#Star crossed ennemies

[darthmimaulette]

To celebrate pride month i made Omega a GF.

[ekkoscakeo]

"Our Final Song"

[a/n] : listen to ma meilleure ennemie while reading this to cry more ;')

The soft hum of "Ma Meilleure Ennemie" filled the small room, looping endlessly, weaving itself into the fabric of the night. It was their song, the one that had accidentally played the night they first danced, awkward and laughing, under flickering string lights. Now, it played again—not as a backdrop to laughter, but as a companion to a goodbye they both knew was coming.

Ekko sat cross-legged on the floor, his Z-Drive dismantled beside him. He didn’t need it tonight. Tonight was for her. She leaned against the far wall, her silhouette bathed in the dim light of the desk lamp. She looked fragile, as though the slightest gust of wind could carry her away. But her smile, soft and knowing, was as solid as it had always been.

“It’s a weird song to love, don’t you think?” she said, breaking the silence. Her voice was quiet but steady, as if she hadn’t just been crying moments ago.

Ekko glanced at her, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It’s weird because you love it, and you’re weird.”

She laughed—soft, barely there, but still enough to make his heart twist. “Says the guy who rewinds time for fun.”

He leaned back on his hands, tilting his head as he watched her. “You’re not gonna let me win this one, are you?”

“Never,” she teased. Then, more gently, “That’s what made us work, though. You challenge everything, and I challenge you.”

He turned his gaze to the Z-Drive. It lay lifeless now, the device that had once given him endless chances. But tonight, there was no rewinding. No second try. This was their moment, fleeting and final, and he wouldn’t waste it.

----

The song played on, its melancholic melody carrying them through their memories.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” she asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet.

Ekko smirked. “You mean when you tried to spray-paint over my work?”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face betrayed her amusement. “It was awful. A galaxy? Really?”

“It was art, thank you very much,” he shot back, feigning offense. “And if I remember correctly, someone decided to fix it by painting stars that looked like fried eggs.”

“They were stars,” she argued, laughing now. “But sure, let’s go with fried eggs.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I let you win that argument, too.”

She softened, her gaze meeting his. “No, Ekko. You didn’t let me win. You let me stay. That’s different.”

-----

The song looped again, filling the spaces between words, carrying them to the quieter, heavier memories.

“Do you regret it?” she asked after a long silence. Her voice was small, almost afraid.

He looked at her sharply. “Regret what?”

“Us. This. Loving me.”

His heart twisted. He stood, crossing the room to sit beside her. “Never,” he said firmly. “Not for a second.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, and for a moment, they sat like that, the song wrapping around them like a fragile cocoon.

“I regret the fights,” she murmured. “The times I pushed you too hard. The times I didn’t say what I really felt.”

“You pushed me because you believed in me,” he said softly. “And that’s what I’ll remember. Not the fights. Not the regrets. Just... you.”

-----

The night wore on, their voices growing softer, their silences longer. The weight of the inevitable hung heavy between them, but neither dared to say it aloud. Not yet.

As the final notes of the song played for the hundredth time, she reached for his hand. Her fingers, once so steady, trembled against his. “Ekko,” she whispered, “promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t stop living when I’m gone.”

His throat tightened, and he couldn’t speak. She turned to look at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears but full of determination. “You have so much left to do. So much left to give. Don’t let this—don’t let me—be the end of you.”

He swallowed hard, nodding. “I promise,” he choked out.

She smiled, leaning her head against his chest as the song began to play again. “Good,” she whispered.

------

When the last notes of the song finally faded, so did she. Her warmth, her weight, her presence—all of it slipped away like a fading dream.

Ekko sat there, the silence pressing in around him, his arms empty but his heart full of the love they had shared. The room felt colder, but he didn’t move. He let the quiet settle, let the memory of her linger a little longer.

His gaze drifted to the Z-Drive lying beside him, its cracked surface catching the faint glow of dawn breaking through the window. Gently, almost reverently, he picked it up, his fingers brushing over the fractured casing.

“One rewind,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Just one.”

He pressed the button, the device sputtering weakly before flickering out completely. It was useless, broken when he needed it most. Time, it seemed, had made its choice.

Ekko clenched the Z-Drive tightly, his knuckles whitening as tears streaked silently down his face. “Why?” he rasped into the empty room. “Why give me this power if I can’t save her?”

The question hung in the air, unanswered.

And yet, deep down, he knew. She wouldn’t have wanted him to rewrite this—to steal away the love and the pain that made their final night together real. As much as it hurt, it was theirs. Untouchable. Unchangeable.

The song looped faintly in his mind, the melody carved into his soul. He sat there, the dawn spilling light across the room, his heart breaking but alive with the echoes of her.

“Thank you for loving me,” he whispered again, the Z-Drive slipping from his grasp and clattering softly to the floor.

It wasn’t the ending he wanted, but it was theirs. And in all its beauty and pain, that would have to be enough.

--------

[nyxs2]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 15/?)

For something new to be born, something in you must die. There is no rebirth without sacrifice, no transformation without loss. The only question is: which part of you will be buried this time?

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 10,1K

Warnings: smut, resolved sexual tension, cock warming, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, Silco being a manipulator, mentions of drowning and suicide, emotional manipulation, crisis of conscience, slight hints of reader's past, Silco POV

Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 14

You ran until your lungs burned, until your legs trembled, until the world around you became a blurred mess of shadows and scattered lights. The air sliced down your throat like sharp blades, mixing with the metallic taste of blood you had swallowed during your escape.

You had crossed the bridge—that meant you were in Zaun, or at least close enough. You felt the impact before you could fully process what had happened. A solid, strong body blocked your path, making you stumble back.

The man in front of you was large, a true wall of muscle wrapped in simple clothing—worn blue trousers, well-fitted leather boots, a brown leather jacket thrown over a plain white shirt, and a leather pauldron on his upper right arm, marked by time and use. His hair was dark, his beard neatly trimmed, and his eyes... gray. Calculating. He carried a sack full of trinkets and old parts, something you barely registered because your mind was caught on a single detail:

He didn't speak like someone from Piltover. When he opened his mouth, his voice lacked that precise, arrogant diction of the City of Progress. His accent wasn't from there. That was enough for you to deduce that he was from Zaun.

"Hey, little one..." His voice came low, concerned. "You alright?"

Your eyes narrowed instinctively, scanning the situation. His tone seemed sincere, but you had learned the hard way that kindness could be a trap. People who looked like they wanted to help usually had hidden intentions.The man took a step forward, raising a hand in a peaceful gesture, as if dealing with a wild animal ready to bolt. 

"You need help?"

When his fingers brushed your arm—a light, hesitant touch—you flinched away, tearing yourself from the contact and sprinting off without looking back.

Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe he really did want to help. Maybe he was just an ordinary man who had seen someone bloodied in the middle of the street and felt a genuine urge to offer aid. But you couldn't afford to trust anyone. Not now.

Not with enforcers hunting you like an animal.

You pressed yourself against the wall of a building and let your body slide down until you hit the ground. The alley you had fled into was narrow, suffocating, the scent of dampness and rust filling your nose, but in that moment, it felt like a sanctuary. A false sense of safety.

Exhaustion weighed down on you, making each breath harder. The blood on your nose had already dried—it had been hours since you last used your Instinct, maybe more. Truthfully, you weren't sure how you were still conscious.

Your arm throbbed with a dull, burning pain, the bullet wound still fresh in your flesh. The damn enforcer had managed to graze you, and even though his shot had been sloppy, the projectile had still torn through your skin.

Above you, the sky stretched beyond what your eyes could reach. No longer a mere sliver of blue glimpsed through the tiny window of the containment room—now, it was an infinite sea of darkness speckled with stars, a spectacle that felt so distant from your reality.

You had never had the privilege of simply looking at the sky.

Before, there had only been dark, narrow alleyways, the metallic scent of rust and oil, the air thick with soot and broken promises of Zaun. Then came the sterile, scentless white of the Institute, a space without identity, where light was artificial and the passage of time was measured in counted heartbeats.

But here... now... the stars shone above you, indifferent, untouchable. And for a moment, the blood—on your clothes, on your hands, staining your skin and the ground around you—felt insignificant.

You still couldn't believe you had actually escaped.

Years of meticulous planning, sleepless nights spent mapping out every tiny detail, every escape route, every possibility. All those moments when you doubted this could ever happen, when you wondered if it was just the delusion of someone too broken to accept their own reality. But now... now you were free.

So why did it feel so hollow?

Freedom weighed on your shoulders like invisible chains. The air around you felt thin, like something was pressing down on your chest, making each breath shallow and painful. There was no relief, only a crushing emptiness and a quiet sorrow, sharp as a blade against your skin. You were so tired.

And the sound of the river called your name.

The dark waters moved lazily, reflecting the faint starlight—silent, inviting. They promised rest. They promised oblivion. You dragged yourself to the edge, every movement an immense effort. Your muscles screamed, your body protested, but you kept going. Just one step. One more. And then it would all be over.

But of course, it wouldn't be that easy.

You heard footsteps.

The rhythm was heavy, determined, muffled by the damp sand. Then came the sharp click of a gun being cocked—too loud in the stillness of the night, a warning that left no time to react. You turned. It was the same enforcer from before.

Persistent bastard.

The dim light revealed his grim expression, his gaze steady, resolute. He didn't hesitate, didn't issue a warning, didn't bark out orders. He simply aimed and fired. But you were already moving.

Your body crashed into his, and the sharp pain of the bullet piercing your chest was secondary—distant, unimportant compared to the brutal instinct that overtook you. Your eyes burned, and your nose bled harder, as if something inside you was breaking from the strain.

You both hit the sand together. Your fingers found his throat, and you squeezed. But humans fight to survive, and this one, in particular, didn't want to die easily.

He thrashed, tried to pry your hands off his neck, his fingers digging into your skin in a last, desperate attempt to free himself. His entire body twisted, his feet kicking up damp sand, leaving frantic, scattered marks in the ground—like a trapped animal struggling against the inevitable. You could feel his pulse beneath your fingers—fast, erratic, like a frantic drumroll before it began to slow.

He was dying.

But then something fell.

A photo slipped from his pocket, landing softly on the ground beside you. A simple image, almost mundane. The enforcer held a small baby in his arms. She had wide, bright eyes, chubby cheeks, innocent—completely unaware of how cruel the world could be. A name was scribbled in the corner.

Marcus and Ren.

Your grip loosened.

You let him go, stumbling back as if burned. Your body collapsed onto the sand, and the pain came in waves—your shoulder still bleeding, your chest burning where the bullet had torn through, your nose still dripping an endless stream of blood. You spat some onto the ground, the metallic taste coating your tongue.

Behind you, the enforcer gasped desperately, sucking in air like a drowning man breaking the surface at the last second. He scrambled backward, away from you, his eyes blown wide with pure, undiluted terror. You would never forget that look.

"Go back to Piltover..." you growled, each word heavy with exhaustion and anger. Your vision wavered, darkness creeping at the edges.

The river still called for you.

The water still promised peace.

But before you could answer the call, you added, "Your daughter doesn't deserve to grow up without a father."

The man blinked, as if struggling to process what you had just said. And then, without question, without hesitation—he obeyed. You watched him rise, stumbling over his own feet. His body still trembled, like he was on the verge of collapse, but still, he ran. Ran like a man who had just escaped death's grasp. He looked back one last time.

The fear in his eyes now was the same as it had been all those years ago.

Marcus's body was coiled tight, a spring stretched to its absolute limit. You noticed the small details that time had left on him—wrinkles that hadn't been there before, a stiffer posture, as if the weight of the world had settled onto his shoulders and never left. He even had a mustache now, a sign of maturity that did nothing to hide the nervousness in his eyes.

He remembered you.

When you mentioned to Silco that you wanted to find an enforcer named Marcus, he had raised an eyebrow, surprised, before letting out a low chuckle. "What a coincidence..." You hadn't known what kind of coincidence he meant—until you found out that Marcus was no longer just another enforcer.

He was the Sheriff of Piltover now.

A man who was supposed to represent the city's order and justice... but who, ironically, knelt before Silco. The one who not only had absolute control over Zaun but now had his fingers wrapped around Piltover's own enforcers, pulling their strings like a puppet master. The man who ruled not only the underworld but also those sworn to fight against it.

Marcus wasn't just nervous because he recognized you. He was nervous because he knew Silco had given you free rein to deal with him however you wished. And maybe, deep down, he thought you were here to finish what you started that night by the river.

As much as this whole situation unsettled you, even knowing that Silco now had access to every detail in those documents about you, it didn't disturb you as much as it should have. It was strange—you should feel uneasy, a creeping fear at the thought of him having everything at his disposal, your entire history laid bare for him to devour.

But you didn't.

Maybe because Silco had been honest when he mentioned, months ago, during your first real confrontation, that he knew more than you thought. Now, you were certain of it. And, more importantly, he hadn't used that information against you. Not yet. At the very least, it spared you the need to tell him the whole tragic little story that was your past.

"It's been a while, Marcus."

Your tone was light, almost jovial, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere that filled Silco's office. The sound of your boots echoed against the floor as you approached slowly, unhurried. Marcus, on the other hand, moved along with you—an involuntary reflex, an instinct for self-preservation.

He tried to put distance between you, to keep as much space as possible, but there wasn't much room to maneuver. The office granted him no such luxury.

Poor man.

You could practically see the gears in his head turning, analyzing the situation, searching for an escape. Trapped between you and Silco... perhaps this was a nightmare for him. And judging by the silent terror in his eyes, you suspected it was the kind of nightmare he knew he wouldn't simply wake up from.

The silence between you wasn't comfortable. It was thick, stifling, as if the air itself grew heavier with every second that passed. Marcus seemed to be sinking further and further into his own ruin.

"How's Ren?"

Marcus's body went even more rigid. His daughter's name hung in the air, and you caught the exact moment his breathing grew heavier. The tension in his shoulders spiked, his fingers twitched subtly near his holster—an almost unconscious reflex. He was on edge. As expected.

"She's fine."

You tilted your head slightly, watching the sheriff. There was an extra layer of something in his voice—not just discomfort but also a flicker of poorly contained irritation. Maybe he was tired of being reminded of that day.

But you didn't care.

"That's good to hear."

Stepping forward, you shifted your weight onto one leg and crossed your arms, giving him an analytical look.

"Well, well, look at you, Marcus. From an Enforcer to a Sheriff." You whistled softly, a sound of mock astonishment. "I must say, congratulations on the promotion. Never thought that the same man would one day have a city of his own to command."

The provocation was clear, and Marcus knew it. His jaw clenched tighter, his eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Then, you turned your attention to Silco.

"Or maybe..." Your tone took on a touch of theatricality, as if you were merely musing out loud. "Maybe you had a little help from a certain someone to get there."

Silco didn't react immediately. For a moment, he simply maintained his impassive expression, but you saw it. You saw the way his brow arched in feigned surprise, as if he were truly shocked by such an accusation. An impeccable performance, as always. But then, in the subtle details of his face, you caught it. The shadow of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. He was amused.

Marcus, however, did not share the same humor. He remained still, his dark eyes darting between you and Silco, trying to gauge how far this conversation would go. Until finally, he broke the tension.

"What's the point of all this?" He gestured, exasperated. His voice came out deep, unsteady, carrying something between fury and desperation. "Is this just some sick psychological game to you?"

The dark wood of Silco's desk was cold beneath your fingers as you leaned against it, crossing your legs with an almost lazy motion. Your body projected relaxation, but your mind buzzed with the weight of the moment.

Your eyes settled on Marcus with meticulous calm, studying him as if you were seeing him for the first time. He was nothing more than a ghost of a past decision—a remnant of the hesitation that once saved him. You had thought about this encounter since the moment you asked to see him, though the exact reason eluded you. Maybe it had been impulsive. Maybe just a whim. Or maybe, deep down, you simply wanted to confront the future of that past choice.

You had rehearsed this moment countless times. The words, the gestures, the posture. Everything was meant to reflect what you had observed in Silco. The meticulous coldness, the sharp indifference—this was what you wanted to display. He was supposed to feel the shift, to realize that he was no longer facing the same girl who, in a fleeting moment of mercy, had allowed him to keep breathing.

The tables had turned. Now, he was the one standing before you, vulnerable, exposed to the weight of his own insignificance.

But the mask you had planned to wear began to crack before you could even truly put it on. The calculated coldness you had envisioned, the tone of indifference you had so carefully rehearsed—all of it felt artificial now. An illusion that worked perfectly for Silco, but one that did not belong to you. He wore that mask with ease, as if it were a second skin. Coldness fit into his voice, into his intentional pauses, into the way he manipulated and bent those around him.

But you... You were not Silco.

You let out a low, drawn-out sigh, a sound that lingered in the office, carrying the weight of that realization.

"Tell me, Marcus..." Your voice cut through the silence like a sharp whisper, too soft to be a true relief, but enough to make him tense even further. "Did you know what you were hunting that night?"

He blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly, a deep crease forming between his brows. "What do you mean by that?"

Your head tilted slightly to the side, your gaze scrutinizing him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. He looked like a chess piece left alone on a board without a king. A soldier forgotten after a battle that had already been decided.

"You simply followed orders to eliminate a killer..." Your voice remained low, but there was weight in it, something that made Marcus avert his gaze for a moment, his throat bobbing in a dry swallow. "Or did you know what you were really hunting?"

Marcus hesitated. You saw the confusion flicker across his face like a shadow, his gaze clouding as he tried to piece together fragments of a past that, to him, was just another among the many dirty deeds he had been forced to cover up.

But for you, that moment was something far more significant—a wound still raw, a bitter taste that had never fully left your mouth.

"We were ordered to capture a student who had lost control. Dead or alive. That's it."

His tone was dry, almost defensive, as if he were trying to build a wall between himself and the weight of those words. You tilted your head slightly, studying him with sharp, watchful eyes. He wasn't lying, at least not entirely. But there was something in his eyes—a flicker of something unsaid, a missing piece.

"But you figured out the truth, didn't you?" Your voice was quiet, but each syllable carried an unrelenting weight. "Did you arrest any of them?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

No excuses, no attempt to soften the response—just the uncomfortable quiet of a man who knew that any words would only make things worse.

Disappointing. But not unexpected.

Of course, they hadn't done anything. You were dealing with a government just as rotten as Zaun's chem-barons. The only difference was their clothing—the same sins, the same arrogance, just wrapped in finer fabrics and more sophisticated words. You had learned long ago: the world was not fair. It didn't matter how hard you tried to hold onto the fragments of morality Vander had once tried to teach you. Deep down, justice was never what you wanted.

You didn't want to be better than them.

You just wanted to be above it all—above your own misery, even if only for a single moment.

"Kneel."

You could almost hear Silco's voice in your own as you gave the order to Marcus.

You were echoing Silco now.

Marcus blinked, as if he hadn't understood. The shock on his face, the wide eyes, the way he froze in place. He looked at you as if you had grown a second head, as if it made no sense to hear that order coming from you.

Indignation flared hot and corrosive inside you.

"Don't make me repeat myself."

Marcus turned, like a drowning man searching for a lifeboat, his eyes darting toward Silco. Maybe he was hoping for intervention. Maybe, in some pathetic delusion, he believed Silco would see this as excessive, as a challenge to his authority, and step in.

Silco remained reclined in his chair.

Indifferent. And yet, satisfied.

He didn't move a muscle to stop the scene. He didn't show a trace of sympathy.

Why would he?

To him, this was a spectacle. A silent performance. And you were the star of the show.

You didn't need words to understand. The subtle glint in his heterochromatic eyes, the slight twitch of his lips—it all spoke of approval. He liked what he was seeing. Because, in the end, this was what Silco wanted from you. He wanted you to embrace this part of yourself—the ruthless, unflinching part. To leave hesitation behind.

Marcus, realizing no miracle would come to his rescue, gave in.

Reluctantly, of course. But he gave in.

You watched, taking in every detail—the faint creak of his leather uniform as he moved, the involuntary clench of his fists, the grit of his teeth as if swallowing down a growl of hatred.

He fell to his knees before you.

The sight was almost poetic.

The pathetic carcass of a symbol of justice, bent to your command—a ruined statue of an ideal that was never real to begin with. You tasted the subtle satisfaction trickling down your throat like aged wine. You had begun to enjoy looking down on people.

"Here's what's going to happen." your voice was low but carried an unquestionable firmness. "You're going to find out who was responsible for that damned place and where he is now."

The silence that followed was heavy. You watched as Marcus clenched his jaw, his fists tightening at his sides. Rage radiated off of him in waves, an anger he could barely contain. He hated taking orders, especially from you. But that didn't matter.

You tilted your head slightly, assessing the tension in his muscles, the flush in his skin as he swallowed hard. Then, with the meticulous coldness of someone who had learned to cut down to the soul with words, you added:

"And don't try to play the hero." you continued, leaning in slightly. Your tone remained low, controlled, but each word carried an undeniable weight. "Or I'll kill your daughter."

Silence.

Marcus froze, his eyes widening slightly before he managed to contain his reaction. You could almost hear his breath falter, the sudden shock written across his face. Maybe he had expected a threat against his own life. But you knew the truth—a man can endure anything, except losing what he holds most dear.

If, on that night, the existence of his daughter was what made you hesitate and let him live... now, you would use that same weakness to push him wherever you wanted.

For a few seconds, Marcus just stared at you. His gaze wavered between hatred and resignation, the muscles in his face pulled impossibly tight. Then, as if he had been crushed by an unbearable weight, he closed his eyes for a moment and nodded—subtle, but definitive. He had accepted the order.

"You're dismissed."

You didn't bother to look at him as he stood. The heavy footsteps retreating, the door clicking shut behind him... all of it passed over you like distant noise, muffled and unimportant. Your eyes remained fixed on some random point in the office, your mind suddenly empty. The weight of the moment crashed down onto your shoulders like a leaden cloak, crushing the impeccable composure you had maintained so carefully.

Your shoulders slackened, the tension draining from your body. A breath escaped your lips before you even realized you had been holding it. That was it. You had won.

So why did it feel like you had lost something? Or rather, some part of yourself.

You knew Silco was watching you. The weight of his gaze burned against your back, a presence so palpable it was suffocating. He said nothing. Not yet. At the very least, he had the decency to grant you a second of silence, a brief moment to deal with the emotions churning inside you on your own.

The air around you seemed to contract when you felt something unexpected—Silco's touch.

You hadn't even noticed him move, hadn't registered him leaving his seat to approach you. But there he was, his warm palm pressing against the curve of your spine. His fingers, long and firm, rested against you with a calculated weight—not to restrain, but to anchor. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles against the fabric of your dress, a meticulously measured gesture, almost indulgent.

It was a silent offering. A rare concession of comfort.

Not the common kind of comfort, the kind given out of pity or empathy. No. Silco was not the type to offer empty reassurances. This was something else. A recognition. A reminder that he was there, that he saw you.

And even as he soothed you, you knew. You knew he would have that subtle curve on his lips, the slight tension of a smile forming. When you finally gathered the courage to turn your face toward him, what you found was exactly what you suspected—a proud smile.

"Subtle threats have their advantages." Silco murmured, his voice low, almost contemplative, as if savoring each word before speaking it. "But there is a certain... appeal to direct ones."

His fingers pressed slightly against your back, just enough for you to feel the strength behind his touch. His heterochromatic gaze studied you with surgical precision, analyzing every detail, every fragment of hesitation or conviction he could find.

"I must admit." he tilted his head slightly, his eyes glinting with genuine interest. "I didn't expect you to make a threat quite so... bold."

The pride in his voice was unmistakable. He appreciated it. The evolution. The coldness you were learning to wield. The weight of power being tested in your hands. And perhaps, deep down, part of you appreciated it too—but the hollow feeling made it hard to savor any kind of victory.

"You must understand how others see you, why they see you that way. And then you twist that perception to suit your needs."

The words slipped from your lips with calculated precision, an echo of something he had once taught you.

Silco remained silent, his gaze fixed on you, his brow furrowing slightly in contemplation. He seemed to be trying to recall the context, the exact lesson he had given you, and how it now returned to him, reformed—reshaped by your own interpretation.

You saw the realization dawn on him slowly, like ink dissolving into water, spreading gradually until it colored everything.

"Marcus believes I'm a monster." you continued, keeping your voice firm, almost indifferent. "Then let him believe I'd be capable of such an atrocity. It'll make him think twice before doing anything stupid."

For a moment, Silco didn't respond. His gaze—always so sharp and controlled—widened ever so slightly.

It was a tiny detail, something anyone else might have missed. But not you. You knew him too well. Surprise was a rare thing for him—a man who had mastered the art of masking his emotions, of controlling every expression, every subtle inflection of his voice. But there it was, plain in his eyes, before he regained control almost instantly.

Then, Silco stepped around you, positioning himself in front of you. His hand lifted slowly, long, firm fingers closing gently around your chin. His thumb traced a quiet path along your skin before tilting your face up, forcing your eyes to meet his.

The expression on Silco's lips was unreadable—a mixture of pride and something else... something deeper, heavier. Something that gleamed in the depths of his gaze like a spark waiting for the right moment to ignite into flame.

"So, you were paying attention after all."

There was a true note of astonishment in Silco's voice, a hint of veiled admiration, almost indulgent. His thumb slid over your lower lip, a touch that was almost tender, almost loving—if not for the sharp possessiveness lingering in the way he held you.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." Silco continued, his voice a thoughtful murmur. "Considering where you came from. And speaking of that... I believe we have a few things to discuss, don't we?"

His eyes flickered away for a moment, and you followed them without needing an explanation.

The documents.

Scattered across the table, waiting for you, demanding your attention.

You tasted the bitterness of displeasure before you even realized the small sound of frustration that had slipped from your throat.

With a resigned sigh, you let your head fall against Silco's chest. The scent of tobacco and gunpowder mingled with the subtle perfume of his clothes, forming an aroma that, somehow, was comforting. Your arms curled around his waist in a possessive, almost childish gesture.

"Or..." you murmured against him, your voice deliberately slow, "we could do something more... satisfying."

A thick silence settled between you.

Then, Silco let out a low, drawn-out chuckle—one that dripped with intent.

"Something more satisfying, you say?" His voice dropped to a silky murmur, almost a predatory purr. Every word was laced with promise, with a dark, carnal undertone that sent a shiver down your spine. "Tell me, dove, exactly what do you have in mind?"

You didn't answer. At least, not with words.

Instead, you pushed yourself off the table in one fluid motion, your hands firm on Silco's shoulders, guiding him back into his chair with clear intent.

He didn't resist.

If anything, Silco allowed himself to be moved, amusement flickering in his eyes as he studied your every move, every unspoken decision.

Of course, he knew you were doing this on purpose.

The thought of facing those documents made you sick. You didn't want to think, didn't want to analyze.

You wanted to escape.

You wanted to get lost.

And Silco was the perfect way out.

When you pushed Silco back into the chair, you climbed onto his lap without hesitation, feeling his breath shift almost imperceptibly under your touch.

Your hands found their way to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in those dark strands as you tilted his face toward yours, drawing closer, your breath mingling with his.

Silco said nothing.

He didn't need to.

His smile said everything.

Silco's Pov ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

Silco knew exactly what she was doing. More than that—he knew what she was planning to do.

She liked to think of herself as unpredictable, a force driven by impulses she barely understood herself. But Silco saw through the illusion. There were patterns, small constants in her actions that she failed to notice but that he had long since memorized. A familiar rhythm to her defiance, an underlying structure to the chaos she believed she wielded so freely.

And yet, he allowed it.

There was a fine balance between encouragement and indulgence, and Silco walked that line with meticulous precision. He would not stop her—not yet. There was value in watching her act, in letting her take control of her own schemes. But Silco also knew exactly when to step in and when that moment arrived, he would do so without hesitation. Until then, he would indulge himself in this fleeting pleasure.

Silco's hand found its way to her hips as she climbed onto his lap, his fingers sinking into the soft, yielding flesh of her rear. He could feel the heat of her core radiating against him, could sense the way her body trembled slightly as she settled herself against him. It was a sensation that sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated lust straight to his groin.

But even as Silco reveled in the feeling of her body against his own, he couldn't ignore the way she tilted his face towards hers, her fingers tangling in his hair, her breath mingling with his own. It was an intimacy that spoke of a deeper connection, a bond that transcended the physical. Silco's heart raced in his chest, a strange warmth blossoming behind his ribcage as he gazed into her eyes, seeing the unspoken desire that lurked there.

His other hand came up to wrap around the delicate chain of her necklace, his fingers curling around the cool gold metal, the pendant digging into his palm. Silco used the leverage to pull her closer, to crush her body against his own, until there was no space left between them, no room for anything but the electric charge that seemed to crackle in the air.

Silco capture her lips with his own, his mouth moving over hers in a languid, sensual dance. He took his time, savoring the taste of her, the feel of her soft, pliant lips beneath his own. Silco's hand slid up the curve of her spine, his fingers splaying across the small of her back, pressing her closer, molding her body to the hard, unyielding planes of his own.

He could taste the desperation in her kiss, the way she clung to him, the way her nails dug into his scalp. It was a hunger that mirrored his own, a need that demanded to be sated. Silco met it with a hunger of his own, his tongue delving into the warm, welcoming cavern of her mouth, stroking along the velvet softness of her own, teasing, tasting, taking.

Silco's hand slid down to grip the back of her thigh, his fingers sinking into the firm, toned muscle as he hitched her leg up higher, opening her to him, inviting her to grind down against the rigid length of his arousal. Silco's breath hitched in his throat as he felt her start to grind against him, her hips undulating in a steady, hypnotic rhythm.

The friction of her core rubbing against his aching arousal was exquisite torture, a delicious tease that sent jolts of pleasure shooting up his spine with each slow, deliberate rotation. He could feel the heat building between them, the air growing thick and heavy with the weight of their shared desire.

Silco's hands remained steady on her hips, his grip tightening slightly as he guided her movements, his own hips rocking up to meet hers in a silent, primal rhythm. He didn't encourage her to continue, didn't offer any words of praise or encouragement... but he didn't stop her either. Instead, he simply left her free to do whatever she wanted.

When she broke the kiss, her lips parting from his own, Silco felt a pang of disappointment, a sudden ache for the loss of her soft, pliant mouth against his own. But that ache was quickly replaced by a surge of anticipation as he felt her forehead rest against his, her breath mingling with his own, hot and heavy and laden with need. He watched, his gaze heavy-lidded and dark, as her deft fingers went to the knot of his tie.

Her deftly unknot his tie, the silk fabric slipping free of his collar with a soft whisper. He couldn't help but tense slightly as her hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, her fingers working at the fastenings with a determined efficiency. It was a sensation that felt a thrill of anticipation and a hint of trepidation through his body, his heart racing in his chest as he wondered just what she had in store for him. But any fear he harbored were promptly banished as he felt her lips begin to trail along the column of his throat, her kisses and light bites sending a different kind of shivering down his spine.

Silco's head fell back against the chair, his eyes fluttering closed as he lost himself in the feeling of her touch. Lost in the haze of sensation, Silco barely registered the deft fingers working at his belt buckle, too consumed by the feeling of her lips and teeth teasing the sensitive skin of his throat. It wasn't until he felt her fingers deftly unbuttoning his trousers that he was jolted back to the present, his eyes flying open to stare down at her with a mix of surprise and dark, hungry desire.

He watched, his chest heaving and his skin flushed, as she wrapped her fingers around his bare flesh, her thumb swiping across the leaking slit, smearing the bead of moisture that had gathered there. Silco's hips jerked, a strangled groan punching from his lungs as he felt the first touch of her skin on his, the first brush of her fingers along his throbbing, burning flesh. It only lasted a few minutes until she prepared to level up.

Silco's hands shot up to grip her hips, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of her rear as she sank down onto his lap, taking him to the hilt. He could feel the scorching, velvet heat of her enveloping him, the way her walls clenched and fluttered around his throbbing length, as if trying to draw him even deeper. It was a sensation that stole his breath and set his nerves alight, his cock pulsing and twitching inside her, growing even harder and warmer as her body welcomed him home.

But even as Silco reveled in the exquisite feeling of her body sheathing his own, he knew that he had to intervene before she started to move, before she began to ride him with that fierce, unrelenting passion that he had come to crave. It had been enough of her trying to get him to divert his attention from the documents to sex.

"That's enough."

"What?!" she breathed in frustration, more confused than angry.

"I know you think you need this, need to lose yourself in the oblivion of pleasure and forget about everything else but you can't keep running away from your past." Silco murmured, his thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles into the soft flesh of her hips. "I would offer you that oblivion in a heartbeat, dove, but here are important things that need to be discussed."

"And you want to discuss this now?" her tone was disbelieving "In this position?"

He chuckled softly, his chest rumbling beneath her palms as he leaned in to brush his lips against the shell of her ear, his voice a low, teasing murmur.

"Well, I find our current position quite pleasurable."

She looked at Silco as if he had said the most unexpected thing in the world.

"Why do I get the feeling you've probably imagined us in this position before?" She gave a slight laugh, at least she didn't seem so annoyed now. "You, inside me, while you work... I didn't know that was one of your fantasies."

He threw his head back and laughed, a rich, deep sound that seemed to rumble through his chest and into her own, before he fixed her with a heated, smoldering gaze.

"Guilty as charged, dove. The thought of burying myself inside your body while poring over the tedious details of my work has crossed my mind more than once. I must admit, it's a fantasy that I find... rather tempting."

Silco's hands slid up the curve of her spine, his fingers splaying across her shoulder blades as he held her close, his hips rocking almost imperceptibly against her own.

"But that doesn't matter... Now, why don't you tell me how you managed to fake your own death?"

Silco felt the precise moment she gave up trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. It was subtle at first—the faint drop of her shoulders, the quiet exhale of resignation. But then, she leaned into him, her weight pressing against his chest in a way that made his breath hitch.

In the same way he had imagined having her like this, in that position, there was an undeniable part of him eager to continue what they had started. Yet, Silco forced himself to push aside the way his body responded, of how he wanted to bury himself even deeper in her and focused on the matter at hand. The conversation—though, if he were being honest, interrogation felt like a far more fitting word for what was unfolding between them.

Then, with a carelessness that sent a cold shiver of intrigue through him, she spoke.

"It's not hard to find someone with similar features to mine here in the lanes. Disfigure the parts that could be used for identification, and just like that, you have a replacement."

She said it so naturally. So effortlessly. Silco observed her, watching the way the words slipped from her lips as if they were nothing more than a simple fact of life. There was no hesitation, no weight of morality to hold them back. And perhaps she hadn't even realized it.

How chillingly practical it sounded.

"So..." Silco murmured, tilting his head slightly, his mismatched gaze sharpening. "You killed someone for this."

"Of course not!"

She jolted upright in his lap, her movements sharp and sudden—enough to make both of them suck in a breath at the same time, the unexpected friction between them sending a frustrating shiver through their bodies.

"Fuck..." she exhaled in a hushed, almost irritated murmur before shaking her head, her hands bracing against his chest. "She was already dead when I found her. Just another nameless body left for the rats in the gutter. I gave her an identity. I gave her a proper burial."

Silco narrowed his eyes, his expression unreadable but laced with skepticism. He studied her carefully, the sharp glint of his heterochromatic gaze dissecting every flicker of emotion on her face. She looked genuinely offended—indignant, even—that he would assume she had killed for this. It wasn't just a defensive reaction. No, there was something deeper in her outrage, something almost wounded.

For a moment, he entertained the idea that perhaps she really had been lucky enough to stumble upon someone with a similar build. The Lanes were unforgiving. It wouldn't be the first time a corpse had been repurposed for someone else's survival.

Still, that didn't make it any less impressive.

"Should I presume you had help pulling off such a feat?"

"You presumed correctly." she admitted, her voice quieter now. "But he's dead too."

The weight of those words settled between them, thick and unspoken. And yet, rather than pulling away, she let herself lean into Silco again, pressing against his chest as if seeking something—whether it was comfort, warmth, or just the grounding presence of another person, maybe even she wasn't sure.

"He was my... friend, a very dear friend." she continued, the word feeling foreign on her tongue, as if it no longer belonged to her. "He helped me while the enforcers were hunting me down in Zaun. Risked his own damn skin to keep me hidden."

Silco hummed, the sound deep and thoughtful. His fingers traced idle circles along the bare skin of her thighs, slow and deliberate, as if the motion somehow helped him process the information. There was something meditative about it, a contrast to the sharp calculations undoubtedly running through his mind.

"A gesture like that isn't common in Zaun."

She let out a slow breath, her gaze distant.

"He was a good man." she said finally, her voice carrying an odd mixture of certainty and regret. "Made bad choices... but he was a good man."

Silco let that information linger in the air for a moment, rolling it over in his mind like smoke curling from the end of a freshly lit cigar. Whoever this man was, he had to be someone with power—or, at the very least, the right connections in Zaun. Someone capable of keeping her hidden from the Enforcers all this time.

Someone like Vander, perhaps.

The thought was almost laughable. Almost.

After all, the Vander he knew—the man he had once fought beside—would have done anything to protect those he deemed important. But after he had slipped into his pacifist phase, after he had traded ambition for quiet survival, it was difficult to imagine him desecrating a corpse just to keep someone safe.

And yet... Silco had learned never to deal in absolutes.

"That day with Cayde you implied you spent years at the Institute. And the records mention you as a young woman when you escaped." His eyes sharpened, his mind already connecting the pieces before she could even confirm them. "You were taken there as a child, weren't you?"

She didn't answer aloud. She didn't have to. The small, almost imperceptible nod was enough. Silco hummed, his expression unreadable. His gaze flickered over her face, as if searching for something—anger, grief, regret. He found none.

"Your father gave you to them, didn't he?"

Another nod.

"And that's why you killed him."

There was no hesitation or silence this time.

"I have no regrets about it."

Silco leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose. There was something striking about how effortlessly she said it, how firmly she held onto that conviction. No flinching, no uncertainty. It was a truth she had long since accepted, a wound that had scarred over with time.

"And why take so many years experimenting on a child?" he mused. "What exactly were they trying to achieve?"

This time, she didn't answer.

Silence wrapped around them like a tightening noose, thick and suffocating. Her eyes pressed shut, her expression twisted into something tight, restrained. Her fists clenched at the fabric of Silco's vest, gripping so hard her knuckles turned white. He could feel it—the way her entire body tensed against him, a visceral, instinctive reaction to whatever thoughts had just sunk their claws into her mind.

Revulsion.

It rippled off her in waves, a sickened response to something only she could see. And beneath it, tangled in the knots of her rage, was fear. Not the fear of pain, nor of death. No, this was something deeper, something that had its roots buried inside her long before this moment. She was holding onto him. Clutching at him like an anchor, as if the mere act of remembering could drag her back to wherever she had come from. As if it terrified her to even brush against the edges of that place in her mind.

Then, barely above a whisper, she spoke.

"A new Piltover... cast out the old and hand the city to the new. The true City of Progress exists beyond the constraints of morality."

Her voice was distant, hollow. A recitation rather than a statement. The words sounded practiced, ingrained—like something drilled into her over and over until they became second nature. A doctrine. A slogan.

Brainwashing.

Silco's gaze sharpened. He had seen it before—the way ideals were forced into people, molded into their very bones until they believed it was their own conviction speaking. Only, with her, something had gone wrong. Somewhere along the way, the conditioning fractured. The machine that had tried to forge her into something obedient had lost control of its own creation.

His fingers flexed against her back, grounding, deliberate.

"What were you made for?"

Silco was about to press further when he felt her shift again in his lap. This time, she didn't pull away—she curled into him instead, burying her face into the crook of his neck. The unexpected intimacy of it made him still for a fraction of a second, before he noticed something else.

"Ensuring that future... at any cost." She was trembling. Not from fear. Not from sadness... No, she was shaking with rage. "They made me a monster..." she whispered, her voice tight, raw with something dark and unrelenting.

Silco exhaled through his nose, something resembling amusement curling at the edges of his lips before he reached for her, his grip firm but not forceful. Slowly, he pulled her back just enough so that their eyes met—so that she had no choice but to see herself reflected in his gaze.

"So embrace it." he murmured, his voice steady, unwavering. "Become the monster they created."

His fingers trailed along her face, brushing aside the stray strands of hair that had fallen over her features. There was something meticulous in the way he did it, as if sculpting a masterpiece, revealing something he had long suspected was beneath the surface.

"True freedom lies in becoming the thing you have always feared, dove."

His hand drifted lower, fingers idly toying with the pendant resting against her collarbone. The gemstone caught the dim light of the room, flickering in shades of violet that stood in sharp contrast against the sickly green glow spilling in from the office window.

"Do you remember what I told you the day we first met?"

She let out a soft chuckle, breathy and slightly strained.

"You said a lot of things, Silco."

"Certainly." Silco agreed, tilting his head slightly, his lips curling into something dangerously close to a smirk. "But I'm referring to when I told you that you were a survivor."

His voice dipped lower, deliberate, edged with something that made her stomach tighten. His fingers ghosted over the pendant once more, a slow and methodical movement as he let the weight of his next words settle between them.

"And that survivors don't settle for scraps when they could have the entire feast."

He could feel the slight shift in her breathing—an almost imperceptible reaction, but one he didn't miss. Silco adjusted his position in the chair then, pushing himself upright, moving away from the lazy recline he had been in. The motion was smooth, fluid—except for one unintended consequence.

The slight roll of his hips against hers. It was barely more than a shift, yet it sent a ripple through both of them, a sharp reminder of the position they had momentarily forgotten. A sharp inhale left her lips. His own breath hitched, subtle but unmistakable.

"I stand by my words, and you should do the same, dove." His voice was smooth, yet edged with something sharper. There was no hesitation in the way he spoke, no room for doubt. "After everything, it is your right to seek revenge. And you shouldn't deny yourself that indulgence."

The way he said it, indulgence, made it sound almost... decadent. A luxury rather than a sin.

"You keep denying this part of yourself as if it were some kind of transgression." he continued, his tone lowering into something close to a growl. "As if embracing it would somehow damn you."

The words lingered in the space between them, but before she could respond—before she could even process the weight of them—Silco moved.

Fast.

His hands gripped her thighs without warning, fingers digging into flesh as he lifted her effortlessly. There was no hesitation in his movements, no uncertainty—just raw intention. The world tilted for a brief second as he rose from his chair, carrying her with him. And then, the cold press of wood against her back. He laid her down onto the desk, atop those documents she loathed so much. The weight of them beneath her, the weight of this—it was a cruel irony.

These papers, these meaningless scraps of ink... they were the embodiment of a reality she had spent so long trying to outrun. A future dictated by the past. A game she never wanted to play, yet found herself ensnared in regardless. And now, Silco had laid her atop them, as if forcing her to acknowledge it. As if daring her to face it.

"This..." he murmured, voice thick with something unreadable. "This is you."

A hand trailed up, tracing the line of her jaw with infuriating precision, before tilting her chin up just enough to meet his gaze fully.

"You are perfect."

Silco's hand slid up to cup her cheek, his calloused fingers brushing against the soft, delicate skin with a gentleness that belied the dark, hungry look in his eyes. He could see the way she gazed up at him, her eyes wide and searching, as if trying to discover something that Silco was hiding. She leaned into the touch so he leaned down to capture her lips with his own.

He kissed her deeply, fiercely, his tongue delving into her welcoming mouth as if he wanted to transfer his certainties to her through that kiss. He could taste the sweet, intoxicating essence of her, the flavor of her desire and her need, and it only served to stoke the flames of his own hunger. Silco's other hand slid down to her hip, his fingers sinking into the soft, yielding flesh as he ground his hips against hers, slowly, almost hesitantly. Silco could feel the way her body yielded to him, the way her walls clenched and fluttered around his shaft, as if trying to draw him even deeper inside her, even though the seductive mood before that interrogation had long since ended.

He knew deep down that he should continue questioning, but he already had answers to his main questions, so he would allow himself to use that time to take away her uncertainties and hesitation.

Silco's eyes fluttered open, his brows furrowing slightly as he felt the gentle tug at his vest, but precisely her fingers working at the fastenings of his vest. He pulled back slightly, just enough to break the kiss and meet her gaze with a heated, intense stare of his own. He could see the way her eyes glittered with a newfound hunger, the way her cheeks were flushed and her lips were swollen and slick with his own saliva

Without a word, he shrugged out of his vest, the garment falling to the floor beside the desk with a soft, muffled thud. Soon after, her fingers began the second task of opening the buttons on his shirt, as the last button slipped free, Silco leaned back to kiss her again, his hips began to move with increasing urgency, the rhythm of his thrusts growing faster, harder, more insistent with each passing second.

Silco's hand slid down the length of her thigh, his fingers gripping the soft flesh of her knee as he effortlessly lifted her leg, hooking it over his shoulder. The new position allowed him to drive even deeper into her, the head of his cock kissing the entrance to her womb with each powerful thrust. Silco's other hand gripped her hip, his fingers sinking into the supple curve as he held her in place, pinning her down against the desk as he took his pleasure from her willing body.

That moment was a kind of a reward. A silent gratification for finally lowering her guard, for peeling back yet another layer of that carefully constructed armor she had spent so long reinforcing.

She had changed.

Her morality, once a solid, unshakable thing, now teetered dangerously on the edge of something else—something far more ruthless. She had already stepped into the abyss, already dirtied her hands. It was only a matter of time before she stopped flinching at the stains.

And yet... something still held her back.

A hesitation. A resistance.

Not much. Barely there. But it existed and Silco was determined to snap it.

Her back arched off the desk, her breasts thrusting up towards the ceiling as a sharp gasp tore from her throat. Silco's heart raced as he felt her body tense and quiver beneath him, the way she clung to him, the desperate, needy sounds spilling from her lips... it was almost too much to bear.

Silco felt her hands suddenly cup his face, her fingers threading through his hair, her thumbs brushing against his cheeks. He could feel the intensity of her gaze boring into him, the way her eyes seemed to see straight into his very soul.

Her lips parted slightly, as if she were trying to form a word, a phrase. But no sound came, only the harsh, ragged sound of their mingled breaths filling the charged air between them. For a long moment, they remained like that, locked in a silent battle of wills, each trying to discern the true nature of the other's thoughts. The world seemed to fall away, the creaking of the desk, the distant sounds of the city fading into nothingness as they stared at each other, their faces mere inches apart.

Suddenly, it all becomes simply unbearable. Silco's hips give a last, powerful thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside her quivering depths as his release crashes over him like a tidal wave. At the same time, her back arches sharply off the desk, her nails digging into Silco's cheeks as her own climax overwhelms her senses.

For a moment, they remain locked in that perfect, agonizing instant, time seeming to stand still as they ride out the aftershocks of their intense coupling. Silco's breathing is ragged and labored as he slowly lowers her trembling leg from his shoulder, gently easing it back down to rest beside her other one on the desk.

He collapses forward, catching himself on his elbows to avoid crushing her, as he struggles to regain his breath and composure. The desk beneath them creaks and groans in protest at the sudden shift of weight, the documents scattered across its surface fluttering to the floor like fallen leaves. Silco pays them no heed.

His attention is on her.

His dove... his baroness.

His.

━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

[...]

The river's waves lapped against your body in a slow, rhythmic motion, pushing and pulling you as if the water itself was breathing. The cold had long since seeped through your clothes, turning the fabric heavy against your skin, and yet, you remained there, arms wrapped tightly around yourself in a vain attempt to preserve what little warmth was left.

You had no idea why Silco had brought you here. Not really. But it mattered to him. He stood a few steps ahead, half-submerged in the same water that soaked through your limbs, but he showed no sign of discomfort. If the cold reached him, he hid it well, as he always did. His expression was unreadable, his gaze distant, lost somewhere in the inky blackness of the river.

This place... it was familiar to both of you.

A graveyard.

Or, more precisely, your almost-graves.

Different circumstances. Different times. But the same water had nearly claimed you both.

"Ever wonder what it's like to drown? Story of opposites. There's peace in water. Like it's holding you, whispering in low tones to let it in. And every problem in the world will fade away."

His voice was low, thoughtful, carrying the weight of someone who had lived the experience he described. His eyes flickered over the dark water, following its movement as if it whispered secrets only he could hear.

"But then, there's this thing... in your head, and it's raging. Lighting every nerve with madness. To fight. To survive. And all the while, this question lingers before you: 'Have you had enough?' It's funny." he mused, tilting his head just slightly. "You could pass a lifetime without ever facing a choice like that. But it changes you forever."

You, more than anyone, could understand the weight of those words. And yet... the last part didn't quite resonate with your own experience. Not entirely. Because when you had tried to drown, there had been no fight. No raging madness lighting every nerve, no desperate struggle to claw your way back to the surface. You had wanted to die. Silco hadn't.

It was ironic, really. That the very place where Vander had once tried to kill Silco was the same place where that same Vander had pulled you out, gasping, shivering, alive.

Stories of opposites, indeed.

"I nearly drowned here..." Silco's voice pulled you from your thoughts. His words were slow, deliberate, as if he were savoring them. "By the hands of someone I considered a brother... someone you seem to admire so much. And I thank him for it."

Your brows furrowed, confusion creeping in as you tried to make sense of where this was going.

"That day." Silco continued, voice dipping into something deeper, something almost reverent. "I let a weak man die."

Then, without hesitation, he stepped forward—into the water. The movement was so sudden, so unexpected, that your body reacted before your mind could catch up. You lurched toward him, instinct screaming at you to reach for him, to pull him back from whatever had just taken hold of him. But before you could do anything, before panic could fully set in, Silco emerged just as quickly as he had disappeared beneath the surface.

Drenched.

Water streamed down his face, carving rivulets through his slicked-back hair, leaving it disheveled and wild. Droplets clung to his skin, his clothes now dark and heavy with the weight of the river. And yet, he did not falter. His voice did not waver.

"And another was reborn."

Silco stood there, still, unwavering, his back to you.

"Revenge... this need that consumes you. A blade sharpened by your own pain, poised to cut down those who wronged you" Silco's voice was calm, measured, yet there was an undeniable weight behind it. Like he wasn't just speaking to you—he was speaking through you. To something deeper. Something raw. "But revenge... it changes you. It can blind you, make you forget why you started. Or it can shape you. Make you something stronger. Something... inevitable."

You felt his gaze before you saw it. That piercing, knowing look of his. But when you finally dared to meet his eyes, your breath caught in your throat. He wasn't looking at you with amusement, or calculation, or even quiet approval. It was that look. That rare, quiet softness that made something in your chest tighten unbearably. The kind of look that made you want to crumble, to let go of the weight pressing against your ribs and just— breathe.

He moved toward you, slow and deliberate, as if afraid that one wrong step would send you running.

"You need to let that part of you die." he murmured, and his voice was almost... gentle. "The part that hesitates. The part that still believes there is a path without blood. Because as long as it exists... fear will still have control over you."

Silco's hands found yours, his grip firm yet careful, as if grounding you in place. His fingers intertwined with yours, calloused but warm, anchoring you to the moment—anchoring you to him. Then, in a voice that left no room for doubt, he spoke:

"You will never be a monster to me, dove."

The certainty in his words was absolute, unshaken—not a mere reassurance, but a truth carved into the very foundation of his belief. It sent a shiver down your spine, unraveling something deep inside you, something you had tried to keep buried.

And then, he kissed you.

It wasn't just a kiss—it was ruin, a promise, a sin wrapped in something dangerously tender. His lips pressed against yours with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs, the weight of it both salvation and damnation entwined in a single touch. A glimpse of heaven laced with the fire of hell, colliding in that fleeting moment.

You had told yourself you wouldn't go down this path again. That you wouldn't let yourself sink any deeper into the abyss he so effortlessly lured you back into. You had tried to wash the blood from your hands. And yet, it was still there.

Lurking beneath your fingernails, staining the creases of your palms—a permanent mark, a reminder of what you had done, of what you were. But Silco's hands still held yours, unwavering. As if it didn't matter. As if the weight of your sins meant nothing to him. Perhaps, to him, it truly didn't.

Two souls tied, intertwined by pride and guilt drinking the poison of the same vine. Two sinners who could not atone for from a lone prayer.

You let him pull you under.

The water swallowed you whole, wrapping around your body with a painful familiarity, a cruel lover whispering sweet nothings in the form of burning salt and poison. The waves cradled your weightless form, indifferent to your struggle, the current tugging at you like an invitation to let go.

And you did.

You let yourself sink, deeper and deeper, surrendering to the quiet suffocation, trusting that someone would pull you back to the surface. So when Silco pulled you back into his arms, when his hands found you and held you, you let another part of yourself drown. You let it go. You let it die. Left over from you, only what he had chosen to bring back.

And in the end, those waters became your coffin.

Part 16

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I love the baptism scene so there was no way I couldn't include it in this story. Anyway, I was accepted to do an internship at a company so I have this job in addition to college. So let's hope I can keep up the regular updates. Well, I already have an idea of ​​the next chapter and if you guys comment enough I'll give a little spoiler in a post during the week.

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[midgardian-witch]

La Plus Belle Des Malédictions

You're of House Harkonnen, arch nemesis to House Atreides. Your mission was simple: get close to Duke Leto Atreides and end his life.

Your mission was not simple.

This is my Secret Santa gift to the amazing and lovely @winniethewife 🎁

Inspired by the song Ma Meilleure Ennemie by Stromae & Pomme

AO3

tags: Harkonnen!Reader | female Reader | enemies to lovers (kinda) | enemies and lovers | star-crossed lovers | slight angst | knife kink (if you squint) | hopeful ending

ships: Leto Atreides/Reader

word count: 1k

She can't do it.

Maybe her parents were right. Maybe she was too weak. Who in their right mind couldn't find the power to strike down their sworn nemesis?

She was a disgrace to House Harkonnen.

Everything had been planned meticulously. Every gesture, every longing look, every curious tilt of her head. Everything had been choreographed to perfection.

Months of work ruined by her treacherous heart.

What proud child of House Harkonnen would fall in love with an Atreides?

Her hands grip the railing of the balcony, knuckles turning white with fury. How could she be so weak? Love was not part of her vocabulary. Feelings like this were supposed to be locked up or stomped out like a spark that could turn into a wildfire.

And yet.

Realization had hit her when she saw him across the room. He had stood tall amongst the other members of his house, his uniform hugging him in a way that should be indecent. His hair was meticulously combed back, his beard trimmed to perfection and his eyes.

His eyes are her favorite part of him. Such a deep, beautiful color. And the way he commands a room with just a look. She's sure any person would feel weak under that glare.

But the way his eyes lit up when he saw her across the room - that's what plunged a dagger into her heart. That sudden ache of realization. To finally be able to put a word to the feeling that had been haunting her since the beginning of her assignment:

She's in love with Duke Leto Atreides.

A death sentence to a Harkonnen tasked with ending the life of said duke. Unless she went through with it, thrust the dagger hidden under her skirts between his ribs, slash his throat and make her house proud.

The thought alone makes bile rise in her throat. She can't do it. She can't.

So she averted her gaze and hurried away to her current hiding place. The balcony is empty save for her thanks to the strict adherence to decorum of the Houses Major. It’s a beautiful evening, the pale moons of this planet giving everything its light touches an eerie lilac glow - so different from her home.

She lets herself have this one moment to dream, to fantasize about running away with Leto to a planet just like this. Without the uniform, without the shine and shimmer of jewelry and medals, nobody would know who they were. They would simply be two lovers. Nothing more and nothing less.

Tears gather in the corners of her eyes as she weeps silently, grieving a future that would never be hers. Her heart skips a beat when she hears a familiar voice speak her name.

She doesn't dare to turn around.

Duke Leto in all his glory steps behind her, one hand resting on her hip, the other on her hand gripping the railing of the balcony.

“What has you so terrified to flee from the ball, my darling?”

She takes a shuddering breath, desperately trying to compose herself but with him so close the weight of inevitability drags her down.

“You, my love,” she replies, her voice raw with tears.

“Me?” Leto asks, his brow furrowing, “What have I done to make you run from me? I will remedy whatever I have done to scare you so.”

He sounds so earnest, like nothing else matters to him but to be pleasing to her. Like he was not the head of one of the Houses Major but simply a man in love, desperate for her affection.

It makes her heart ache even more.

“It's not what you did. It's what you are, what you…mean…to me. What I must do.”

His hand on her hip explores her body slowly, his touch like fire on her skin as it slips underneath her skirts. “Surely no fault lies with you. Let me repent, my dearest.”

She shakes her head, torn between the promise behind his words and touch and the truth of her purpose. “Leto, please,” she whispers, her words a contradiction to the way her body melts into his touch, “We can't-”

“Nobody will see us here. Let me show you the depth of my affection, my love.”

Her hand reaches down to his, grabbing his wrist softly. “Please, Leto. You don't know what is happening. We can't keep going along this path.”

“Why? Because of this?“

Suddenly she feels a sharpness against her neck, a thin blade pressed softly to her skin, her blade. Her breath is stuck in her throat, her body frozen between the dagger kissing her neck and his lips brushing against her ear.

“I know why you approached me that first time we met. I know what they want you to do,” with one quick movement Leto has turned her around to face him, the hilt of the dagger pressed into her palm, “If that is your will then I will gladly find my end by your hand, my love.”

His eyes burn into hers, determination set into his brows and she believes him. “I can't,” she whispers, tears now streaming down her face.

“What has you so scared then?”

“They will kill me and you. There is no future in this and I-”

“Do you love me?“

His question has her heart racing. She swallows hard and nods.

“Then we will find a way. I am an Atreides. There is no call I do not answer; there is not faith that I betray,” his hands cup her face, the dagger clanging to the ground, “I love you and no House Major, no Emperor is going to take that away.”

She breathes out his name like a blessing and rests her forehead against his. With all his confidence they both know it is not that easy. A union between House Atreides and House Harkonnen would surely anger the Emperor. Two targets on both their backs.

And yet, as he pulls her close, their bodies pressed together like they wanted to be one, she knows in her heart that there is no other path she can walk.

“Do you trust me?” he whispers into her ear, his arms wrapped around her tightly.

“Always.”

“Then stay with me. Stay by my side and I will make sure nobody can tear us apart.”

Her tears stain his uniform, her heart hammering in her chest as she answers: “I will.”

[lividstar]

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ THE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Twelve: Ma Meilleure Ennemie

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎< previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 10k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ The night is electric, filled with fleeting glances, moments of tension, and unspoken words hanging in the air. You find yourself caught in a delicate dance between the past and the present, as old wounds resurface in the most unexpected ways. But just when you think you’ve built a wall strong enough to keep it all out, everything comes crashing down. Who can you trust when even your own heart feels like a stranger? Will you finally face what’s been lurking in the shadows, or will you keep running, hoping the past will stay buried? The answers are closer than you think—but are you ready to hear them?

a/n: the way you can tell this is a belated new yearʼs special... also peep the references hehe

tags: @beabatiny @babymbbatinygirl @vcutparis (ik youʼre not actually on my taglist but i wanted to add you here haha 😅)

Paris glowed as if it were at the very edge of heaven. Streets lined with twinkling fairy lights stretched endlessly, shimmering like stars brought down to earth. The chill of winter softened by the warmth of countless candles flickering in shop windows and the golden glimmer spilling out of bustling cafes. Children darted between the legs of laughing adults, their giggles carried on the crisp evening breeze. Couples strolled hand in hand, their faces illuminated by both the soft light of the decorations and the sheer joy of the season. Fireworks were being prepped along the Seine, their bright colors barely restrained, waiting for the stroke of midnight to explode into celebration.

Yet, amidst all this joy and revelry, there was a quiet heaviness—a void that neither the beauty of Paris nor the energy of the celebrations could fill.

You sat at the edge of your bed, the faint hum of the heater in your apartment the only sound breaking the silence. The festive cheer of the city below felt like a mockery of the hollow ache in your chest. The loneliness that clung to you was suffocating, made worse by the distance between you and Hongjoong. You tried not to think about him, but every laugh that slipped in through your window or every stray cat that crossed the street below brought him to mind. He was everywhere and nowhere all at once, his absence more palpable than any presence could ever be.

Seonghwa’s name suddenly flashed across the screen of your phone, pulling the anchor of your thoughts back to the shore. For a moment, you considered ignoring it altogether—you werenʼt in the mood to do anything at all today, anyway, let alone celebrate the upcoming year. But knowing him, he wouldn’t just leave it at one call—he’d keep trying until you answered. With a shaky breath, you swiped to accept.

“Hello?” Your voice came out quieter than you intended, and you cursed yourself for the way it wavered.

“Hey, I missed you!” Seonghwa’s voice was warm, almost too warm. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”

You forced a small laugh, but it sounded hollow even to your own ears. “As if I could. But… why the sudden phone call?”

There was a pause, brief but charged, before he spoke again. “We’re having a New Year’s Eve party here tonight—and you should definitely come!”

Your heart sank. Of course, he’d call about that. You already knew the agency’s New Year’s event was a big deal, but you hadn’t planned on going. The thought of being in the same room as Hongjoong, pretending everything was fine when it very clearly wasn’t, was almost unbearable.

“I don’t know, Seonghwa...” you began, but he cut you off.

“Listen,” he said gently, “you’ve been cooped up for too long. It’ll be good for you to get out, be around people.”

You bit your lip, your grip tightening on the phone. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t. Being around people wasn’t the problem. Hongjoong was the problem.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” you said, hating how weak you sounded.

Seonghwa sighed, and you could picture him running a hand through his hair, the way he always did when he was trying to be patient. “Itʼs because of Hongjoong, isnʼt it?”

Your breath hitched, and the silence that followed was damning. Of course, he knew. He always knew.

“He’s not going to bother you,” Seonghwa said softly. “I’ll make sure of it. You can stick with me the whole night if you want. Hell, I’ll even block his line of sight if it’ll make you feel better.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, though it was brief and tinged with sadness. “I don’t think that’s physically possible, Seonghwa.” Your fingers tightened around the edge of your desk, your chest tightening. “And it’s not just that,” you admitted. “I don’t know if I can handle pretending to be okay. I feel like I’ll just ruin the mood.”

“Ruin the mood? Are you kidding?” Seonghwa’s laugh was light but not dismissive. “You’re the highlight of any room you walk into. Trust me, no one’s expecting you to put on a show. Just be there.”

Before you could respond, Wooyoung’s voice burst through the receiver. “Hey, I know this phone number!” he beamed before straight up snatching the phone from Seonghwa. “How come youʼre picking up Seonghwaʼs calls and not mine?”

Your eyebrow went up in confusion. “Youʼve been calling me?”

“No, but you should be able to telepathically sense my soul whenever I want you to call me.”

“Wooyoung, give me back my phone!”

“No way! She’s laughing now, thanks to me.”

Despite yourself, you smiled, warmth seeping into the cracks of your heart. “Well, hello to you too, Wooyoung.”

“Hey there,” Wooyoung greeted. “Now, listen up. You’re coming tonight. No arguments. We’re saving you a seat and everything. And you know what? If you cross paths with Hongjoong and things get weird, just yell my name, and I’ll come running. Deal?”

Your smile faltered at the mention of Hongjoong yet again, but Wooyoung didn’t give you a chance to dwell on it. “I mean it,” he continued. “You’ve been MIA, and honestly, we miss you. So, get dressed, look stunning, and show up. That’s an order.”

“Wooyoung,” Seonghwa scolded lightly, “let her decide on her own.”

“Nope,” Wooyoung countered. “She’s coming. End of discussion.”

You wanted to go. You really did. But the thought of walking into that office, of seeing Hongjoong and pretending like everything was fine... It felt impossible. The wound between you wasn’t just fresh—it was still bleeding, raw and unhealed.

What if he ignored you again? What if he didn’t?

That was the cruelest part. You didn’t know what was worse���his cold indifference or the possibility that he’d look at you with anything resembling regret.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, contemplating an excuse to end the call. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Seonghwa. You knew he’d keep his word, stay by your side, shield you from whatever awkwardness might arise. But it wasn’t enough.

Because no matter how much you wanted to deny it, this wasn’t just about Hongjoong avoiding you. It was about the hollow ache in your chest, the way your mind kept replaying that almost-kiss, that devastating moment when he stepped away.

You hated how much you missed him. How much you still cared, despite everything.

But maybe you were being selfish. Maybe you needed to stop wallowing in your own misery and try to move on. Maybe—

“Still there?” Seonghwa’s voice broke through your thoughts, soft but insistent.

“Uh… yeah. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he said, and you could hear the sincerity in his tone. “Just think about it, okay? I really think it’ll do you some good. And if it gets too overwhelming, I’ll take you home myself. No questions asked.”

“Okay,” you said quietly, though you weren’t sure you meant it.

“Promise you’ll think about it?”

“Promise.”

“Good,” Seonghwa said, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice. “And hey, Wooyoung wants to say something to you.”

Wooyoung’s voice came back, loud and chipper. “If you don’t come, I’m eating all the desserts. Every single one. You’ve been warned—mind you, half of these are your favorites!”

You laughed, a genuine one this time. “Noted.”

Meanwhile, at the office, Hongjoong found himself standing beside a table, his hands busy arranging patterned fabrics, though his thoughts were anything but focused on the task at hand. Wooyoung’s voice carried across the room, loud enough to be heard by everyone nearby, including him, making Hongjoong look up in mild surprise, only to see him and Seonghwa engaged in a phone call.

As soon as a laugh echoed faintly through the air from the other line, Hongjoong’s entire world seemed to grind to a halt. It wasn’t even loud—just a soft, almost timid sound—but it hit him like a hurricane.

That laugh.

It was yours.

There was no mistaking it, even after the days of silence that stretched between you like a vast ocean. His hands froze, the patterned cloth he’d been meticulously arranging slipping from his grasp as his breath caught in his throat.

It was ridiculous, really. He’d heard your laugh countless times before, in moments both mundane and extraordinary. But now? Now it felt like a lifeline, a fleeting tether to something he’d been desperately trying to push away yet couldn’t help but crave.

God, how long had it been since he’d heard it? Days? Weeks? It felt like a lifetime. And to think, he’d spent all that time convincing himself that distance was the right thing to do, that staying away from you would somehow make things easier for both of you. What a joke. He wasn’t sure what hurt more—the hollow ache of missing you or the self-inflicted wounds of his own stubbornness.

As your voice murmured something indistinct on the other end of Seonghwa’s phone, Hongjoong felt the sharp sting of longing cut through him like glass. He wanted to hear it more clearly, to hold onto every word, every inflection, as if they could somehow fill the empty spaces you’d left behind. And damn it, he wanted to be the reason you were laughing. Not Wooyoung, not Seonghwa—him. He wanted to be the one who could coax that sound from you, the one you’d turn to when the world felt too heavy or too bright.

For a fleeting, irrational moment, he wanted to march across the room, grab Seonghwa’s phone, and press it to his ear. He wanted to say your name, hear how you’d respond, even if it was with confusion or anger. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t.  

What good would it do? What could he possibly say to you that would make up for everything? For the cold shoulders, the deliberate avoidance, the way he’d pulled away just when things had begun to shift between you two? He was a goddamn hypocrite, and he knew it. He hated himself for it.  

Because the truth was, he didn’t want to keep you at arm’s length. Not even a little. Every fiber of his being screamed against the distance he’d forced between you, begged him to close it, to reach out, to pull you back into the space he’d so selfishly carved out for you in his life. But then that ugly, insidious voice in his head would creep back in, reminding him why he’d done it in the first place.  

What could he offer you? He was a man with flaws, with baggage he wishes not to let you carry. And you... you deserved more than he could give.  

So he kept his distance, even though it killed him. Even though he could feel the cracks widening in the carefully constructed wall he’d built around himself. He told himself it was for your own good, that he was protecting you, even as the lie twisted like a knife in his gut. He didn’t believe it anymore—not really. But admitting that would mean admitting how badly he’d messed up, and he wasn’t sure he had the strength for that.  

Hearing you laugh again, even from afar, was both a balm and a wound. It reminded him of everything he was missing, everything he’d willingly let slip through his fingers. He wanted to fix it, to fix everything, but the fear of making things worse kept him rooted in place.  

The voice of another employee of his—Yunho, broke through the fog in his mind, pulling him back to the present. “Hongjoong? You okay?”  

He nodded stiffly, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah. Just... tired.”  

But as Yunho turned back to his task, Hongjoong’s gaze lingered on Seonghwa. He watched as his friend smiled faintly, clearly amused by something you’d said. And for just a moment, the ache in Hongjoong’s chest flared into something sharper—something dangerously close to jealousy.  

He shook his head, forcing the thought away. This was his choice, wasn’t it? He’d made his bed. Now he had to lie in it, no matter how much it hurt.   

The call ended with Wooyoung’s playful taunts still echoing in your mind, the warmth and humor of his voice a stark contrast to the silence that quickly reclaimed your apartment. You lowered your phone, letting it rest loosely in your hand as your gaze wandered to the window. Outside, the city lights twinkled in celebration of the approaching New Year, but their brightness felt muted, distant. The faint hum of life beyond the glass only highlighted the silence around you, the stillness wrapping itself around your shoulders like a heavy, unwelcome shawl.  

You leaned against the window frame, staring out at the faint reflections of your own eyes in the glass. How long has it been since you let yourself enjoy anything? Since you’d laughed without reservation, without that ache trailing behind it? Days? Weeks? The timeline blurred in your mind, consumed by the fog of isolation.  

It wasn’t just the absence of Hongjoong that weighed on you, though his presence—or lack thereof—was an unshakable specter. It was the guilt of shutting out Seonghwa and Wooyoung, the two people who had always been there for you, unwavering and unrelenting in their support. They didn’t deserve your cold shoulder, yet you had given it to them anyway, consumed by your inability to process your own emotions.  

But even that guilt paled in comparison to the ache you felt for Hongjoong.  

You missed him. There was no denying it, no point in pretending otherwise. You missed his laugh, his rare but heartwarming compliments, the way he’d tilt his head when he was deep in thought. The void he left in your life felt insurmountable, and yet you had no idea how to bridge it. Every attempt at reconciliation seemed doomed from the start, the tension between you so thick it felt almost tangible.  

What if I go and ruin everything? The thought sliced through you like a blade, sharp and unyielding. Would your presence at the party make things worse? Would it sour his mood, dampen his excitement for the New Year?  

But then, Seonghwa’s voice came back to you, his gentle encouragement echoing in your mind. He was right—you couldn’t keep doing this to yourself. You couldn’t keep hiding away, letting the world pass you by while you drowned in your own sorrow. 

With a sigh, you pushed away from the window and headed toward your closet. Each step felt like an act of defiance against the part of you that wanted to stay buried under the covers, but you forced yourself forward. You weren’t going for Hongjoong, you told yourself firmly. You were going for Seonghwa and Wooyoung. For yourself.

As you scanned your closet, fingers brushing over the fabric of your clothes, you tried to suppress the part of you that hoped—prayed—that Hongjoong might notice you. That he might see you, really see you, and understand just how much you missed him.

But that was just wishful thinking, wasn’t it?

Before you could dwell on it further, you grabbed an outfit and set it aside, picking up your phone to send a quick message.  

I’ll be there.  

Thank you for the encouragement :)  

Tell Wooyoung we’ll be competing on who can eat the largest amount of food by the end of the party!

The response came almost instantly.  

knew you would cave in lol

this is woo btw  

and don’t be too confident, i won’t even give you a chance to win >:)

A small smile tugged at your lips as you read the message. You set your phone down, grabbed your outfit, and headed to the bathroom. Tonight, you weren’t going to let the weight of the past hold you back.

But deep down, you couldn’t deny the truth.

You wanted to see him. Even if it was from a distance.

—

The clatter of chairs and tables echoed through the expansive room as Hongjoong stood at the center of the chaos, his sharp eyes tracking every movement. Employees walked around, fixing decorations, adjusting lights, and arranging catering setups. The air was filled with the subtle hum of excitement, yet he felt oddly detached from it all. He issued instructions left and right, his voice professional and commanding, but beneath his composed exterior, his thoughts churned relentlessly. 

The memory of Seonghwa’s phone call from earlier kept replaying in his mind, an endless loop of voices and laughter that wasn’t meant for him to hear. He had caught snippets of Wooyoung’s playful banter, the sound of your distant chuckle, faint but unmistakable. He’d wondered if they were trying to convince you to come to the party. He prayed they were. The idea of you not being there made his chest feel hollow. 

He tried to focus on the present, on the tasks at hand, but his mind stubbornly returned to you. Were you debating whether or not to show up? The last time you spoke, things were left unresolved, painful and raw. He knew you had every right to avoid him. Hell, if he were in your shoes, he wouldn’t blame you for staying as far away as possible. But selfishly, he wanted to see you. 

No, he needed to see you.

His stomach twisted at the thought of you deciding not to come. He couldn’t bear it. He imagined what you might wear tonight, how effortlessly stunning you’d look, and the ache in his heart deepened. If things had been different—if he hadn’t been such an absolute asshole—he would’ve spent the evening showering you with compliments, unable to hold back the admiration he always felt when you were near. 

But he’d ruined that.

The guilt gnawed at him, almost unbearable in its intensity. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. Were you going to take the bus? He hated the thought of you braving the crowded streets alone on a night like this. A part of him toyed with the idea of showing up at your apartment unannounced, offering to drive you himself. But he dismissed the thought almost immediately. You hated him—he was certain of it. The last thing he wanted was to make things worse.

Still, the worry lingered. He had no idea if you were okay, if you’d even decided to leave your apartment.

“Hyung, do you mind? You’re in the way,” a sharp voice interrupted his spiraling thoughts. Hongjoong turned to see Wooyoung, sleeves rolled up as he adjusted the trays of pastries on the table. The younger man’s expression was irritated, though that was nothing new.

“Hey, wait—”

Wooyoung turned with an exasperated look, his brows furrowing as his eyes landed on Hongjoong. “What now?” he asked flatly. “I’m busy, you know.”

“Please,” Hongjoong began, his tone unusually soft, almost pleading. “Just hear me out.”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, skepticism written all over his face. “This better be worth my time. What is it?”

Hongjoong swallowed hard, his throat feeling dry. “I wanted to apologize,” he said quietly. “For that day. For how I acted. I was out of line, and I feel fucking horrible about it. I shouldn’t have taken my frustrations out on you, and I know everything I said was unjustifiable. I understand your behavior towards me, and I—”

Wooyoung studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighed and shrugged. “I didn’t really mind your attitude that day. You were being a jerk, yeah, but I’ve dealt with worse. What really bothered me then, though, was the way you were treating her.”

Hongjoong flinched at the mention of you, guilt hitting him like a tidal wave.

“So, if we go by my logic,” Wooyoung continued, crossing his arms, “since you’re still acting like a bastard towards her, I’m still mad at you.”

Hongjoong nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know. You’re right.”

Wooyoung’s gaze softened slightly, though his tone remained firm. “So, what’s the catch, then? What do you want from me?”

“I just…” Hongjoong hesitated, glancing away. “Is she coming tonight?”

Wooyoung blinked, clearly taken aback. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why do you care?”

Hongjoong exhaled slowly, struggling to find the right words. “Because…” He paused, his shoulders slumping. “Because I need to know. If she’s here, I—”

“You’ll stay away from her,” Wooyoung cut in sharply, his voice cold. “I’m not letting you ruin her night. She doesn’t deserve that.”

Hongjoong nodded without hesitation. “I understand.”

Wooyoung studied him for a moment before his expression softened just a fraction. “If my guess on what youʼre so worried about is correct—Seonghwa will be picking her up. She won’t have to worry about the bus or anything like that.”

Relief flooded Hongjoong’s features. “Thank you.”

As he turned to leave, Wooyoung grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “Listen to me, hyung,” he said, his voice low but firm. “This is your only chance to fix things with her. If you screw this up, you’re going to lose her forever. Do you understand?”

Hongjoong’s chest tightened as he nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Wooyoung said, releasing his arm. “Don’t waste it.”

—

You stood in front of the mirror, your reflection staring back at you with an intensity that made your stomach churn. The sleek fabric of your outfit hugged your beautiful form in all the right places, the color complementing your complexion perfectly. Your hair fell just the way you wanted it to, framing your face delicately. Yet, no matter how much you adjusted the hem of your dress or smoothed down nonexistent creases, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

Your hands nervously fidgeted at your sides before moving to smooth your hair again. “Does this even look good?” you muttered under your breath, biting your lip. The anxious energy buzzing inside you was unusual—normally, you weren’t the type to obsess over your appearance. You had a certain confidence about these things, but tonight felt different.

You turned to the side, checking the outfit from another angle, then turned back to face the mirror. Why were you so worked up over this? It wasn’t like you were trying to impress anyone. But the longer you stood there, the more the answer lingered just below the surface, teasing you with its obviousness.

Deep down, you knew.

Hongjoong.

You shook your head at yourself, scolding the foolishness brewing in your heart. Why did you care so much about what he might think? Why were you secretly hoping he’d notice you? You let out a humorless laugh, pressing your fingers against the cool surface of the vanity. You didn’t even know if you wanted him to approach you tonight. The memory of your last interaction was still fresh, a wound that hadn’t fully scabbed over.

But some small, ridiculous part of you hoped—prayed—that maybe, just maybe, things could be different tonight. That maybe he’d look at you the way he used to, with that spark of admiration in his eyes. Maybe he’d find the courage to talk to you, to apologize properly, to explain why he’d hurt you the way he did. Maybe he’d—

Your thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of your phone on the countertop. The screen lit up with Seonghwa’s name and a message that read:

I’m outside.

Walking to the window, you peered outside and saw him leaning casually against his car. When his eyes caught yours, he grinned and waved enthusiastically, his free hand raised high above his head. The sight of his childlike excitement made you chuckle softly, and you returned the wave.

Grabbing your purse, you cast one last glance at the mirror, adjusting your earrings before slipping on your heels. As you made your way out the door, you kept telling yourself to stop overthinking. Tonight wasn’t about Hongjoong—it couldn’t be. This was your chance to let go of everything, if only for a few hours.

Inside the elevator, you leaned against the wall, staring blankly at the buttons as the floors ticked by. When the elevator stopped on the third floor, Madame Dupont stepped in, her sharp eyes immediately lighting up when she saw you.

“My dear!” she exclaimed, her voice warm with surprise. “Look at you! You look stunning.”

Her genuine excitement brought a shy smile to your lips. “Bonsoir, Madame Dupont,” you greeted, inclining your head politely.

“What’s the occasion? You don’t usually dress up like this,” she teased, though her tone carried more curiosity than mockery.

You hesitated for a moment, shifting your weight. “My friends invited me to a New Year’s party. I thought… maybe it’s time I went out and let myself breathe a little.”

Her expression softened, her wrinkled eyes glimmering with something akin to pride. “That’s wonderful to hear, my dear. You deserve it, truly.” Before you could say anything else, she pulled you into a brief but firm hug, her perfume—sweet and floral—wrapping around you like a blanket.

When the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, she squeezed your hand gently. “Have fun tonight,” she said with a smile. “You’ve earned it.”

You nodded, touched by her words. “Merci, Madame Dupont. I’ll try.”

The cool night air greeted you as you stepped outside. Seonghwa was quick to spot you, his entire face lighting up as he waved like an overexcited child. “There she is!” he called out, his voice laced with exaggerated enthusiasm.

You laughed, walking toward him. “You didn’t have to make it that obvious that you missed me, you know.”

“Oh, but I did,” he said with a grin as he opened the passenger door for you. “It’s been far too long since we hung out properly.”

You slid into the car, murmuring a soft “thank you” as you adjusted your dress. But as you settled in, the familiar setting triggered a memory you weren’t prepared for—the last time you were in Hongjoong’s car. You remembered the way he’d glanced at you during that drive, how the silence between you had been heavy but not uncomfortable. How things had been… easier.

The smile you’d been wearing faltered slightly. You really missed him.

But tonight wasn’t about him. You couldn’t let it be.

Seonghwa slipped into the driver’s seat and immediately noticed the change in your demeanor. Though he didn’t say anything, his brows furrowed slightly in concern. “So,” he began, steering the conversation away from whatever was on your mind, “you’ve missed a lot lately.”

“Oh?” you asked, forcing your focus back to him.

“Yeah,” he said, his tone turning light and teasing. “You missed Wooyoung accidentally sending a mass email to the wrong group. He meant to send it to the marketing team, but instead, the IT department got a very detailed report about catering options.”

You chuckled softly. “Let me guess—he blamed it on the system?”

“Of course he did. And don’t even get me started on Mingi and his latest prank. He replaced all of Yeosang’s post-it notes with ones that had motivational quotes in Comic Sans.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the image. “Sounds like I’ve missed quite a bit of chaos.”

“Oh, you have,” Seonghwa agreed with a grin. But as the conversation lulled, your curiosity got the better of you. “What about Hongjoong?” you asked hesitantly.

Seonghwa’s expression softened, a knowing look crossing his features. “He’s… different lately,” he admitted after a pause. “Not as talkative as he used to be. He’s professional, sure, but there’s something missing. He’s not himself.”

Worry gnawed at you, but Seonghwa reached over to pat your arm reassuringly. “Don’t think about it too much tonight, okay? Let’s just focus on having fun.”

You nodded, though his words did little to ease the tightness in your chest. You wished it were that easy. You truly did.

—

Hongjoong’s fingers curled around the edge of the sink, his reflection staring back at him with a mixture of frustration and nervousness. The soft hum of the fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, matching the unsettled rhythm of his thoughts. His hair refused to cooperate, each strand mocking his futile attempts to tame it. He combed his fingers through the dark locks for what felt like the hundredth time, letting out a low growl of irritation.

“Why now?” he muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes at the rebellious strands. Of all nights, it had to be this one where he couldn’t look as put-together as he wanted.

But deep down, he knew it wasn’t just about the hair. No amount of fixing or adjusting could cover up the restlessness gnawing at his chest. Tonight was different. Tonight, you were here.

The thought made his stomach twist in an uncomfortable knot. His gaze flickered down to his hands, knuckles white against the sink’s edge.

“Why do you care so much?” he asked himself, the question lingering in the air like a stubborn shadow. He already knew the answer—he just didn’t want to say it out loud.

You hadn’t spoken in weeks, not properly. Not since the argument that had left things hanging in the air, unresolved and heavy. And yet, here he was, fussing over his appearance like a teenager before their first dance.

It was foolish, wishful even, but a part of him hoped that tonight… maybe things would be different. Maybe your eyes would find his across the room. Maybe you’d exchange even just a glance.

The muffled sound of Wooyoung’s voice drifted through the door, jolting him out of his thoughts.

“You’re finally here!”

His body stiffened.

You were here.

“Shit,” he hissed, running a hand over his face before straightening his posture. He took one last look in the mirror, smoothing out the creases in his blazer. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

The moment he stepped out of the bathroom, the atmosphere shifted. The harsh fluorescent lights dimmed, replaced by the soft glow of multi-colored LEDs that washed over the venue in a dreamlike haze. Music played faintly in the background, mingling with the hum of conversations and the occasional burst of laughter.

But Hongjoong wasn’t focused on any of that. His eyes darted through the crowd, scanning the sea of faces for one in particular.

Before he could spot you, the stage lights flickered on, illuminating the small platform he had set up in the center of the room. Seonghwa stood there, microphone in hand, his presence commanding attention as he greeted the crowd.

“Good evening, everyone!” Seonghwa’s voice was warm and inviting, drawing cheers and applause from the guests. “Thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate not just the end of the year, but also the incredible milestones we’ve achieved together. It’s an honor to have so many talented and inspiring individuals gathered here.”

The applause swelled, and Seonghwa smiled, pausing for effect before continuing. “Now, I won’t keep you from enjoying the night, but before we get started, I’d like to call up someone very important to say a few words—our host, the man behind it all… Kim Hongjoong!”

The room erupted into cheers as Seonghwa gestured toward him, and Hongjoong felt a surge of anxiety spike through his chest. He wasn’t one to get stage fright, but the thought of speaking while you were out there, somewhere in the crowd, made his throat tighten.

He forced a small smile as he stepped onto the stage, his usual confidence faltering under the weight of his own thoughts.

“Thank you, Seonghwa,” he began, his voice steady but lacking its usual vibrancy. “And thank you all for being here tonight. This year has been nothing short of extraordinary, and it’s all thanks to the hard work and dedication of everyone in this room.”

His words were genuine, heartfelt, but as he continued, his eyes couldn’t stop flickering across the crowd, searching. He tried to keep his composure, but the way his gaze kept shifting didn’t go unnoticed by a few observant guests.

“Tonight is not just about reflecting on our successes but also about looking forward to the future. I hope this evening will serve as a reminder of the creativity, passion, and drive that brought us all together. Let’s welcome the new year with open arms and make it even better than the last.”

The applause was loud, appreciative, but Hongjoong barely heard it. His eyes finally landed on you.

And you were looking back at him.

For a moment, everything else seemed to blur—time, sound, the crowd around you both. His heart stuttered in his chest, and his grip on the microphone tightened.

“I…” He paused, clearing his throat to steady himself. “I hope you all have fun tonight. Thank you.”

The crowd cheered again as he stepped off the stage, but the moment had already left him shaken. Across the room, Wooyoung nudged your shoulder gently. “Hey, you okay?”

You blinked, startled out of your thoughts, and turned to him with a faint smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Wooyoung didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? You kind of zoned out there for a second.”

You hesitated, your eyes flickering toward the stage where Hongjoong had stood moments ago. “It’s just… there are so many high-profile people here. I feel like I don’t belong.”

“Bullshit,” Wooyoung said bluntly, earning a surprised laugh from you. “Sorry for the language, but yeah, that’s total bullshit. You belong here just as much as anyone else.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not.” He crossed his arms, giving you a pointed look. “Look around. People are literally noticing you left and right. You’re the star tonight.”

Before you could respond, a nearby conversation caught your attention.

“Who’s that stunning mademoiselle over there?” a woman whispered, her gaze fixed on you.

“She’s one of Mr. Kimʼs newest models,” her assistant replied, earning a smile of approval from the woman.

Wooyoung grinned triumphantly. “See? I told you.”

You shook your head, trying to suppress a smile. “You’re reaching, Woo.”

Before he could argue further, someone from across the room called out his name, and you turned to see a tall man waving enthusiastically.

“Soobin!” Wooyoung called back, his face lighting up.

You nudged him gently. “Go say hi.”

Wooyoung hesitated, glancing back at you. “Are you sure? My priority tonight is—”

“I’ll be fine,” you reassured him. “Go. Catch up with your friend.”

It took a little more convincing, but eventually, Wooyoung relented, leaving you alone in the crowd, telling you to stay safe before heading towards the other corner of the room. And as much as you hated to admit it, you wanted the chance to see Hongjoong—keeping Wooyoung around would lower your chances. You weren’t sure what you’d say or do, but the pull was undeniable.

The music swelled, filling the air with a hauntingly beautiful melody that sent shivers cascading down your spine. You recognized the song instantly—Ma Meilleure Ennemie.

Its delicate notes carried a tension that mirrored the one steadily growing in your chest. Each rise and fall of the rhythm felt like it was echoing the flutter of your heartbeat, unstable and erratic.

The lights dimmed and flickered in sync with the music, casting shifting hues of red, blue, and purple over the crowd. The once vibrant room was now a kaleidoscope of moving silhouettes, their faces obscured by the moody lighting and the fog created by the haze machine. You moved cautiously through the throng of people, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

With every step, you felt smaller. The towering presence of high-profile figures, their laughter and animated conversations, created an invisible barrier that was difficult to breach. These were people who belonged here—artists, designers, and models who were not only established but celebrated. They mingled with ease, their confidence palpable, while you felt like an imposter wandering through a world you didn’t quite belong to.

You clenched your fingers around the fabric of your dress, the smooth satin offering little comfort against the gnawing self-doubt creeping into your thoughts.

“Excusez-moi.”

A deep voice startled you, and you turned to see an elegantly dressed man with salt-and-pepper hair and a sharp, tailored suit. He looked every bit the part of a veteran in the fashion industry.

“You are one of Monsieur Kim’s models, no?” he asked, his French accent rolling off his tongue smoothly.

You forced a polite smile, nodding. “Yes, I am.”

“Ah,” he said, his smile warm but scrutinizing, his eyes scanning you as if evaluating your worth. “I thought so. You have a certain... presence. Unique.”

His words, though intended as a compliment, made your skin prickle with unease. You managed to thank him before he moved on, but the encounter left you feeling even more out of place.

As you continued walking, more people stopped you. Some were kind, their words of admiration genuine, but others were probing, their questions sharp and loaded.

“How long have you been modeling?”

“Which agency represents you?”

“Do you think you’re prepared for a career this demanding?”

The last question lingered in your mind long after the conversation ended, gnawing at the cracks in your composure. Am I prepared?

Someone brushes past you, stepping on your foot in the process. You hissed in pain, stumbling back and clutching your arm to steady yourself.

“Apologies!” the person called out over their shoulder, but their apology was lost in the sea of voices and music.

You backed away further, retreating to the edges of the room where the lights weren’t as harsh, and the crowd wasn’t as suffocating. The thrum of conversations and laughter seemed louder now, drowning out the melody of the song that once comforted you.

Your breathing grew shallow, the edges of your vision narrowing as anxiety took root. Your hands trembled slightly as you pressed one against your chest, trying to ground yourself.

Maybe you shouldn’t have sent Wooyoung off…

The thought barely formed in your mind before you decided to leave the crowd altogether. You turned, intending to slip away unnoticed, when a warm hand closed gently around your forearm.

“Wait—”

The touch was familiar, so much so that your heart skipped a beat. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

It was Hongjoong.

Slowly, you turned to face him, and the sight that greeted you nearly knocked the air from your lungs.

Even under the shifting, dim lights, he looked strikingly handsome. His dark hair, though slightly tousled, framed his sharp features perfectly. The tailored blazer he wore fit him impeccably, accentuating his slim build and exuding an understated elegance. But it wasn’t just his appearance—it was the way he held himself, a quiet intensity in his gaze that felt almost magnetic.

He was slightly out of breath, his chest rising and falling as if he’d been rushing. You couldn’t help but wonder—had he been searching for you? The idea made your heart clench with conflicting emotions.

“I…” You opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come. You had hoped to catch a glimpse of him tonight, to admire him from a distance and leave it at that. But now, with him standing this close, your resolve crumbled.

Hongjoong’s grip on your arm loosened, but his hand lingered as if afraid you might vanish if he let go completely. “Please,” he said softly, his voice almost drowned out by the music and chatter around you. “Can we talk? Just for a moment.”

You hesitated, glancing around at the crowd before meeting his gaze again. “Hongjoong, I don’t think this is the time or place—”

“Then tell me when,” he interrupted, his voice firm but laced with urgency. “Tell me where, and I’ll be there. Just… don’t push me away like this. Please. I’m begging you.” His hand tightened ever so slightly on your arm, his desperation evident in the way his brows furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as if to hold back words that might spill out too quickly.

Your hesitation deepened, your heart warring against your mind. This is a mistake. He’s a mistake. But… why does it hurt to see him like this?

“I donʼt…” you began, your voice faltering as your resolve threatened to give way.

“I know I’ve hurt you,” he continued, his voice trembling with emotion. “I know I’ve failed you in ways I can’t even begin to explain. But if you walk away now, if you don’t let me fix this—” His voice broke, and he exhaled shakily, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. Don’t let this end here. Just one conversation. That’s all I’m asking for.”

You bit your lip, your chest tightening at the rawness of his plea. You wanted to say no, to walk away and preserve the fragile walls you’d built around yourself. But the sincerity in his eyes, the cracks in his usually composed demeanor, made it impossible.

This is dangerous, you thought, your mind screaming at you to pull away. But your heart had already decided.

You sighed, nodding slowly. “Fine,” you whispered, the single word barely audible over the noise around you. Relief washed over his face, and for a moment, you hated how much it softened something inside you.

The moment Hongjoong’s hand tightened around your arm and he led you toward the nearest exit, your feet faltered. Panic mixed with confusion, and you instinctively pulled back, halting him in his tracks.

He turned to face you, a flicker of concern flashing in his eyes as he noticed your resistance. His brows knit together, and his lips parted to question you, but you spoke first.

“Hongjoong,” you began, your voice a mixture of firm and hesitant, “you have guests. This is your event. You can’t just leave them here like this. What if they notice you’re gone? What if it leaves a bitter taste in their mouths? They’re—”

“I don’t give a damn about what they think,” he interrupted, his tone sharp yet desperate. His voice cracked ever so slightly, and it was enough to make you pause. “To hell with it if they think I’m irresponsible. I don’t care if they’re disappointed, or if they whisper behind my back. All I care about is you—just you. I need you to talk to me tonight—that’s all that matters. So, please…”

The intensity in his gaze, the way his voice broke on the word please, made your chest tighten painfully. You sighed, defeated by his resolve but unwilling to make this easy for him.

When he reached for your arm again, you took a step back, hiding it behind you as you shook your head. “You don’t have to drag me with you,” you said, your tone cold but your heart racing. “I have two feet that function perfectly fine, you know.”

For a moment, his face fell—hurt flashed across his features so quickly it was almost imperceptible, but you saw it. And as much as it made guilt twist in your stomach, you knew you had every right to set boundaries. After all, he had been the one to build the fire between the two of you, only to extinguish it when you were most vulnerable.

Still, he nodded, accepting your terms without argument. A couple of minutes later, you found yourself stepping into his office on the highest floor of the building.

The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of the city lights seeping in through the large floor-to-ceiling windows. Papers were scattered across his desk, some even littering the floor. It wasn’t dirty, but it wasn’t the meticulously organized space you remembered from your last visit. The disarray was a stark contrast to the Hongjoong you knew—or thought you knew.

He closed the door behind him, the soft click echoing in the silence. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to suffocate.

“I know,” he began, his voice low and rough, “that I’ve been a mess. That I’ve been unfair to you.” He turned toward you, his hands twitching at his sides as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “I’m not going to stand here and pretend like I haven’t made mistakes. I have. I’ve made so many mistakes.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, leaning against the desk to steady yourself. “Then why?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. “Why did you do it? Why did you build this thing between us only to tear it apart?”

Hongjoong’s shoulders sagged, and he ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “Because I was scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “That night… at your doorstep… I almost kissed you. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But I was standing at the edge of a cliff, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to fall.”

His words sent a sharp pang through your chest. “So you weren’t scared to fall when you were dancing with me at the flower shop?” you demanded, your voice trembling. “When you’d look at me like I was the only person in the world? When you kept lighting the fire between us? You weren’t scared to do all of that, but the moment we almost kissed, suddenly you’re scared?”

He flinched at your words, and for a brief moment, you saw the guilt etched into his features.

“I was scared of what it meant,” he confessed, his voice rising slightly in desperation. “I was terrified, because I didn’t know what would happen if I let myself fall for you. I thought if I stayed away, I’d be sparing you—”

“Sparing me?” you interrupted, your voice rising as tears stung your eyes. “Sparing me from what, Hongjoong? From feeling like I was nothing to you? From crying myself to sleep because the one person I trusted to stay decided to leave? You weren’t sparing me. You were sparing yourself.”

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession. “I know, and I hate myself for it. But I couldn’t—”

“Couldn’t what?” you snapped, your chest heaving as the floodgates burst. “Couldn’t handle the thought of being vulnerable? Couldn’t deal with the possibility of getting hurt? Newsflash, Hongjoong: you hurt me. You left me to deal with everything on my own while you ran away. What are you so scared of?”

“I’ve spent so much of my life building walls, focusing on my work, convincing myself that I didn’t need anyone. But you…” He took a shaky step toward you. “You made me want more. And it terrified me.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” you snapped, your voice cracking as tears burned at the corners of your eyes. “Do you have any idea how much you hurt me? You pulled me in, Hongjoong. You made me believe in something I didn’t think I could have. And then you pushed me away like I was nothing.”

He winced, his head hanging low. “I know,” he said softly. “I know I was an asshole. I know I shouldn’t have waited this long to talk to you. But—”

“It’s not too late,” you cut him off, your voice quieter but no less firm. “It’s just that you could’ve done this sooner. You had every chance to speak to me, and you didn’t. Why only now?”

He stepped closer, his eyes searching yours for a sign of forgiveness. “Because I’ve realized that I can’t keep running from this. From you. I don’t care how long it takes or how hard it is—I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. To fix us. Just tell me how, and I’ll do it. Please…”

His voice broke, and the raw emotion in it shattered the last of your defenses. All the pain, resentment, and longing you had bottled up came rushing to the surface.

“You don’t get to just say that and expect everything to be okay!” you cried, your voice rising as tears spilled down your cheeks. “Do you know how many nights I stayed up thinking about you? About what I did wrong—and why I wasn’t enough?”

Hongjoong reached for you, pulling you into his arms despite your attempts to push him away. You pounded your fists weakly against his chest, but he didn’t let go. His hands cradled the back of your head, his lips pressing softly against your temple as you sobbed into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so, so sorry. You were always enough. More than enough. This is on me. All of it.”

Your fists stilled against his chest, and you let out a choked sob, clinging to him as all the anger and frustration poured out of you.

He held you tighter, his presence grounding you even as your emotions threatened to drown you. And in that moment, you realized that as much as you wanted to hate him, as much as you wanted to push him away—you couldn’t. Not entirely.

The silence between you stretched thin, taut like a wire ready to snap. Hongjoong’s arms remained firmly around you, his hands gently gripping your arms as if afraid you might slip away. His gaze bore into you, raw and pleading, but you couldn’t look at him without feeling the sting of all the nights you cried over his absence.

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he began, his voice hoarse as though the words clawed their way out of him. “But I’m here now, and I’m begging you. Just—please, let me fix this. Let me fix us. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

You pulled back slightly, enough to meet his eyes, and the sight of him broke your heart all over again. His eyes were glassy, brimmed with tears he was clearly fighting to hold back. The vulnerability in his expression was a stark contrast to the confident, composed man you thought you knew.

“And what if it’s not enough?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “What if no matter how hard you try, it won’t erase the pain you’ve caused? Do you even realize what you did to me, Hongjoong?”

“I do,” he said quickly, embracing you even tighter as though afraid you’d vanish if he let go. “I know I broke you. I know I left you alone when you needed me most. And I’ll never forgive myself for that. But I swear, I’ll never make that mistake again. Just tell me how to fix this—tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “You say that now, but what about when things get hard again? Will you run away then too? Will you leave me to pick up the pieces while you figure out how to handle your emotions?”

“No,” he said firmly, his voice rising with desperation. “I won’t. I know I’ve been a coward, and I know I don’t deserve your trust, but I’ll earn it back. I’ll prove to you that I’m not the same person who hurt you. I… Iʼll admit I really thought placing a wall between us was the solution. I thought I was doing the right thing. But I was wrong. So fucking wrong. I’ve spent every single day regretting it, hating myself for the pain I caused you. And I’m here now because I can’t keep living like this—I can’t keep living without you, goddamnit.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, threatening to pull you under. You wanted to believe him, to let yourself fall into the safety of his arms, but the scars he left on your heart made it impossible to trust him fully.

Still, you wanted to.

“I hate you, you know,” you said, your voice trembling as the words spilled out like shards of glass. Each one was sharp, cutting through the silence, through the air that seemed too thick to breathe. Tears ran down your cheeks in an unrelenting stream, and you didn’t bother to wipe them away. Your fists clenched at your sides, the tremor in them betraying the rawness of your emotions.

“I hate how you left me in the middle of a path I was unfamiliar with,” you continued, your tone rising with every syllable. “I hate how much of a coward you are. I hate how you made me believe there was something between us, only for you to act like there wasn’t. I hate how you kept me wondering why I wasn’t enough for you to stay.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, and you felt yourself breaking all over again, like a dam collapsing under the weight of too much pressure.

“But…” You paused, choking on the lump in your throat. “But mostly, I hate the way I don’t hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.”

The admission hung in the air, a fragile truth that seemed to silence everything around you. And as the words left your lips, you let your arms find their way around his figure, clinging to him with a desperation that mirrored the ache your heart felt.

You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt. His arms came around you almost instinctively, holding you tightly as though afraid you might slip away if he loosened his grip even slightly. The faint, familiar scent of him—the one you’d tried so hard to forget—engulfed you, pulling you deeper into the spiral of emotions you’d fought to keep at bay.

You idiot, you thought to yourself, you absolute fool.

You had come here tonight to forget him, to push the memories of him into a corner of your mind you could lock away forever. Yet here you were, sobbing into his chest like the heartache of the past weeks hadn’t been enough. You hated how much you’d missed him, how much you still craved the safety of his arms even after everything he’d put you through.

Hongjoong held you close, his own chest tightening with every sob that wracked your body. He rested his cheek against the crown of your head, his breath hitching as he tried to steady himself. How could he have done this to you?

The sight of you like this—so fragile, so broken—was a knife to his heart. And knowing he was the one who had caused this pain made the guilt nearly unbearable. He’d spent weeks convincing himself that pushing you away was the right thing to do, that he was protecting himself, protecting you. But standing here now, with you trembling in his arms, he realized how horribly wrong he’d been.

The fears that had haunted him for so long—the fear of being abandoned again, of opening his heart only to have it shattered—no longer mattered. Because nothing, no ghost from his past, no amount of uncertainty, was more important than you.

He didnʼt care anymore. He didnʼt care about anything but you.

He closed his eyes, his lips pressing softly against your temple. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “For everything. For hurting you, for being a coward. I’m so sorry, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me.”

You sniffled, lifting your head slightly from his chest. His hands moved instinctively, one cupping your face while the other rested on your waist, steadying you. His thumb brushed away the tear tracks on your cheek, and when you finally met his gaze, the raw vulnerability in his eyes made your breath catch.

Hongjoong looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, his own tears threatening to spill over. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. He didn’t need to speak; the emotions in his eyes said everything.

And against your better judgment, against every ounce of self-preservation you’d tried to cling to, you found yourself leaning in.

The moment your lips met, it was as though the world outside ceased to exist. The kiss was slow but full of urgency, a culmination of every unspoken word, every suppressed feeling, every moment of longing that had built up between you.

Fireworks exploded in the distance, the sound echoing through the air as the clock struck twelve.

The kiss was not rushed, nor was it perfect; it was trembling, raw, and unpolished. It was the kind of kiss that could only come from a place of deep yearning, a place where words had failed and only touch could suffice.

Hongjoong’s lips were soft against yours, moving with an unspoken gentleness that contradicted the storm of emotions swirling between you. It wasn’t about passion or desire—it was about connection, about pouring every unsaid word and buried feeling into this single, fragile moment. His touch was tentative at first, like he was afraid you might pull away, but when you didn’t, he kissed you deeper, his hands steadying you as if to anchor you both.

The world around you seemed to dissolve into nothingness. The distant sound of fireworks faded into a muffled hum, the sharp chill of the night forgotten. All that remained was the warmth of his lips and the way your heart thundered in your chest, not from nerves but from the overwhelming sensation of being wholly, undeniably seen.

His hand cupped your cheek with a reverence that made you feel like you were something sacred, something he was terrified of breaking yet couldn’t bear to let go of. His thumb brushed against your skin, a subtle, tender movement that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

For the first time in weeks, the ache in your chest began to ease, replaced by a bittersweet warmth that spread through your entire being. The kiss wasn’t just an apology; it was a confession, a plea, a promise. It carried every moment you’d spent apart, every sleepless night, every tear you’d shed. It was as though he was trying to stitch back together every broken piece of your heart, not with grand gestures but with the simplicity of his presence and the sincerity in his touch.

And you kissed him back just as softly, your movements hesitant but full of meaning. It wasn’t forgiveness—not yet—but it was a surrender. A quiet acknowledgement that no matter how much he had hurt you, no matter how hard you had tried to let him go, he was still there, embedded in every corner of your heart.

You could feel his tears against your skin, hot and unrelenting, as they mixed with your own. Yet, he didn’t pull away; he stayed, pressing closer as though afraid that even a breath of space might shatter this fragile moment. His lips trembled against yours, betraying his vulnerability, his desperation, his overwhelming relief.

It was soft, painfully so, like the brush of a feather or the first tentative notes of a love song. And yet, it carried the weight of everything—the pain, the longing, the fear, and the undeniable truth that no matter how broken the two of you had been, you were still standing here, together, trying.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads nearly pressed together, both of you breathing heavily, as though the kiss had stolen every ounce of air from your lungs. His eyes met yours, glistening with unshed tears, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw him—truly saw him. Not the man who had hurt you, not the coward who had run away, but the boy you had once fallen for, the boy who was still fighting to be worthy of you.

Coming to terms with what just happened, your cheeks flushed, and it seems he still noticed it despite the dim, ambient surroundings engulfing both of you, given the way he smiled.

And in that moment, as the bright hues of fireworks lit up the sky, you realized something: this wasn’t an ending. It wasn’t even a beginning. It was a moment suspended in time, a fragile, imperfect truce between two hearts that refused to let go of each other, no matter how much they had tried.

🎞️ — lividstar.

[ange-writes-if]

｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ LINKS: - DEMO - PINTEREST (TBA) -

[ this is a secondary wip! my main project is Unwilling Souls on @unwilling-souls-if ]

Spring Panic is an interactive story about a talented and affection-depraved spellcaster, with elements of slice-of-life. Navigate through ancestral feuds and familial pressure in a colourful magic world. You'll have to deal with extremely serious matters, such as choosing the meal of your talking cat or what flowers to grow in your garden.

Follow and shape the Main Character from birth to early adulthood, and become the best witch this world has ever seen (or don't. Maybe you'll crave something else 🌟)

TW: The game contains depictions of emotional neglect (of the MC and their brother), (optional teenage) alcohol and drug comsumption, references to bullying.

｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ CUSTOMIZABLE PARTS:

~their name

~ gender identity with separate pronouns, and the ability to transition between childhood and teenagehood, or during teenagehood

~ general physical appearance

~ most relationships

~ magical preferences

｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ SET PARTS:

~ emotionnally stumped by anxiety and pressure

~ their love for their little brother and their best friend

~ sensory issues and overloads

~THE FAUNEUS FAMILY— yours. [ detailed post here ]

~GATSBY. Your familiar. He's a talking black cat. And a prick.

~SANEM. A tired spirit that haunts the woods of your middle and high school. They're bored and sardonic, but at least they're like that with everyone and not just you.

~THE COUNCIL. [ detailed post TBA ]

~THE VYPERLYN FAMILY— the one your family hates. [ detailed post TBA ]

note: the story follows the MC's life. Some ROs are met during their childhood, some later.

note pt2: detailed character sheets will be posted later for each RO.

｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ CERISE. (she/her, only romanceables by f!mc and nb!mc)

tropes: childhood friends to lovers, idiots in love

-Character sheet-

Cerise is the daughter of a witch and a fairy. The both of you had no friends. What started as a tentative first-try at friendship quickly became an unbreakable bond. Cerise wiped your tears more times than you could count, and you held her hand during hard times.

｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ BARTHELEMY "Please-don't-call-me-Barty" VYPERLYN (he/him)

tropes: academic rivals to lovers, possible one-sided ennemies to lovers, Romeo and Juliet/ stars-crossed lovers

Barthelemy has been made your rival by your families, your schoolmates, and the council. When they come back from a childhood abroad, they immeditaly snatch the first place that you occupied. Oddly enough, he's one of the few people that treat you with respect.

｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ DAPHNE (she/her)

tropes: enemies to lovers, ice queen, forbidden love

Daphne is a fairy. More than that, she's the fairy that everyone loves and fawns over. She smiles and backstabs like she breathes, and she has dug her nails in the metaphorical throne of Amaranth Institute. She wants you out of her way, but you recognize in her the familiar cracks caused by unbearable pressure.

｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ ASPEN (they/he)

tropes: golden child x troublemaker, secret relationship, player in love

Aspen is walking 'danger' sign. Toying with laws and rules, their sticky fingers always seem to 'borrow' the wallets of the wealthy. They are a hero to the kids of the city, a pest to the authorities, and a mystery to you. They keep theri cards close, and you sometimes closer.

[deathcupcake]

On repeat playlist game

Go to your ‘On repeat’ playlist on Spotify (or a playlist you listen to frequently) and press “shuffle” 10 times— list the songs you get!

tagged by @maythedreadwolftakeyou and tagging the latest folks to like my recent reblogs/posts (no pressure, you don't have to play): @cipherninethousand @oleandersone @ixalia @lhunuial @daraasum @rubensmuse @bittersweet-lily @wynesthesia

So…I don't use Spotify and I don't think YouTube Music (which I use because I can upload all my owned music to it) has something like an On Repeat playlist.

However, I do use Last.fm to track my listening habits and so the top tracks I have listened to for the last 30 days are:

Hellfire - FEVER 333 Ma meilleure ennemie - Stromae & Pomme Fantastic - King Princess 这样很好 (Isha’s Song) - Eason Chan Come Play - Stray Kids, Young Miko & Tom Morello Heavy Is The Crown - Mike Shinoda & Emily Armstrong APT. - ROSÉ & Bruno Mars Blood Sweat & Tears - Sheryl Lee Ralph Walkin on Water - Stray Kids Wasteland - Royal & the Serpent

But all this does is pull from my latest commuting playlist (usually only about 20-25 songs) and/or album I have on repeat.

I guess I have been listening to that Arcane soundtrack a lot (all but two of these songs are from it).

So for pure random fun, I hit the shuffle on my YouTube Music uploads library, and here are the top 20 it returned. Given that most of the workday, I listen to a random selection from my 10K+ uploaded library, this is pretty typical.

Ba-na-na Skit - M.I.A. Geology - The Knife Ha Ha - Scarehead Grip - Pixx Has Anybody Seen My Girl? - Milla Jovovich Roxanne's Revenge - Roxanne Shante Trippin' on Lunar 07 - 101 Strings Orchestra You Can Run But You Can't Hide - Age of Chance Tangent - Beth Orton Ich Bin Ein Auslander (Fun-da-mental Instrumental Mix) - Pop Will Eat Itself The Entertainment - YACHT Me and You - She and Him Jenni - Big Thief Spectre - Radiohead Atom Bomb (Atomix 1) - Fluke Star - Elysian Fields Neighbors - Charles Barkley Mirage - Ladytron Tiny Vessels - Death Cab for Cutie Crossing Over - Camper Van Beethoven

[ao3feed-hashimada]

ao3feed-hashimada

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/Lq4HFG0

by Nekonom26

He had waited months to deflect his father’s attention on him. Tonight he will escape the compound and will let a message to Madara at the naka.

Words: 1316, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Hashimadaweek 2023

Fandoms: Naruto

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Senju Hashirama, Uchiha Madara, Senju Clan, Uchiha Clan

Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara

Additional Tags: Hashimadaweek2023, Day 1, promt: reunion, Sad, Hashirama has his hope crushed, Madara is a realist, hashirama is too optimistic for his own good, the author don't know what to tag, some months after the Naka accident, Angst, Star-cross lover, Friends to ennemies to?

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/Lq4HFG0

[ornanerfasse]

OmniAlterous attraction and born Nemesises

I have now qualms whatsoever against aro/aces, and i consider them as good of people as any other, and yet i fell an almost spiritual antagonism towards them.

Aro/Aces have no romantic attraction, i have Omnialterous attraction, i ONLY have romantic feelings. You show basic human kindness to them? You maybe have made a friend. You show basic human kindness to me? Good job, you just been added to the list of people towards whom i am in love. This is irreversible. To them life is nothing but platonic love, to me life is nothing but unrequited romantic love, to them friendship is friendship, to me friendship is heatbreak, every romance is crippled by guilt of having multiple other romantic interests all at the same time.

Being loved, or even seen and understood; means loving back even more, loving more means being jealous and envious, being jealous and envious males me hate myself, hating myself means wanting to die, wanting to die makes me feel underserving of the love i do receive, feeling undeserving only makes me grateful you even love me in the first place beacuse you are saving my life by virtue of being yourself, being grateful makes me love you more.

This is a vicious circle, an infernal machine of incremental guilt and emotional dependance tumbling down like Sysiphus's rock towards my inevitable demise. A lose/lose scenario that i can neither break from nor escape throught death.

To Aro ace, romantic love is often nothing because they don't feel it.

To me, romantic love is everything because it's the same as my friendship love.

It is simultaneously my only joy and my greatest source of anguish, my reason to live and my reason to long for death.

I have now qualms against them, yet i know that my mere existence is their anthithesis, the other side of the coin, the plus to my minus, the Sherlock to my Moriarty. Ont day they will realise that my existence is an offense against them, and using their honed practice of the blade, they will take me down.

I am trapped in a personnal hell of which the only escape is to be brought low by a Cosmic Nemesis i have never met nor hated, but who's nonetheless destined to destroy me by the will of cruel gods.

[frenchhomosnapien]

Pokémon Team 🇬🇧 ~ Équipe Pokémon 🇨🇵 #2 : Sirius Black

🇬🇧 Another one ! And not the last ;) Feel free to suggest HP characters whose teams you would like to see ! *-*

> Zangoose 💥 : I placed Seviper in Severus Snape's team, it was relevant to attribute to his worst childhood enemy (still alive) the Pokémon known to be the snake's nemesis, unable to hold back to engage in combat when he crosses paths x)

> Solrock ☀️ : this one is a reference to the Black family, which names most of its members according to a star or a constellation (Sirius, Orion, Bellatrix ...)

> Absol 🍀 : According to the Pokédex in Pokémon Ruby: "Whenever Absol appears in front of people, a catastrophe like an earthquake or a tidal wave occurs soon after. It has become infamous as the Disastrous Pokémon." Something to remind a certain Sinistros ...

> Pangoro 🐼 : not only does his Dark/Fighting dual-type and bellicose demeanor match the character well, but the section of his description that says he can't stand the weakest being attcked allows me to add nuance to my opinion on this morally grey character (even if he often found himself in the camp of those who attack the weakest, precisely ><)

> Mightyena 🐺 : Padfoot, Sirius Black, a black dog... Flawless logic

> Houndoom 😈 : a good mix of Pangoro and Mightyena : a black dog doubled as a rebel

I hesitated with : Starmie ⭐ (same meaning as Solrock)

Don't hesitate to suggest the Pokémon that you would see in Sirius' team ❤🖤🤍

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🇨🇵 Encore un autre ! Et surement pas le dernier ;) N'hésitez pas à suggérer des personnages d'Harry Potter dont vous aimeriez voir les équipes ! *-*

> Mangriff 💥 : étant donné que j'ai placé Séviper dans l'équipe de Severus Rogue, il était pertinent d'attribuer à son pire ennemi d'enfance (encore en vie) le Pokémon connu pour être l'ennemi juré du serpent, incapable de se retenir d'engager le combat quand il le croise x)

> Solaroc ☀️ : celui-ci est une référence à la famille Black, qui nomme ses membres masculins selon une étoile ou une constellation (Sirius, Orion, Bellatrix...)

> Absol 🍀 : Selon le Pokédex dans Pokémon Rubis : "Chaque fois qu'Absol apparaît devant des gens, une catastrophe comme un tremblement de terre ou un raz de marée survient peu de temps après. Il est devenu tristement célèbre sous l'appellation de Pokémon désastreux." De quoi rappeler un certain Sinistros...

> Pandarbare 🐼 : non seulement son double-type Ténèbres/Combat et son comportement belliqueux correspondent bien au personnage, mais la section de sa description disant qu'il ne supporte pas qu'on s'en prenne aux plus faibles me permet d'apporter de la nuance à mon avis sur ce personnage moralement gris (même si il s'est souvent retrouvé dans le camp de ceux qui s'en prennent aux faibles, justement)

> Grahyèna 🐺 : Patmol, Sirius Black, un chien noir... Pas déconnant, en somme

> Démolosse 😈 : un bon mix de Pandarbare et Grahyèna : un chien noir doublé d'un rebelle

J'ai hésité avec : Staross ⭐ (même signification que Solaroc)

N'hésitez pas à me suggérer les Pokémon que vous verriez dans l'équipe de Patmol ❤🖤🤍

[inkytealeaf]

Andromeda, Aries and Cassiopeia for uhh all your wips if that's okay + Virgo \o/

Andromeda - Describe your main characters

Already answered here for Milo’s story!

Ashes to Ashes

Nox: Elf prince who’s able to use magic. One golden eye, the other is silver. He glamours them to appear normal because people would freak out + other spoilery reason~ Has a lot of pressure on his shoulders and will sneak out of the castle at each given moment because who likes to hear 24/7 that he has to act like a future king (meaning: stop being yourself). Cursed more or less. Cinnamon roll who owns a big ass bow.

Caliel: Human who was adopted by an elven couple when he still was a baby. Has to live hidden in his dad’s domain. Anxious, curious of what the world looks like beyond the gardens, naïve, close to his parents, pretty good with a rapier.

Cyrus: Human prince. Caliel’s younger half-brother and future heir to the throne. Jealous, vindictive, manipulative, naïve.

Soris: Seer working for the royal family (Cyrus’, not Nox’s). Close to Cyrus. Always seen with at least one snake around his shoulders. Blindfolded.

The old Gods are dead

Raven: Natural silver hair. One blind eye. Abandoned by his parents when he started to develop his magical abilities. Sheltered by a witch who became his adoptive grandmother. Scared of magic. Hates the Gods with every inch of his soul.

Alen: Non-binary. Native of a seaside village. Affinity with fire. Left their village for a spoilery reason. Well appreciated magician in the capital. Has a thing with the prince.

Niriani: Said prince. Future king. Kind and loving prince always ready to help his people. Wants to become a better king than his father and will do anything to become someone better for his kingdom.

Neo and Volkan: Raven’s adoptive fathers. Neo is a cloth merchant and Volkan a blacksmith. Always keep their home open for children in need, but Raven will be the only one who’ll stay.

Sidriel and Raziel: Twin deities. Offsprings of two primordial deities. White hair and bright orange eyes.

Nei: (watch me copy paste what i have written about these deities) God of Nature and protector of the forest in which they live. Paintings and sculptures depict them as either ayoung and beautiful man playing the lyre, or as a pregnant woman fused with awillow tree. Keeps their true apparence a secret (except for their partner, and the main cast way later in the story). Naturally calm, people worship them for a goodharvest by praying in front of a self-made altar in their home, burning acandle linked to the season. In the forest, Nei helps those who gets lost, butwill rarely show themselves. Nei has one lover: Asrus, God of Death. It is saidthat they can only be together during winter.

Nydes: Worshippedalong the coastlines of Sarika and Kymeros, Nydes is the God of the Sea andNei’s twin. Depicted as an incredibly tall and muscular man with a lower bodyof an octopus, Nydes is usually worshipped through offerings and chants. Thereare a few types of places for those craving Nydes’ protection – usually sailors– but homemade shrines and natural altars are preferred by most. It is atradition for newly married couples to offer the bride’s bouquet to the Sea inexchange for Nydes’ blessing. Nydes has no luck in love, thus he fathered thegoddess Neseria who was born from one of his tears. Like his twin, Nydes wasonce as calm as Nei, but tales say that Nydes became a vindictive god during aspring’s night.

Athys: Goddessof War, she is mostly worshipped alongside her sister by knights before a waror a battle. She is often depicted alongside her sister, both in full armour,riding a black horse. She is a violent and insatiable goddess on thebattlefield. Armies sacrifice her totem animal, a bull, before going to war.Her main temple is in Vaneria, just next to the castle. According to stories, she is the mother of the goddess of terror who accompanies her on eachbattle. Seeing her daughter alone is a bad omen.

Old tales don’t lie

These need to be more developed but here i copy pasted what I have (which isn’t a lot)

Damian: Damian is the first mate on the Fearless, one of the fastest ship in the Queen's Navy. Happy with his way of living that allows him to see the many wonders of the kingdom, Damian isn't aware of the true nature of his latest mission. A mission during which he will lose more than a couple of coins.

Meris: Merman. Violent. Manipulative.

Kylan: Former captain in the Queen's Navy who loved his job and loved working for his queen. Now a pirate. Left for the neighbouring kingdom after he discovered a truth that made his blood turn cold.

Aries - Share a line that you’re proud of!

Milo’s story: “Youknow,” He said as he crouched down before him, arms around his waist. “Youdon’t have to be ashamed if you feel like crying again. We’re alone, and Iwon’t laugh at you because you show some emotions.” Let’s boys cry, it’s healthy to cry.

The old Gods are dead: A smileon his lips, Raven looked at the stars above him and tried to find his. People said his star was the signthat Miesis was watching them, making sure they were all alright, safe andsound. It only took him a short while. A giggle crossed his mouth as he reachedfor the brightest star, fingers spread, the star visible between his middlefinger and ring finger. (not a line but i like this paragraph 👀👀)

No line for Ashes to Ashes and Old tales don’t lie since i’m outlining them from scratch again :)

Cassiopeia - What’s your favorite scene so far?

Milo’s story: Ethan/Milo moment i’m currently writing

The old Gods are dead: Raven’s nigthmare of the forest and Nei.

Ashes to Ashes: Caliel and Nox’s meeting. (I wanted to say another one but it’s a spoiler so you get that still not written scene)

Old tales don’t lie: No idea :’D

Virgo - Describe your favorite tropes.

Friends to lover, found family, the protag is a bad guy, ennemies to lover. Those are the only ones that come to my mind right now

[acepolh]

Archeage map caernord

#Archeage map caernord update#

#Archeage map caernord Patch#

#Archeage map caernord plus#

This stat decreases your attacker's critical hit rate against you, as well as the additional critical bonus damage you take. Higher Focus decreases the target's chance to Parry/Block/Evade. This stat decreases the rate at which the target's Parry, Evade, and Block cancel out your attacks. Healing Power is increased by Spirit itemized on Clubs and Great Clubs. Contributes to Healing skills, rather than Magic Attack.

#Archeage map caernord update#

* Existing characters will receive a free skill tree respec with this update due to the significant skill changes below. We’ll endeavor to correct any errors as quickly as possible! This is the first (and probably only!) time we’re going through this process at such a scale.

#Archeage map caernord Patch#

Please keep in mind that these patch notes have come through the compiling of multiple source builds and then translation. The Marketplace (credit store) will not yet be available with this update. Expect these to be corrected ASAP in future updates. In addition, some pre-1.2 English strings may be out of date in terms of numbers or functionality. Some strings will still be displayed in Korean in this build due to the rapid turnaround from delivery to Alpha. Removal of Bounty Hunter Cloak Arrest and Instant Judgment abilities. Additional Gilda Stars granted through sub-level 30 PvE relative to sailboat and small house costs. Normalization of ping-dependent skills (“fast” skills with no cooldown). Adjustment of stolen trade pack split from 40% turn-in value returned to creator down to 20% returned to creator. Addition of Gilda Star traders to cross-continental trade routes. These custom changes include (but may not be limited to): The following patch notes do not include Trion’s custom gameplay changes, which will appear in an upcoming Beta candidate build. Trion a tout fait pour qu'une guilde de taille "classique" même hardcore, ne puisse pas créer de faction joueur sans déployer un effort DÉRAISONNABLE. Soit tu t'arranges assez à l'avance pour jouer dans une guilde "Gros effectif" qui aura la possibilité de fournir les pré-requis nécessaires à la création d'une faction joueur. Soit tu reste sur le principe d'alliance "classique" et tu joues dans une guilde "classique" dans l'une des factions PvE par défaut en oubliant le principe de faction joueur. Le principe d'alliance "classique" n'est pas implémenté dans le jeu donc deux solutions : (si tu trouves de l'info sur cette composante effectif cela m’intéresse)Įn ce qui concerne ta seconde question, il est possible pour le roi d'une faction de définir une posture vis-à-vis des autres factions (Ami / Ennemi) mais à ma connaissance il n'y a pas de fonction IG permettant de définir une alliance entre faction.

#Archeage map caernord plus#

The billboard gives a generic gather 5 from x and bring it to the fortress in Ynystere.Pour ta première question, je ne sais pas te répondre avec certitude, mais à mon sens il s'agit plus d'un pré-requis matériel (!! VRAIMENT ENORMES !!) que d'un pré-requis en effectif.Crimson Rift (?:? - ?:?) - Popular honor farm.Glitterstone Mines - Popular mining location.It has an "Arrow of Judgement" Community Center. Ynystere housing is scattered throughout the zone. Players can engage in these rifts (with the daily quest activated) to earn Honor Points. Ynystere is also the location of the Crimson Rifts and Grimghast Rifts. Caernord has a music hall, Resource and Gilda traders, and a shipyard to build a boat. The largest city in Ynystere is Caernord. Ynystere is the first zone, in Haranya, where the opposite faction can attack a person.

[nerdyangeldetective]

Wolves. [Kylo Ren x Reader]

Requested by @superlilred​ ♥:  

“Could you do a kylo x reader based on the song wolves by Selena Gomez? I absolutely love your work. ♥”

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this even if I had struggle with what how I wanted to end it, or even what direction I wanted to choose. I was tired to see happy ending everywhere soo.. Enjoy! (And I hope you’re happy with what I’ve done with your request, sweetie!♥)

Warning: Mention of death - angst, I guess?

Words count: 2,178.

Requests are still open, don’t hesitate, I love it!♥

It was summer, you were laying on the grass with your best friend watching the sunset. This planet was beautiful, you always thought of living here, but Master Luke wasn't okay with this for one reason named Ben. He was your best friend actually, and you two have been pretty close lately, more than ever. You knew him since you two were kids. Your parents working on the Resistance as technicians, you hardly saw them and Leïa took pity of you and she was more here for you then your own mother. You sigh, thinking of the fact that Luke don't want you here.

" What's on your mind, baby girl ?" said the brown haired guy, looking at you. " I don't understand why Master Luke don't want me to stay here." poutting, you were watching your best friend who was smiling. " Well.. Maybe because we are seventeen, both of us, and he's afraid to saw us kiss each other while a Jedi should not have any relationship like this ?"

You both stayed in silence for a couple of minutes before burst in laugher. "Come on, don't be stupid, it will never happen... And I'm sure it's because you're calling me baby girl so everything is your fault, again !" You get up and looked at him in a angry way, hands on your hip. "Don't blame me for calling you a baby, you do have a baby face."  grumbling a little and show him your back, you crossed your arm, acting like a little girl. You heard a sigh and few seconds after a strong pair of arms was surrounding your little body. "Stop being so childlish, (Y/N)."

His tone was serious, so you turn around, looking at his beautiful smiling face and deep brown eyes that you always loved. "Okay, you have something to tell me, Am I ri-" You couldn't finish your sentence that his lips were on yours. He quickly straightened, his cheeks were red. " S-sorry, I.. I shouldn't have done this." You rolled your eyes and put another quick kiss on his lips, making him shut his mouth. Night was finally here. And that's how your relationship started. It was a secret for everyone.

In your eyes, there's a heavy blue One to love and one to lose  

You woke up at 5am, feeling down today, like yesterday and every other day since he left. You sighed and got up, put some clothes on and get back to your work. You sat and look at that computer. You were one of the people in charge to track the First Order ship, and you kind of know where it is, but you told no one. Yes, you're part of the Resistance and protecting the ennemy because he his inside this ship. And You don't want anything to happen to him.

He? Kylo Ren, of course. Or Ben Solo, it's as you want. This time, it's was enough. You sighed again and just get up and walked to take one of those emergency "ship" that could only carry one person. Trying to not get caught and being thrown in the same bag as traitors, you went away. It was a big risk, you knew it, but you had to. You needed him more than you thought. At first, it was just a teenager love, but time flew by and you found yourself being in love with Ben.

I wanna feel the way that we did that summer night (night) Drunk on a feeling, alone with the stars in the sky

You always did everything together, hand in hand, you were training with him and in one minute, everything ended like the flame of a candle. You were nostalgic of that time. That time were you could take his hand, kiss his plump lips, run your fingers through his beautiful dark hair, put your head of his chest to rest in the grass with him.. You missed all of those things. When you had learned about the thing happening on the island where every Jedi were training, you felt so sick in your stomach. You were twenty at this moment, and you could never forget this day. The day were Leïa came to you, telling you that the Dark Side had taken Ben. You were throwing up every night, you loss some weight, you were getting sick by the fact that you lost your boyfriend, that you lost the one who loved you, who helped you get over your parents death.. This bond between you two wasn't just some teenager love, it was pure love.

You tried to contact him, you had ran away a few times, trying to reach the First Order to, at least, see him one last time, but it never worked. You were always getting punished, some people hated you because they considered you has a traitor that have nothing to do in the Resistance, some tried to kill you but hopefully, because of all the hard training with Ben, you were able to defend yourself.

I've been running through the jungle

[...]

I've been down the darkest alleys Saw the dark side of the moon To get to you, to get to you

You even had a love story with the famous Poe Dameron, but it didn't worked. You were looking for the same thing you felt with Ben, but you didn't. And it was hurting you too much... But still, it worked for few months, you were feeling better and better everyday, but it wasn't enough. You were too angry and bitter to love someone else.

I've looked for love in every stranger Took too much to ease the anger All for you, yeah, all for you

After some hours of flight, you saw it. The ship was gigantic and.. you were caught. TIE where behind you, ready to fire. You felt the panic in your veins and reack for the radio button trying to contact the First Order.

"I'm not from the Resistance, I repeat, I'm not from the Resistance anymore. I can help you."

Hoping that your message had been listened, you tried to breath in a regular way. Your hands were trembling and your ship was deviated to their hangar, landing here. You put a foot on the ground but after a second, ten stormtroopers were pointing their blaster at you. You put your hands on the hair, trying to make them understand that you were not here to kill anybody, or to spy on them. A red head guy take a step ahead, looking at you in a disdainful way.

"Take her to the interrogation room. I don't have time for these things."

You couldn't say anything that two stormtroopers were already taking your two arms. You tried to fight but one of them hit you with the back of his blaster, in your head. Everything went black after this.

You regained consciousness after a few minutes, enough to be attached to a really uncomfortable chair, in a little room that had "torture" written all over it. You smirked a little and you finally noticed the black figure, standing in the corner of the room. Fear passing in your eyes, you tried to detached yourself from these mechanic handcuff, but it didn't worked.

"You are annoying."

His robotic voice disturbed the silence of the room. You looked up and see he had a mask, dressed in black, he was tall, he had an imposing presence.

"You could have been killed on your way here... all of this to found a dead person that you miss desperatly."

How did he know ? How the hell he is ? Dead ? Is Ben dead ? What is happening ? As soon as these thought were on your mind, you heard him erase a little laugh.

"D-dead.. ? Wait, What is so funny ?" you asked, your trembling voice was full of fear and anger at this point. He didn't answered, but you heard a mechanic device being engaged, your eyes widened and began to watered as soon as you saw his beautiful face. "Ben.. ?" you whispered. You saw his eyes being more cold then it already was by hearing this name.

"Ben is dead." his smooth and impassive deep voice said, his eyes locking with yours. You felt your heart pounding like crazy in your chest, tears rolling down your cheeks. "Kylo Ren killed him for the better." making his way near you and raising his left hand near your temple, you started to sense some pain in the back of your head. It was more and more agressive and you were trying your best not to scream in pain, you even had the strenght to look at him. You saw his sad eyes, starring down, analyzing your body. This sad was what made you weak. You let it enter in your minds, screaming in pain. He was searching something, he was trying to get something, to feel something maybe ?

Your fingertips trace my skin To places I have never been Blindly I am following Break down these walls and come on in

He suddenly broke the entire thing, pain was finally gone, letting you catch your breath on this chair. Your body was trembling and he, he seemed disturbed. Breathing heavily, you started to laugh, making him look at you in the eyes. "I've betrayed the Resistance for you, Ben." you were laughing nervously. "And even now, I.. I don't regret it."

"You're still thinking about those things while you shouldn't. Me and him are a different person." he replied, his voice was trembling. "I still love you. Ben, Kylo, no matter who is it.. I still fucking love you." your laughter switching to sob, you closed your eyes. "I'm sorry, I should've said it sooner. I've never told you. I've never told you how much I love you, how much I was happy with you. I would have followed you here, I would have done everything for you."

You had nothing to loose here, if you have to die here, well.. You would die saying what you wanted to say for so much years.

I've been running through the jungle I've been running with the wolves To get to you, to get to you

"You still remember our first kiss. Our first time. When we told my mother.." his voice was trembling so much, it wasn't difficult to hear. You felt the handcuff released you. You were free. You opened your eyes and got on your feet in a second, going near Kylo to hug him. "Please.. Please, come back to me." His hear was beating loudly and quickly, like your own heart. You felt his arms around you, his lips meeting your forehead.. But you also felt an horrible pain in your stomach that made you jump a little and moan. You looked up to him, a red light between you two. He was looking at you in an horrified way.

I've been down the darkest alleys Saw the dark side of the moon To get to you, to get to you

"K-Kylo.. ?" Your head starting to spin, your knees shaking and the taste of the blood getting on your mouth, you smiled at him when you realized what was happening, falling on the floor. He followed your moves, carrying your head to put it on his lap. "I'm sorry.. I have to do this. He say you're too much of a distraction." His voice was weak, his lower lip was trembling. You had enough strenght left to raise your hand and touch his right cheek, erasing the tear that was rolling on it. He bent and kissed your lips. That was it. A smile forming on your lips as your life was ending, you had what you wanted in the end. You had him back.

Closing your eyes, you kissed him, again and again for the few seconds left, then, you heard him whispered. “I love you.” And darkness embraced you, a smile on your face has his face faded until he was gone. You were gone.

I've been running through the jungle I've been crying with the wolves To get to you, to get to you.

[quantumchickpea]

How We Met (Gabriel and Emilie one shot fan fiction)

Gabriel Agreste stood with his design book in his hand. He was supposed to meet with a new up and coming actress, name Emilie. He had done this millions of times. There was nothing new about it, really. He licked his lips and flipped through his designs. Each one would make her emerald eyes and olive skin tones stand out.  

“Bonjour. You must be Monsieur Agreste.” A woman with blonde hair and a side braid held her slender hand out to him.

“Bonjour. Madame Emilie.” Gabriel grabbed her hand and shook it.

“Actually, it’s Mademoiselle.” Emilie smiled warmly at him.

“Sorry. Mademoiselle Emilie.” Gabriel smiled sheepishly at her and cleared his throat. “Shall I show you what I have planned for you to wear to the award ceremony?”

“D’accord.” Emilie smiled warmly at him and lead him to her trailer. “Tea?”

Gabriel smiled at her and took a seat inside her trailer. “Oui, s’il vous plaît. Merci, Emilie.”

“No, problem.” Emilie giggled at his formality. “You don’t have to be so formal with me. Let loose. Live a little.” She poured him a cup of tea and sat down with her own.

“Right. Yes. Well.” Gabriel opened his book and the sketches fell at their feet.

Emilie giggled at him. “Need some help?”

“I’m not usually this….” Gabriel ran a hand through his slicked back blonde hair and sighed. “Disheveled.

“I see. Well, I happen to be very…. Disheveled, myself.” Emilie set her cup down and began to help pick up his drawings. “These are all beautiful.”

She looked over one of the dress concepts. “I love the plums in this one.”

“Me-merci, Emilie.” Gabriel stumbled on his words, as he looked up from picking up the sketches to meet her eyes.

“I’d love to see the rest.” Emilie sat down on the floor and she reached up to grab her tea cup from the table.

“On the floor?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow at her.

“Why yes? I don’t mind getting dirty once and a while.” Emilie smiled up at him with a pure expression that reminded him of a curious child.

His heart skipped a beat and she suddenly lit up like stars in a night sky. “Oh.”

“Care to join me? There’s plenty of room on the floor.” Emilie giggled and took a sip of her tea.

Gabriel gave in to her angelic stare and awkwardly sat down on the floor with his legs crossed. “So, I was thinking that this color would make your eyes pop and that this one would-”

He pushed drawings toward her, but soon stopped when he noticed her smirking at him. “What is it?”

“I hear about colors and how they’ll make my eyes look all day long, Gabriel. What really made you pick those designs?” Emilie set her cup down and rested back on her palms with her feet in front of her.

“Well, I-” Gabriel swallowed hard, as he noticed how her breasts raised to the air and how she let her hair fall down her back with a sigh.

“Chat got your tongue?” Emilie raised her face to peer at him through her lashes.

“I’m going to be honest, Mademoiselle Emilie. I thought that these designs would flatter your figure and that going off of your personality that you put on, apparently, that you would enjoy them.” Gabriel sighed and tried to not focus on her.

“So, now that you know that I would dare sit on the floor… what do you think?” Emilie smiled at him.

“I think you may be the most down to earth girl I have ever laid my eyes on.” Gabriel covered his mouth and his cheeks turned red. “I mean-” He hit his forehead with his hand.

Emilie giggled at him with her hand over her lips. “You’re very interesting, Monsieur Agreste.” She worried her bottom lip and he chuckled at her.

“I’ll just redraw some new pieces for you.” Gabriel gathered up his drawings.

“Wait.” Emilie touched the back of his hand with hers to stop him.

He peered up at her and searched her green eyes.

“I love the designs. Really I do.” Emilie smiled warmly at him. “And… I’m really interested in the designer.” She blinked at him and bit her bottom lip, watching him swallow hard and part his lips.

“Would you like to join me for dinner tonight, Mademoiselle Emilie?” Gabriel blinked at her, dumbfounded by her.

“I would love that. And please just call me Emilie.” Emilie smiled at him and her cheeks became flushed.

“Sounds perfect, Emilie.” Gabriel sighed and forgot about the drawings littering the floor around them.  

Song I wrote to:

Ta Meillure Ennemie by Samantha Gongol feat: Juliette Armanet

Note: I randomly thought about how they could have met. :)

[thearabkhaleesi]

2017 OSCARS WINNERS

Best Picture

Winner: Moonlight

Arrival

Fences

Hacksaw Ridge

Hell or High Water

Hidden Figures

La La Land

Lion

Manchester by the Sea

Best Actress

Winner: Emma Stone - La La Land

Isabelle Huppert - Elle

Ruth Negga - Loving

Natalie Portman - Jackie

Meryl Streep - Florence Foster Jenkins

Best Actor

Winner: Casey Affleck - Manchester by the Sea

Andrew Garfield - Hacksaw Ridge

Ryan Gosling - La La Land

Viggo Mortensen - Captain Fantastic

Denzel Washington - Fences

Best Supporting Actress

Winner: Viola Davis - Fences

Naomie Harris - Moonlight

Nicole Kidman - Lion

Octavia Spencer - Hidden Figures

Michelle Williams - Manchester by the Sea

Best Supporting Actor

Winner: Mahershala Ali - Moonlight

Jeff Bridges - Hell or High Water

Lucas Hedges - Manchester by the Sea

Dev Patel - Lion

Michael Shannon - Nocturnal Animals

Best Director

Winner: La La Land - Damien Chazelle

Arrival - Denis Villeneuve

Hacksaw Ridge - Mel Gibson

Manchester by the Sea - Kenneth Lonergan

Moonlight - Barry Jenkins

Best Original Screenplay

Winner: Manchester by the Sea - Kenneth Lonergan

20th Century Women - Mike Mills

Hell or High Water - Taylor Sheridan

La La Land - Damien Chazelle

The Lobster - Yorgos Lanthimos and Efthimis Filippou

Best Adapted Screenplay

Winner: Moonlight - Barry Jenkins and Alvin McCraney

Arrival - Eric Heisserer

Fences - August Wilson

Hidden Figures - Allison Schroeder and Theodore Melfi

Lion - Luke Davies

Best Original Score

Winner: La La Land - Justin Hurwitz

Jackie - Mica Levi

Lion - Dustin O'Halloran and Hauschka

Moonlight - Nicholas Britell

Passengers - Thomas Newton

Best Original Song

Winner: La La Land - City of Stars by Justin Hurwitz, Benj Pasek and Justin Paul

La La Land - Audition by Justin Hurwitz, Benj Pasek and Justin Paul

Moana - How Far I'll Go by Lin-Manuel Miranda

Trolls - Can't Stop the Feeling by Justin Timberlake, Max Martin and Karl Johan Schuster

Jim: The James Foley Story - The Empty Chair by J Ralph and Sting

Best Cinematography

Winner: La La Land - Linus Sandgren

Arrival - Bradford Young

Lion - Greig Fraser

Moonlight - James Laxton

Silence - Rodrigo Prieto

Best Foreign Language Film

Winner: The Salesman - Iran

A Man Called Ove - Sweden

Land of Mine - Denmark

Tanna - Australia

Toni Erdmann - Germany

Best Costume Design

Winner: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them - Colleen Atwood

Allied - Joanna Johnston

Florence Foster Jenkins - Consolata Boyle

Jackie - Madeline Fontaine

La La Land - Mary Zophres

Best Make-up and Hairstyling

Winner: Suicide Squad - Alessandro Bertolazzi, Giorgio Gregorini and Christopher Nelson

A Man Called Ove - Eva Von Bahr and Love Larson

Star Trek Beyond - Joel Harlow and Richard Alonzo

Best Documentary Feature

Winner: OJ: Made in America

13th

Fire At Sea

I Am Not Your Negro

Life, Animated

Best Sound Editing

Winner: Arrival - Sylvain Bellemare

Deepwater Horizon - Wylie Stateman and Renee Tondelli

Hacksaw Ridge - Robert Mackenzie and Andy Wright

La La Land - Ai-Ling Lee and Mildred Iatrou Morgan

Sully - Alan Robert Murray and Bub Asman

Best Sound Mixing

Winner: Hacksaw Ridge - Kevin O'Connell, Andy Wright, Robert Mackenzie and Peter Grace

13 Hours: The Secret Soldiers of Benghazi - Gary Summers, Jeffrey J Haboush and Mac Ruth

Arrival - Bernard Gariepy Strobl and Claude La Haye

La La Land - Andy Nelson, Ai-Ling Lee and Steve A Morrow

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story - David Parker, Christopher Scarabosio and Stuart Wilson

Best Animated Short

Winner: Piper - Alan Barillaro and Marc Sondheimer

Blind Vaysha - Theodore Ushev

Borrowed Time - Andrew Coats and Lou Hamou-Lhadj

Pear Cider and Cigarettes - Robert Valley and Cara Speller

Pearl - Patrick Osborne

Best Animated Feature

Winner: Zootopia

Kubo and the Two Strings

Moana

My Life as a Zucchini

The Red Turtle

Best Production Design

Winner: La La Land - David Wasco and Sandy Reynolds-Wasco

Arrival - Patrice Vermette and Paul Hotte

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them - Stuart Craig and Anna Pinnock

Hail, Caesar! - Jess Gonchor and Nancy Haigh

Passengers - Guy Hendrix Dyas and Gene Serdena

Best Visual Effects

Winner: The Jungle Book - Robert Legato, Adam Valdez, Andrew R Jones and Dan Lemmon

Deepwater Horizon - Craig Hammack, Jason Snell, Jason Billington and Burt Dalton

Doctor Strange - Stephane Ceretti, Richard Bluff, Vincent Cirelli and Paul Corbould

Kubo and the Two Strings - Steve Emerson, Oliver Jones, Brian McLean and Brad Schiff

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story - John Knoll, Mohen Leo, Hal Hickel and Neil Corbould

Best Film Editing

Winner: Hacksaw Ridge - John Gilbert

Arrival - Joe Walker

Hell or High Water - Jake Roberts

La La Land - Tom Cross

Moonlight - Nat Sanders and Joi McMillon

Best Documentary Short

Winner: The White Helmets - Orlando von Einsiedel and Joanna Natasegara

4.1 Miles - Daphne Matziaraki

Extremis - Dan Krauss

Joe's Violin - Kahane Cooperman and Raphaela Neihausen

Watani: My Homeland - Marcel Mettelsiefen and Stephen Ellis

Best Live Action Short

Winner: Sing - Kristof Deak and Anna Udvardy

Ennemis Interieurs - Selim Azzazi

La Femme et le TGV - Timo Von Gunten and Giacun Caduff

Silent Nights - Aske Bang and Kim Magnusson

Timecode - Juanjo Gimenez

[ao3feed-hashimada]

ao3feed-hashimada

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/IOMh2jg

by Nekonom26

He had waited months to deflect his father’s attention on him. Tonight he will escape the compound and will let a message to Madara at the naka.

Words: 1316, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Hashimadaweek 2023

Fandoms: Naruto

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Senju Hashirama, Uchiha Madara, Senju Clan, Uchiha Clan

Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara

Additional Tags: Hashimadaweek2023, Day 1, promt: reunion, Sad, Hashirama has his hope crushed, Madara is a realist, hashirama is too optimistic for his own good, the author don't know what to tag, some months after the Naka accident, Angst, Star-cross lover, Friends to ennemies to?

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/IOMh2jg