself next to her, puddle of his cum in the middle of her stomach, noses touching each other and light kisses being left like little presents. 

As the heavy breaths grew lighter, he returned back to Earth.

"All good, baby?“ he asked, the sweetness in his tone coming naturally. Searched for any sign of discomfort in her face. He had hoped that she got exactly the kind of release she deserved. 

And many signs pointed towards that. The smile of her disbelief, red flushed face, sensitive skin that reacted to each light touch as if it was a strong grip. 

"I, um. Yes. More than good. Thank you.“ Most people would barely understand with they way she mumbled.

He chuckled. "You don’t have to thank me, ever.“ 

"I was taught that after every please comes a thank you, so pick you battle. All or nothing," she shot back, teasing as ever.

He didn't have to think much before replying. "Well, all of that then.“ 

She nudged him with her nose. "You seemed to enjoy me begging. Though begging might be a strong word. I would never do that." 

Even though she said it in a light tone, he knew it was intended seriously. "Maybe I just really needed to hear it today. That you want me. Need me.“ 

"What I love about this all is that we need each other. Both for different reasons, but that just makes it work even more.“ 

There was comfort in her answer. A realization, an answer to a question they never asked before. 

"I’ll be there for you tomorrow. We’ll crush it, as a team.“

[cosmowgyral]

Falling into Sin with the Black Tiger ~ Gilbert's 4th Birthday

▪︎ Chapter 1

This is a fan translation so please don't expect it to be 100% accurate. Creative liberties have been taken. All content belongs to Cybird. Reblogs are appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

CW- smut, mentions of blood

As the end of the year approached, a significant day was about to arrive.

Gilbert: What do I want to do?

Emma: That’s right. Can you please tell me anything?

I was sitting on my knees on the bed, wiping Gilbert’s hair with linen after his bath.

I wanted to give the impression that I was only casually probing….at least that’s what I thought.

Gilbert: Hehe, you’re a man of your word, that’s impressive, isn’t it?

Gilbert: You’re celebrating me again this year.

(I was found out in an instant.)

Emma: I promised you last year.

----*flashback*----

Emma: I’ll definitely celebrate with you again next year.

Gilbert: Hehe, I get it. As long as you’re you, I’ll celebrate.

----*flashback ends*----

Emma: I think it’s going to be an annual event from now on.

Gilbert: Ahaha, I never thought you would say something like that after I came home covered in blood.

(….I guess it wasn’t just my imagination after all.)

A little while ago, when Gilbert returned, he smelled of blood and gunpowder.

There were no visible bloodstains because his clothes were all black, but that couldn’t fool my nose, which has become capable of detecting such ominous scents.

(Gilbert always warns me.)

(So I don’t commit a sin unconsciously.)

Emma: …I always think about it.

Emma: Every time you come home covered in blood, I feel glad that you are safe.

Emma: ….I think about that before I even start thinking about whose blood you shed.

(Controlling evil with evil. I understand that this is Prince Gilbert’s way….)

(And yet, I pray every single day for his safety.)

Gilbert: Hehe, sorry. I was being mean again. I was just happy to be celebrated by you.

Gilbert, who had been facing forward, turned around and kissed me lightly on my cheeks.

Gilbert: I won’t say it again.

Gilbert: But I think asking me about what I want to do is stupid.

Gilbert: I love you a lot, so just being able to be with you like this fulfills most of my wishes.

Emma: Please be more greedy and villainous.

Gilbert: Am I not greedy enough?

Emma: It’s not enough at all. I want you to wish for something that’s different than usual since it’s a special day.

Gilbert: ..mmmm…

Gilbert: ….I feel like I’m facing the biggest challenge of my life.

(Is it that much!?)

Gilbert, while groaning as if in deep thought, wraps his hand around my head and gently pulls me closer.

He playfully pecks my lips several times, and before I knew it, I was pushed down onto the bed.

(…..Huh?)

Gilbert: What’s wrong?

Even though his words sound thoughtful, Gilbert pulls down my negligee and kisses my exposed skin, and I don’t get an answer to my question.

Emma: A..are you really thinking about it?

Gilbert: I am thinking about it. I am thinking about it harder than ever.

Gilbert: Are you questioning my sincerity, little rabbit? That’s cruel.

Gilbert smiles as he gently bites my collarbone. My breasts are played with by the tip of his tongue, and my hot and sweet breaths, melt away.

Gilbert: What do I really want?

(Maybe Gilbert isn’t used to these kind of things.)

When I touch his slightly damp hair, he snuggles up to me, like he wants to be petted.

I get carried away and ruffle his hair, and then our lips meet again.

(…Let’s wait patiently.)

(There’s still a lot of things to do for the day.)

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ㅤ𔘓 ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

In Obsidian, which is known as the land of minerals, gems can be found all over the city.

There seems to be a particularly strong sales campaign going on before Christmas, with special stalls lined up before the stores.

In Rhodolite, gemstones are something that only the aristocratic people have access to. But here, they are familiar to all the people, regardless of their social status.

(This is troublesome….)

(I wanted to give Gilbert some stones, but with this many varieties it is difficult.)

To Gilbert, who is a member of the royal family, jewels are not valuable at all.

However, he had told me about it some time back, on my birthday.

In Obsidian, it is customary to gift jewels on special occasions. The more loved you are, the more jewels you’ll have around you in your final moments.

(I’m the only one who can gift a jewel to Gilbert.)

(I’ve decided that I will definitely give this to him, regardless of his wishes.)

(…..I did decide that but…..)

Sapphires, topaz, diamonds, rubies, emeralds….

Even when I look at these beautiful gemstones, I can’t find anything I associate with Gilbert.

(Rather than worrying about it alone, I should ask an expert. Maybe they can give me some advice.)

Emma: Excuse me. I’m looking for a birthday gift and I want to know what’s popular right now.

Jeweller: Oh, in that case----

Jeweller: ….ngh…

(……)

(….I’ve gotten used to this reaction.)

The pale eyes of the jeweller stare deep into mine.

He might be sensing an unusual murderous intent.

Emma: …..I’m sorry. I’ll think about it myself.

I quickly left the store and went down an unseen ally.

Emma: Gil, are you there?

Gilbert: Ahaha, I was found right away.

[Masterlist] [Chapter 2]

[scatteredpiecesofme]

Favourite background character - or, justice for Alexander!

Since I was a bit disappointed by how Alexander's character was treated in S3, I decided to celebrate him as my favourite background character for the YRFavesFest2024. He deserves some love!!

"... anyone here who has been bullied, hit, beaten up?"

I'll start with this scene from 03.02, which I think is filmed and edited very cleverly.

At first the focus is on Vincent who's giving his little speech, while Alex is in the background and a bit blurred, but we can still detect him making big side eyes at Vincent. And how could he not? He, of all people, knows very well that bullying is a real thing at Hillerska.

At this point, before Vincent even finishes his sentence, the camera cuts on Alex - who now is on focus and at the centre of the frame - right on the words 'hit, beaten up':

I'm not reading this as a suggestion that Alex has ever been physically beaten up, but his posture and his eyes towards the floor perfectly convey the image of someone who feels beaten, if only emotionally.

And then Henry chimes in:

Henry is naively incredulous, but his comment must sound dismissive to Alex, who raises his eloquent eyes up again: sure as hell, he does not think that the story is overblown at all. No matter if the tradition of the porn/homophobic initiations was stopped and present day students don't go through it anymore, Alex understands that it's something totally believable.

It's just a quick sequence and Alex is clearly not meant to be the main focus of this scene as a whole, but his presence in the background and Xiao excellent ability to speak without words add further layers to the scene itself and make it even more meaningful.

Yay, some happiness!

Thank god, even though the creators didn't give Alex any line in S3, they at least let him have some happy moments. It's a joy to see him so cheerful and carefree during the camping trip! Look at him!

The trio

My last point, which is also my favourite among the glimpses we get of Alex in S3, is about the trio Alex-Henry-Walter. Throughout the season, in fact, Alexander, is often spotted in close proximity to either Henry or Walter or both:

In particular, I absolutely adore this shot:

The lighting and the colours are gorgeous, but most of all I love the glance Henry and Alex exchange while they're trying hard not to burst into laughters (it's the moment when August is gulping down a big glass of wine). I like that despite being on duty, once again at the service of the third years, Alex Henry and Walter seem to have fun, relaxed and giggly.

The icing on the cake, for me, is of course the white party! Alexander looks fabulous with that sparkly purple eyeshadow (or whatever it is) and the trio is all ready to enjoy the craziest night.

Alas, the show doesn't let us know anything about the nature of their relationship. Or maybe it's a good thing, as it allows the audience the most freedom of interpretation. Is it camaraderie among fellow students? Is it authentic and sincere friendship? Something more?? What do we think? As in the fandom there's already an established little group of passionate Walty shippers (looking at you, friend, hehe), I wonder if anyone ships them as a throuple? Queerplatonic, maybe? Come on rarepair enjoyers, don't be shy!

Personally, I read them as just friends (both Walty and Walty+Alex), and I like to imagine the three of them cherishing this friendship formed during their school years, cultivating it into their adult life and living many future adventures as a trio, but any headcanon is valid and welcome. No matter what configuration, shape or form it might take, I just hope for Alexander to find someone who makes him feel respected and loved. We all deserve that, in fiction and in real life.

I'm closing this post with this beautiful, intense and emotional close-up from episode six:

Big thanks to @youngroyals-events for planning and hosting this event!

[ginxyy]

Midnight beneath city lights

The city streets were quieter than you expected, given that it was New Year’s Eve. Most of the crowds had gathered at big events or parties, leaving the winding side streets bathed in a peaceful glow from the streetlights. Snow crunched beneath your boots as you walked side by side with Vernon, the chill in the air softened by the warmth of your conversation.

He adjusted his scarf, glancing over at you with that familiar half-smile that always seemed to say more than words could. “So, tell me the truth. Are you mad I dragged you out here?”

You shook your head, tucking your hands into your coat pockets. “No. This is nice. Different, but nice.”

“I figured the big parties weren’t really your thing,” he said, his tone casual. “I mean, they’re not really my thing either.”

You nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. Vernon had always been more of a quiet observer, someone who thrived in simplicity and authenticity rather than over-the-top celebrations.

The two of you wandered aimlessly, passing small cafés and shops decorated with twinkling lights. The occasional passerby smiled at you, their faces glowing with the excitement of the holiday.

“You know,” Vernon said after a while, his breath visible in the cold air, “I like nights like this. Where everything feels… slower. Less hectic.”

“Me too,” you agreed. “It’s easier to think, to just… be.”

He glanced at you, his expression thoughtful. “Exactly. Sometimes it feels like everything’s moving too fast, like there’s no time to just enjoy the moment.”

You walked in silence for a bit, the quiet between you comfortable and natural. It wasn’t the kind of silence that begged to be filled—it was the kind that spoke volumes without a single word.

Eventually, you found yourselves at a small park, the trees wrapped in strings of lights that cast a soft glow over the snow-covered ground. Vernon led you to a bench near a frozen pond, brushing off the snow before sitting down and gesturing for you to join him.

“This is my favorite spot,” he said, leaning back and looking up at the sky. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’s quiet. Peaceful.”

You followed his gaze, the stars barely visible against the city’s glow. “It’s beautiful.”

He nodded, his hands resting loosely in his lap. “Kind of like you.”

Your head snapped toward him, your cheeks instantly warming despite the cold. “What?”

He shrugged, a small smile playing at his lips. “You’re not flashy or over-the-top, but there’s something about you that just… stands out. In the best way.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding as his words sank in. Vernon wasn’t the type to say things he didn’t mean, and the sincerity in his voice left you breathless.

The faint sound of the countdown reached your ears, signaling that midnight was near.

“Ten… Nine…”

Vernon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You ever think about how much can change in a year?”

“Eight… Seven…”

“All the time,” you replied, your voice soft.

“Six… Five…”

“This past year’s been crazy,” he said, turning to look at you. “But meeting you? That’s one thing I wouldn’t change for anything.”

“Four… Three…”

Your breath caught, the intensity of his gaze making the world around you blur.

“Two… One…”

As the final cheer erupted in the distance, Vernon leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was soft and unhurried. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his touch gentle and grounding.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, a quiet laugh escaping his lips. “Happy New Year,” he murmured.

“Happy New Year,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned back, his smile easy and warm. “So, how does it feel to start the new year like this?”

You smiled, your heart still racing. “Pretty perfect, actually.”

“Good,” he said, reaching for your hand and lacing his fingers with yours. “Because I think this year’s going to be something special.”

And as you sat there together beneath the glowing lights, the city quiet around you, you couldn’t help but believe him.

[aishangotome]

[Ring Schwartz] I Can't Return to a Time Before You Part 2

(Now...what should I talk about with Ring?)

(...Huh?)

While I was thinking about what to say, Ring had gone on ahead.

Kate: Ring! Wait for me!

Ring: !?!? Why are you so far behind...?

I hurriedly chased after Ring, and he quickly turned back. We ended up side-by-side again, halfway between the distance that had opened up.

Kate: Our strides are different, so I seem to fall behind. I'll be careful.

Ring: No, I should have adjusted to yours. ...My bad.

Ring: A-anyway, hold onto my arm.

Kate: Thank you.

Ring: Actually...I was hoping you would hold my arm when we met up.

Kate: Is that what the sudden warm-up exercise was about?

Ring: Yeah. ...If it meant leaving you behind, I should have just had you grab my arm sooner.

Ring: I'm not acting like a lover at all. Even though Dari ordered me to...

Kate: We're both failing at acting like lovers, so don't worry about it.

Kate: Is there anything else you wanted to say but couldn't?

Ring: Yes. About your...clothes.

Ring: "Your outfit today is really nice. It suits you, little Robin."

Ring: "Where did you find that bracelet? I want to get a matching one."

Kate: Huh...?

Ring: "The design of your collar is playful and nice. It really shows your personality. And..."...

Kate: Um...are those your own words, Ring?

Ring had started complimenting me so fluently, it was like his previous awkwardness was a lie. I couldn't help but interrupt.

Ring: ...Y-you're sharp. As expected of a member of Crown...I can't let my guard down.

(It's not that I'm sharp, it's more like Ring is being too unnatural...)

Ring: Actually...Nica taught me some compliments so I could act more like a lover.

Kate: Oh, I see...! I'm happy you prepared beforehand. But...

Ring: "But?"

Kate: I want to hear your own words, Ring.

Kate: Would you really compliment your lover with someone else's words?

Ring: I-I wouldn't do that...I think.

Ring: A-anyway, I'll think of some compliments now, so wait for me.

Kate: ...If you can't think of anything, you don't have to force yourself to compliment me, okay?

Ring: No, I really do think your clothes are nice... uh, well...

He earnestly took my opinion to heart and tried to respond. It was impossible to dislike him...

(You can do it...!)

I silently cheered Ring on in my heart.

Ring: Your clothes today are...fluttery and fluffy... and I think they're c-cute.

Ring: Like the purple Hardenbergia flower...the calm color is...reassuring to look at.

The compliments he squeezed out after taking his time were halting.

But they struck me much harder than any borrowed words could.

Kate: I never would have thought to compare the color of my clothes to a Hardenbergia flower! I'm happy.

Ring: ...! I-is that so... That's good.

Kate: You're quite knowledgeable about flowers, Ring?

Ring: Ah, yes... I should be more knowledgeable about them than other things.

Kate: There are a few flower beds along the way to the Scala Theater.

Kate: If you'd like, could you tell me what kind of flowers are planted there?

Ring: ...If it's something I can answer.

-

From then on, Ring taught me about the flowers blooming along the way...

Perhaps thanks to that, by the time we arrived at Piccadilly, Ring's nervousness had lessened considerably.

Ring: ...It's almost showtime. We arrived at just the right time.

Kate: Yes, we did! The Scala Theater is just up ahead. Let's go.

(...He's still a bit awkward, but I feel like we can at least talk more naturally than this morning.)

Ring is wary of me and sometimes says alarming things...

But he's an honest person who can't lie and listens sincerely to what I have to say.

That's probably why I can interact with him naturally without feeling tense.

(I'm looking forward to seeing the play too. I wonder how Ring will react?)

(...Huh?)

Ring: ...Wh-why did you suddenly stop?

Kate: E-excuse me. There's something I want to check... Come with me, Ring!

I pulled Ring's arm and headed towards an alley in the opposite direction of the Scala Theater.

-

Ring: ...What business do you have in an alley like this?

Kate: Lately, there have been child abduction cases, and I saw someone who looked like the suspect who's on the run...

Kate: Ah... That's him!

I lowered my voice and pointed to the man lurking in the shadows of the alley.

Kate: It might be a case of mistaken identity, so I want to talk to him discreetly, but––

It was right in the middle of explaining the situation to Ring.

Perhaps she wandered in by mistake, but a little girl came into the alley... And at that moment, the man moved.

(Oh...!)

The man crept up to the girl and pressed a cloth he was holding to her mouth. It seemed like he made her smell some kind of chemical.

He expertly stuffed the limp girl into a bag and tried to leave.

Kate: Ring, let's go after him!

Ring: ...No, we need to get Dari's judgment before we pursue him.

Kate: What...? But, a kidnapping is happening right in front of us!? We have to help her now!

Ring: I've been ordered to bring you back safely today. I'm not allowed to take any other action without permission.

Ring: If we get involved in some strange incident, it would mean defying Dari's orders.

Ring: I understand you want to help, but we have to report to Dari first.

(A crime is happening right before our eyes, what is Ring saying...?)

Just a moment ago, I judged Ring to be an honest person who couldn't lie.

That's precisely why I know his words now are also true.

In other words... Ring has no intention of stopping the crime.

The person named Ring Schwartz, whom I thought I was beginning to understand, is becoming a stranger to me.

Kate: ...U-understood. In that case, I'll chase after the criminal myself!

Ring: H-hey...!

.

.

.

Premium Ending

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[circinuus]

is there still anything that love can do?

old man yingxing x short-lived species!reader. 0.7k words

what it's like loving him.

[unedited, implied age gap, I just need an excuse to write yingxing 🙏 happy holidays everyone!]

yingxing has always been a practical man.

a mortal among immortals. a short-lived among those cursed and blessed by the abundance's long years. time has always loomed over him. too little time, too many to achieve.

“don’t be ridiculous, such things are only distractions, and I am far too old for this kind of sentiments,” he had once said said. and you, you are young, younger than him. another short-lived species you are, he understands the weight of your limited time, too. and he wouldn’t want you to waste it with him, out of everyone.

unfortunately for him, fortunately for him, you have always been a persistent little thing. with sincerity and determination, even metal and stone can be pierced ¹. the qin and se play in harmony. ²

“now, isn’t this nice? your crafts aren’t running anywhere, yingxing.”

in one of luofu’s autumn, warm and convenient enough in its artificial nature, yingxing sighs under a moment of your persuaded repose.

you came in like a silent breeze, placid voice beckoning him for a moment’s rest. and now he is propped on your lap, leaves flying about outside the window of his forge. gentle hands, running through his silvering hair, massaging taut brows and throbbing scalp.

“they are graying, are they not?” he sighs, in contentment and a dread he refuses to understand.

but like always, you peer at him and give him a smile that hides the moon and shame the flowers. ³

“they’re beautiful.”

yingxing forgets the dread of time, for a while.

alas, for man, the courage is only as much.

yingxing is capable and competent. but even he notices how fatigue reaches him sooner as opposed to years past. how metals and forge are rigid, but skin and bones are fragile against time.

at these moments, you force his gaze to you. holding his cheeks, trail gentle kisses to his brow, to the slopes of his fine, aging lines.

“what is my dear thinking about?”

“it is nothing to be worried about.”

your eyes signals a knowing gaze (you’ve always known him like the back of your hand. yingxing never understands, nevertheless). without preceding words, you reach up to return with another, slightly impish kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“you’re beautiful,” a word you always say, now a hair’s breadth against his mouth. “you surely do not think your 'thoughts not to be concerned about' will be enough to take you away from me, a-xing?"

yingxing’s words are raspy against your lips, “you are going to be the death of me.”

“then I will go with you,” your eyes crinkle, “and would never leave you alone.”

strong hand snakes around your waist, pulling you to his warmth. yingxing’s lips are soft against yours.

yingxing forgets the dread of time, ever since.

time passes, and artificial as it is, the weather still follows in suit. so does the luofu, it’s people. but some things repeat history even after he had faced the brunt of time.

yingxing had once again nicked his palm with one of his crafts. and you, still a loyal lover who visits his forge and far too many encounters with his errors.

he keeps silent while you clean his cut and wrap his hand with another batch of clean bandages. “you don’t have to do this.” he says.

a rueful smile, “i know.” then, after a brief, silence, “but you are dear to me. when you are hurt, i am too.”

familiar, gentle fingers trace his palm. his old scars, the callused fingertips and knuckles, the veins that litter his hand. yingxing stays silent, once more. stealing a single breath from the world.

you are far too gentle, too fragile. and he is a rough, old thing. and yet...

“yingxing?”

“i love you.”

he finally finds your eyes, something rueful in his thin smile. before you so much spout another word, yingxing takes over with a cradle to your own hand, presses a kiss to your delicate palm, then presses it beside his cheek, his bigger hand, freshly bandaged, closing yours.

“i love you,” he says again. and yingxing would have spoken something sweet, something eloquent. but yingxing, after these years, is still a simple, practical man.

you smile, the same kind that eclipses the moon.

“i love you too, yingxing.”

he holds you like you are his lifeline. yingxing has regretted a lot of things, but one of his biggest was thoughts of how this— how he thought you were too grand for his short years.

for man, the courage is only as much. but with love, what is not unconquered?

[1] with sincerity and determination, even metal and stone can be pierced

-> 精诚所至，金石为开 = idiom. absolute sincerity can affect even metal and stone - no difficulty is insurmountable if one sets his/her mind on it) [source]

[2] the qin and se play in harmony

-> Qin and se (musical instruments) appear many times in China’s earliest collection of poetry dating from the 11th to 7th centuries BCE, Shijing [Book of Songs], as a symbol of romance and happy marriage. [source]

[3] hiding the moon and shaming the flowers

-> 闭月羞花 = fig. beauty exceeding even that of the natural world. [source] he's down bad for you ok.

[cecilysass]

Beacon (6/6)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic and my poangpal @libbytxf

Chapter 6

Back in his room, she pulls out her medical bag and makes him endure an entire exam, which he tolerates without any comment because she still seems so jumpy.

He doesn’t even make any jokes about playing doctor. He just watches her closely. Her fingers are slightly trembling as she slips her stethoscope under his shirt to listen for his heart.

When she’s finished, she drops down to sit on the bed next to him, looking dazed.

“You’re fine,” she says like she’s sincerely surprised. “Your eyes are a little bloodshot from the coughing, but I think you’re going to be fine.”

“Thanks, Doc,” he says in a dry husk, smiling self-consciously.

She begins to busy herself artlessly stuffing her stethoscope and penlight back in her bag. “You should probably get some rest,” she says distractedly. “We can—you know—discuss the rest of the case in the morning.”

“The rest of the case?” he says.

“Right,” she says. She closes up the bag and stands. “I’ll wash your sweatshirt and sweatpants and return them later, of course. Do you need anything else before I go?”

“Scully,” he rasps.

“Glass of water maybe?”

“Come on,” he says, and catches her hand in his. “You just can’t leave me here thinking about what you said all night.”

With a tiny reluctant sigh she sits back down. He keeps a firm hold on her hand.

“It’s true?” he asks her, trying to meet her eyes. “You weren’t lying for the ghost?”

“Lying for the ghost?” She performs a miniature eye roll, as though that suggestion were beneath her dignity. “Mulder.”

“To save me,” he insists. “You could’ve been. Or… exaggerating.”

“Of course not,” she protests. Her voice softens. “I didn’t lie at all.”

There’s a pause as he lets that sink in. He allows his thumb to lightly run over her knuckles: once, twice.

“Just so you know, I’d, uh, never have brought any of this up on my own,” Mulder flounders in his scratchy voice. “I’d never have presumed that … I mean, I understand about work. Professionalism. Keeping things separate. Feelings don’t necessarily have to be acted on.”

“Right.” Scully’s chin moves up and down. She lets the moment hang there before adding quietly, “I wouldn’t have brought it up on my own either.”

His heart sinks. It’s more than he could hope for, he reminds himself, even knowing his feelings are shared. He could be pretty happy with that much. That and being alive, despite a very close call.

Scully turns to look at him like she’s expecting him to say something else, but he can’t think of what else would add to the conversation. Maybe this is where he should start lying: oh good, Scully, I was hoping you’d agree we should just act like this never happened.

They’re sitting close, their joined hands resting on his leg. Her expression shifts from expectant to a little pained, and her entire body lists toward his. He doesn’t realize she’s about to kiss him until it’s happening, until she’s already pulling away, looking at him with enormous eyes.

That felt like a question, he realizes. You better come up with the right answer.

Before he can stop to second guess, he slips his hand around her neck and pulls the back of her head towards him, managing to crush her lips to his. He kisses her with a force that startles him. Her lips are soft and part quickly for him. She tastes very faintly of cherry.

Mulder knows he should keep this sweet and slow, the way she deserves—but his body prefers swift and intense. Destabilized again by want, he thinks fleetingly. He reminds himself to hold back. His body tenses like a bowstring.

She pulls her mouth away and presses her forehead to his, letting her thumbs drag jagged lines down his jaw. “Does your chest hurt?” she whispers, frowning.

“No, no.” He shakes his head jerkily, giving her a sheepish smile. “I’m just, uh, awfully worked up.”

“Is that a problem?” she asks, cocking her head.

“Only because I don’t want to be an asshole.”

With a tiny knowing smile she leans in to kiss him. This time she is more overtly passionate, gripping him tighter, her mouth teasing his expertly. She scoots herself closer and closer until she is effectively sitting in his lap.

The sudden proximity of her squirming body causes him to squeeze his eyes closed. He makes a creaky, unflattering groaning sound and burrows his face into her neck in embarrassment.

“Ohhh Scully,” he murmurs, muffled, “what happens next here?”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, and when she does, her voice is careful. “I was assuming I might…” She pauses. “Is it okay with you if I stay?”

Her apparent nervousness makes him bury a smile into the warm, soft crook of her neck. “I think that would be okay with me, yes.”

She puts both of her hands on his cheeks, abruptly pulling his face directly to hers. Her expression is serious, her eyes wide and solemn. She whispers very close, her breath on his lips: “You scared me today, Mulder.”

“I’m … sorry.”

“I know,” she says. “But…” She rakes her fingers through his hair, and he feels waves of warmth breaking all over his body. “You can’t leave me like that. Alone. I don’t even like it when you’re late and you don’t call. If you were… I couldn’t—” Her voice breaks a little.

She’s not as articulate as usual, but he understands her nonetheless—the urgency of what she is trying to say.

He knows she’s thinking of her sister. He knows what it is to be sitting in the dark, waiting forever for the person you lost. He knows there’s a reason why Hero followed Leander into the arms of the cruel black sea.

Leaning into her gently caressing fingers, he realizes he doesn’t know exactly what to say to her.

Her touches make his skin prickle, quicken his breathing, send blood coursing, revive all of his body. All reminders he doesn’t have to respond in words. There are other ways to tell her they’re both still here.

***

The persistent knock on the door wakes Scully. Bang bang bang. It’s not going away, she can tell.

She lifts herself from the pillow and away from Mulder’s possessive arm to squint at the clock. It’s seven a.m., much too early to be disturbed after their eventful night.

She looks around at her immediate surroundings. She has one leg wedged under the quilt in between Mulder’s, and as she more fully sits up in the bed, pushing off the cover, he makes a complaining grunt. When she manages to stand up, he grabs the quilt eagerly and flops over in bed, curling himself up into a ball under the cover.

Well. After all of that respiratory distress—and various other activities last night—he could probably use extra rest.

Bang bang bang.

Scully sighs and looks down at her attire. At some point in the middle of the night, she’d reached for Mulder’s giant sweatshirt and slipped it back on; her practical side deciding it was too cold for a whole night of sleeping nude, post coital spooning or no. But she’s still naked from the waist down. She looks around for the sweatpants and finds them on the floor, slipping them on quickly.

Whoever is banging on the door tries another time.

“Hold on,” she calls, smoothing her hair back furiously. She reaches the door, jerking it open, trying to focus her sleep-addled mind.

“Agent Scully,” Duncan says, surprised. “I—”

Scully remembers too late that this one was Mulder’s room. Duncan’s eyes are probably adjusting to the dark room behind her: the curled-up body in the bed, the scattered clothes.

“Good morning, Duncan,” Scully says with a sigh, bearing this revelation of her private business stoically. “May I help you?”

“I just wanted to tell you and Agent Mulder that I realized something rather … crucial to the case,” Duncan says, making a Herculean effort to tactfully avert his eyes from the background scene.

“Oh?” she says. She glances back at Mulder, who has not moved from where he’s huddled under the covers. “If you give me a moment, I’ll join you downstairs in the kitchen. You can fill me in.”

***

“Something you said yesterday made me think of it,” Duncan explains eagerly, filling her coffee cup. “You told Banoy and me that lighting the brass lanterns was supposed to be lucky.”

“I did,” she agrees, accepting the cup gratefully.

“I assumed that’s because the lanterns were like Hero’s beacon light,” Duncan continues, “or at least that there was a rough association. Light shining in the darkness and all that.”

She holds the cup to her lips, taking a sip, nodding. Duncan is placing a manila folder filled with photos on the kitchen table.

“So let me show you this.” He triumphantly lays an image in front of her. “The exterior of the Inn last spring.”

“Before the renovation,” Scully says, picking the photo up and examining it. It looks different, the shape of the entrance to the house, although she recognizes the walkway and the door. It definitely appeared more generally rundown: peeling paint, dilapidated ornamentation, a slight sag.

“You see the porch? The top? Its shape?” Duncan nods towards the photo.

In the photo the decorative trim on the top of the porch seems to have square corners with a jagged decorative pattern running underneath. It looks like sections of the decorative pattern had fallen off, like missing teeth of a jack o’lantern.

“Look,” Duncan says, pointing at the pattern. “They’re flames. See the little spikes?”

Scully studies the photo more closely and sees that he is right. The little jagged parts are tongues of fire. The top of the porch seems meant to resemble a lantern.

“The porch was designed to look like a lantern light,” she realizes aloud. “Like a giant beacon.”

“I never noticed it before,” Duncan says, pink with excitement. He pulls out another photo to show her another angle. “Probably because it’d fallen apart so much over the years. And I think the little decorative flourishes added on by the Victorians disguised it somewhat. But the porch was obviously originally designed to look like Hero’s beacon light.”

“And like the brass lamps inside the house,” Scully says, fascinated.

“Exactly,” Duncan says.

Scully takes in every detail of the photo, trying to put the pieces together.

“So when you tore that part of the porch down for the renovations…”

“Hero’s beacon light was gone,” Duncan says. “And that prompted some kind of reaction from her. She goes from a colorful New England legend to … I don’t know, a scene from a horror movie. But of course we had no idea demolishing the porch would invoke a ghostly serial killer.”

Scully shakes her head, looking out the window at the tranquil snow-blanketed town below. She wonders if the old family, the descendants of the Younge family, might have known something about this all along.

“So what do you plan to do now?” she asks Duncan.

“Well, it won’t make Banoy very happy,” Duncan says, “but clearly we need to turn our porch roof back into a beacon light. Even if our renovations take a few more weeks. I mean… a murderous ghost is bad for business.”

“I… I guess you’re right,” Scully says, her shoulders lifting and falling. “It’s as logical as anything, I suppose.”

“Anyway, Banoy and I can come up with a better faux beacon design than what was there before,” Duncan says.

“Something less last century,” Scully deadpans. She pinches the bridge of her nose in consternation. “It’s just hard to accept that you have to consult with a ghost about your architectural choices.”

Duncan gives her a sly look. “Am I to assume you’re a believer in ghosts now, Agent Scully?”

“With … many caveats.”

“A lot can change overnight,” he says significantly.

She places both hands around her coffee cup, her cheeks pink. “Yes.” She swirls her coffee slightly. “That’s true.”

“Maybe you and Agent Mulder should go back to Washington for now. I’m sure you’d like to be home for the holidays,” Duncan suggests. “We can check in with you again after a month when our renovation is finished. We can let you know if anything significant has changed.”

She nods, biting her lip. “I will pass that suggestion along.”

“Maybe next month you two could come back up for the weekend,” Duncan says. “Make a trip of it.” He folds his hands and regards her with amusement. “Only to see if anything has changed, of course.”

The corners of Scully’s mouth curl up involuntarily.

***

From the car window Scully watches as Mulder hurries down the neatly shoveled sidewalk from the entrance to the archives building. He throws open the car door and anxiously jumps into the driver’s seat next to her.

“I’m freezing,” Mulder whines, slamming the door shut behind him and rubbing his hands together.

“Why aren’t you wearing gloves? A scarf?” Scully asks unsympathetically. “Why aren’t you dressed for the winter?”

“It was just a fast errand,” he says, making a mock sad face. “Running in and out. I didn’t want to bother with all that.”

“Well, did Mrs. Davenport appreciate the soup?” Scully prompts him. “What did she say?”

“You know, I actually think she did,” he says, a look of satisfaction spreading over his face as he glances back at the archive building. “I told her that Banoy made the soup just for her, and that he wanted me to invite her to visit the Inn and talk to him and Duncan about the ghost. She seemed flattered. And excited to share what she knew.”

“That sounds even better than you hoped for,” she says. “Look at you, bringing the local populace together.”

“She did ask if I’d be coming to the Inn for the history lesson, too,” Mulder admits. “She seemed a little disappointed when I said I wouldn’t be.”

“Yeah, I bet she was,” Scully comments dryly.

“I might have led her to believe Duncan and Banoy wanted her advice in designing the new porch,” Mulder adds, shrugging.

“That is definitely not what they said,” Scully says. “You made that up.”

“The important thing is to get them talking,” Mulder says dismissively. “They’ll be able to better understand how to work safely with their house ghost if Mrs. Davenport and the old family share what they know.” He fishes his keys out. “All the rest is details.”

“Okay then—mission accomplished,” Scully says. She has the impulse to ruffle his hair in congratulatory affection, but it’s so far out of their typical vocabulary of gestures towards one another. She squeezes her own hands in her lap. “It sounds like we’re ready to get on the road, right?”

“Right.” Mulder throws her an enigmatic look as he turns the engine on. “Back in plenty of time for Christmas, just like I said.”

She decides to attempt a bolder comment. “You’re in a good mood this morning, Mulder.”

He flashes her a mischievous look and then peers in the rear view mirror to back the car onto the street.

“I sure am,” he says, grinning.

“Any reason?”

“Hot date for Christmas, remember?”

She faces straight forward, but allows her subdued expression to burst into a wide smile, too. “Of course. I forgot.”

He begins to steer through the little town, which seems even quieter this morning than the evening they drove in. Behind the steepled church, Scully notices a sleepy graveyard blanketed in drifts of snow. She wonders if that is where Sophonia Younge was buried.

“You know, Scully, I was thinking,” Mulder says conversationally. “If you’re now accepting ghosts as part of your worldview, I can put a few more cases on the docket for the new year.”

She eyes him warily, but he continues.

“Just off the top of my head, I can think of a famous case of a haunted hotel in Savannah, Georgia. A similar situation to this one, except the apparition of Anna Powers doesn’t murder people. Just kind of rearranges hotel guests’ clothes and that kind of thing.”

“Rearranges clothes.”

“Yes, most ghosts are actually benevolent entities,” Mulder says cheerfully. “Miss Younge being a notable exception.” He turns the steering wheel as they head off on the country highway. “There’s also the ghost of Peg Entwhistle in California, a 1930s actress who ended her life at the Hollywood sign and haunts it to this very day. She just makes appearances—typical Hollywood. You like L.A., right?”

“You understand our job is to investigate when crimes have been committed,” Scully says. “We’re not actually freelance ghost hunters.”

“If you’re up for some international travel, there’s a ghost I remember from my Oxford days. A Puritan girl named Prudence who was abandoned by her lover, sighted repeatedly on Magpie Lane,” Mulder says. “Don’t you want to try to meet her?”

“A ghost you remember from your Oxford days,” Scully repeats flatly. “Magpie … Lane.”

“It’s a real place,” insists Mulder, smirking. “I didn’t make it up.”

“How many ghosts are wronged women, Mulder?”

“I don’t have the exact numbers, but we can certainly investigate that question, Scully,” he says. “It does seem like a lot. I mean—you can guess why, though.”

“Why?”

“Women are more likely to die without justice,” he says. “So their souls linger behind to try to right the wrongs.”

She leans back in her seat and watches the austere winter trees fly by the window, contemplating what he’s said.

“Not always,” she replies pensively. “Their souls don’t always linger.”

He doesn’t say anything to that right away, and she can practically hear the gears of his mind whirring in the seat next to her. It feels strange, discussing her innermost thoughts so openly with Mulder, but she doesn’t hate it either.

“No,” he says finally. “I guess not always, Scully. Sometimes they leave someone living behind …someone else who has to try to right the wrongs.”

“Yes.” The word feels weighted.

“Do you… wish it were otherwise? That your sister were still here as an apparition?”

“Of course I wish I could see Missy again,” Scully replies to the window. “But to see her haunting my apartment, seeking justice eternally? To see her continuing to exist as a kind of … empty spot, a missing space where my sister used to be?”

“No,” guesses Mulder. “You don’t want that.”

“No,” Scully agrees. “The dead should be free to go on.”

“The living, too,” Mulder says. “Right?”

She looks over at him. His eyes are on the road, but he glances to make brief eye contact with her.

“Yes,” she agrees soberly. “The living, too.”

The car turns into a stretch of thicker overhead trees, and the light in the car becomes sudden blue-gray and dim, patchy with the shadows of limbs reaching over their heads.

Kind of ghostly, she thinks.

She thinks about what sort of things she wishes she were free to do as a living, breathing person. Things she hasn’t done enough. Things her sister would have urged her to do more.

There’s at least one obvious answer.

“Mulder,” she says, as the car winds deeper into the dark and frozen forest, “what day is your hot Christmas date?”

He gives her a look. “You know I don’t really have one, right?”

She leans down to adjust the heat in the car. “You could, though,” she says casually.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh.” His eyes shoot back over to her. “In that case … it’s tonight.” He looks over at her again, checking her expression. “Or tomorrow. Or, you know, the next day.”

“In other words, your schedule is flexible.”

“For that particular social obligation?” He lowers his voice. “Yes.”

“Then soon,” she says softly. “Very soon.”

The road follows alongside a small river, clear and cold, crashing over rocks. She watches it as she reaches for Mulder’s right hand, wrapping her fingers tightly around his. He makes a humming sound.

The river moves too fast to freeze; it never stops its chaotic rush and flow. It pushes on through the darkest corners of the forest.

[techhiz]

Hi! uh can I request for tfp bumblebee with femme s/o where he finally confesses to her and their first kiss. ( this takes place after cybertron was restored )

Words from the Spark

The restored Cybertron was a sight to behold, its once-barren wastelands now teeming with signs of new life. Towers stood proudly against the horizon, their spires reflecting the soft, golden light of the planet’s newly stable core. Among the revitalized beauty, Bumblebee stood in quiet contemplation near the edge of Iacon City.

He glanced upward, where Cybertron's twin moons hung in the darkened sky, their light casting a silvery glow on his yellow and black plating. For the first time in what felt like eons, there was peace. Yet, despite the serenity, Bumblebee's spark was anything but calm.

A familiar set of footsteps approached, soft and deliberate, and Bumblebee turned to see you. Your optics glimmered like the stars above, and your frame moved with a grace that never failed to captivate him.

"Bee," you greeted, your voice warm and gentle, "What are you doing out here?"

He smiled softly. "Just… thinking," he replied, his voice still unfamiliar to both of you since he’d regained it.

You stepped closer, the soft hum of your spark joining the quiet night. "Thinking about what?"

He hesitated. For cycles, Bumblebee had buried the words he wanted to say, convinced that the war and the chaos of survival left no room for such things. But now, with Cybertron restored and a semblance of normalcy returning, the walls he'd built around his spark had started to crumble.

"You," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your optics widened slightly, and your cooling fans kicked in softly at his admission. "Me?"

He nodded, his gaze dropping to the ground as he tried to gather his thoughts. "I… there’s something I’ve wanted to say for a long time. Ever since we fought side by side, through Earth, Cybertron, all of it… I wanted to tell you, but I thought… maybe it wasn’t the right time. Or that I didn’t deserve to."

Your expression softened, and you stepped closer, your servo reaching out to gently touch his. "Bee…"

He looked up, his blue optics meeting yours, and for the first time in a long time, he let his spark speak.

"I care about you more than anything. You’ve been my light in the darkest times, the reason I kept fighting even when it felt hopeless. I thought… I thought maybe I’d lost my chance to tell you during the war. But now, with Cybertron restored, with everything finally at peace… I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore."

Your spark pulsed, the sincerity in his voice resonating deeply within you.

"I love you, Y/N," he said, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his optics. "I always have."

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The weight of his confession hung in the air, and Bumblebee braced himself for your response.

But instead of words, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into an embrace. Your servos gently pressed against his plating as you whispered, "I love you too, Bumblebee."

His optics widened in surprise, and before he could say anything else, you tilted your helm and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was gentle at first, a soft meeting of metal and sparks, but it quickly deepened, filled with all the emotions you’d both kept hidden for so long. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as the world around you seemed to fade away.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested against each other, both of you sharing a quiet moment as your sparks pulsed in sync.

"Wow," Bumblebee said, a small, breathless laugh escaping him. "That was…"

"A long time coming," you finished for him, your voice teasing but full of warmth.

He chuckled, his optics shining brighter than the moons above. "Yeah… it really was."

The two of you stayed there, standing under the stars, talking and laughing about everything and nothing. Bumblebee couldn’t help but steal glances at you, his spark feeling lighter than it had in cycles.

And when the night eventually gave way to the soft glow of Cybertron’s dawn, Bumblebee knew one thing for certain—his spark finally felt complete.

[strry4sprkz]

I'm so so glad I found another blog that writes for Project Eden's Garden!! ヘ⁠（⁠。⁠□⁠°⁠）⁠ヘ

If it's alright— may I request a fluff scenario that involves Damon, Diana, Wenona and Wolfgang where regardless of gender they decide to pair up together to share dormitories?

Happy writing!!

— Gh0styCr1tter. 👽

Damon, Diana, Wenona, and Wolfgang sharing a dorm with Reader

Damon Maitsu

When the topic of sharing dorms had sparked among the students, you immediately thought of someone you’d both like to keep your eye on and get to know better: Damon Maitsu, whose eyes flickered across the hallway with annoyance and disapproval, like he was silently judging everyone there.  

Carefully, you approached him. He looked up to face you, his eyes narrowing. “What do you want?” he asked, his tone dripping with irritation.

“I think we should dorm together,” you stated, crossing your arms. “We’ll both be much safer, and have alibis for the night.”

Damon shifted his gaze down, his expression unreadable, but you could see the shift once he’d understood the practical reasoning behind sharing a dorm, combined with the fact he had no one else to partner with.

“...Fine. I’d rather deal with someone who can handle themselves, unlike…” He didn’t need to continue for you to know exactly who he was talking about. “Haha… glad we’re on the same page.” you laughed.  

As the two of you settled into Damon’s dorm, the room was silent other than the sounds of you two settling your things. Of course, Damon was the first to break it, turning to look you in the eye.

“Hey, don’t…jinx this, or anything.” he spoke firmly, but there was the smallest hint of anxiety in his voice. “I won’t, Damon, I promise. This is the best decision for both of us” you assured. He sighed, but didn’t argue any further, and as the silence of the room crept back up once more, you allowed yourself a small smile you knew he wouldn’t see.

Diana Venicia

“Hii!” You opened your door, and were met with Diana Venicia standing in front of you with her usual cheery smile. “So, I was wondering…don’t you think it would be good to dorm together for the night? I promise it’ll make things less scary for both of us…”

Truthfully, her presence seemed quite out of place in the morbid situation you were trapped in, but there was something about it that made you feel at ease. You paused to think, but eventually accepted. “...Alright. Wouldn’t hurt to be as safe as possible.”

“Awesome!” she clasped her hands together, her casualty almost contagious.

When the two of you finally got settled in Diana’s dorm, you watched as she unpacked her makeup bag that she always carried with her, laying its contents out neatly on the desk. 

“Sorry, I have to make sure all my supplies stay in perfect condition. You never know when someone might need to use makeup!” she half-joked. You weren’t sure what she was implying by that, but you brushed it off.

Diana sat on the bed, looking up at the ceiling with slight worry on her face.  “You know…” she began, “this whole situation… it’s terrifying. I won’t lie about that. But I really do believe we’ll all make it out of here, together.” The sincerity in her voice caught you off guard. “You really think so?” you asked. 

She turned to you, her expression a bit lighter this time. “Yeah! And if I ever start to lose hope, I’ll just remind myself I’ve got you, right?” You grinned back at her. “Right. You have me, Diana.” “Good,” she said, settling back against the headboard. “I knew I could count on you.” You couldn’t help but feel grateful for her, too.

Wenona

Wenona wasn’t the most friendly or approachable person, but she was logical and composed. If anything, sharing a dorm with her meant ensuring both of your safeties. You took a breath and made your way over to her. “Wenona?”

She noticed you immediately, her icy eyes locking with yours as you approached. “Let me guess, you want to be a dorm pair?” she assumed smugly. “Tell me, what exactly will you bring to the table? If you think I’ll tolerate dead weight, you’re quite mistaken.”  

You sighed, knowing you would need to match her energy if you wanted to convince her. “I’m here to survive, like you. Sharing a dorm will make sure both of us are safe and have alibis. I won’t get in your way, I promise.” 

Her smug grin faded, and you could almost see the gears turning in her head. “Hm…I suppose partnering with someone who shares my priorities is… preferable to one of these wrecks. She gestured vaguely at the more panicked students.

“Great!” you managed to keep your composure, but you were extremely grateful for her acceptance. Wenona then stated in a challenging but somewhat casual manner, “But don’t mistake this for anything more than a practical arrangement. I’ll be expecting you to hold up your end of the bargain.”

You chuckled softly. “You always have to negotiate….” The two of you had arrived at Wenona’s dorm when the time came, discussing the situation and whatnot. “When you’ve spent as much time in business as I have, you’ll learn to recognize efficiency and inefficiency when you see them.” Wenona said, her hands in her jacket pockets. You surrendered “Fair enough…”

“Though I must say, pairing with you isn’t entirely insufferable.” she admitted, calm and calculated as ever. You smiled. “Thanks. I’m glad you agreed.”

“This is still solely a matter of convenience.” she firmly said, though there was a lack of her usual attitude in her tone. “Right.” you responded. Despite her words, you could feel there was beginning to be a subtle understanding between the two of you.

Wolfgang Akire

“It’s troubling,” Wolfgang began, “how easily fear can cloud judgment.” He’d been sharing his thoughts regarding his trust among the students non-stop after you’d agreed to share his dorm. You didn’t mind, as you didn’t exactly have something better to be doing at the moment.

“We’ve managed to keep things under control for the past few days, even if there’s been some tension. I guess trust really did outweigh our fear...” you pointed out.

He seemed slightly caught off guard by your sudden agreement. “That’s why I’m glad to be sharing a dorm with you, Mx. Trust is rare in situations like this, but I believe it’s the foundation of survival. If we can see reasoning past our fear, I’ve no doubt we’ll be able to navigate whatever challenges occur in the academy.”

“You really do want to believe in everyone, huh?” you asked, curious.

He smiled faintly, fastening his necktie. “I do. We’ve all been accepted here for our capabilities to improve society. Even in our current circumstances, I believe in the integrity of Ultimate students.”

“That’s right….thank you.” you responded. While you weren’t completely sure whether Wolfgang’s theories were correct, you couldn't deny to yourself that could use some optimism in this time.

a/n: I really wanted to make a joke about Wolfgang being hella disorganized in this but I couldn’t figure out where to put it, oh well

[hislittleraincloud]

Proud Wenclair here, big f*king whoop, there’s a 2 year old movie out with him 🤬and Jenna that came out all the way in Poland. Did you forgot Jenna hasn’t even acknowledged this movie at all. Any feelings you think you see , if real, are old fucking news. He not even in Season2 of the show so celebrate this hallow ass victory all you want, but that relationship is washed up, the cast of Wednesday doesn’t even f*k with him. At least we get to see our faves together in the show and real life so take that!

Proud Wenclair here

big f*king whoop, there’s a 2 year old movie out with him 🤬and Jenna that came out all the way in Poland

Big fucking whoop, there's a 2 years in the making novelization out with Wenclair anti-canon that came out with little fanfare from Netflix & MGM

See, I can do it too. 😃

Did you forgot Jenna hasn’t even acknowledged this movie at all.

Did you "forgot" [sic] that you do not know Ortega's motivations for anything, and you do not know what she feels about the movie.

Any feelings you think you see , if real, are old fucking news.

And if they were real, that you don't feel bad at all for Ortega and can't see why it might actually hurt to see a little pet project like that after all the shit y'all did to her (and White...not defending whatever shitty actions he did, but even with whatever levels of fucked he was, this was fucked as well) is why I don't think you types like her or her work. You don't even have to be a stan or fan, it only takes a little bit of humanity to see that it could hurt. It would hurt regardless whether they were lovers or friends. No wonder she doesn't want anything to do with you/us, except for show when she's signing/posing.

He not even in Season2 of the show so celebrate this hallow ass victory all you want

It's "hollow" ya goddamn illiterate fuck.

Ah wait, you might be ESL. If that's the case, I have told people here numerous times that I can read several languages. Whatever the fuck I can't understand is easy enough to look up...I'm not a lazy fuck.

but that relationship is washed up, the cast of Wednesday doesn’t even f*k with him

They're still friends with him on IG, and you are naïve to think that he — that THEY ALL — don't have secret accounts that they don't fucking share with you/us (for good reason) that they may or may not still be using to chat/keep in contact with him. For God's sake, I have secret/non-public shit that I talk to my friends on. Why the fuck would he or any of them be any different?

At least we get to see our faves together in the show and real life so take that!

The fuck you even on about 'in real life'? Are you one of those delus who think that 'Jemma' kissed at the Roan concert?

God, I know I've been busy yapping about Ortega, but I cannot fucking wait until Myers ends up announcing an engagement to some dude and your weird fantasies about Jemma will die once and for all/hopefully shatter your delusions about Wenclair as well. I sincerely hope I live long enough to see that, but if I don't, I'll make sure those who survive me take some E to celebrate the mass destruction.

When it comes to celebrity/ies and actors, you will want what you can't have. That's normal. What's not normal is the crazed irrationality of a lot of the Wenclairs (and ALL of the Jemmas) when it comes to these actors' personal lives and who you think they should be fucking. ETA: THIS IS NOT A GOOD LOOK FOR ANYONE, gay or straight, but especially us 🏳️‍🌈/🏳️‍⚧️ who should not be giving the gifts of delusion to those who could weaponize them.

This is the crazed irrationality that makes someone embrace an adjunct to canon that destroys canon. Y'all don't care about her the way you say you do. I think that's probably the only difference between you people and the dirty old cismale pervs. Both of you groups using her for the same thing, but at least they want to watch everything she's in because they like her...and aren't fucking jealous of the actual cock that got to be with her/be around her.

I haven't even seen everything she's been in (and I have no desire to even see some of them, especially if I have to sit through another whole episode of Stuck in the Middle 💀 or worse, Know It All Nina). Her performance for me in Scream V was so non-memorable that I've forgotten what happened in it (LOL I DO know what happened in Scream VI though).

Honestly, I'd ask who the fuck raised you, but then I would have to look back upon the fuckheads who were in my class. I don't know where they went wrong.

[silverynight]

The cursed forest

"I'm sorry, Tanjirou," Kie looks at him with worry as she keeps cradling a very sleepy Rokuta in her arms. "But your little brother has a fever, and that flower is the only thing that can work on him this time. I wouldn't ask you to do this if there was–"

"It's alright," Tanjirou assures his mother with a sincere smile on his face. "I'll be back soon."

"I can go with you," Nezuko says, not even trying to hide the concern in her voice.

"You have to take care of the others while our mother focuses on Rokuta," Tanjirou reminds her. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

But even as he says that, they both know the place he's about to walk in is really dangerous.

Tanjirou doesn't know if he'll be actually fine or that he'll come back at all.

He takes the axe before leaving.

All the Kamados have always avoided the cursed forest; the only one who managed to walk in and out alive was his father, but he got sick and passed away a few years ago.

Tanjirou closes his eyes and prays to his father's spirit to guide him through the woods.

At some point, he starts feeling as if someone is watching him... actually, there are nine scents in the forest, very close to him.

Tanjirou turns around for a moment, and although the shadows are fast, he notices a couple of tails and different pairs of pointy ears.

Wolves. He prays again they're not trying to hunt him as he keeps moving forward because he has no other choice.

He remembers his father talking about the forest and that particular flower; when Tanjirou finds it, he allows himself to believe that it's his father the one who's guiding him.

The problem is that the plant usually grows in boulders or cliffs, and they are always very difficult to reach.

But Tanjirou is not going to give up. The problem is that he has to leave the axe on the ground.

Carefully, he starts climbing, but the surface isn't quite ideal for that, so Tanjirou has to think where he's going to place his feet and hands before actually doing it.

He doesn't look down, but he knows he's pretty high now; if he falls, he'll probably break something (in the best case scenario).

Taking a deep breath, Tanjirou leans his body slightly forward as he frees one of his hands in order to grab the flower.

He feels the moment one of his feet moves because something underneath it breaks; he stumbles a bit, but he doesn't fall.

At least not then. He does fall when he tries to and succeeds in grabbing the flower.

That's when he falls.

But he doesn't actually hit the ground; he lands into a pair of strong arms.

"Should be more careful next time, pretty," a tall man with white hair and a very flashy headband says, smirking at him.

"Thank you!" Tanjirou smiles, feeling relieved. "You saved my life!"

"It was my pleasure," the man says before rubbing their noses together, prompting the redhead to blush and the wolves around to growl. "Come on! Don't be jealous!"

Tanjirou doesn't understand why a pack of eight wolves are gathered around them or why the man carrying him seem to be talking to them like they understand every single word he says.

But he doesn't have the time to figure anything out.

"I have to go, sorry! My brother is sick."

"I'll take you home, Tanjirou," the man winks. "Trust me. It'll be faster. I'm Uzui Tengen, by the way."

"It's a pleasure!" As Uzui begins to run with Tanjirou in his arms, it occurs to him, that he never introduced himself.

How does Uzui know his name?

***

He barely sleeps that night, he helps his mother make a tea with the yellow flower and encourages his little brother to drink it as he hums a lullaby; Tanjirou has never been good at singing, but a soft hum he always can manage.

He only goes back to his room when Rokuta shows signs of getting better and gets a glimpse of something waiting outside through his window. There are nine colorful wolves, although they seem to be calm, just sitting out there. Tanjirou worries for a moment, but when he turns to see again, it seems they're gone. He tells himself he's seeing things because he's tired so he heads back to his futon and immediately falls asleep.

Things go back to normal in the next weeks, although Tanjirou kinda wants return to the cursed forest and thank Uzui and his wolves for saving him. He shakes his head. No, they can't be his wolves; it's ridiculous, besides, those creatures he thought he saw were too big for normal wolves and the colors of their furs... he probably imagined that too.

"You can't go back," Nezuko pleads, looking concerned again. "You were lucky once, but you might not be next time. So please don't."

He doesn't, he goes back to the safe path he had always knew and cuts trees from another area of the forest.

However, fate eventually pulls him back into that place. This time, he follows Hanako's footsteps after Takeo tells Tanjirou she went missing a few minutes ago. They were playing near the cursed forest, even though their mother had told them not to a couple of times.

Tanjirou rushes inside, calling out her name and following her scent; bu there are multiple weird scents in that places, and it's easy for him to get confused.

But then, he sees him; a man with yellow and red hair, holding a scared Hanako in his arms. He gets closer to Tanjirou with a kind and friendly smile on his face.

"She's not hurt, Tanjirou," he assures the redhead before introducing himself as Rengoku Kyojuro.

"Thank you so much!"

"It was my pleasure, my boy!" Rengoku assures him before kissing the back of Tanjirou's hand. "We'll always be here to help you!"

That's the first night he dreams of wolves, but not any wolves, those particular wolves. And in his dreams, they can shape-shift into humans wearing beautiful haoris; they seem like warriors, all of them trying to keep people safe from all the thing that happen in that forest.

But it's just a dream.

"I don't trust them," Nezuko mumbles, after Tanjirou finishes telling her the dream.

"It was a dream," he reminds her gently.

"Dreams sometimes mean something."

"You should trust them," Hanako cuts in then, startling her older siblings. "Trust Rengoku because he saved me and he's in love with Tanjirou."

"He's not," the redhead shakes his head, feeling his cheeks suddenly hot. "Please don't say things like that. You... We barely know him."

"It was so obvious!" She giggles. "The way he looked at you. He couldn't hide it even if he wanted to!"

***

The next time, he meets Iguro Obanai and Kanroji Mitsuri as he's been chased by a man who got angry after Tanjirou pushed him away from his crying wife. It seems the woman left him for his violent nature and he blames Tanjirou for it.

Tanjirou doesn't want to fight him, so he tries to talk him out of it, but he's drunk and full of pain and anger inside his heart.

They rush into the cursed forest, even though Tanjirou tells him they should stop before anything happens, but that's when the man grabs him by the scarf and slams him against a tree. The redhead gets dizzy and confused, but when he regains his strength and manages to rise from the ground, the man is gone.

"It's alright now, darling," a beautiful girl with pink hair assures him.

"He won't bother you again," the man with mismatched eyes next to her says, although the tone of his voice sends shivers through Tanjirou's spine for some reason.

They walk him home and Iguro tells him a couple of things about Kaburamaru, the snake over his shoulders, as Kanroji makes sure Tanjirou doesn't have any serious injuries.

They're good people, he can tell.

***

He dreams of them again... well, just one of them; a woman whom Tanjirou has never seen before.

She wears a beautiful haori with sleeves that look like butterfly wings.

In the dream, she explains to Tanjirou that they all are werewolves and have been keeping an eye on him for a while now.

"We want you to be our mate," Kocho says, smiling hopefully at him. "We have fallen in love with you and we want to be with you forever, Tanjirou. But we can court you first."

Then she says something about a bite; they'll have to bite Tanjirou on the neck if he agrees to be their mate after the courtship, but all those bites will eventually change him. He'll be bound to them and turn into one of them too.

A werewolf.

Tanjirou wakes up a bit tired after that dream, but he tries not to think too much about it because it was obviously just that.

He has heard people talk about forest spirits, demons, and creatures so much that he somehow combined everything and turned it into a vivid dream.

***

A few days later, a young man with dark hair and deep blue eyes runs into him on his way back to the house.

Tomioka takes the empty basket Tanjirou's attached to his back and helps him carry it until they get to his home.

Tanjirou is not sure why he decides to trust him, but he feels safe around him and even though he doesn't talk that much, he certainly likes to listen to Tanjirou speak about his family.

When they're in front of the house, Tomioka gives him back the basket and bows in front of him before cradling his face with both hands and pressing their foreheads together.

Tanjirou can't help but smile at him.

"Thank you, Tomioka-san!"

"I hope to see you soon, Tanjirou."

Then, as he walks into his home and all his siblings greet him, Tanjirou realizes that Tomioka never told him his name.

But he's sure that young man is Tomioka Giyuu for some reason.

Although that's completely crazy. No, he must've introduced himself at some point, right?

Tanjirou just doesn't remember that part at the moment.

***

This is his fault; he doesn't listen to the woman in the village and rushes home instead of staying inside an inn for the night.

But Tanjirou needs to save enough money for his family, and he believes he can make it before the snowstorm falls all over the mountain.

He's completely wrong.

It gets so bad the snow doesn't allow him to see anything far ahead, and Tanjirou gets lost and so cold for a moment his bones start hurting. He knows he can't run, but he shouldn't stop because he'll probably pass out and die right then and there.

Tanjirou wishes he had put more clothes on that morning; those are not enough to keep him warm.

His eyes close for a moment, and he falls on the snow as his vision blurrs and turns black. He wakes up only to see a huge brownish wolf with white eyes looming over him.

Tanjirou thinks he's going to kill him, but something in his chest tells him he's completely safe with him.

He passes out again.

When he manages to wake up a second time, he feels so much better. He's inside a house, lying next to a fireplace and curled up to the wolf on the floor. Tanjirou is using the wolf's back as a pillow; his fur is so soft the redhead is tempted to lie there a bit longer.

But he needs to know what happened.

"Himejima-san?" Tanjirou blinks in confusion at his own words. Why would he know the wolf's name?

As soon as he gets up, the wolf does the same and his body starts shining.

It has to be a dream. Tanjirou is sure of it, especially after he watches the wolf turn into the tallest man he's ever seen. Fortunately, clothes appear over his body too.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, Tanjirou."

After a few seconds, someone else gets in the house; Himejima turns towards the sound and instinctively puts the redhead behind himself.

A very young man with long, dark and light green/blueish hair walks inside and is about to tell Himejima something when his eyes meet Tanjirou's.

Tokito smile turns huge as his eyes glimmer with joy.

"Tanjirou!" He beams, pulling the confused redhead into his arms. "You finally came to pay us a visit!"

"I found him freezing in the forest," Himejima cuts in, prompting Tokito's smile to fade.

As Himejima explains what happened, Tanjirou realizes that he's a bit hurt from when he fell outside, but he shouldn't be able to feel anything because he's dreaming...

Or maybe he's not.

"I need to go back home! My family must be worried!"

"Tanjirou," Himejima kneels in front of him before finding his shoulders and placing gentle, warm hands over them. "I'd do anything you asked me to, but right now there's a snowstorm outside and while my body can endure that kind of weather, yours can't. I don't want to risk your life so please let's wait here until the storm ends."

Tanjirou nods, knowing he's right. He also has the feeling that he only wants to protect and take care of him, which is weird because they just met... right?

"I'll tell the others!" Tokito says before rushing towards the entrance, Tanjirou doesn't have the time to stop him.

"He'll be fine. He's a werewolf like me."

Werewolves. Those people are werewolves and somehow Tanjirou is not dreaming.

***

They all are here. The people he's met, in reality and in dreams; they all rush towards him with worry and fuss over him like their hearts would break if something ever happened to him.

Something inside Tanjirou's chest clicks like a missing piece of a puzzle; he has the feeling that he's known all those people for a while, for a long time actually and that he loves them very much.

Even the wild one; the man with scars all over his chest, white hair and slightly terrifying expression, he's frowning at Tanjirou like he's mad, but the redhead feels perfectly safe around him, even though his brain tells him he hasn't seen him before.

"What were you thinking being outside during a snowstorm?" Shinazugawa growls, taking a few steps towards the redhead.

"Sanemi, stop," Kocho scolds him. "The important thing is that he's safe."

"YOU COULD'VE DIED!" Shinazugawa ignores her, still glaring at Tanjirou. "You're weak and fucking fragile and you haven't turned yet..."

The human is not afraid because he feels like he's know him his whole life and he knows this is how Shinazugawa expresses his concern. He is afraid... he doesn't want anything to happen to Tanjirou.

"I'm sorry, I'll be more careful next time."

Shinazugawa's expression changes to something more vulnerable then before he pulls Tanjirou into his arms. Then, as the others take turns to hug him too, he makes a tea for the human.

They sit in a circle close to the fireplace; Tanjirou looks at their faces, at Kyojuro's white, sharp teeth when he laughs, at Shinobu's smile and the signs that it's a genuine one, at the way Obanai sometimes leans closer to Mitsuri, but keeps staring at him like Tanjirou's precious to him too, at Muichiro's evident affection, at Giyuu's shy yet very expressive eyes, at Tengen's smirk and the way it changes into something more soft when Tanjirou's eyes meet his, at Mitsuri's insistence on sharing her favorite food with him, at Sanemi's obvious concern that often turns into overprotective mode, and at the way Gyomei keeps turning towards where Tanjirou's voice is.

His soul knows them, it has known them for a while. He feels safe and happy with them.

This is home too.

"Tanjirou, why are you crying? Are you alright?" Suddenly, Kyojuro is in front of him, wiping his tears away.

"I'm f-fine," he stammers, smiling at all the concerned faces in front of him. It feels so good to be so loved. "I just... I feel like I know you already, like I always have. It's a bit overwhelming."

"Of course you know us, darling!" Mitsuri beams. "You're our destined mate!"

"I know it's a lot to take in right now, Tanjirou," Giyuu cuts in, taking one of his hands. "But we can explain everything to you as many times as you need. The most important thing you need to know at the moment is that we love you, we truly do."

Tanjirou blushes to the tip of his ears, feeling like he does love them too, but he doesn't want to rush anything, so he just nods.

"Would you let us court you?" Tengen asks, smiling softly.

"Yes, I'd like that."

"It looks like the storm is finally over now," Sanemi comments, prompting Muichiro to pout. "We can take you to your family's home now. But we'll see you tomorrow for your first gift."

"Alright!"

They ask for a forehead kiss before going out, so Tanjirou gladly gives them one to each of them.

He has a lot of things to tell his family.

***

Patreon

[jjsloverre]

your love- c.s pt.3

part 1~ part 2~ part 3~ part 4~

warnings: suggestive, fluff, mentions of hookup, mentions of sex scene, left on a cliffhanger (not proofread)

________________________________________

these days with chris have been truly heavenly. he came to my apartment almost everyday to give me flowers, or food, or literally anything i ask for.

but unfortunately i had to break it to him that the movie im filming has me filming a sex scene. we haven’t started dating yet but id feel horrible if i didn’t inform him.

as i finished up my last scene for the day, i texted chris for him to come pick me up. he sent me some food earlier, it was the sweetest thing ever.

15 minutes later

“hey beautiful girl! ima buy us some dinner- wait wait! what’s with the frown mama? what’s wrong?” i smile up at him and kiss him. “i just have something to tell you! but don’t freak out please…” at my words, he immediately picks me up and sits me onto his lap.

i felt his strong hands rub my thighs as one of his hands came to hold my tiny one. “alright, spit it out before i actually freak out.” i braced myself and prepared my words. “i know we’re not dating but-“ he cute me off immediately. “we changing that status soon sweetheart. oh shit sorry sorry continue!”

i giggle and continue my statement. “but i just wanted to tell you i’m filming a sex scene in my movie and i didn’t know how you would react and .. i don’t know..” he kisses my neck softly as he speaks. “don’t care, i got to be balls deep inside you. nobody could ever make me feel jealous.”

i smiled at him, even if he couldn’t take me serious. “ok but seriously mama, i appreciate you telling me. and i ain’t gon be mad at you when i see the movie, shit ima be the first person at the premiere cheering you on!” he cuddles me while he speaks. “thank you baby!” i peck his lips and then we pull into a passionate kiss.

“hey so… i wanna make a song about you, like a real one. to where people actually know who i’m talkin bout… how’s that sound?” i look into his bright blue eyes, his sincerity shining through them. “sounds great chris, like really great!”

he nodded and pulled in to give me another kiss. “another thing, you know that hookup wasn’t a one time thing right? next time i get you alone, ima make love to you yeah?” i nodded, smiling against his beautiful lips. “can you take me home? i’ll cook us something?”

chris didn’t need to be told twice. he placed me back in the passenger seat and drove to my apartment.

30 minutes later

as we settle into my house, i started to cook some pasta with garlic bread, chris’ favorite. “here, wanna do a taste test?” i say, holding some pasta up with a fork. “hell yeah i would baby!” he swiftly gets up and lets me feed him. “holy fuck baby that’s good! it’s done right?” i smile and nod. “yes honey, it is finished!” i finish up completely and plate his food. i made it with extra love just for him.

“fuck ima marry you for some dinner like this! come here, i wanna be close to you while i eat.” i smile and sit on his lap. he gave me kisses every time he finished a bite. it was clear, i had the rapper himself, christopher sturniolo whipped and wrapped around my finger.

“hop up right quick princess, lemme use the bathroom” he says to me, carefully lifting me off his lap. “okay, kiss first” he nods, and kisses me multiple times. “there you go baby, i’ll be back.”

chris’ pov

as i got up to go to the bathroom, i looked behind my shoulder one more time. the most beautiful, stunning girl sitting behind me, taking a bite into my plate. normally i’d be mad as fuck but she’s just too beautiful to even be mad at.

i got into the bathroom took a piss and washed my hands. i think about how i’ve always dreamed of her being in my arms, hugging me and kissing me. and now i have that, and i’m gonna be dropping my album that’s damn near about her. even if i don’t wanna admit it. she had me whipped.

i was turning to exit the bathroom, then i heard my phone buzz.

“hey chris, it’s abby. i miss you. i miss us, maybe we can meet up sometime? maybe just forget about that actress girl and we can talk about what happened to us.”

[elizabeth-holland24]

The Beast Within-Chapter 10

Pete’s voice was hoarse as he shouted, his desperation evident. "Please, listen to me! Gaston is lying. He tried to kill me."

Gaston sneered, his arrogance as thick as the storm clouds above. "Have you ever seen the inside of a madhouse, my dear Pete? Trust me, you wouldn’t last a week. Promise me your daughter’s hand, and I’ll set you free."

Pete’s face contorted with rage. "Never!"

"Take him away!" Gaston barked, motioning to his guards.

The carriage jolted forward, its wooden wheels creaking ominously. Pete’s protests were drowned by the clatter of hooves and the laughter of the guards. Suddenly, the thunderous galloping of a single horse split the air, growing louder until it was undeniable. Mausi appeared, her face pale but resolute, her hair loose and wild from the ride. She pulled her horse to a sharp stop, throwing herself off before it had fully halted.

"Papa, I’ve come to save you!" Mausi shouted, her voice trembling with urgency.

Pete’s eyes widened, tears spilling freely as he strained against his bindings. "Oh, my Mausi, I thought I lost you."

"Let him out!" she demanded, spinning on the guards. "He’s hurt!"

One of the guards chuckled, shaking his head. "No can do, miss. We promise we’ll take good care of him."

"My father’s not crazy! Gaston, tell them!" Mausi turned to the man she once trusted, her voice rising in desperation.

Gaston’s smile was saccharine, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "Oh, my dear Mausi, you know I’m nothing but loyal to your family. But he’s been rambling about a beast and a castle."

"It’s true, Mausi," chimed the Baker, his expression wary. "He wouldn’t stop talking about that, saying you were trapped there."

Mausi’s heart pounded, but she stood tall. "He’s telling the truth! I’ve come from that very same castle just now!"

The crowd murmured in disbelief, the tension thick as fog. Faces that once smiled warmly at Mausi now turned to suspicion and fear.

"You’d say anything to save him," a villager accused. "Your word is hardly any proof."

Mausi inhaled deeply, her hands trembling as she reached into her satchel. "You want proof? Mirror, show me Jake."

The villagers gasped as the enchanted mirror came to life, revealing Jake slumped in his tower, his roar reverberating through the image. His face was twisted in anguish, the raw pain of losing Mausi evident even to strangers. Some recoiled at his monstrous visage; others whispered in awe at the magic before them.

"There is your proof!" Mausi declared, her voice breaking.

Gaston seized the moment, stepping into the crowd, his booming voice commanding their attention. "This is sorcery! Look at this beast! Look at his fangs! His claws!"

The villagers recoiled, their fear palpable. Gaston’s voice rose, each word stoking their terror. "This creature threatens our way of life! He’ll destroy us all if we don’t stop him now. Arm yourselves! Stand with me, and together we will protect our village from this monster."

"No, Gaston, stop! Don’t be afraid!" Mausi pleaded, her voice thick with emotion. "He’s gentle and kind! Once you see past his appearance, you’ll know the real him! He’s no beast—he’s just Jake!"

Gaston’s lip curled in disdain. "The monster has her under his spell. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she cares for him."

Mausi’s silence was her answer. Her defiance shone in her tear-filled eyes, but her trembling lips betrayed her fear.

"The only monster I see, Gaston, is you! Jake wouldn’t hurt anyone!"

Gaston’s laughter was cold and biting. "Enough of this! She’s as dangerous as the beast! Lock her up too!"

Mausi struggled as the guards grabbed her, her cries echoing through the square. "No! Stop! Let me go! You’re making a mistake. You won’t get away with this, Gaston!"

Lefou watched in the shadows, his conscience warring with his loyalty. He shuffled closer to Gaston, speaking in a hushed tone. "Gaston, don’t you think you’re going too far?"

Gaston’s glare was icy. "You want to be next?"

Met with silence, Gaston sneered. "That’s what I thought. Go fetch my horse!"

Turning back to the crowd, Gaston raised his musket high. "This creature will curse us all if we don’t stop him. Well, I say we kill the beast!"

The villagers roared in agreement, their fear transformed into a frenzied resolve. Torches were lit, weapons gathered, and the mob surged towards the castle, their voices rising in a chilling battle cry.

Jake sat in the shadows of the west wing, his once-proud figure slumped against the cold stone wall. The dim firelight flickered across the shattered remains of his world: the torn tapestries, the broken furniture, the shards of mirrors that reflected his monstrous visage back at him. He could barely summon the strength to lift his head, his thoughts heavy with despair.

Mausi is gone.

The words echoed endlessly in his mind, a cruel mantra that tightened around his chest like a vice. She had left him—escaped this cursed castle and the cursed man within it. And why wouldn’t she? He had nothing left to give her.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the memories that stabbed at him with every beat of his heart. Her laughter echoing through the halls, her gentle touch as she bandaged his wounds, the way her eyes softened when she looked at him, as if she saw beyond the beast to the man he once was—or could have been.

But she was gone now, and with her, every shred of hope he had dared to cling to. He’d believed, for one fleeting moment, that her presence might have been his salvation. That she might have been the one to break the curse. How foolish he had been.

The sound of hurried footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. Penny burst into the room, her face pale and lined with worry.

“Jake,” she said urgently, her voice breaking through the thick fog of his despair. “Pardon me, but the castle is under attack!”

Jake didn’t move, didn’t even lift his head. “Leave me in peace,” he murmured, his voice hollow and stripped of its usual bite.

“But Jake!” Penny insisted, stepping closer. “They’re coming for you—an entire mob, armed and ready to destroy everything!”

He turned his gaze to her then, and Penny recoiled slightly at the emptiness in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter now,” he said quietly. “Just let them come.”

Outside, the shouts of the villagers grew louder, their cries reverberating off the castle walls.

“Kill the Beast! Kill the Beast!”

The mob stormed forward, torches blazing and weapons clanging as they crossed the bridge to the castle gates. At their helm was Gaston, his expression twisted with triumph and cruelty.

In the tower, Bradley paced back and forth, his nerves fraying with each passing second. Natasha stood by the window, peering out at the advancing mob.

“This isn’t working!” Bradley exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“We have to do something!” Natasha replied, her voice sharp with urgency. “If they breach the gates, it’s over!”

Bradley stopped pacing, his face lighting up with a sudden idea. “Wait—I know!” he said, turning on his heel and rushing from the room.

Down in the west wing, Jake remained motionless as Penny pleaded with him.

“What shall we do, Jake?” she asked, her voice cracking.

But he only shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now,” he whispered, his shoulders sagging. “Just let them come.”

The words hung heavy in the air, a final surrender to the darkness that had consumed him for so long.

Inside the prison, Mausi clawed at the wooden bars, desperation etched across her face. "I have to warn Jake!"

"Jake?" Pete’s brow furrowed. "Mausi, what are you talking about?"

"Jake is the beast! This is all my fault." Her voice cracked, the weight of her guilt pressing down on her.

Pete’s confusion deepened. "Mausi, what are you saying? Warn him? How did you even manage to escape him?"

"He let me go, Papa. He set me free so I could come back to you."

Pete stared at her, his confusion giving way to concern. "I don’t understand…"

"Papa, I know the truth," she whispered, her hands gripping the bars.

"Truth? Mausi, what truth?"

"You don’t have to keep lying. I know I’m not your biological daughter. I know why I never had a mum and why you never talked about her. I know that my real father didn’t want me. I was upset and angry that you lied to me, but Jake helped me understand that everything you did was to protect me because you love me."

Pete’s face crumpled, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Oh, my dear Mausi, I’m so sorry. But how do you even know this? I swore to your father I wouldn’t tell a soul. We thought it would be best if you didn’t know—it would save you from heartbreak."

"Jake had a magical book," Mausi explained. "I was able to see my mother when she was pregnant with me and her journey until my birth when she… died. I know that’s probably why my biological father didn’t want me and gave me to you. It’s okay, though—I got the best dad ever. But, Papa, I have to save Jake. I care for him."

Pete took a deep breath, his hands trembling as he reached for hers. "Mausi, your father didn’t abandon you. There are things you don’t know, and I don’t know if I’m the right person to tell you. But just know—your father never abandoned you. He gave you to me because he knew I could protect, care for, and love you. Besides, he’s always been closer than you think. I just hope you’ll continue to have me as part of your life."

"Oh, you’ll always be my papa," Mausi said, her voice thick with emotion. "I love you. Will you help me?"

Pete’s lips twitched into a small, proud smile. "Let’s do this! I’ll pick the lock. After all, it’s just strings and gears, right?"

"You’ll need something pointy, like this, right?" Mausi pulled a golden pin from her updo.

"You are truly my daughter." Pete chuckled, taking the pin. "Okay, once we’re free, you can go to the horses and escape while I distract them. Oh, and Mausi—trust your instincts. Don’t think, just do."

The mob surged up the winding path to the castle, their torches flickering in the stormy night. Lightning illuminated their faces, a mixture of fear and fury. At their head was Gaston, musket raised high, shouting commands to keep the frenzied crowd moving forward. "Do not falter! Remember, we fight to protect our home!"

Inside the castle, the enchanted objects had been preparing for this very moment. Rooster and Coyote stood at the forefront, rallying the household to defend their sanctuary. Penny and Amelia were stationed in the kitchen doors, armed with boiling tea and a kettle of determination.

"They’re coming!" shouted Coyote, peering out through a narrow slit in the heavy oak door. His face was a mixture of panic and resolve.

"Then we meet them head-on!" Rooster declared, his flames flaring dramatically. "We protect Jake, our castle, and ourselves!"

The doors burst open, and the mob flooded in. Chaos erupted as the enchanted objects launched their defence. Rooster lit torches ablaze, forcing the villagers to drop them or flee. Penny poured scalding tea over anyone who came too close, while Amelia’s high-pitched giggles distracted them further. The wardrobe, Halo, barreled into the fray, her drawers flinging open to trap unsuspecting attackers.

Fanboy, the piano, played a cacophony of discordant notes, disorienting the mob. Bob the stove hurled blazing coals, creating fiery barriers to keep the attackers at bay. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with.

In the midst of the battle, Lefou hesitated, watching as the enchanted objects fought valiantly. He saw Gaston push forward without a glance back, using him as a human shield to block an oncoming attack from Halo. As Gaston shoved him aside to make his way deeper into the castle, something shifted in Lefou. The look of betrayal in Gaston’s eyes struck deeper than any blow.

With a growl of determination, Lefou turned, grabbing a fallen torch and using it to fend off the villagers.

The enchanted objects paused briefly, shocked by Lefou’s change of heart, but quickly resumed their efforts, now bolstered by their unexpected ally. Lefou proved a formidable force, using his strength to help the enchanted objects subdue the mob.

Unnoticed in the chaos, Iceman slipped through the crowd and into the castle. His calm, deliberate movements contrasted sharply with the mayhem. As the villagers focused on the battle, Iceman climbed the grand staircase, his sharp eyes scanning his surroundings. He moved with purpose, his presence almost ghostly amidst the turmoil.

Meanwhile, Gaston had used the distraction to slip away from the fight. Determined to find the beast, he navigated the castle’s winding halls with his musket gripped tightly. His lips curled in a predatory smirk. "Come out, beast. You can’t hide forever."

Back in the great hall, the tide of the battle turned decisively. The enchanted objects worked in perfect harmony, driving the mob back step by step. Rooster ignited a makeshift barrier of fire to block the entrance, forcing the villagers to retreat. Penny and Amelia cheered as the last of the intruders fled into the night, their torches extinguished and their spirits broken.

The great hall fell silent, save for the heavy breathing of the victors. Lefou stood amidst the enchanted objects, his torch now extinguished. He looked around, his expression a mixture of relief and guilt.

"I’m sorry," he said, his voice trembling. "I didn’t know it would come to this."

Rooster stepped forward, placing a fiery hand on Lefou’s shoulder. "Monsieur Lefou, it takes great courage to change one’s path. You are welcome among us."

As the enchanted objects regrouped and secured the castle, none of them noticed the faint echo of Gaston’s boots on the stone stairs, heading toward the beast’s tower. Nor did they see the shadow of Iceman disappearing into the depths of the castle, his purpose still a mystery.

A/N: So… yeah, that happened. I'm sorry for leaving it in a cliffhanger but don't worry I am writing the next chapter as soon as possible, I might even publish it in a few hours well see. But yeah, what a journey it has been. It's bittersweet that this story is coming to an end, I've grown so much from what I used to write when I was younger to now. I love you all, thank you so much for your support. There is still like 4 more chapters left I think, so It's not completely over yet. There are still some secrets that need to come to light, like Pete said. Remember to like, comment or weblog and tell me your thoughts. Thank you so much for the love and support on this story. Don't forget to comment, like and reblog, so I know if you are enjoying it. Love you guys and thanks for reading <3

[n0vazsq]

Here with me | Joao Felix x Reader

pairing . . . joao felix x gf!reader

summary . . . When you're scared about the swarm of fans outside the stadium, Joao comforts you and lets you know it's going to be alright

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 1.2k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . HAPPY NEW YEARS EVERYONE!!!!!!!! this took me way longer than it should've

. . . The stadium loomed ahead, its towering lights cutting through the evening sky as fans gathered in droves, their excitement buzzing like electricity in the air.

Joao held your hand firmly, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your skin. Despite his calm demeanor, he could sense your unease as you approached the entrance.

"Hey, you’re quiet," he said softly, glancing at you. His eyes, warm and attentive, searched your face for any sign of what was troubling you.

You forced a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. "Just a little nervous. That’s all."

He stopped walking, gently pulling you aside so you weren’t caught in the flow of fans rushing toward the gates. "Nervous about what? Talk to me," he urged, his voice low and steady.

You hesitated, glancing around at the crowd. Fans were decked out in jerseys, scarves, and painted faces, their energy visible as they chanted and cheered. While Joao thrived in this atmosphere, it was overwhelming for you.

"It’s just… a lot of people," you admitted. "And I’ve seen how fans can get sometimes. I don’t want to ruin your focus before the match."

Joao’s brows knitted together, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "You could never ruin anything. And if this is too much, we don’t have to do it like this. Let’s figure it out together, okay?"

You nodded, comforted by his sincerity. "I’ll be okay. I just need a second."

He scanned the area and spotted a quieter corner near the entrance, away from the bustling crowd. Without a word, he guided you there, positioning himself so his body acted as a barrier between you and the arena of fans.

"Better?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Yeah," you said, your voice soft. "Thanks, Joao."

"Don’t thank me. I’m here for you," he said, his lips forming into a small smile. He tilted his head, studying you with that familiar, thoughtful expression that made your heart ache in the best way.

"You know, you’re my priority," he continued. "Not the fans, not the match. You. Always."

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him that his career was important and you didn’t want to get in the way, but he shook his head as if reading your mind. "I mean it," he said firmly. "If you’re not okay, nothing else matters."

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. You felt a lump rise in your throat, and you swallowed hard, fighting back tears. "I just don’t want to be a distraction," you murmured.

"You’re not a distraction," he said, cupping your face in his hands. His touch was warm, grounding you in the moment. "You’re my support. My love. You think I could do all this without you?"

His words hit deep, and the weight on your chest began to lift. You placed your hands over his, leaning into his touch. "Thank you," you whispered.

"For what?" he asked, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "Loving you? That’s the easiest thing in the world."

A soft laugh escaped you, and Joao’s smile widened at the sound. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Come on," he said, lacing his fingers with yours again. "Let’s get inside. If anyone bothers you, I’ll handle it. Okay?"

"Okay," you said, feeling a new found sense of reassurance as you walked toward the gates together.

As you approached the VIP entrance, a small group of fans noticed Joao. Their faces lit up, and they began calling his name, waving and holding up jerseys for him to sign. You tensed, instinctively stepping closer to him.

Joao noticed immediately. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before turning to the fans with a polite but firm smile. "I’ll sign a few, but please give us some space," he said, his tone calm yet stern.

The fans nodded eagerly, and Joao quickly signed a couple of jerseys and took a few pictures. Throughout it all, he kept one hand on your back, a silent reminder that he was there for you.

Suddenly, as Joao was finishing up with one fan, another fan, who was a man with a phone outstretched, pushed toward you aggressively.

The fan’s actions startled you, and you stumbled back slightly, your back hitting the wall quite aggressively, heart racing. Without hesitation, Joao stepped in front of you, his body shielding yours completely.

"Hey!" Joao’s voice was sharp, cutting through the havoc. He gave the fan a glare that could freeze fire. "That’s enough! Back off!"

The fan looked taken aback, his phone still in hand. "I just wanted-"

"No," Joao interrupted, his tone firm and unwavering. "You’re making her uncomfortable. Show some respect."

The surrounding fans fell silent, watching the exchange. The man hesitated before lowering his phone and retreating into the crowd, muttering an apology. Joao turned to the rest of the group, his protective stance never faltering. "Thank you for understanding. That’s it for now."

He then turned back to you, his hands immediately finding your arms. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"I’m okay," you managed, though your voice wavered slightly. The adrenaline and shock of the moment had left you shaken.

Joao’s eyes softened, and he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. "I’m so sorry you had to deal with that," he murmured against your hair. "I won’t let anyone treat you like that again."

You clung to him, his embrace grounding you. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

"Always," he replied, his tone full of love. "Let’s get inside."

Once inside the stadium, the noise of the crowd was muffled, and the atmosphere felt less overwhelming. Joao led you to a private lounge, where you could watch the match in comfort and relative quiet.

"This is better, right?" he asked as you settled into the plush seats.

"Much better," you said, reaching for his hand. "Thank you."

Joao sat beside you, his arm draped over the back of your seat as he pulled you close. "You don’t have to thank me for taking care of you," he said softly.

After the match, Joao found you in the longue. He ran up to you, a huge grin on his face, and pulled you into his embrace.

You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling safe and content for the first time that evening. As the minutes passed, you found yourself relaxing more and more, Joao’s presence a constant source of comfort.

The whole time, Joao was staring at you, his eyes full of warmth and love. When you two pulled back, he turned to you with a grin, the excitement lighting up his face. "Did you see that goal?" he asked, his joy contagious.

"I did," you said, laughing as his enthusiasm pulled you further out of your trance.

By the end of the night, your earlier anxiety felt like a distant memory. Joao had a way of making you feel like the only person in the world who mattered, and tonight was no exception.

"See? We survived," he said, his tone teasing.

"Thanks to you," you replied, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

Joao’s smile softened, and he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. "Always," he murmured. "I’ll always take care of you."

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @notm4d1 ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @bernalswifeyy ,, @nngkay ,, @justaf1girl (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[windcarvedlyre]

Ooooo, ty for this :D

Replying to the last paragraph first because hard agreed. Outside of the implications of DR2.5, imo he absolutely does know what he's saying; he just believes it so sincerely, and is so desensitised to horrible things in general, that he doesn't understand for the most part why that would be upsetting to people. The FTD would make matters even worse, though I feel like his problems would predate that due to his trauma and isolation growing up.

Additionally, Komaeda's ideology is thematically extremely important to the game imo. He genuinely devalues his life to the point of being willing to self-destruct, just as Hinata did pre-despair. They take the original game's theme of questioning the importance of talent for someone's worth and push it further by being walking illustrations of what happens when you take the ideas Kodaka is criticising to their logical conclusion. NWP Hinata manages to move past that with the power of friendship, survives, and saves everyone; Komaeda succumbs to his ideology and dies alone. He spent the entire game acting like dying as a stepping stone would fulfil him but when he got what he 'wanted' it didn't actually make him happy. He died with his face twisted in fear.

While his FTD and extreme trauma likely greatly contributing to his radicalisation complicates the ethics of his situation, I think that when he isn't manic/breaking down he's still intelligent and self-aware enough to have moral agency and the potential for growth, and said moral agency is important to DR's broader themes as well. I feel like that contrast between him and Hinata is part of a broader trend: characters that lose hope for another way out and refuse to cooperate with others, instead viewing things through the lens of the killing game and pursuing their own agenda, end up digging their own grave unless they develop and turn around. DR is big on rehabilitation instead of punishment but the character has to be an active part of that; someone like Syo can live and be accepted by everyone else because she stopped murdering, while on the opposite end of the spectrum Naegi offered Junko an olive branch but she refused it and fully chose her own death.

That aside...

For Momota, I totally see where you're coming from! I think the scene's writing is a bit awkward in a way that could let it be read different ways tbh? On my end I feel like Momota was kinda fair in finding this line off:

because it immediately and entirely fixated on 'bringing hope to the world' instead of referencing anything about space at all, but maybe it would've been better for them to extend that over some back-and-forth that made it clearer that that was all Komaeda was fixated on before Momota said that. And like we said in DMs, since Komaeda's views on talent and hope are his sincere worldview I think he'd be unable to distinguish (or have difficulty with distinguishing) the sort of interest he expresses above and interest in Momota himself. It's unfortunate.

Likewise, for the exchange with Souda, I do agree that it's sad on Komaeda's end; even in that conversation he can't really comprehend Souda's criticism of him and continues to just blame himself for everything. That said, I think Souda still did demonstrate some self-awareness in acknowledging that his criticism of Komaeda was a bit hypocritical, and I feel like people weren't thaaat unfair to him in UTDP/DRS? Souda's having this conversation with him after 3 years, and the way he goes about it makes it feel to me like he's sincerely tried to get him. Beyond Souda, if we look at this scene at the end of his UTDP run:

both Sonia and Mioda actively try to include him in the conversation and group activities and just struggle to deal with his extreme self-loathing. Sonia especially seems to be trying really hard not to react badly to him, and Mioda's reactions make it feel like there's been conversations about this before.

It really sucks for Komaeda, but at the same time... I think it's understandable that 3 years of things like that would wear some people down, because there's only so much you can do when someone in your life is mentally unwell and won't change or even acknowledge they have a problem. It's not a pleasant position to be in; it can lead to people getting more and more frustrated and lashing out instead of handling things well.

Nanami and Usami do better with him, though- but they have gentle therapy skills coursing through their veins.

Hinata also actively pushes to stay in Komaeda's life instead of letting him drift away at the end of UTDP but that one's really badly translated. I swear I've reblogged a better version but I'll have to track it down.

In the post I just reblogged I especially like the wording of

he's genuine when he calls the others his friends, but it's still second to seeing himself as their stepping stool for their hope

because I think that summarises Komaeda pretty well. I've been thinking about that for ages but struggled to fully iron out my thoughts. Here's my latest attempt to.

Komaeda can be (relatively) normal sometimes

It would be incorrect to say Komaeda never sees people as anything but their talents and/or is constantly subservient to them. He at least tries to socialise with other people as, well, people, not always making things about their talents, even if a lack of filter and difficulty empathising with people outside of things that can be logically inferred create problems for him anyway. On top of proactively pushing his views in conversations and trials he can still, say, tease Souda for Sonia's avoidance of him:

And in the prologue he pretty much threatens Hanamura over his predatory behaviour:

and later follows up on this by intervening when Hanamura tries his bullshit on Sonia again anyway. If he stuck to his ideology 100% of the time, acting more like he does as Servant in UDG, one could argue he could have stood back, avoided imposing his will on an Ultimate in any way and left Sonia to 'overcome' that 'hurdle' herself, but it seems like he has some limits.

Additionally, he's aware that he can weird people out, and in at least FTE 5 he links his ideology to that:

but despite his filter issues he still manages to hold back his more extreme views- plus most of the paranoia we see in Island Mode- throughout the prologue and most of chapter 1. Was he trying to make a good first impression? I've talked about his Shot Through The Heart event and its implications before; that fear of pushing people away by being weird could easily extend beyond Hinata. Either way, he has at least some ability to tone himself down and engage with people more normally- at least in the short term and if his mental state is relatively good. He seems more openly self-aware in the prologue and chapter 1 as well.

This is all before we even start to unpack DR2.5; I touch on the ideology aspect of it later, but it also establishes that he subconsciously has a more nuanced understanding of his classmates' relationships with talent and a desire to be friends with them on more equal footing.

However,

His ideology still overrides that a lot

One of the themes Kodaka claims to have written him with is "the fear of someone you can’t empathise with/someone that can’t empathise". While he can be more nuanced during low-stakes socialisation, whenever he's engaging with the killing game himself his complexes go into overdrive and seem to take precedent over any empathy or sympathy he has for others.

Positive outcomes and anyone he sees as having potential to bring them about get abstracted into 'hope'. Death and suffering get abstracted into 'despair'. He tunnel visions on the former 'outweighing' the latter because that's how the world works for him.

Those things aren't really quantifiable in practice, though. How can you weigh a horrifying kidnapping against winning a lottery when you're already rich? Or getting accepted into the institution you revere against developing terminal illnesses that could kill you before you even graduate? But that's how he sees things. Telling yourself that everything you're going through will be worth it might be the only way to live with his luck without crumbling. Relatedly, an ideology under which everyone's potential is predetermined and there's no point in striving for more:

might resonate an awful lot with someone whose life is more of a rollercoaster he feels strapped to than something he's ever steered. He's had a lot of extremely good and bad things happen to him that he's never really done anything to earn; all he can do is roll with the punches and hope he gets a chance to make his existence useful eventually.

DR2.5 indicates that some deep part of him does resent this, resents the concept of talent as he views it, and would rather excise his concept of 'hope' from his mind entirely and effectively advocate for the opposite:

which could track with this exchange from his final FTE in DR2, which doesn't say that would be good but doesn't say it's bad either:

But an emphasis should be placed on deep. The hesitation of the latter makes it sound like it's not something he's allowed himself to think about much. If his ideology is partly a coping mechanism, if he allowed himself to consciously question whether his idea of 'hope' is actually worth the 'despair', whether his lack of a real talent means his life actually has less worth, whether a talented/talentless binary that determines the course of people's lives without them having any agency even exists in the first place, et cetera... he would also have to acknowledge that his life is hell. That the world has been extremely unfair to him, that no amount of lottery money can compensate for a life without love, and that maybe he has potential that might never be fulfilled because of his terminal illnesses. Maybe everyone else that has died in ways he'd attribute to his luck- much likelier than not to be 'talentless' like him- had worth too.

But he doesn't do that, at least most of the time, so processing the killing game through his talent/hope complex it is.

And it's one thing to apply those ideas to his own suffering, but when he finds himself in a situation with other people... where deaths are inevitable and he has some ability to influence this... it gets ugly.

When you crush whether people live or die and the wide range of ways the survivors could be affected by that into two abstract quantities, fixating on one value being larger than the other, the lives of anyone with talent become interchangeable. He speaks about his classmates as a collective here- 'Ultimates' and 'symbols of hope' and 'everyone' and 'them'- even though his actions would require anything from one to all but one of them to die. Because it doesn't matter who specifically dies (he's happy to orchestrate a murder with anyone) or how many (siding with a murderer is on the table for him as long as their 'hope' has potential to outweigh everyone else's).

It's fitting that when he eventually lived up to his promise, dying to make himself a stepping stone for hope, he didn't even know who it was that he spared or took with him. It was chosen at random. This gets visually hammered in the way the Closing Argument gives everyone but him the grey silhouette treatment.

Whether he was trying to increase the hope of the talented or take out a bunch of fellow terrorists with him, his treatment of them when it came to murder cases reduced them to one aspect of themselves in a way that was utterly dehumanising. I feel like there were still cracks in that- signs he, for example, felt bad about what happened to the Ultimate Imposter- but that's something I want to save for another post.

In non-killing game contexts like UTDP and DRS he doesn't toy with anyone's lives in the same way; the above behaviour was technically making the most of a preexisting awful situation (at least from his point of view) and we only see him force people into new ones as Servant. It still seems to be the case, however, that he doesn't really mask his views long-term and they affect how he interacts with Ultimates to the point of making them uncomfortably. The post linked at the start covered a great Komaeda-Souda DRS scene on this; the Komaeda-Momota UTDP scene below is also really relevant.

Momota correctly clocks that Komaeda's admiration of him is... maybe not quite aimed at him as a real person. He drops it because of Komaeda's reaction- presumably he'd misattributed the off vibes to Komaeda being inauthentic- but it still feels like Komaeda's engaging with him as some abstract vessel for talent and hope to some extent.

-

I feel like there's more I should cover here but this took way longer than expected- it's now past 5am- so I'll stop there. Hopefully it still illustrates the main point: Komaeda's a character full of contradictions and that very much applies to his views of the talented. He doesn't completely reduce people to talent-based caricatures but part of him still kind of does, and the degree to which that affects his behaviour varies a lot with the circumstances he's in.