#With the ‘second secret name that no-one knows’ that they all have

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Coming Home to You

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Summary: it’s senior night a very big night for Paige indeed.. and you can’t miss it not when you’re each other’s home

For the past few weeks, keeping this secret had been absolute torture. Every time Paige texted me about how much she wished I could be at her senior night, my heart ached. I wanted to tell her, wanted to ease that longing in her voice, but I knew it would be worth it. Everyone was in on it—her teammates, the coaching staff, even her parents. The only person in the dark? Paige herself.

Now, as I sat on the plane with my niece squirming beside me, I felt the anticipation bubbling in my chest.

“Auntie, are we there yet?” my five-year-old niece, Aria, whined, her little legs swinging beneath her seat.

“Almost, baby,” I reassured her, smoothing down her curls. “Paige is gonna be so happy to see you.”

She grinned, showing off the gap where she had just lost a tooth last week. “She’s gonna be so surprised, right?”

I laughed, nodding. “Yeah, she has no idea we’re coming.”

Aria giggled, kicking her feet harder. She adored Paige, and the feeling was mutual. Anytime we FaceTimed, Paige always asked about her, sending little gifts and promising to teach her how to dribble properly one day.

As the plane began its descent, my stomach tightened. I had spent months away from Paige, only seeing her through a screen, listening to her talk about the season, about how it felt knowing this was her final year in a UConn jersey. She deserved to have her people there, and I needed to be there for her—just like she’d always been for me.

By the time we landed, the rush of excitement made my fingers tingle. Paige’s mom picked us up, greeting us with a warm hug before driving straight to campus. The plan was simple: hide in the tunnels until the seniors were honored, then walk out as they announced her name.

Aria bounced in her car seat, unable to contain herself. “I wanna run to Paige first! Can I? Can I?”

“Of course, baby,” I smiled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “She’s gonna love it.”

Game Night: Gampel Pavilion

The energy inside Gampel was electric. The crowd was buzzing, the students loud as ever, and the court gleamed under the bright lights. My heart pounded as I hid just behind the tunnel entrance, holding Aria’s hand tightly while the announcer began reading out names.

Each senior walked out to cheers, their families meeting them at center court. Paige was the last one to be called.

“And finally, our captain, our leader—number five, Paige Bueckers!”

The crowd erupted. My breath hitched as I peeked around the tunnel, watching Paige step forward, waving to the fans, her eyes already glassy with emotion. She thought her parents were the only ones waiting for her—but that was about to change.

“Now,” I whispered to Aria, squeezing her hand before letting go.

She took off like a shot.

“PAIGE!”

Paige barely had time to turn before Aria’s tiny body launched herself at Paige’s legs. Her arms instinctively wrapped around Aria, shock flashing across her face before realization dawned.

“What—? Aria?” Her voice cracked, looking down at the little girl clinging to her.

That’s when I stepped out.

The second Paige’s eyes met mine, everything around us seemed to fade. Her mouth parted in disbelief, her hands still frozen around Aria as if she thought she might be dreaming.

I smiled, my throat tightening. “Hey, baby.”

The moment shattered as she let go of Aria and practically ran to me, wrapping me up in the tightest hug imaginable.

“You’re here,” she whispered, her voice trembling against my ear.

“I’m here,” I murmured, holding onto her just as tightly. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

She pulled back slightly, cupping my face with both hands, her thumbs brushing over my cheeks as if she needed to make sure I was real. “You—you flew all the way here? When? How? Why didn’t you tell me?”

I laughed, my own tears welling up. “Because I wanted to surprise you. Everyone knew except you.”

She shook her head, laughing through her disbelief. “You’re evil.”

“You love me, though,” I teased.

Her grin softened into something more tender. “Yeah,” she murmured, pressing her forehead to mine. “I really, really do.”

The crowd was still cheering, the moment stretching between us as if we were the only two people in the gym. Paige’s hands never left my face, and I could feel her heart racing just as fast as mine.

“This is the best surprise ever,” she whispered.

I bit my lip, glancing down at Aria, who was grinning up at us, completely unbothered by the fact that she had just helped execute the best senior night surprise in history. “I had some help.”

Paige laughed, ruffling Aria’s curls before scooping her up into her arms. “You little sneak,” she teased.

Aria giggled, hugging Paige’s neck. “I missed you, P!”

“I missed you too, munchkin.” Paige pressed a kiss to her cheek before turning back to me. “God, I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

“I wasn’t gonna let you finish this without me,” I said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “You deserve to have the people who love you here, Paige.”

Her expression softened, and she tugged me close again, this time pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead. “I don’t know how I got so lucky,” she whispered.

I smiled. “I think we both got lucky.”

She let out a soft laugh before glancing at the crowd, then back at me. “You’re staying for a while, right?”

I nodded. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

Her grin turned into something mischievous. “That’s a dangerous offer, baby.”

“I’m serious.” I squeezed her hand. “I don’t wanna be apart anymore. I wanna be with you.”

For a moment, she just stared at me, and then—right there, in front of everyone—she leaned in and kissed me.

It was soft, sweet, and full of every unspoken word between us.

When she pulled away, her eyes were bright, full of something deeper than happiness. “Then stay,” she murmured. “Stay with me.”

I grinned. “You don’t even have to ask.”

She kissed me again, and this time, I knew—no matter where life took us, no matter what came next—I would always come home to her.

Paige’s POV

The adrenaline from senior night hadn’t worn off, but the moment we stepped inside my apartment, exhaustion hit me like a freight train. The last few hours had been a blur—cheers, speeches, hugs, and the overwhelming joy of seeing her again. Seeing them again.

Aria clung to me the entire time, refusing to let go even after we left the arena. Every time I tried to pass her off to her aunt, she just tightened her grip around my neck, mumbling, “I missed you too much.”

I wasn’t gonna fight her on it. I missed her too.

Now, after a well needed shower, the little girl was curled up against my chest, completely knocked out, her tiny fingers still clutching the front of my hoodie like she was scared I’d disappear again.

I glanced over at the love of my life—because that’s what she was, no doubt about it—as she set her bag down by the door, stretching out her arms with a soft groan.

“You look dead,” I teased, my voice barely above a whisper.

She shot me a tired glare, but the small smile on her lips told me she wasn’t really mad. “I feel dead. That flight, the sneaking around, wrangling her—” she gestured at the sleeping child nestled in my arms. “I deserve a medal.”

I laughed, adjusting Aria slightly so she wouldn’t slip. “You deserve a lot more than that.”

Her expression softened, and she stepped closer, reaching out to brush a stray curl from Aria’s forehead. “She missed you like crazy, you know.”

“I missed her too,” I murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Aria’s head.

Her eyes flickered to mine, something unreadable in them. “And me?”

I smirked, tilting my head slightly. “You? Who’s that?”

Her jaw dropped. “Oh, okay. That’s how we’re playing this?”

I bit my lip to hold back a laugh, but the playful glare she shot me made it impossible. “Come here,” I said softly, and the teasing faded from her face.

She stepped between my legs, resting her hands on my shoulders as I pulled her closer with one arm, the other still supporting Aria.

“You know I missed you,” I murmured, letting my forehead rest against hers.

Her breath hitched, and I could feel the weight of the months apart in the way she exhaled, like she was finally letting herself breathe again.

“I hate being away from you,” she admitted quietly. “I hated every second of it.”

I tightened my hold on her waist, pressing my lips to her temple. “Then don’t be.”

Her fingers dug into the fabric of my hoodie. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Because it is,” I murmured, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. “You said you wanted to stay. So stay. I don’t care how we make it work—I just know I don’t wanna go another night without you.”

She swallowed hard, searching my face like she was trying to memorize every detail. “Paige…”

“I’m serious.” I brushed my thumb over her cheek, letting myself get lost in her warmth. “I love you. I don’t wanna keep doing this long-distance thing when we both know where this is going.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she let out a shaky laugh. “And where’s that?”

I gave her a knowing look. “Where do you think?”

Her lips parted slightly, her eyes flickering between mine, and I could see the exact moment she realized I meant every word.

“You mean—”

“I mean,” I cut her off gently, “that I see forever when I look at you.”

Her face crumbled, and she let out a soft, shaky breath before pressing her lips to mine. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—just right. Just home.

When she pulled away, her forehead rested against mine, and she whispered, “I see forever with you too.”

I smiled, feeling something settle deep in my chest. “Good.”

A tiny, sleepy voice suddenly mumbled between us.

“Paige?”

We both froze before glancing down. Aria stirred slightly, blinking up at me with half-lidded eyes.

“Yeah, munchkin?”

Her tiny hand reached up to touch my cheek, her voice drowsy. “Don’t go away again.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, holding her just a little bit closer. “I’m not going anywhere, baby.”

She sighed contently, snuggling deeper into my hoodie.

I glanced at the love of my life, who was watching us with nothing but pure adoration in her eyes.

Home wasn’t a place. It was this. It was her. It was the sleepy little girl in my arms, the steady heartbeat against mine, and the unspoken promise that we’d never have to say goodbye again.

I had everything I needed right here.

---

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[imsofreakingtired]

Hi! First of all, I love your work so much, you have me crying and kicking my feet at the same time.

I'd like to put in a request for a plus-sized reader? If that's something you can do. Something about yearning from afar? She's so sweet and Sev's so not. She's worried she'd taint the pure soul she watches from across the bar only to find out the lamb wants the wolf just as bad.

(I low-key just want some plus-sized rep :/)

SUCH A CUTE REQ AAA also, “the lamb wants the wolf just as bad” WHAT A LINE HELLO??? i hope i did it justice 🙏

i wish i found love

content warning(s): none! just fluff, mutual pining, useless lesbians, mild suggestive content, happy ending

"sometimes i wonder if you'll ever let me in i wonder if i'm ever gonna find somebody i cry and i cry and i cry and i cry out to the heavens why won't you just send me somebody?"

Sevika is sure she is going insane. 

She’d be lying if she said you didn’t catch her eye the moment you walked into the Last Drop that one night. There was something about the way you moved, the ringing song of your laughter that found its way across the room to her ears—a sound she desperately tried to ignore as she scowled down at her card game, puffing away at her third cigarette. She had lost two rounds in a row because she was straining for scraps of the conversation you were in. Trying every possible subtle tactic to find out who you were, where you came from. Cursing the noises of a late night bar that drowned out what you were saying. 

Tonight is like most—there you are, sitting with a new companion on the other side of the bar, perfectly manicured nails tapping idly on the side of your glass as you give the other person a winning smile. When you stand up to order a second drink, Sevika watches your movements and swallows hard. You’re wearing a blouse and pants that hug your figure, showing off every curve in the shifting neon lights of the Last Drop. Making the very air around you look expensive. 

And your eyes. Fathomless yet bright. The innocent curl of your lips when you give the lucky bastard across the table one of those smiles. The secrets sitting in the corners of your mouth. 

Who is she?

“Hey chief,” says Grems, one of her gambling mates. “You’re showin’ all your cards.” 

She glances at him. “Round’s over.” 

“Huh?” 

“You heard me. Clear out.” 

The men exchange glances with one another, but they obey, grabbing up their winnings. Sevika sits back in her chair and lights another cigarette. 

✨—✨

At the bar, you lean closer and beckon to Chuck. He comes over, glancing nervously in Sevika’s direction. Everyone can already see that Sevika has claimed you as hers—they can see the way she watches you, the way she raises her head to attention when she sees you come into the bar. But when he looks over at Sevika, she turns her head away. 

“Chuck,” you say. “Don’t look so scared. She’s staring at me again, isn’t she?” 

“Uh…” 

You give him the irresistible smile you throw at strangers from whom you need information. He falls for it. 

“C’mon, tell me. Who is she?” 

“She…she’s Silco’s right hand,” he stammers. “You know. The Brute.” 

You sigh impatiently. “Gotta give me better than that. What’s her name.” 

“Sevika.” 

“Sevika,” you muse. “Thanks, Chuck.” You pat him on the shoulder and take your drink. You make sure to walk the long way round back to your table, and you can feel Sevika’s grey eyes burn in front of you. Just as you pass her, you tilt your head and let your eyes make contact with hers. Time seems to slow down. She looks at you cooly through the cigarette smoke, but her surprise shows in the way her brows lift slightly. 

Then the moment passes, you sit back down at your table. 

Your companion continues the conversation, but you barely hear a third of what they’re saying. Your thoughts keep wandering over to Sevika, who has left her tab on her table and now disappeared up the stairs. You know for sure she’s interested—she’s been watching you since you first began to frequent the Last Drop—why hasn’t she made a move? 

✨—✨

The truth is that Sevika is scared to approach you. 

That’s right, she thinks to herself, a wry smile on her face as she leans back into the couch in her empty apartment, slightly sweaty after touching herself to you, heart racing in her chest. Sevika of the fucking fissures, scared to talk to a woman as if she's some adolescent. 

She has borne the title Brute of the Underground like an afterthought, something she took for granted, a kind of placard to frame over the blood on her hands. But now it feels like a curse or a jinx, because she can’t think of your soft skin without thinking of the roughness of her own. She wants to feel your body against hers, she wants to kneel and drown in your sweet scent. But then she thinks of your laugh. The way you smile, nose wrinkling. 

How could she ever deserve to receive a smile like that? 

She imagines you recoiling from her, disgust clouding your pretty features. She imagines herself, massive and clumsy—nothing but muscle and scars and callused skin. She compares herself to you in a fantasized mirror and she can’t see a possibility of you ever wanting her the way she wants you. 

One night she is at her usual table, alone for once, making adjustments to her mechanical arm. A glass of whiskey sits among the tools and ashtray. She looks up listlessly as she takes a sip, returns to her work. When she looks up again you’re standing in front of her. 

Sevika nearly chokes. You’ve caught her off-guard, and you can see it. You can’t help but smile at her obvious embarrassment. 

“Mind me sitting here?” 

Without waiting for a reply, you sit down across from her.  

“I work nearby,” you say matter-of-factly. “I was thinking since you come here often as well, maybe we could have a drink together every now and then.” 

“Uh,” says Sevika. 

“Name’s Sevika, right? I’ve gotta run now, but can I claim you tomorrow night?” 

“Um.” 

You take that as a yes. As you walk by her, she can smell the sweet scent of your hair. She doesn’t see the triumphant smile on your face as you leave the bar. She also realizes too late that she never got your name. 

✨—✨

-> thank you @practicalgauntlet for the request! -> dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

[astrolook]

The First Lord in Different Houses: Your Personal Astrology Adventure! 🌟

Grab your chart, get comfy, and let's dive into the First Lord and how it impacts your identity. Whether you're the life of the party or the secret genius, this is where the magic happens, and honestly, it's kind of hilarious too. ����

First Lord in the 1st House

You walk into a room, and everyone knows you’re there—there’s no hiding.

Confidence is your middle name, and you never miss a chance to strut your stuff.

You are an introvert’s worst nightmare!

Independent? Yeah, you invented it.

People say, “Look at them go!”... and you say, “Yeah, I know, I’m fabulous.”

First Lord in the 2nd House

You might lowkey feel like a walking bank account sometimes (it’s okay, you’ve got the swagger).

Money, possessions, and fine dining—that’s your love language.

Your idea of a good time? Maybe buying a new shiny thing or investing in something ‘important’.

A strong connection to your self-worth... and your credit score.

You get really excited about sales. Like, really excited.

First Lord in the 3rd House

Conversations? Oh, you’re always ready for one. And you’re the one leading it.

Your brain is like a Google search engine: full of random knowledge and probably some memes.

You could talk a dog into believing it’s a cat, and they’d never know the difference.

Restless much? Thought so. You’re onto the next idea before the first one’s finished.

Social media’s best friend—wait, is that a notification?

First Lord in the 4th House

You’re basically the “mom friend”—making everyone’s home feel cozy and safe.

Family gatherings are your jam (but only because you secretly judge everyone’s cooking).

Your vibe? “My house, my rules, but I’ll let you have a snack.”

You might look for a place to hide from the chaos and recharge... hello, couch naps!

Your home feels like a warm hug—and you give really good hugs.

First Lord in the 5th House

Drama? You’re probably starring in it (or at least watching it from the front row).

Flirting is your second language—don’t even try to resist.

You’re the life of the party, even if it’s just your dog and a Netflix marathon.

Hobbies? Well, they’re more like passions that take up all your time.

You’ll probably try to make everything a competition. “Who can make the best TikTok?”—Spoiler alert: It’s you.

First Lord in the 6th House

You love a good routine, but only because it means you’re in control.

Your daily mantra: “I’m not stressed, I’m busy—there’s a difference.”

Healthy eating? Absolutely. Just as long as it’s also fun (kale smoothies and 12-step meal prepping, anyone?).

You might accidentally become a perfectionist because, well, why not?.

You can’t relax until everything’s in place. Spoiler: It’s never in place.

First Lord in the 7th House

Relationships are your thing—friendship, romance, business partnerships, you name it.

You need a partner in crime—someone to do life with.

You’ll be the diplomat in any situation: “Let’s just all get along, okay?”

It’s not “me,” it’s we. You’re practically the CEO of Teamwork.

You thrive on validation from others—but hey, who doesn’t love a little support now and then?

First Lord in the 8th House

You’re that one person who probably has a secret collection of ancient texts—or at least watches a lot of true crime documentaries.

Deep transformation is your thing—your emotional rollercoaster has no brakes.

You have a knack for digging into other people’s deepest fears... or maybe just for figuring them out.

You’ll never shy away from a good existential crisis. Isn’t life just a series of changes?

You live for the intense, the mysterious, and, of course, the taboo.

First Lord in the 9th House

Wanderlust is your middle name—you’ll plan a trip to the other side of the world just because.

Your mind is always soaring above the clouds—metaphorically, of course.

You’re a fan of philosophy, and you probably have a shelf full of “deep” books that you’ll talk about for hours.

You think big, dream big, and might just try to change the world (at least your corner of it).

If you haven’t been to at least three countries, are you even living?

First Lord in the 10th House

You’re here to make a mark, and the world is your stage (just don't forget your best performance).

Career is serious business for you—but you’ll look fabulous doing it, of course.

Your reputation? Oh, it’s everything. You’ll take great care of that.

People might ask you what you do, and you’ll casually drop your “BOSS” vibes.

You’re the leader, the boss, the go-getter. They just haven’t realized it yet.

First Lord in the 11th House

You’re always looking toward the future—Hey, have you seen that next big thing?

Your friendships are everything, but don’t expect small talk. It’s all about big dreams and world-changing ideas.

You’re the social butterfly, flitting between events and people... but deep down, you’re a visionary.

If you’re not organizing a group project, are you even living?

You can totally turn any group into a movement—don't underestimate your powers.

First Lord in the 12th House

Solitude is your best friend—you probably thrive on some alone time... okay, a lot of alone time.

You’ve got that “mysterious vibe” going—people aren’t sure if you’re an enigma or a guru.

Spiritual awakenings? You have all the answers, but you don’t always share them.

You might be a secret healer, helping others in ways no one will ever know.

Boundaries? You prefer to merge with the universe, thanks.

Feeling curious about how each House Lord affects your identity and life journey? 🌠

Message me for a complete astrology reading / synastry compatibility reading, and let’s unlock the hidden secrets of your chart together! 📩

Karmic Paths & Soul Purpose: A Complete Guide to the North Nodes & South Nodes in Astrology (13-page report) - $5

Get my full PDF guide for just $5! Payment via PayPal. Once payment is confirmed, I will send you the PDF. It covers North Node & South Node in signs & houses, who you were in your past life, your career, family, love and your relationships in detail. Message me to grab your copy! 🌟

[emmiesoverthemoon]

⭑ come back to me

Pairing: g-dragon/ kwon jiyong x reader

Word Count: 4,550

Summary: Three years after you left your ex-boyfriend after he insulted your small modelling career, you reunite at a prestigious annual fashion gala.

Tags: second chance, hurt/comfort, slight angst, happy ending, exes-to-soon-to-be-lovers

cross posted on ao3 here

Today, you are one of the biggest names in the fashion industry, known for your beautifully authentic and original image that deserves the largest frame in an art gallery, the centre point on a stage, the brightest on a runway. Your confidence is effortless, your alluring demeanour sparked inspiration in many brands, designers, and agencies. You are the world’s muse, and clothing garments are their medium, created perfectly for you with intentions of highlighting and enhancing your natural elegance and grace.

No matter how dim a room’s lighting scheme could be, Jiyong could always spot you in a crowd. To him, your spectacular warm, inviting glow reflected upon any surroundings and ensured that any space you were to enter became infinitely more beautiful. Selfishly, all he wanted to do was bask in your luminescence and indulge himself into you, worshipping you as if you were a deity, deeming him fortunate enough for you to call his very name. He once did indulge himself, and held this to be his most favoured hobby, but he had ripped himself away from participating. He had some regrets, but some much, much larger than others.

The one that lay the heaviest on his conscious was you.

You, the one he once had the honour of calling his, and if he didn’t screw it up, he still would hold it close. You both had been an item for three years, the public being blissfully unaware of your relationship, as Jiyong knew how ruthlessly critical a portion the internet could be toward his potential suitors. He strove to keep you to himself; his sweet sweet little secret.

Of course, knowing the circumstances of his fame and career, you were okay with this. Naturally, however, you did yearn to be able to be a ‘normal’ couple; to be able to go out to dates, to hold hands in public, hell, even to just be able to leave the house together. But you never held him as responsible for your animosity towards the prying eyes of the media. You knew it was not his choice.

What was his choice, on the other hand, was how tightly he held the reins of his pride. Jiyong was a prideful man, he had every right to be, considering his achievements and successes. When you both were together, you were building yourself into the famous model you are today—attending as many castings as your manager could book you, walking as many shows varying in size as your heels could carry you, etc.—and obviously you were not as globally recognised as Jiyong. And on one evening, he made it apparent that he knew it well.

“Because you aren’t enough out there, unlike me. To them, I am leagues beyond you. I can’t have my image tainted with that."

The words sliced through your mind, each syllable lingering, replaying over and over. The weight of them felt suffocating, a stark contrast to the pleasant evening you had just shared moments ago. Not long ago, the two of you were laughing over dinner in his expansive, dimly lit home, talking about an upcoming gala. Jiyong had been invited for yet another year to one of the most exclusive fashion industry events, a cocktail affair where the names everyone recognizes congregate like icons in their own right. Your manager had miraculously secured you an invite—your first time attending. Your excitement was palpable, but so were your nerves.

This wasn’t just another party. This was your debut among the greats—the designers, the supermodels, the editors, all the ones whose names spark a fire in every aspirant’s chest. Your chance to cement yourself amongst your idols as someone who deserves their place alongside them. You were already second-guessing your wardrobe choice, wondering if your impression would hold up among legends. And the thought of possibly being seen with him, Jiyong, the elusive industry titan who you had been quietly involved with, made the evening feel like a balancing act. A part of you wanted to break the silence, make things public, even if just with a casual greeting, so that you could stop pretending in front of the world. But when you brought it up, Jiyong immediately dismissed the idea, his tone heavy with disdain.

A simple suggestion from you, one that felt innocent enough—a “meeting for the first time” in front of the cameras—was met with cold, condescending logic. “It would raise suspicions,” he had said dismissively. You tried to explain, to assure him that it would be harmless, a natural first step toward unveiling your relationship. But he wouldn’t hear it. “You” weren’t ready, “he” wasn’t ready—“the world” wasn’t ready, according to him.

And then, the words tumbled out of his mouth like a heavy, painful truth: “Because you aren’t enough out there unlike me. To them, I am leagues beyond you. I can’t have my image tainted with that."

The sting of his declaration hit you like a physical blow. You could feel your chest tighten, the air in your lungs suddenly too thick to inhale. In an instant, you stood up from the table, your chair scraping loudly against the floor, the echoes of the sudden movement cutting through the thick, glossy silence of the room. You didn’t look back. You grabbed your purse, hands trembling slightly as you made for the door. Every step you took toward the exit was a battle against the burning, threatening tears that hovered just behind your eyes. But you would not let him see you break—not now, not ever. His words had revealed something you couldn’t ignore: he had made his opinion clear, and it wasn’t one you could reconcile. You were beneath him. And you refused to let that stand.

Jiyong called after you, his voice rising, a mixture of immediate regret and desperation. "I didn’t mean it that way," he tried, but the excuses came too late. "I didn’t word it right." He sounded pitiful, but you weren’t interested in his explanation. You had heard everything you needed to.

The door slammed behind you, cutting off his voice.

You didn’t hesitate. The last words you spoke to him echoed in the cool night air: “I’m sorry that I’m not good enough for your pathetic ego. Go find someone more famous than me who can knock you down a peg.”

That was the last time you saw or heard Jiyong. And for three years, you pushed the memory of him away. But tonight, as the gala approaches again, you find yourself standing on the cusp of another year, another invitation, another flight from Korea to Paris in anticipation. The past feels so distant now, but the thoughts of him, of that night, have a strange way of creeping back into your mind.

The gala is everything you’ve come to expect from a night like this—elegance woven into every moment, a sense of timeless luxury that settles over the room like a soft velvet curtain. The ballroom is vast, the ceiling high, adorned with grand crystal chandeliers that catch the light and scatter it in soft, sparkling patterns across the polished marble floors. There’s a gentle hum of conversations, laced with laughter, punctuated by the clink of champagne glasses. The air is fragrant with an intoxicating mix of expensive perfumes, floral arrangements, and the ever-present scent of Parisian sophistication. Soft jazz plays in the background, its notes curling through the air, blending perfectly with the low murmur of voices. The walls are draped in opulent fabric, gold accents framing the large windows that offer a glimpse of the twinkling stars against the night sky draped as a veil, casting cool night air over the city.

As you glide through the room, it’s as though the very space parts for you. Your presence is magnetic, not because of a need for attention but because it’s undeniable. You've been here before, after all—many times now. You’ve grown accustomed to this world, not as an outsider, but as one of its beloved stars. Fashion knows you well, adores you, and respects you. You are a staple at these events, not just because of your work but because of the way you carry yourself: effortlessly divine and poised. There's a sense of ease about you tonight, a calm under the bright lights and all the eyes that flicker toward you as you pass. Your gown, a delicate yet striking creation of silk, catching the light with every step. It moves with you, flowing like liquid metal, the intricate beading of the fabric shimmering like constellations scattered across the dress. You look flawless—radiant, understated, yet undeniably captivating.

The whispers of admiration follow you as you walk, but there’s no need for words to validate your presence; your confidence speaks volumes. Designers, photographers, models, and influencers all acknowledge you, whether with a simple nod or a quiet compliment. To them, you are more than just a face—they know the hard work, the hours of preparation, the dedication you pour into your craft. You’ve earned your place here, not by chance, but by sheer, unmatched talent and authenticity. And as you move further into the crowd, you are greeted by those who have become familiar faces—the editors, the stylists, the creatives who have watched your journey unfold and who continue to champion you. Tonight, as always, you are the epitome of elegance, the pulse of this glamorous world that thrives on beauty, ambition, and artistry. There’s a quiet power that radiates from you, a reminder that in a room full of luminaries, it is your presence that lingers longest in their minds.

Your heart skips a moment when you catch the sound of a strikingly familiar laugh from across the room. A sweet jingle the back of your mind yearned to hear over and over again, despite the hurt. Although it had been approximately three years since you left Jiyong’s home that night, a small part of you still missed him. You were unsure if you truly missed him, or if it was the idea of what your relationship was; his effect on you, the way he spoke to you, the way he knew exactly where to touch to have your eyes widening and your heart racing. You often wondered if your mind was trapped in a prison cell of nostalgic wonder, constantly torturing you with flashbacks to moments you once held dear.

You let your eyes gracefully and subtly wander across the room, trying to spot the source of the laugh. Once you spotted him, you subconsciously let out a small flinch; you caught him staring back at you. An unreadable expression was scrawled across his smooth complexion, trailing across your face, your neck, and down your figure as he soaked in the view he yearned to see the moment you left that night.

Your heart began to race—not pleasantly, no, alarmingly, the heightened walls of the ballroom begun to constrict around you, suddenly envisioning everything becoming a whole lot warmer, tighter. Once over yonder you would dream for this warm, cozy feeling, for caterpillars to deem your stomach a safe haven for them to cocoon into beautiful butterflies, fluttering and fuelling the blood to rush to your cheeks, creating a beautiful crimson hue that he adored seeing you clad in, knowing he was the reason for its existence in the first place. But now, the warmth was smothering, asphyxiating.

You were the first to break eye contact, your eyes nervous—no; anxious and stressed. The weight of his focus on you was too suffocating, too overwhelming, just too much to handle for even a second longer. You needed an escape, a sanctuary where you can breathe freely for god’s sake. The lurching of your heart into your trachea, the trembling travelling from inside your bones through to your intrinsic muscles of the hand, which expressed exteriorly through the rattle of your fingertips, were symptoms of him—his charisma and magnetism, ones that you needed to experience not a single moment more.

You huffed, a futile attempt to alleviate some of the discomfort in your chest and lungs. You needed to get out of this room before it closed in and swallowed you whole.

You found yourself drawn to the balcony which was situated across a restaurant, playing melodic jazz music, as you gaze to the stars, a melodic saxophone is there to provide a tune rich with passion and humanity to sway along to. You had expected Jiyong to be present once again, he was the G-Dragon, you were just foolish in assuming that the ballroom would be full enough to avoid his attention.

Unfortunately, this balcony-made-haven was not as safe as you might have assumed. Your trance of relaxation with the woodwind instrument snapped, your bubble burst by the sound of a door sliding open and closed. Damn you for assuming you’d be safe.

Jiyong steps out onto the balcony, his presence immediate, like a gust of wind before the storm. You decide to give him a glance over your shoulder, and suddenly you can’t help but feel the familiar heat return, the way his eyes have a way of pulling you in despite your best efforts. Jiyong’s small grin is knowing, enticing, a familiar curve of his lips that used to be your favorite sight in the world, and your favourite place to touch with your own cheesy smile. Used to be.

“I knew you’d love the view from here,” he says, his voice like a silk thread that winds around you, pulling tighter with every word. “You would always tell me that a clear view of the night’s sky could draw you out of anywhere.”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you turn to gaze at the bustling townspeople below, feeling the weight of the moment. Your chest tightens. You want to breathe in the night air, let it fill you and wash away the old memories, the ones of warmth and tenderness that feel so distant now. But he won’t let you have that peace.

“Still alive up there?” Although his words are light and hold no room for depth, his words drift toward you like his old cigarette smoke, curling, adhesive, and insistent. An invitation for conversation you did not want to open.

You force yourself to focus on the glow of the Eiffel Tower, the steady pulse of the lights from across the Seine. It’s easier than meeting his gaze, easier than acknowledging the quiet storm stirring between the two of you. You couldn’t believe your ears; after all this time with no attempt to contact you with an apology, he opened your first conversation with him with fallacious teasing.

“I’m silent for a reason, take a hint,” you say, intending to remain sharp, but the words are too soft, too hesitant. You don’t want to give him that satisfaction, but your heart betrays you in the quietest of ways.

Jiyong steps closer, the heat of his body seeping into the cool night, his scent—familiar and dangerous—wrapping itself around you. The tension crackles in the air like static before a lightning strike.

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs, his voice lowering to a dangerous level, the kind that still sends a shiver down your spine. “Don’t pretend you’re unaffected by me.”

His fingers brush against your arm, just enough to remind you of how well he knows the geography of your body. You swallow, biting your lip to keep the words in check. You feel your heart beating, begging you to fall back into him, but you know better. You cannot betray yourself like this.

“I’m not pretending,” you say again, but this time the words are hollow, thin, as if the very act of saying them is a lie.

He moves closer still, the space between you shrinking until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your neck, stirring the tendrils of your hair you spent so long to perfect. You can almost hear the beat of your pulse in your ears, the thrum of your blood, and you hate how it betrays you.

“I don’t want this,” you say, the words carrying edge now, cutting through the fog of memories that cloud your thoughts. “I don’t want that... pain from us.”

The words hang in the air, heavy, like the scent of rain before the downpour. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, his eyes fixed on you as though he’s searching for something. A crack. A softening. A moment when he can slip back in.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, and it’s not a question. It’s a statement, as if he knows you better than you know yourself.

You turn away, arms folding across your chest as though that could shield you from him. But it doesn’t. It never has. The tightness in your throat threatens to spill over, but you won’t let him see. You won’t let him win.

The balcony creaks underfoot as he steps closer again, his hand brushing against the railing as if searching for something solid to hold onto. You know the feeling. You’re both teetering on the edge, balanced precariously between what was and what will never be again.

“You’re still angry,” he says, his voice a low hum now, vibrating in the space between you. “You’re still upset that I... said that to you. That I caused us to fall apart.”

You choose not to indulge him with your gaze, but you can feel his gaze like a weight on your back, pulling you toward him. You don’t want to talk about it. Not now, not here, not with him. But you can’t ignore the truth in his words.

“I’m angry because you didn’t care,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper, as though the confession would break you if it were louder. “You didn’t bother to try to reach out to me; I would’ve answered my phone, you should’ve known be better than that. You let me go without a fight.”

His breath hitches, a moment of surprise before he steps even closer, too close now, his body pressing into yours like an immovable force.

“I’m still fighting,” he murmurs, the words brushing the shell of your ear, trying to engrave a promise in your eardrum.

You shake your head, pulling away, forcing space between you. But the crack in your voice betrays you. “It’s too late for that.”

And for a moment, the world seems to still. The city below, the hum of voices inside, the thrum of the night—it all fades into the distance. All that’s left is you and him, tangled in the past, standing on a precipice, neither one of you willing to take the step toward what might come next.

He watches you closely, his eyes darkened by something unspoken, a regret buried beneath the surface, and for a split second, you almost think he’s not the man you left behind. But then he smiles, a slow, arc of his lips that makes your stomach twist.

He says nothing, but slowly raises his arm to brush against your waist. Slowly enough so that if you so pleased, you could move away, move him away. He would respect that.

But you let it happen.

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” He whispered, he’s close enough that you can feel the teasing, sensual tone licking against the slope of your neck where it meets with the base of your ear, reverberating through your head. He chuckles, his voice lowering, dripping with seductive teasing, forming a warm pit form in your stomach, “That is, if you want me to.”

You want to, oh god, you want to give in. You know he’s right, you were always one to give in to him; you were melting to fall right back into in his hands, and you knew it, he knew it. But instead, you don’t respond. You look out over the city once more, the lights shimmering beneath the weight of your silence. You wonder how much longer you can pretend that you’re not still tangled in the wreckage of everything you once had.

Juxtaposing your desires, you are a stubborn woman, and you need him to be aware of the pain he inflicted before he can be let in so easily. You suck in a deep breath, and your heels take one small, rushed step away.

“You know what?” you say, your voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “I’m tired of you pretending like you didn’t hurt me. You really think you can just waltz back into my life because you flash that damn grin and speak like that to me in that damn voice? Well, guess what, it’s not working anymore.”

He opens his mouth, but you don’t let him get a word in. You’re not finished.

“You said I wasn’t enough for you. And you didn’t just insult me verbally—you destroyed everything I thought we had. You invalidated and belittled everything I had worked toward at that point. Every single thing you said, every promise you made? It faded to nothing. You think you can apologize your way back in with some pitiful little look in your eyes? I’m not buying it.”

The words pour out of you, each one drenched in the venom of old wounds. You can feel the heat in your chest, the fire that’s been simmering for so long now rising to your throat. It’s so much easier to be angry than to be hurt, so much easier to tear him down than let him see how much he’s broken you.

“You don’t get to walk in here, after how high I have built myself, acting like I’m just supposed to forgive you, to fall for your charm. Do you think I’m naïve?”

There’s a moment of silence, and you take a second step back, finally meeting his eyes. But you see something you didn’t expect—something like regret, something deeper than just his usual smugness. And it stops you in your tracks.

“I’m not done,” you say, more quietly now, the edge of your anger still sharp but softer. “But I’ll tell you one thing—you don’t get me back with your words. Not with any of…” You wave your arms around, gesturing to the air between you. “This. You have to earn me back. You have to earn my trust again. And I don’t even know if I’ll let you. So, no, you don’t get to come back into my life that easily.”

You’re not prepared for the way your voice falters then, how it cracks and slips as you finish the last sentence. You hadn’t meant to break, not like this, but now that the anger is gone, the sadness rushes in. You don’t even try to hide it as the tears start to fall, hot and furious, blurring your vision. Your chest tightens, the lump in your throat suffocating you.

And there he is, standing in front of you—his eyes no longer filled with that arrogant glint, but something more raw, something that makes your heart stutter in a way you haven’t felt in months. Small tears brimming his eyes as well, he reaches out, his hand tentative at first, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

Jiyong’s hand lands on your arm, and the sensation of it feels like a remedy on a burn. He offers an embrace to soothe you, and you impulsively fall into him, not allowing your mind a chance take the wheel. You despise yourself for needing him like this.

“I was an idiot,” he says, his voice low, not the usual playful tone but something real, something genuine. “I know I hurt you. I know I hurt us. I wasn’t fair to you, and I can’t change that. I can’t take back the things I did, the things I said, but I am sorry. More than I could ever say. And I’ll keep saying it until you believe me, if that’s what it takes.”

You blink, a part of you wanting to reject it, to slap away the apology and keep holding onto your anger. But another part of you—the part that’s still so so tired—wants to believe him.

“You broke me. I trusted you, and you just let me leave. A single call would have been better than silence. I felt like you quickly moved on without even caring what your words did to me,” you softly cried, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

He steps closer, his hand still warm on your arm, and you don’t pull away, “I know. And I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I was a coward. I was selfish. And I hurt the one person I never should’ve hurt.”

You swallow, another sob catching in your throat. You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect him to apologise like this, so carefully, so thoughtfully. You didn’t expect him to look at you like he was the one who needed to heal. It does something to you, something you don’t know how to handle.

“I don’t know if I can ever trust you again,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I don’t know if I can forget how easily you let me go, after such a long time.”

He nods, his gaze unwavering. “I don’t deserve that trust, not yet. But I will work every single day to earn it. I’ll show you, if you’ll let me. I’ll earn your heart again. Not because I think I deserve it, but because I want to. Because I’m sorry—and I’ll show you that I can be the man you deserve.”

You sniff, gently wiling at your face, angry at yourself for letting your guard down, for feeling even the smallest glimmer of hope. But that’s the thing with him—he has a way of making you believe in something, even when you were sure you’ve shut that door and thrown away the key.

“You’ve got a long way to go,” you say, voice hoarse, but there’s something in it that feels like forgiveness. Not full forgiveness, not yet. But maybe—just maybe maybe it’s a start.

“I know, my love. I know,” his voice was no louder than a whisper, allowing you to fill space with your thoughts over his. He presses his lips against your forehead, which sends nostalgic sparks from the crown of your head, all the way through your torso and limbs, then inside your chest, electrifying your heart.

You remain in his arms for a moment longer, the weight of it all pressing in. You don’t say anything more. You don’t have to. The words, the apology, the admission—they hang between you like a fragile thread, and for the first time in a long time, you feel a sliver of something you thought was long gone.

Maybe you can forgive him. Maybe you can let him back in. But not now. Not yet. That is not something that can happen in just one night.

And for the first time in three years, you feel something more than anger. You feel hope—faint, fragile, but still there.

hey everyone! this is my first fic here! so i hope you like it! i was a bit nervous to post this :)

if there is anything specific youd like from me please don’t hesitate to let me know and i’ll do my best! :3

[randomfandomworks]

Caleb x Reader

Word Count: 1.2K

Pronouns Used: (You/Your) (occasional use of feminine titles such as Mom or Mother)

Warnings: Mentions of Pregnancy and Birth (only mentioned, not heavily described)

A/N: The Domestic Caleb brainrot got the better of me, not disappointed though just realizing I probably should have gone to bed earlier instead of proofreading (the proofreading did literally nothing, I suck at proofreading)

Dad!Caleb who will love his kids either way but expects a son to be his first, one he can raise to be as protective as him.

Dad!Caleb who’s eldest turns out to be a daughter, a daughter who just so happens to get his protectiveness and her mothers attitude and skills.

Dad!Caleb who spends plenty of time outside with her either training or helping her climb the apple tree you two had planted years ago when you moved into the house.

Dad!Caleb and his matching haired daughter coming inside with their arms overflowing with apples, big, proud grins on their faces.

Dad!Caleb who spends extra time with you in the kitchen preparing a number of different classical and creative apple dishes with your freshly picked fruit.

Dad!Caleb, who never stops wearing the necklace you got him, though it’s a bit worn now, and notices the interest your daughter takes in it.

Dad!Caleb who a few days later gifts your little girl a matching necklace, it’s a bit smaller and changed but her face lights up either way knowing she’ll be matching with her Dad.

Dad!Caleb who is overjoyed when you announce your second pregnancy to him, a secret you and your daughter had kept well hidden until the right time, she had already turned into your partner in crime.

Dad!Caleb who is perfectly willing to give up his office as a nursery but gets more than disappointed when you have to take down his model plane collection, having no where else to put it, it ends carefully stashed in a closet.

Dad!Caleb who can’t help but side eye or glare at anyone who assumes he’s hoping for a boy, as if he wouldn’t want another girl, especially one with your traits.

Dad!Caleb who is still overjoyed regardless, yet visibly more stressed, when you learn that your having not one but two boys in the coming months.

Dad!Caleb who will spend a later half of the night staying up and laughing with you as you both come up with the most outrageous baby names, both of you trying and struggling to keep quiet as your daughter rests peacefully, tucked in by him a few rooms away.

Dad!Caleb who is by your side for every struggle and smile just as he always has been.

Dad!Caleb who can’t wipe the proud grin on his face until at least a week after your boys are delivered.

Dad!Caleb who softly introduces your daughter to her brothers, teaching her gently her new responsibility of keeping them safe as the oldest but reassuring that they can always come to him if it ever gets to be too much.

Dad!Caleb who easily carries both of his boys out of the hospital, a drastic change to how uncoordinated he first was when they were both born a few days ago.

Dad!Caleb who will instantly and silently handle nights with the babies, allowing you to tuck your daughter in and rest yourself instead of stressing yourself unnecessarily.

Dad!Caleb, who is the first person your daughter turns to after school, reading her new book to him as he cradles one of his boys in his arms, reminding you of how he used to bounce her and read to her quietly when she was her brother's age.

Dad!Caleb who is excited every day your children grow more in their personalities.

Dad!Caleb who makes the cutest individual cakes for your son's first birthdays, not minding at all as they end up smearing his work over their faces.

Dad!Caleb who makes those individual desserts a tradition for the two boys as they grow up, and makes sure to put just as much effort into whatever your daughter wants as well.

Dad!Caleb who gets the most boyish grin on his face when one of your sons discovers the model planes he had tucked away ages ago, model planes he now happily unboxes and helps his son put up as he gains an intense interest in them.

Dad!Caleb with one boy who gains his curiosities about aircrafts and your smile and jokes, and another who has the ambition of your daughter, derived from you both, but not the skill and is an amount of clumsy that neither of you are sure who belongs to.

Dad!Caleb with a daughter who is adventurous and loves to read, a son who will happily spend hours with a puzzle or memorizing new facts, and another who will trip over his own feet but can beat both of his parents at a claw machine.

Dad!Caleb who spends time picking and reading new books to his little girl, who will sit outside and use his Evol to make his son’s model planes fly, and who will teach his other little boy all of the tricks to different claw machines leaving them time and time again to clear out the plushies, a gift they will both give to you as soon as they get home.

Dad!Caleb who never forgets an important date from birthdays and anniversaries to things as small as school meetings or performances.

Dad!Caleb who is more than busy but will never miss anything important to any of his kids, and would never dare miss anything important to you.

Dad!Caleb who will make time for his entire family, but especially makes sure there is time for you two.

Dad!Caleb, who will bring you flowers after work just because the idea crossed his mind, and makes sure to pick up a small bouquet for your daughter as well after seeing her reaction the first time.

Dad!Caleb who wakes up every morning to make his family breakfast and will bring yours to you in bed, allowing you two a few more minutes of quiet together before you both get all of them ready for school.

Dad!Caleb who loves movie nights with the whole family as much as date nights between just the two of you.

Dad!Caleb who will continually surprise you with new ideas, dates, recipes, you name it.

Dad!Caleb who will ruffle your children’s hair just as he ruffled, and still ruffles, your own

Dad!Caleb who knows how much you appreciate photos and will drastically add to your collection of your family.

Dad!Caleb who will add every photo of you all that he has to your never ending collection besides one, one of all four of his favorite people asleep on the couch together. Breakfast is long forgotten on the coffee table, a movie your kids just had to see is playing in the back, and they’re all cuddling into you somehow. Each peacefully sleeping and just as at home against you as he has been, just another thing they inherited from him.

Dad!Caleb who quietly keeps this photo in his wallet, looking at it whenever he needs, reminding himself day in and out what everything he does is for.

Dad!Caleb who knows you can both struggle with keeping up with your kids but will make sure it never falls entirely to you.

Dad!Caleb who loves his family more than anything, but has always loved you first and will continue to love you more than anything, and make sure you know it if you ever seem to forget.

[wlwsoccerfics]

Secret is Out!(MeademaXTeenReader)

Warnings: school Fight, bullying, injury, homophobic comments mentioned

A/N: for the sake of this Fic, Viv never left Arsenal.

Summary: you have a Secret girlfriend. Your moms find out when school calls them cause you got into Trouble.

You were walking from your classroom to the Cafeteria ro grab some food and meet up with your girlfriend when you got cornered by a group of girls. They weren't Strangers to you. Unfortunately you were one of their favorite Targets. They called you names that were quite homophobic, they mockingly called you 'queen of football' and stuff like that. Saying you make a really big deal out of playing for Arsenal and Englands national Team at only 15 years old. Which was ironic cause you never really talked about it at school.

"why do you keep posting pictures of your Family! No one wants to see you and your mothers! We get it you all are d*kes!" One of them said. You frowned softly.

"why the hell do you feel the need to watch at what she Posts? You seem to be obsessed with her!" You heard a voice behind you say. You knew exactly who the voice belonged to. It was your girlfriends voice. You and Lenja had been secretly dating for 3 months now.

"can't little Mix(they called you that cause of you being english & dutch, thinking it was hilarious, No Idea why) fight her own battles?! She is like a rescue puppy!" One of them answered.

"leave her alone! She is too nice to be mean to you guys!" Lenja said.

"No she is weak in every way! She is only playing soccer cause her moms are playing, not like she is any good." The Queen of mean replied and everyone laughed. She then pushed you which resulted in flying fists. You ended up with a bloody nose and a black eye. Even though you weren't even fighting. No Lenja was defending you and had a busted lip now. The mean girls got suspended but somehow you and Lenja also got in trouble and now your parents would get called.

Viv's Phone rang during practice, first she ignored it but when it rang the second time, she picked up. Seeing it was your school.

"miedema." She said.

"it's y/n's english teacher calling, you need to Pick your daughter up from the principals Office. She has gotten in trouble!" Your teacher explained. "Don't worry she is okay!" She added.

" we will be there as quick as possible!" Your momma said and ended the call. Your Mom was looking at her and so were a few teammates.

"Viv what's wrong?" Your aunt Leah asked.

"is everything okay?" Your Mom wanted to know.

"that was the school. our daughter is okay, but she has gotten in some sort of trouble!" Your momma explained.

"getting in trouble so doesn't sound like our Kid!" Your Mom stated and sighed softly.

"agreed, my goddaughter doesn't do trouble! Only on the pitch!" Your aunt Steph replied.

Your moms quickly told everyone they would talk more during afternoon practice. It was the practice you always attended as well. It took them 20 minutes before walking into the school and seeing you sitting in front of the principals Office, next to Lenja. Her parents happened to be closely behind your moms.

"oh my god! What happened to your face liefje?" Your momma asked.

"the Queens of mean happened!" Lenja said.

"Lenja, i want an explaination!" Lenjas dad replied. You two explained things when the principal walked over and told you and your parents that you would be suspended for two weeks as well.

"that's bullshit!" Lenja jumped out of her seat but you pulled her back.

"Lenja." Her Mom said, wanting to make sure she calms down as well.

"those girls bully my girlfriend on daily basis! They even threw punches and now instead of just them getting in trouble it's us as well?!" Lenja frowned softly. Not realizing at first that she had just accidentally outed your relationship. All four parents did notice though. But at first they wanted to resolve the Problem because it doesn't seem fair to them either to punish the two of you for that.

"our daughter looks all banged up! It's your Job to keep our kids Safe! Does this look Safe to you?!" Your mom asked. She was upset. Pointing to both your face and Lenjas.

"i agree with my wife!" Your momma replied.

"we think it's not acceptable either! We should sue you!" Lenjas dad stated.

"i don't think that's necessary. I am sure we can figure something out." The principal let you guys know. He probably realized it wasn't so smart to get press for the school. Especially not If three Professional Football players and two doctors were involved.

This all did in fact work out and you weren't suspended but still left with your moms, Lenja and her parents for the day.

You went to grab some coffee and talked about your relationship.

"so you two are a couple." Lenjas Mom stated.

"yes. Guilty!" Lenja answered.

"why didn't you tell us?" Your momma asked.

"in all honesty...i wanted to avoid the talk." You admitted.

"Same!" Lenja admitted. Lenjas parents chuckled softly.

"Lenja you got the talk two years ago. We won't give you another talk... just be Safe!" Lenjas Mom said.

"Same goes for you! We just want you to be safe, liefje!" Your mom told you.

You talked for a little while before you had to go to practice. Your moms and Lenjas parents got along well though so your moms invited the three to your next Game.

You were on your way to practice mow, sitting in the backseat. Your momma was driving.

"lovely? Can i ask you something?" Your Mom spoke up.

"yes sure." You replied, curious what she wanted to ask.

"why didn't you tell us you were being bullied?" She asked.

"cause i was trying to ignore them for the most part! It doesn't really bother me that much anymore." You explained.

"still, you shouldn't have to go through it." Your momma answered.

You walked into the locker room with your moms for afternoon practice. All eyes were on you and your banged up face.

"okay who hurt my goddaughter? I am gonna hunt someone down!" Leah stated.

"it's all sorted out!" You quickly said.

"But someone messed up your beautiful face!" Steph answered.

You chuckled softly.

"as long as my girlfriend still likes it!" You told them.

"WAIT?! GIRLFRIEND?!" they all yelled out.

[paishoeyeroh]

Bearer And The Bound

☰ Pairings: Sukuna x Reader, Slight Megumi x Reader

✧ Summary: When you stumble upon an ancient ring in an abandoned house, you unknowingly bind yourself to a cruel, powerful demon who thrives on torment. Trapped in a reluctant bond and forced to navigate a shared existence, Sukuna plots your downfall while you fight to survive his sadistic games. But as your fates entwine and secrets of Sukuna’s dark past begin to unravel, the lines between enemy and ally start to blur.

✧ Tags: True form Sukuna, Enemies to Lovers, Dark Romance, Demonic Bonds, Heavy Angst, Slow Burn, Sukuna is Bad at Feelings, Possessive Sukuna, Tension, Forced Proximity, Eventual Smut, College/University AU, More Tags To Be Added Later

✧ Status: Ongoing

✧ You can also read it on AO3

☰ CHAPTER TEN: Fracture

Chapter Summary: You push. Sukuna breaks.

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Sukuna is ignoring you.

At first, you don’t think too much of it, assuming he’s just quiet this morning. You hadn’t seen him since last night, after all, and you figured things might be a little… tense. But by the time you’re sitting through your first lecture, tapping your pen against your notebook in distraction, the truth becomes evident. He’s doing it on purpose.

No odd comments thrown your way, no dry observations, no flickering glances. He follows, because he has to, but he doesn’t acknowledge you once. It’s as though you don’t exist.

You try to push it aside, to focus on your professor’s voice, on the words you should be writing down, but it hurts. There’s no denying that.

There’s really only one explanation for his coldness. Last night. The way you were drawn to each other like magnets. And then, Megumi’s call. A reminder of the one person Sukuna seems to despise, though you’ve never been entirely sure why. He’s never liked Megumi, never tried to hide his distaste. Whatever his reasoning, you know the timing isn’t a coincidence. Whether it was the moment itself or the interruption that followed, it’s clearly bothering him.

And if it’s not? If there’s something else behind his silence? That thought is even more frustrating, because it means you still don’t know what’s going on inside his head at all.

Between classes, you catch sight of a familiar head of pink hair bobbing above the crowd. Yuji. At the sight of him, you remember your conversation with Megumi last night. You decide to call out his name.

He turns immediately, eyes lighting up the second he spots you. A wide grin spreads across his face, and before you can brace yourself, he’s bounding toward you, all but skipping across the hall.

“Hey!” he exclaims, wrapping you in a tight, familiar hug. The embrace is warm, effortless, and you sink into it without hesitation. A real, genuine smile tugs at your lips, one you didn’t have to force. His energy, so bubbly and contagious, fills your insides with light, chasing away the darkness you’ve been carrying all morning.

“I was just thinking about you! Nobara and Megumi are coming over later to hang out. Wanna come?” he tilts his head closer to you, his hand coming up to cup the side of his mouth as he lowers his voice, “there’ll be weed and snaaaacks,” he sing-songs, as if he’s trying to bribe you into coming.

You giggle at his antics, but you feel a tight pang in your stomach at the realization that he’s trying to convince you, probably because he thinks you don’t want to go.

“Alright, I’ll come. But I’m not smoking any of your weed. Not after what happened last time,” you say with a grimace. Yuji’s weed is always incredibly strong, and since you’re not much of a smoker anyway, it had too great of an effect on you the last time you tried it. You don’t even want to think about it. The head spinning. The paranoia. The crying. Not fun.

Yuji throws his head back as he laughs, squeezing his eyes shut tight, and you have no doubt the memory is playing back through his mind.

“Oh yeah! I forgot about that. Good times,” he mocks as his hand comes up to squeeze your shoulder. “Well, just come over whenever after class. Nobara and Megumi are catching a ride with me, so we’ll all be there.” He waves his hand at you as he walks away. “See ya later!”

You find yourself still smiling long after Yuji passes by you in the hallway, his bright and bubbly mood never failing to cheer you up. Tonight is going to be just what you need.

As long as Sukuna behaves with Megumi around.

Your smile immediately falters at the thought. You glance over at him, standing a few feet away leaned up against the lockers, looking in the opposite direction of you. You sigh as you head to your next class.

The rest of the school day goes by quickly, now that you have something to look forward to. As Sukuna continues to neglect your existence, you become more and more certain that he will keep up the charade at Yuji’s place. The thought almost comforts you. Maybe it’ll feel like old times again, before you ever put on that damned ring.

You make your way up to Yuji’s apartment, lightly rapping your knuckles against the door.

It flings open suddenly, and Yuji’s standing there in all his marijuana-induced glory, having clearly started smoking already. His eyes are half-lidded and red rimmed, and there’s a wide, goofy smile plastered across his face as he welcomes you.

“Heeey! Guys, I told you she’d come!” he shouts back to the others, before beckoning you inside. You take a step in, with Sukuna following behind you before Yuji closes the door.

The moment you step inside, the thick, unmistakable scent of weed hits your nostrils. It’s warm in here, cozy in that lazy, indulgent kind of way. The coffee table is a mess of half eaten snacks—open bags of chips, crumpled candy wrappers, a box of cookies that’s already looking dangerously empty. And right in the middle of it all, Yuji’s bong sits proudly, a testament to the night they’ve obviously already been having.

Megumi is sprawled out on the couch, legs spread wide, looking more relaxed than you’ve seen him in months. His head tips lazily toward you, and a slow, lopsided smile spreads across his lips as he greets you. You return it, unable to control the tugging at your lips at the sight of him so at ease for once.

Yuji flops down beside him with a satisfied sigh, stretching his arms over the back of the couch. Meanwhile, you settle onto the floor next to Nobara, who turns to you with a look of pure relief.

“Thank god you’re here. I can’t listen to those two anymore, especially Yuji. I think I can actually feel him making me dumber.”

“That’s not because of me, it’s the weed, idiot,” Yuji quips, ducking to avoid the pillow she throws at his head in response.

You laugh, shaking your head, as you turn back to Nobara. “How’d your date go the other night?”

She immediately rolls her eyes, reaching into her bag of chips and pulling out a handful. “Ugh, don’t even get me started,” she shoves the chips into her mouth, crunching loudly. “First, he didn’t open the door for me. Then, he tried to, like, order my own food for me? And to top it all off, he didn’t even compliment my outfit!” she crushes her bag of chips in her fist in anger.

“So, naturally, I ghosted his ass. I don’t have time for that kind of disrespect.”

“Naturally,” you snort, as Megumi coughs loudly, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke as he takes a rip of the bong. He reaches out, offering it to you.

“Want some?”

You turn to him, shaking your head.

“Nah, I’m good.” you decline, watching him pass the bong to Yuji. As you do, you notice something out of the corner of your eye. It’s Sukuna, and you watch as he rounds the corner, walking out of sight. Probably off to go pout somewhere by himself like a sullen child, you think as you inwardly roll your eyes. You have no intention of dealing with that for the remainder of the night. You quickly turn your head back to the group as Megumi speaks.

“Guys, can we put a different show on?” he asks, his voice strained, almost pleading. He swallows thickly, his gaze locked onto the screen like it’s about to crawl out and grab him. “This one’s freaking me out.”

Yuji squints at the screen, then back at Megumi.

“What? It’s just Pokémon, dude,” he says before he leans forward, studying Megumi like he’s the most fascinating thing in the room. “Are you good?”

Megumi stands shakily, his face pale, quickly making his way down the hall. “I’ll be back,” he weakly mutters over his shoulder.

Nobara and Yuji watch him for a moment, bursting out in simultaneous laughter after the bathroom door slams shut.

“He must’ve smoked too much. He’s probably in there freaking out,” Nobara manages to get out through her wheezes.

“It’s not his fault,” you defend, “Yuji’s weed is way too strong. Last time I smoked with you guys, I convinced myself I was in a simulation.”

You shudder as you recall the memory, but it only encourages another round of cackles from the two.

You watch them for a moment, trying to contain your own laughter. But after what feels like way too long for a regular trip to the bathroom, Megumi still hasn’t returned.

You glance over at Yuji and Nobara, but they’re engrossed in their own conversation. They’ve either forgotten about the situation entirely or are too high to care. Or both. You realize that you’re going to have to be the one to go check on the poor guy.

You stand up with a sigh, preemptively pouring a glass of water in the kitchen before heading down the hall.

As you pass by Yuji’s bedroom, the open door offers a glimpse inside. You glance in casually, only to stop dead in your tracks at what you see.

Sukuna is there.

Flat on his back, sprawled across Yuji’s bed, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. But something’s off.

His upper set of hands are thrown over his face, fingers digging into his forehead, covering his eyes like he’s trying to block out the world. The lower set of hands are clenched into fists, the muscles in his forearms tight, twitching with some kind of barely restrained force. You don’t even have to see his face to know he’s seething. Pure, unadulterated anguish radiates off of him, thick enough to suffocate the air in your lungs.

You watch him for a second, concern twisting deep in your gut. You’ve never seen him like this. Ever. Sukuna does not unravel. But here he is, unraveling right in front of you, completely unaware that he now has an audience.

Your lips part, the start of his name forming on your tongue, but before you can speak, his hands slide up, gripping into his hair with so much force it looks like he might tear it straight from his skull.

You stand in the doorway, mouth open, quickly snapping it closed when you notice the look on his face.

His eyes are squeezed shut, brows furrowed so tight it looks like it hurts. His lips part slightly as he exhales a slow, trembling breath, one that sounds like it’s been forced from the depths of his chest. His jaw clenches, the muscles flexing repeatedly, and his fingers tighten their grip on his hair almost desperately, as if he’s trying to anchor himself, to keep from coming apart entirely.

Your own breath stills in your throat. Every muscle in your body goes rigid, your mind struggling to catch up with what you’re seeing.

What the hell is going on?

A lump forms in your throat as you try to make sense of it. He’s been avoiding you all day, shutting you out since last night, and now… this? The distance, the cold silence, was all a cover, that much is clear now. But for what?

A part of you wants to go to him. To reach out, to touch him, to offer anything that might ease whatever war is raging inside of him. The urge claws at you, visceral and insistent, your arms aching to wrap around him in comfort.

But another part of you hesitates.

I shouldn’t be here.

You’re witnessing something raw, something unguarded and deeply, painfully human. A moment he never meant for anyone to see—least of all you. You’ve been toeing a dangerous line with Sukuna for a while now, but this… this feels like stepping over it. Stumbling over it, straight into a place you don’t belong.

You should leave.

The need to understand him, to help him, gnaws at you like a hunger, but he isn’t someone who needs things like that. Sukuna doesn’t want help. He is power. He is control.

But right now…

He looks like he has neither.

You catch yourself before you do something you’ll regret, clenching your hands around the glass of water you’d forgotten you were holding. Slowly, as to not make a sound, you creep past the doorway, heading over to the bathroom.

You press your ear against the door, listening for any sign of life from inside. Nothing. No movement, no shuffling. Only silence.

After a brief hesitation, you turn the knob and push the door open, peeking your head inside.

Megumi is sitting on the edge of the bathtub, his elbows braced against his knees, his head cradled in his hands. His shoulders rise and fall with slow, deliberate breaths, the kind you take when you’re trying to will your heartbeat to steady.

“Megumi?”

He lifts his head at the sound of your voice, blinking sluggishly. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, his pupils blown wide. It takes him a second to register you standing there, and when he does, his posture stiffens just a little. A ghost of a smile flickers across his lips—weak, sheepish—before he clears his throat.

“I’m alright, I just needed to chill in here for a second.”

You step into the bathroom, closing the door gently behind you before lowering yourself onto the floor beside him. The cool tiles press against your legs as you settle in close to his feet, holding out the glass.

“Here, drink this. I got you some water.”

Megumi takes it, fingers brushing against yours for a fleeting moment. He doesn’t look at you right away, instead staring down at the rim of the glass like it suddenly holds the secrets of the universe.

“Thanks,” he mutters, finally lifting it to his lips. He swallows a few careful sips before adding, “Sorry for ruining the vibe.”

You shake your head, lips twitching into a small smile as you reach out, rubbing his arm in comfort.

“Don’t worry about it,” you assure him, your voice soft, “you didn’t ruin anything.”

That gets him to look at you, but only briefly, his eyes flickering to yours before darting away. He shifts slightly on the edge of the tub.

You grin, deciding to tease him just a little. “Come back out whenever you’re ready. Oh, and I’ll make sure that show isn’t on when you do.”

His lips part slightly before pressing into a flat line. A weak chuckle escapes him, half amusement, half mortification. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”

You squeeze his arm lightly before rising to your feet. As you do, you glance down at him one last time, watching as he rubs the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. Stifling a giggle, you reach for the doorknob.

“See you out there,” you say, stepping through the doorway.

As you make your way back to the living room, you pass by Yuji’s room once again. This time, you keep your gaze fixed straight ahead, resisting the urge to steal another glance inside. If Sukuna were to catch you looking, even for a second, he’d know you saw him earlier. He always knows. And you’re not sure you’d be able to school your expression fast enough to keep the truth from spilling across your face.

Right now isn’t the time to deal with whatever it is Sukuna’s got going on. Right now, you just want to have fun with your friends. You can deal with anything else once you get home.

That’s what you keep telling yourself.

Upon re-entering the living room, you notice the show from earlier has already been turned off, the soft hum of music filling the space instead—low, rhythmic beats that sink into the atmosphere like a gentle pulse. Yuji is sprawled across the couch on his back with a half-eaten chip bag laying forgotten on his lap, one arm tucked behind his head, the other drumming lazy fingers against his stomach in time with the music. His gaze is fixed on the ceiling, his expression distant, no doubt lost somewhere in the hazy lull of his high.

Nobara mirrors his sprawl on the floor, phone in hand, absentmindedly scrolling as she occasionally pops a chip into her mouth. You retake your spot beside her, snatching one from the bag without a word.

“Do you think that grass is, like, the earth’s pubic hair?”

“Yuji. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Nobara responds immediately. Based on her reply, you can only assume this has been going on for a while.

“I’m just saying! It makes sense if you think about it.”

“He’s kinda got a point,” you add with an amused tilt of your lips.

“Please, don’t encourage him.”

“You guys just need to get on my level. Nobody’s on my level,” Yuji pouts.

Before anyone can respond, Megumi reappears, looking far better than he did before. His complexion is no longer pale, his movements steadier, the color returned to his cheeks. He runs a hand through his hair as he steps into the room, shaking off the last remnants of his ordeal.

“Welcome back, buddy!” Yuji exclaims, immediately sitting up to make room for him on the couch. “We were worried about you! Were you fighting demons in there or what?”

Megumi levels a deadpan look at him before scanning the room, his gaze settling on you and Nobara before he sinks back into his previous spot. In one swift motion, he reaches over and swipes the bag of chips right off Yuji’s lap with a little more force than necessary.

“Nobody speaks of this outside of this room,” he says, voice flat as he pops a chip into his mouth. “Or you’re all dead.”

“Alright, jeez. Relax. Not like we’ve never greened out before,” Nobara mutters without looking up from her phone.

As the night winds down, conversations fade into a comfortable lull, and Nobara suggests putting on a movie. You settle in as it plays, watching it unfold on screen, but your mind is elsewhere now.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop thinking about what you saw in Yuji’s room—Sukuna lying there, his hands fisted in his hair like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will, seemingly teetering on the edge of some sort of breakdown.

You’ve never seen him like that, so unguarded, so vulnerable. You’ve seen him express emotion, sure. Anger, usually. Or quieter flickers hidden beneath sharp words and sharper smiles. But you’ve never seen something like that, not from him. It was unsettling, to say the least.

Is it because of me?

The question nags at you, digging into your ribs like a phantom dagger, whispering doubts into the corners of your mind.

Would he be angry if he knew you saw him like that? Or would he shut you out even more?

The idea sends a wave of sadness through you. Your heart aches for him. Whatever it is he’s going through, you have a sinking feeling that he’ll never open up, no matter how much you pry.

You shift in your spot, eyes flitting toward Yuji’s bedroom before quickly turning away.

Don’t.

The urge to check on him gnaws at you, but after the cold shoulder he’s been giving you all day, you doubt he’d give you the answers you’re looking for.

So instead, you decide it’s time to head home for the night. Yujis passed out anyway, having fallen asleep almost as soon as the movie started, and Megumi looks like he’s close behind him. You stand, gathering your things as you whisper your goodbyes, heading to the door.

Just as your fingers curl around the doorknob and open it to step outside, Sukuna appears, rounding the corner with his usual quiet grace. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t look anywhere but forward. He just slips past you and steps out the door ahead of you, carefully maneuvering his body so that his arm doesn’t so much as slightly brush your own.

You exhale slowly, watching his back as he strides ahead, his steps long and deliberate. You’re not surprised to see him keeping up his silent act. He doesn’t know that you saw him in Yuji’s room, after all. He doesn’t know you stood there, rooted in place, witnessing him beginning to unravel at the seams.

You step outside after him, the cold air a sharp contrast to the cozy warmth of Yuji’s apartment, slapping you like an icy wake-up call. Sukuna is already way ahead of you. The wind tugs at the strands of his hair, but he doesn’t react—just keeps walking, his movements purposeful, controlled.

By the time you reach the car, he’s already inside, the door shutting with a firm click. You sigh, tightening the grip on your keys.

You settle into the driver's seat, starting the engine and pulling out of the parking lot. The hum of the car feels louder than usual in the empty space between you. Neither of you says a word.

You want to say something, anything, to break this awkward tension. But… what can you say? You glance over in his direction briefly, but Sukuna is turned away, the side of his face barely visible in the dim light coming off the dashboard. You can’t tell if he’s avoiding you, or just lost in his own thoughts. Probably both. Either way, you can feel the distance continuing to grow between you with every minute that ticks by.

You clench your jaw, fighting the urge to demand an explanation for his behavior today.

Just drive.

When you finally pull into the parking lot to your apartment, Sukuna doesn’t wait. As soon as the car comes to a stop and you shut the engine off, he’s already out, his door slamming shut before you can un-click your seatbelt.

You watch his back as he walks ahead, his long strides forcing you to pick up your pace just to keep up. With every step, frustration burns hotter inside of you, winding itself around the ache that’s been sitting there since you saw him in Yuji’s room.

Why won’t he let you in? He’s hurting, you saw it with your own eyes. So why is he still keeping you at arm’s length? Why does he insist on suffering in silence when you’re right here?

By the time you reach the door to your apartment, your chest feels tight with your unspoken thoughts, the urge to voice them aloud becoming harder and harder to resist. You step inside right behind him, closing the door softly despite your inner turmoil threatening to spill over. And once again, Sukuna moves past you without a word, already striding down the hall, probably planning to disappear to wherever the hell he goes when he doesn’t want to be seen.

You make a quick decision. You’ve had enough of being ignored. You can’t just keep pretending everything is fine, like you’re sure he intends to. You have to say something.

“Sukuna.”

He stops, turning halfway around to face you. You study him carefully, searching for even the faintest trace of what you witnessed earlier—the tension in his jaw, the desolation in his face, the silent war he was waging within himself.

But there’s nothing.

Where there should be emotion—something raw and real—there is only an empty stare, a hollow reflection of the man you know lurks beneath his mask.

Cold. Dark. Void.

It’s a door slammed shut, an unspoken message that whatever moment of weakness you glimpsed was never meant for you.

The air between you grows infinitely heavier, colder. You can almost physically feel it, the absence of him, like something vital has been drained from the space he occupies. It prickles at your skin, wrapping itself around you, a quiet, almost suffocating numbness that mirrors the emptiness in his gaze.

He raises his brows at you, waiting for you to continue.

“You’ve been ignoring me.”

“Have I?” his voice is steady, indifferent.

You fold your arms across your chest, feeling your irritation finally rising to the surface. “Yes. You haven’t said a word to me all day. You haven’t even looked at me, not since—“ you cut yourself off, afraid to bring up the almost-kiss directly, “not since last night.”

Sukuna turns away, dismissing you with the shift of his shoulders, as if the conversation itself is beneath him. “There’s nothing to say,” he replies flatly, his tone impersonal, like he’s already decided this discussion isn’t worth his time.

But you refuse to allow him to slip through your fingers so easily. “Come on, don’t do that,” you step closer to him, determined to not let him brush it off, “don’t just… shut me out. Haven’t we moved past this?” your voice softens, the concern evident in your words.

Sukuna remains still, his shoulders drawn tight, his entire body wound like a thread stretched too thin. He doesn’t turn to respond, but his silence speaks louder than any answer he could give. And still, you push, even knowing it might only drive him further away.

“Why won’t you just talk to me?” you continue, your frustration giving way to something dangerously close to pleading. “I’ve opened up to you about everything—about my past, my ex, my life. You’ve basically seen it all. But you? You’ve given me nothing. You hide behind this wall like you’re… some… untouchable thing.”

At that, Sukuna finally turns his head, just slightly, his narrowed eyes settling on you over his shoulder. There’s a shift in the way his eyes almost darken, like a tide pulling back before the wave crashes. His voice is low, almost a growl.

“What exactly do you want from me?”

His question stings, cutting deep. Your throat constricts, like his own words have wrapped themselves tight around your airway, but you swallow hard, willing yourself to push through it.

“I want you to stop pretending that this means nothing to you,” you say, gesturing between the two of you, between the space that feels impossibly vast despite how close you stand, “that I mean nothing to you.”

For a moment, he just stares blankly at you in response. Then, without warning, a low, humorless laugh escapes him, dry and sharp, like the crack of a splintering bone. “You think this… whatever this is, means something to me?”

You take a breath, the words that have been stuck inside you for days, weeks, finally crashing to the surface.

“I know it does,” you say, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts, “and I know you feel it too, Sukuna. You’re not as detached as you think you are.”

He whips around at that, his face twisting, a sharp flash of anger breaking through his emotionless exterior. His brows pull together in disbelief, a deep furrow forming between them.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he snaps, his voice sharp. “Let me guess, you think just because we’re stuck in this bond, you can ‘fix’ me, is that it? You think I can feel anything? Love? Don’t be foolish.”

You’re taken aback by his words, his sudden anger. This is not how you wanted this conversation to go at all. But it’s happening now, spiraling out of control right in front of you, and there’s no turning back.

“I’m not trying to fix you. I’m just asking you to let me in.” You step closer, desperate to break through the icy wall he continues to throw up, to finally see the real him that he’s been hiding behind it. You’re tired of him pretending there’s nothing left of the man he once was.

Fuck it. You might as well let it all out.

“I’m not like her, Sukuna.”

His reaction is immediate. Sukuna’s body stiffens, his shoulders locking into place as if he’s just been struck. His eyes widen dangerously as his stare burns straight through you, unsettling you to your core.

“What?” His voice is low, quiet, but full of warning, like a blade pressed to your throat.

Your pulse pounds rapidly in your ears, your instincts screaming at you to stop and retreat, but you can’t stop yourself. The words continue to spill out.

“Look, I know about Uraume. I know what she did to you. I—“

“If I were you, I’d choose my next words very carefully,” he interrupts, his tone razor-sharp and dripping with venom.

You really should stop talking. Any rational person would. But the next words are already on your tongue, your desperation outweighing your better judgment. If you just keep pushing, if you can just make him see—he’ll believe you. He has to.

“I’m not her, Sukuna. You can trust me. I would never do that to you.”

His eyes flash, cold rage igniting in them like a distant storm, dark and inevitable. He takes a slow step toward you, his presence suddenly overwhelming, and you have to lock your legs in place to fight the urge to step back in response.

“Since you think you know so much,” he growls, his voice dripping with contempt, “then surely you know what happened to her, don’t you?”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head in response, your voice sounding much smaller and less confident than before. “No, I don’t.”

His expression changes, the sharp edges of his fury settling into something eerily calm. Too calm. His lips curl, not into a smirk, but something that resembles more of a grimace, though his eyes remain wide, uncanny and hollow.

“I killed her.”

He takes another step closer, and a sudden, primal fear rises inside you, sharp and instinctual. Your body tenses as you cower back.

His jaw tightens, and for a brief moment, a shadow of something—pain, maybe rage—contorts his features. But it’s gone in an instant, swallowed expertly by that cold, unrelenting mask.

“She screamed,” he continues, his voice dipping lower, “begged for mercy, for forgiveness.” A slow, humorless chuckle escapes him, causing a chill to run along your flesh. “As if it meant anything. As if I would ever grant her either.”

He takes a final step forward, and you don’t move, don’t breathe.

“I tore her apart, piece by piece for what she did to me. Watched her blood stain the ground like spilled ink. And when she finally stopped screaming, when she gasped that last, pitiful breath—“ he leans in, just slightly, “it was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard.”

Your stomach plummets, a sickening drop that leaves you dizzy. His words coil around your throat like a noose, tightening, choking. You had considered the possibility—of course you had. Sukuna had killed before. You had seen it yourself in the visions of his past. But those had been in battle, acts of war and conquest.

This… this was something else entirely.

A slow, merciless dismantling. A deliberate, calculated destruction of someone he once loved. Nausea rises in the pit of your stomach, threatening to bubble up into your throat. You stare at him, at the thing standing in front of you, and for the first time, you feel like you’re truly seeing him. The demon. The unrepentant, merciless king who had bathed in the blood of those who wronged him.

The Sukuna you’ve come to know—the one who met your wit with dry amusement, the one whose touch had once felt gentle against your skin, who had almost kissed you just yesterday—is gone.

“I…”

You take another step back, the words struggling to form on your trembling lips.

“You’re nothing like her,” he sneers, his voice laced with disdain, “and you never will be. You think just because you have some sort of odd little obsession with me, that makes you special? That I could ever feel for you what I once felt for her?” His lips curl into something akin to a snarl, “I am a monster. I kill, I destroy, I devour.”

His words strike like a blade, each syllable leaving his lips like tiny knives carving into your heart, stripping it away piece by piece, leaving you hollow. You can do nothing but watch, wide-eyed, empty, nothing left but the overwhelming ache where hope used to be.

“You’re nothing to me,” he continues, cruel and cutting. “Your pathetic little life is a mere speck in the grand scheme of things. I have been here for centuries. And I will continue to be here long after you’ve rotted, buried deep and forgotten underground.”

The room feels like it’s closing in on you, your vision blurring around the edges as your eyes begin to fill with unshed tears. You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You have no words. The air is heavy, thick with the weight of his cold dismissal of you.

“I’m not capable of love, girl, and you’d do well to remember that.” He says, his voice quieter now, but no less harsh.

“I’m not some human you can change and mold into a version that you prefer. I’m a demon. That’s all I’ll ever be.” He takes a step back, his face hard and unrelenting. “And if you think for even a second that I could ever care about you, then you’re even more fucking pathetic than I thought.”

The tears come fast, scorching trails down your flushed cheeks as your breath turns ragged. Your vision blurs, the room shrinking in around you, and all you can think is that you need to get away. Away from him, from his words still ringing in your skull, splintering through your chest like jagged glass.

You don’t look at him. You don’t even think. You just run.

You barely make it to your bedroom before the first sob rips free, raw and uncontrollable. The door slams behind you, but it does nothing to stop the pain from clawing its way up your throat, your shoulders heaving with the force of it. You stumble forward, collapsing onto your bed, curling in on yourself like a wounded animal.

Your hands tangle in your hair, gripping tightly, desperately, as if you could anchor yourself, as if you could stop the ache spreading through your chest, sinking deep into your bones. But it’s useless. The sobs wrack through you, shaking you to your very core, your breaths coming sharp and fast, too fast, until you’re gasping, until it feels like you’re drowning in it, in him, in everything you thought you had and everything he just tore apart in an instant.

And still, his voice lingers. Still, it hurts.

How could you be so stupid?

Of course he doesn’t care. Of course he doesn’t feel. He’s a demon—a creature of pure, unrelenting cruelty. You knew that. You’ve always known that. And still, somehow, you let yourself believe. You let yourself hope that there was something more beneath all that rage and ruin, something real. Something for you.

But there isn’t.

There never was.

You’re just a pathetic, lovesick fool, chasing a dream that was never yours to begin with. He’s not a man. He’s not someone to be understood or saved, not someone who could ever love you back. He is darkness, destruction, a force of nature that does not bend, does not break, does not care.

Your stomach twists with the sheer humiliation of it, shame seeping into your skin like poison. How could you let yourself fall? How could you have been so blind?

Your body trembles as you curl in tighter, rocking slightly, trying to push it away, to find some shred of comfort in the wreckage. But the thoughts won’t stop. The hurt won’t stop. It digs into your ribs, carves itself into your heart, reminding you over and over and over—

“You’re nothing to me.”

A strangled sob tears from your throat, raw and broken, as you bury your face into the pillow, desperate to muffle the sound. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. The ache in your chest is too big, too unbearable, clawing at your ribs, crushing the air from your lungs.

For a fleeting moment, you think about leaving. Just getting up and walking out the door, disappearing into the night, never looking back. Maybe if you run fast enough, far enough, you can outrun this pain, escape the weight of what you’ve done, what you let yourself believe.

But where would you go?

There is nowhere he wouldn’t follow. No distance you could put between you that the bond wouldn’t snap back into place, dragging you right back to him. He is inescapable.

And you are trapped.

Your chest tightens violently, a crushing, suffocating weight settling onto it, making it impossible to breathe. The walls feel smaller, the air thinner, the room closing in like a prison. You squeeze your eyes shut, fists clenching in the sheets, trying to steady yourself, to think, to breathe.

Breathe.

Eventually, the sobs fade, not because the pain lessens, but because your body simply can’t keep up with it anymore. You lie still, curled in on yourself, drained beyond measure. The tears don’t stop, though—they slip silently down your face, soaking into the pillow, leaving behind the sticky remnants of grief. The hurt remains, dull now, a hollow, throbbing thing inside your chest, like an open wound that refuses to close.

You take a trembling breath, staring blankly at the wall as the crushing silence of the room presses in around you, thick and suffocating.

“You’re nothing to me.”

The words replay in your head, slow and deliberate, sinking deeper with every repetition. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this was all a mistake. Maybe you were foolish, delusional to think you could ever be anything more than a passing amusement to him. To believe you could reach something inside him that simply doesn’t exist.

And yet.

Even as you think it, even as you try to carve the truth into your own heart, a part of you refuses to believe it. Because you know better.

You’ve seen it. Felt it.

Despite his cruelty, despite the ice in his voice, despite the way he shut you out like you were nothing—you know there’s something beneath it all, something he won’t let himself admit.

But if he refuses to acknowledge it… does it even matter?

The thought lingers, heavy and unresolved, sinking deep into the marrow of your bones.

It shouldn’t matter. It can’t matter.

As you lie there, hollowed out and aching, the weight of his words pressing into your ribs like iron, you know this wound won’t fade so easily. It’s carved too deep, settled too far inside you.

So you let the tears fall, silent and endless, tracing paths down your skin like a grief that refuses to be swallowed. You close your eyes against the darkness, but there is no escape—not from this, not from him.

All you can do now is endure.

☰ Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

☰ Taglist: @nerdybouquetofkittens-blog @after-laughter-come-tears @rizzyjuney609 @prezzleyy

[user947468]

NSFW Alphabet - Arisu Ryohei

Hello! If you're from my Chishiya fic please look away, I am really deep in writers block and I thought this could be fun.. Warning this is fully explicit, if you're not into that please click off!

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

Very, very gentle. He's scared that he hurt you in someway, or was too rough, or you would regret it immediately after- doesn't matter if you took the initiative or not. Despite being a borderline genius- he's not that knowledgeable in after care, but he tries his best. Cleaning you and himself up after with a wet rag, tissues, toilet paper- which ever was the most convenient at the time- and making sure you feel comfortable, asking if you need anything, ect, ect.. he loves your comforting praises after more than he would like to admit.

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

Arisu couldn't answer that question earnestly with a gun to his head. He didn't have a favorite, couldn't physically choose one. He was obsessed with everything about you, infatuated with every inch of your being- one moment he would ogle your thighs, than your waist, your chest, your lips, your eye's- yep, he would have to take the bullet. As for him.. well, they don't call them gamer fingers for nothing. He's a bit too proud of how long he can go without getting a hand cramp.

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

When Arisu was young he was freaked out by it, thought it was dirty and inhuman- even though it subsided in his late high school years and his hormones were flying through the roof it was always a thought in the back of his mind. That's why it took him by complete shock when you asked him if he wanted to cum on your face, and how fast he came after the fact. He couldn't take his eye's off you after, having to shake himself out of his mind before he got hard again.

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

While not major to most- Arisu would never admit to watching as much porn as he frequently does. He's an absolute porn-freak. One websites, apps, magazines- you name it, he's seen it. Oh, and he has a thing for keeping your underwear- which he would never tell you of course, or take without your permission!

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

He's not a virgin, while he doesn't have women throwing themselves at him left and right, he's not completely oblivious to the sex scene. And sure, he's watched it, and heard story's from his friends- but doing it is a whole other ball park.. its a good thing he's a fast learner. But there are still a good handful of thing he's yet to be introduced too.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Anything you want. Preferably position's he could fully watch you in, but if wanted to try something new Arisu was anything but picky. However, he does have a knack for missionary and cowgirl- he adores picking apart your reactions, how your head throws back when he fondles your breast, or when he sucks bruises into your neck and you follow up with a low moan.

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

Arisu always tries to make light of a situation with humor. Especially during your first few nights together; if he feels like the silences are too prolonged he'll tell a joke, or when you make a move and all he can do is let out a nervous giggle- its adorable in hindsight, although you know he hates when he reacts like a untouched-virgin.

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

Nicely trimmed, not too short, not too long. Before you, he would never give shaving a second glance. After all why would he need too? No one was going to see him there anyways. It was on your first date that he bashfully decided to keep himself more well groomed, for your sake.

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

Nervous, of course. He's overly sensitive, hyper-aware of everything going on- and you wouldn't have it any other way. He's takes his time, making sure you know how much you mean to him every step of the way- whether is be by his words, or his hands, or his tongue..

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He surprisingly has a higher sex drive than you would think. He could go one after the other after the other.. he only needs a few length breaks in between before he's back on track! His record was four in one day- which he only counted because of a stupid, and completely childish bet with Karube and Chota.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Arisu never gave thought to power play, especially being titled the submissive one- and maybe it was just you that provoked it in him-but when you first climbed on-top of him, whispering borderline pornographic praises in his ear- moving his hands where you wanted them, refusing to let him cum to early- he knew he would do anything you asked, and you knew it too.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bedroom- preferably yours. Covered completely by you; your clothes, your perfume, your bed sheet.. he's not one to venture off, especially while still living with family. Although his guard does lower in the borderlands, he'll do it anywhere he deems safe enough for you.

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

Everything. Nothing. Someday's he could see you in a skimpy bathing suit and all he can think is how beautiful your eyes are or how much he adores your laugh. Other days he can get hard in an instant if you look at him a certain way- mind twirling with different images of you- you under him, on-top of him, him between your legs...

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

Anything to hurt you is an absolute no. Blood, knifes, scratch marks- there all no-go's. He's even hesitant to use degrading nicknames. Although he wouldn't mind mild restrains or gags of some sort, on him of course. And don't even think about calling him daddy, he will gag.

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

He loves both! Want to give him a blowjob? His pants are already coming off. You asked him to eat you out? He's on his knee's in seconds. Although he love's you warm mouth and curious tongue- nothing beats being between your legs. Tasting you, smelling you- don't even get him started on you tightening your thighs around his head, keeping him in place while you ride out your orgasm.

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

Most of the time Arisu likes to keep it slow and sensual, covering every conceivable inch of you in small kisses and following your shape with gentle wandering hands. Once in a while he'll get caught up in bliss, pace radical and tight grips- but he'll apologies immediately after, brushing your hair out of the way and asking if your okay- you always are.

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

Not his favorite, he enjoys cherishing every moment with you, every whimper and shutter of yours graved into his mind- but there not half bad in his opinion. He has morning wood but a class in fifteen minutes? If your up for it, he is too. After all he would be a fool to not take the chance up.

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

If it's nothing too crazy, like almost sadistic, he'll try anything once if it makes you happy. Arisu has no problem stepping out of his comfort zone for you, matter of fact doing introduced him to things he would have never known he was into. Although you'll have to slowly get through his shy demeanor at first.

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

He's a loser-gamer with a porn addiction... yeah he's not lasting long at all! But he does really, really, try to hold off when you ask him too, after all he doesn't want to disappoint you. Either way he makes up for it by offering a second round, he'll need a second to recharge but as soon as you start leaving kisses down his neck it's go time!

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

Would he ever by himself? Absolutely not. Even if he wanted too, he'd be too embarrassed to go out and buy one- hell, he wouldn't even want the charge on his card. Besides a fleshlight - which was a joke gift Karube got him for his birthday, "I knew you'd love it!" he said, watching Arisu's face turn the brightest shade of red any ones every seen- Arisu's never once owned a sex toy on his own account. Until he meet you. It started off innocent enough- cheeky lingerie, strawberry lube, clit vibrators- than you turned the vibrators on him and introduced him to male sex toys.. he was sure his brain chemistry changed after the fact.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

You would say he's a tease, he would say he's making sure every inch of you doesn't go unappreciated. He really doesn't mean too, and when ever he notices you getting aggravated or huffy for more friction, he gives you a sly smile and ask's you what you want him to do to you. When said, he jumps straight into action.

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

Arisu really tries to hold it in, truly, with all his might - but he's just naturally loud. And you would be lying if you said he wasn't good at it. Every whimper, moan, grunt, and curse could be heard from the man, none of his reactions going unnoticed. He didn't shy away from being verbal either, much to your delight.

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

This man is most love-struck fool ever. And that leads to a lot of desperation on his end, especially while your away. How dare you treat him so good? Give him the most live changing orgasm than leave to your collage classes thirty minutes latter? The amount of things he's rubbed himself off too because of it was shameful; your voicemail, a small note you left him on a sticky note, the smell of your shampoo..

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

Arisu was an average length, 6 and a half inches long - he swear the half inch makes a huge difference - and a width of an inch and a half, lean like the rest of his body. Pale pink and a strong veins coming from his shaft, they were always the most sensitive- along with his tip of his dick.

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

He could do without getting off everyday. Sleeping through it or taking a cold shower if necessary, and he never beg you into anything you weren't in the mood for but it's safe to say it doesn't take long to get him in the mood.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

As much as his hormones love raging off the charts- his physical athleticism slows him down. Generally he could fall asleep anywhere, anyplace in seconds- but plus being physically and mentally tired? He's already in a deep sleep. (After after-care, of course) Good luck trying to wake him up!

[veltana]

Cate's Creation Celebration

Hello and welcome to my first ever writing event! 🫣😅😨😵

My birthday happens to fall the day before Walpurgis Night. Where I'm from we celebrate with friends, watching bonfires, listening to choirs and getting absolutely shitfaced. So we're going to combine that with the myth and folklore of Walpurgis Night and have ourselves a creation celebration! Are you going to confess to your best friend by the flames of the fire, or are you going to get snared by a dark warlock?

There are two parts of this! A writing event and submitting a writing request. For both you need to be +18 to participate. There needs to be some indication of your age in the bio of your blog.

If you want to submit a writing request, you can find the form here. Your askbox needs to be open to be able to participate. Read the rules in the form before submitting.

If you want to participate in the writing event please see the details below!

General details

The writing event is open to the end of May (but I'll accept late entries)

All entries will be put into an event masterlist.

Rules

I read for Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans and sometimes Henry Cavill characters. I'm open to reading other fandoms but no RPF.

Only reader-insert fics. Please use inclusive language and tag accordingly so everyone can have fun!

You don't have to claim a prompt but please keep to the theme of the event.

10k maximum word limit. Please put your fic under a cut after a reasonable amount of words!

Your fic can be part of a series but must be able to be read as a standalone piece.

No fucking AI fics.

No incest, grooming, underage, watersports/scat, vomit, necrophilia, cannibalism, bestiality or similar types of yucky stuff.

Otherwise works can be any genre (fluff, smut, angst ect), just make sure to include appropriate warnings. I do reserve the right to not read and/or reblog something that makes me uncomfortable. I'm not much for really dark fics or whump.

If you only post to AO3 then please send me a link or something so I don't miss it!

Tag @veltana when you post your fic and include #catescreationcelebration in the tags!

Here are some prompts to get the wheels turning!

Dialogue (you're free to change tense):

"Did you put a spell on me!?"

"If magic made wishes come true, what would you wish for?"

"Are you alone out here?"

"You have no idea what forces you're playing with."

"I can't pretend anymore."

"I'm doing this for you!"

"I'm not supposed to fall for someone like you."

"It's really hot."

"Our love will either save the world or doom it."

"Is that a pentagram?"

"Don't tempt me."

"You're not supposed to be here."

"You're adorable."

"Do you feel it? The pull between us?"

"Ugh, I hate this!"

"I'm not just your protector, I'm bound to you."

"I'm really cold."

"I warned you, being near me comes with a price."

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

"You're the only light in my dark world."

"I gave up my soul for you."

"I've always wanted to summon a demon."

"You deserve to know."

"I've heard your voice in my dreams."

"The moon has whispered your name to me."

"Oh... oh!"

"I can give you anything you desire, but there is a price."

"Who are you?"

Setting/AU:

Bookstore

Bonfire celebration

Sacrificial ceremony

Cursed/Enchanted forest

Café

Academia

Soulmate

Abandoned cottage

Moonlit grove

Demon

Priest/Priestess

Monster

Omegaverse

Ritual

Warlock/Witch

Tropes:

Friends to lovers

Enemies to lovers

Forced proximity

Fake relationship

Secret relationship

Second-chance

Marriage of convenience

Arranged marriage

Fated mates

Only one bed

Amnesia

Professor/Student

Idiots in love

Fuck or die

Haaaave fuuuuuun~

[moniquesha]

And the Award for Biggest Slip-Up Goes To…

Pilot.

18+

At the 97th Oscars, Y/N arrives with rumored boyfriend Milo Manheim, stealing the spotlight. Moments later, James Buchanan Barnes steps onto the carpet—not alone, but with Natasha Romanoff by his side. Their eyes meet. Just for a second. But it’s enough.

Content Warning: Hollywood!Bucky x Actress!Y/N, mature themes, Bucky x Current Girlfriend!OFC, angst, jealousy, past feelings resurfacing, HUGE age gap.

author's note: excited & scared! i just really want this out of my head so that's why i'm posting (i can't talk to anyone about this)

The 97th Academy Awards have officially begun, and Hollywood’s elite are flooding the red carpet in a dazzling display of couture and charisma. The flashing lights of a thousand cameras illuminate the night as stars arrive one by one, each moment meticulously captured for history.

With Vanity Fair, Vogue, and The Hollywood Reporter vying for exclusive interviews, the pressure is on to secure the most coveted moments of the evening. Nominees, directors, and industry icons make their way down the carpet, their carefully chosen words and designer ensembles dissected in real-time by eager journalists and online fans alike.

Tonight isn’t just about glitz and glamour. It’s about legacy, about the performances that shaped the year, about who will take home the golden statue… and who will make headlines for reasons beyond their nomination.

The air is thick with excitement and a touch of tension. Notorious rivalries, unexpected reunions, and whispered secrets simmer beneath the surface. Because while the Oscars celebrate film, it’s the moments off-camera that Hollywood never forgets.

And tonight? There’s a storm brewing.

The flashing lights intensify as Y/N finally steps onto the red carpet, instantly commanding attention. Dressed in a stunning custom gown that hugs her frame in all the right places, she moves with an effortless grace that sends reporters scrambling for their microphones.

Everyone who is anyone wants a piece of her. Each desperate to get an exclusive comment from the night’s most anticipated nominee. Paparazzi yell out her name, hoping to catch even a second of her attention, while fans along the barricades scream in excitement.

But it isn’t just Y/N who’s making waves. Walking just a step behind her, looking just as polished in his tailored tux, is Milo Manheim, her co-star and rumored boyfriend. The way he subtly places a hand on her lower back as they navigate the chaos, the way she turns her head slightly toward him when he speaks—it’s enough to send social media into a meltdown.

A reporter from ET gets close enough to ask, "Y/N! How does it feel to be here tonight as a Best Actress nominee? And with Milo by your side?"

Y/N, ever the professional, flashes her signature smile before responding, "It’s surreal. An absolute dream. And I wouldn't be here without the people who believed in me."

She doesn’t directly address the rumors, but the way Milo grins down at her, like he knows a secret the rest of the world doesn’t, only fuels the speculation further.

As they continue down the carpet, another question rings out:

"Y/N, do you think tonight’s the night?"

A pause. A flicker of something unreadable in her gaze.

She smiles. "Guess we’ll have to wait and see."

And with that, she walks forward, disappearing into the biggest night of her career.

But just as the cameras settle from the frenzy of Y/N’s entrance, another wave of excitement ripples through the crowd. The moment everyone has been waiting for, James Buchanan Barnes has arrived.

Dressed in a sharp black tuxedo, exuding effortless confidence, he moves through the red carpet like he owns it. But it’s not just him that has the press on edge. On his arm, stunning in a sleek, perfectly fitted gown, is none other than Natasha Romanoff.

Gasps.

A few stunned expressions. Some knew or at least, thought they knew but seeing them together, here, now? It’s enough to set social media on fire. Bucky, a nominee for Best Actor, flashes a charming smirk as photographers bark out his name, but he barely slows his stride. Natasha on the other hand, elegant and composed, stays close beside him, her presence magnetic.

Meanwhile, just a few feet away, Y/N and Milo are still giving their last few interviews. For the briefest moment, Y/N turns her head. Their eyes meet.

A beat.

Y/N’s jaw tenses so subtly, no one but those who know her best would notice.

Bucky, ever unreadable, holds her gaze for just a second too long before someone calls his name, forcing him to look away. Natasha leans into him slightly, whispering something that makes him chuckle under his breath.

Y/N blinks, turns back to her interview, and pretends the moment never happened.

But someone definitely caught it.

And soon, the internet will too.

author's note: i do genuinely hope i finish this 🙏 a little bit of push from someone or anyone will def make me happy !

i have no masterlists of any kind or what! u are witnessing a baby being born today. but here's your way back to it: Summary.

[alexanderwales]

Game Review: The Roottrees are Dead

When I played Obra Dinn shortly after it came out, I thought "man, that was great, they should make a hundred of these, this should be a whole genre", and on reflection, that would actually be a terrible idea, because what made it great was the storytelling, the attention to detail, and the loving care that went into it. As I've learned from the wave of games that take inspiration from Stardew Valley, there are some genres that I only like if they have a lot of attention to detail and artistry.

The Roottrees are Dead very clearly follows in the footsteps of Obra Dinn, and while it doesn't quite hit the same highs, I think it's a worthy successor that forges its own path and helps to establish what's possible within the space.

In The Roottrees are Dead you play as an investigator in the late 1990s (1998 for the original, 1999 for Roottreemania), looking into the Roottree family to uncover some of there secrets. You do this almost entirely through a simulacrum of the early internet, with a pre-Google web search, periodicals, and checking out books from the local library. Gameplay entails combing through these documents to see what there is to search, then making some deductions to put information up on the sprawling family tree. Just like in Obra Dinn, you get your guesses "confirmed" after you've locked in some number of correct entries, which helps to narrow down the search space.

It's a good game. I recommend it if you like research and puzzles and deduction.

I think mostly I want to talk about how it feels to play this game, and what I think makes it work in a way that's totally different from other detective/puzzle games.

First, and I think this is very important, you can search almost everything, and you are often rewarded for this. Every name, every company, every book, all of them can be searched in one way or another. Sometimes it's the web search, and if that turns up nothing, sometimes you can search the periodicals, except that you don't start out knowing the names of the periodicals. And when you do get the name of one, it opens things up, because you can go searching using this new resource.

Sometimes the information isn't quite right, so you have to think it through. Use someone's maiden name, or find out what a book was retitled to for its second publication, or figure out how the thing you're searching for would be referenced. This is all the kind of thing that I find really enjoyable, and more so than in real life, because the feedback is instant. Even if you hit a dead end, the game will usually have some text for you, and sometimes it'll tell you it's a dead end with a little story, ending with "unfortunately none of this seems relevant to the Roottree family".

What you're ultimately doing is creating this whole web of information, picking up names from articles you read and tracking them down, which gives you more articles and more names. You have some understanding of these people and their relationship to each other. You get to know the history in this very unconventional way. It's pretty unrealistic, but my suspension of disbelief was mostly fine.

Locking things in feels great, particularly because it means that you're removing a possibility from your list of names, making everything easier in the next go. This was something clearly borrowed from Obra Dinn, and I'm glad, because it works so well and feels so rewarding. New here are "optionals" that get confirmed whenever a lockin of the main family happens, and this is a great evolution of the concept.

There are two places where the game let me down a little bit, and both have to do with the pictures. The first issue is that I wanted the pictures to be of a higher quality. The web version had AI images, which were a little wonky, and got flak for it, so the images were (apparently) hand-drawn for the release on Steam when people were paying money for it. And they're still a little wonky, which is surely a budget issue, and maybe a little bit an art direction issue. I don't like criticizing thing for their lack of budget, but man, there were places where I felt it here.

The second issue with the pictures is that these tend to be the worst kinds of clues. People just do not talk about appearance and clothing in these ways, and it always feels clunky in the way that other clues (usually) don't. They're necessary, because this is part of the core gameplay, matching pictures to names, but it feels to me like the weakest part.

New to the Steam version is "Roottree Mania", which deals with a crisis of "extras" to add to the family tree, those who are products of affairs. It's basically the same in structure, and proof to me that this concept has legs: the focus is different, but you're engaging in the same gameplay. I would say that overall, I enjoyed Roottree Mania about as much as the main game, even if the scope was somewhat less focused.

And like before, I find myself thinking "they should make a million of these", but I know that this is only as good as it is because there's significant dedication and care put into it, and you can't just "copy" it and expect for it to be playable or good. You need those little moments when things snap into place, when something confusing reveals itself to be well-ordered. You need puzzles to work out, inconsistencies to uncover, information working together. And that's hard, and it's something I'm happy this game was able to do.

[haxeroo]

Romantic surprise

Summary: Unexpected challenge. Date, with Daryl. What was supposed to be a disaster, turned out to be a great victory.

Warnings: curses (I think that's all?)

Era: Whatever tbh, but the action takes place at Hilltop

Word count: 3.9k

Something from me: Hello again. Thank you very much for the warm reception of my first work, I didn't expect this.. Catch another, totally different idea. Sorry for all the mistakes. I hope you like it! <3

"– Draw."

You looked at Carol in disbelief. She was sitting at the table, arms crossed, looking at you with that unreadable expression on her face. The one that said there was no point in arguing.

You raised an eyebrow, sensing there might be some joke behind this. "Seriously? A date in the middle of the apocalypse?"

"Got something better to do?"

And she had you there. Because no, you didn’t. You sighed quietly, reaching for one of the folded pieces of paper. You slowly unfolded it, as if your life depended on it.

DARYL.

You froze.

Carol snorted with laughter. "Well, good luck."

Oh, shit.

Her tone didn’t sound encouraging – more like a challenge. Because it was no secret that Daryl... well, he wasn’t exactly the easiest person to approach.

You watched Carol walk toward Maggie, and when both of them covered their mouths and glanced your way, it became clear that this whole "drawing" thing was nothing but a clever plan. And soon enough, the whole Hilltop would know about it.

Which meant you had to act fast.

You sighed, glancing at the paper again, almost hoping the name would magically disappear. Unfortunately, it didn’t. So if you were going to do this, it had to be on your terms.

You smiled slightly, took the rubber band off your hair, and ran your fingers through it, letting it fall in a loose mess. The last raspberry from your plate served as a subtle touch to redden your cheeks – a small detail, but the girls at the table immediately gave you thumbs up.

Here we go.

You walked toward the garage.

Daryl, as usual, was tinkering with one of the vehicles. He was lying under the car, completely indifferent to the thick, tar-like liquid dripping down his forearm.

You crouched next to the car and peeked underneath.

"Want some help?" you asked, maybe a bit too innocently.

Daryl froze for a second, then barely lifted his head.

"Nah."

You weren’t discouraged.

"Then maybe you want to help me?" this time, it came out more like you.

You heard the clink of a wrench falling to the asphalt. After a moment, the man slid out from under the vehicle, propping himself up on his forearm. He looked at you with furrowed brows – not a bad look, more like... cautious.

"With what? I ain't got all day, girl."

You hesitated for just a fraction of a second.

"We're going on a date."

Daryl blinked slowly.

"The fuck we are."

You sighed and lifted the piece of paper to eye level.

"Before you start blaming me..." You moved just enough so he could see Carol and Maggie, who were openly watching the whole scene from the other side of the yard. "It was Carol’s idea."

Daryl didn’t need to say anything. A single glance was enough.

"‘M not gonna be a part of this."

"Daryl." You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice as if you were revealing some big secret. "If we don’t do this, she won’t leave us alone for another month."

And that stopped him.

Because Carol could be incredibly stubborn.

Daryl furrowed his brows, chewed on the inside of his cheek, then let out a short, drawn-out:

"Shit."

It wasn’t a "yes."

But it wasn’t a "no" either.

And that was something.

Daryl sighed heavily and waved his hand.

"’Kay, whatever," he muttered, then almost immediately disappeared back under the car.

You glanced at Carol, who raised an eyebrow meaningfully, then back at him.

"So… come on?" you said with amusement, seeing his movements slow for a moment.

"Ain’t got time now. Later." His voice was muffled but firm enough that most people would have given up.

But you weren’t "most people."

"But Carol needs to see that we’re going, y’know." You pressed, barely holding back a wide smile. "So it kinda has to be now."

Something between a grunt and a sigh escaped his lips – heavy, resigned, slightly irritated. Something that, in his language, could mean "damn it" or "why the hell am I doing this."

After a moment, his head slid out from under the vehicle, and he started wiping his hands on a black rag. He did it quickly, almost nervously. But he did it.

So the first step was done.

Once Daryl looked down, you quickly turned back to Carol and Maggie, raising your clenched fist in the air. A sign of triumph. You didn’t wait for their reaction – you knew they were impressed – only looked back at Daryl.

This time, he was wiping his hands on his pants, clearly irritated with the whole situation.

"Where are we going?" you asked with exaggerated sweetness, knowing exactly how it would irritate him.

"Ya tell me," he almost growled, giving you a brief, suspicious glance.

You feigned surprise, but only for a second.

"You know, where I come from, men choose the date spots." You put a hand on your hip, purposefully looking at him, clearly aware of what it was doing to him.

In his piercing eyes – cold blue, seeing right through you.

"‘N back where I’m from, we ain’t dating."

You sighed ostentatiously and rolled your eyes.

Then, you smoothly turned on your heel, not looking back, but gesturing with your finger for him to follow you.

To your surprise, he did.

You felt a shiver run down your spine.

"Well… today you do." You smiled lightly. "So think of something, or I will."

You looked at him again, unable to resist.

"And trust me… you don’t want that."

The man raised an eyebrow in surprise. Something passed over his face – a single emotion you couldn’t read.

You didn’t comment on it.

You slowed down to match his pace and very subtly stared at him. You made it clear that you were waiting.

Daryl got the message. But still, for a long moment, he didn’t say a word.

"So?" you finally asked.

"So wha’?"

"Any ideas? Or maybe you want my help, after all?"

Daryl froze for a second. Was that... hesitation?

No, he looked more lost. And that was new. His blue eyes scanned the area as if looking for a hint, some kind of escape.

Finally, after a long pause, he just shrugged.

"Walkin’ counts."

A smile crept up on your lips.

"Indeed it does," you nodded seriously. "So, a romantic walk. Nice."

"’S just a walk."

"No," you immediately disagreed, too quickly for it to be accidental. "It has to be a romantic walk. It’s a date, remember?"

And again, that strange emotion on his face.

His gaze weighed heavily on your shoulders, and you could feel Daryl was about to say something. He even opened his mouth...

…but then he closed it again.

You weren’t about to press him. But you also weren’t going to let it slide.

"Tell me something romantic, then," you said casually, deliberately looking away.

You knew that if you saw his face, you’d burst out laughing.

"Not happenin’."

"Why is that?" you feigned surprise. Very exaggerated surprise. 

You raised an eyebrow in silent shock and added a slightly sad expression. Not even a second passed before Daryl was raising his hand in a defensive gesture.

Wow.

Daryl. On the defensive.

You were getting better at this.

"We just gotta show Carol that we’re talkin’," he corrected immediately, as if he wanted to end the topic. "That’s it."

You hesitated.

It was a good excuse – it fit the narrative of "Carol made me do it, I don’t want this." But the truth was completely different.

You wanted to get to know Dixon better. And everyone saw that.

Everyone, except him.

You’d tried a few times already – pulling him for hunting, scouting, anything. But Daryl always found a way to back out. Maybe he was closed off, maybe just oblivious. Either way, it ended in failure.

But you weren’t going to give up.

"If we do something, let’s do it properly," you said, choosing your words with exaggerated care.

Deliberately.

You knew it was a bit of a stretch, but you didn’t let it show.

"I don’t like doing things half-heartedly."

Daryl didn’t counter, though he probably could’ve. You weren’t about to give him the time to do that.

"We have to do something romantic," you added quickly, before he had a chance to wiggle out of it.

Daryl slumped his shoulders a little. A small change in his posture, but it was enough for you to notice.

Resignation.

Had he given up?

He furrowed his brows and looked at you as if weighing how serious you were.

"'N what do ya call romantic?" he mumbled after a moment.

That was something.

Those words lit a fire in you. Was Daryl finally falling into your carefully laid trap?

You smiled lightly, feeling like you were slowly winning.

"I dunno," you threw back innocently. "Maybe you should figure it out?"

Daryl sighed heavily, then… He turned away and walked toward the gate.

"C'mon, princess." He called over his shoulder, not even checking if you were following.

Your eyes lit up. Something fluttered in your stomach.

Oh. My. God.

One word, one phrase—and you already felt like a teenager. Not a good sign.

It was a tragic sign.

Only now did you realize you were playing with fire. Your victory was temporary, fragile. Daryl could shatter it at any moment, though you weren’t sure if he even realized that.

You followed him without hesitation.

For a moment, he vanished from your sight, turning between the buildings, and when you caught up, you noticed him packing something into his bag.

A second too late.

You didn’t see exactly what he was shoving in there with such passion, but you decided that a little surprise might work in your favor. Only now did you notice the motorcycle.

You froze.

You stood like a pillar, staring at it in utter disbelief. He must’ve noticed.

"Ya goin’?" he called, raising an eyebrow.

You shook yourself out of your daze and nodded.

You stepped closer, feeling a slight hesitation that Daryl didn’t seem to care about. He grabbed the handlebars, leaning slightly forward, then—almost imperceptibly—tilted the bike toward you.

You grabbed his shoulders.

Your eyes scanned the patches on his vest.

The touch—despite three layers of clothing—shocked you like electricity. But you didn’t pull back.

You took your place behind him. There wasn’t any question about whether you were ready. The kickstand lifted with a quiet snap. The roar of the engine hit your ears.

You pressed against his back—definitely a bit too much.

Partly, you just wanted it. Partly out of necessity, because the motorcycle took off faster than you thought it could.

You didn’t even know when you’d left the settlement.

You glanced over your shoulder, sensing someone’s gaze. Carol. She stood in the distance, looking at you with a clearly proud expression. You smiled to yourself, but didn’t wave. You’d have to let go of Daryl to do that.

That wasn’t an option. You closed your eyes.

And then you felt him.

The forest. Steel. Sweat.

A combination of scents that, right now, was dangerously attractive.

You inched a little higher, closer to his neck. It was too comfortable. Too good. So good that you almost… drifted away. It felt like you were dreaming while awake.

But then—suddenly—something yanked you away. A force pulling you away from the man, and you almost sighed in disappointment. Almost.

You quickly opened your eyes, only now realizing he’d braked. And hard. Like he wanted to make a point, but you had no idea how long you’d been riding.

– "Are ya sleepin’ or what?" His voice hit you straight in the consciousness.

You mentally cursed yourself and quickly got off the bike. Literally and figuratively.

When your feet hit the ground, you barely steadied your suddenly weak knees. 

Oh no. 

That’s all you managed to think before Daryl looked at you, scanning you from head to toe. You weren’t even sure what you were afraid of.

"Ya cold?" he asked, and something soft appeared in his eyes.

Too soft for Daryl Dixon.

Concern. Worry.

If you could, you would’ve screamed. When had this whole situation slipped out of your control?

You shook your head, Daryl didn’t seem convinced. He nodded, though, as if understanding. You had goosebumps—he asked probably because of that—but it definitely wasn’t the temperature.

"Where are we going?" you finally squeezed out, noticing a very subtle quiver in your voice.

The man led the way through the bushes. He didn’t turn to you, only spoke when he cleared an obstacle in your path.

"Surprises are romantic, ain't they?"

If you could, you would’ve just passed out.

You didn’t respond because Dixon didn’t give you a glance, but even if he had, you weren’t sure you could.

You walked for a short while. You left the motorcycle behind, now covered with branches that lay nearby. The rustling leaves and the gentle breeze were the only stimuli you clung to like a drowning person. Thanks to them, you were still keeping your wits about you.

You laughed quietly, a little too loud for the silence around you. You snorted, freezing in place when you realized how irrational it was. You were losing your mind. For sure.

"What's so funny?" Daryl suddenly asked, completely surprising you.

Nothing.

Your mind was a blank slate. You felt cold sweat on your neck as you desperately tried to come up with any response.

"My shoes..." you blurted out without thinking, looking down at your feet.

Even you were surprised by that comment.

"They are very appropriate for our trip, aren't they?"

You mentally slapped yourself. Really? That was the best you had?

Daryl stopped and looked down at your shoes. Black, with a slightly higher wedge than they should’ve had for a forest trip. Half-covered in mud, damp from the earth that hadn’t dried from yesterday’s rain.

"Ya pick them on purpose or ya just stupid?" he raised an eyebrow, but his voice held no malice.

You snorted, pretending to be offended.

"I'd say a little bit of both."

The corner of his mouth twitched, barely noticeable. Maybe it was a shadow of a smile. Maybe you just imagined it.

He moved forward without waiting for your response. You also took a step forward, trying to ignore the dampness soaking into your shoes.

For a moment, you walked in silence until you began to notice something beyond the trees and shrubs.

A clearing.

It wasn’t large, but it seemed almost... untouched. Thick, lush grass, interspersed with purple flowers here and there. In the distance, you could see what looked like a small stream lazily cutting through the land.

Daryl stopped at the edge, as if checking your reaction.

“That romantic enough for ya?” he said, still not looking at you.

You didn’t answer right away. Your mind was too occupied—because here you were, in a place that felt like it had been pulled from another world.

Daryl walked toward the clearing, and though your shoes begged for mercy, you followed him without hesitation.

The sun was breaking through the treetops, casting golden spots on the grass. The light reflected in delicate waves on the surface of the stream, making the water look like liquid glass.

You didn’t know what to say. Maybe that was the point. Maybe this was one of those places that spoke for itself.

Daryl crouched next to his backpack and began pulling things out. You thought for a moment that he might be preparing a meal, but no. Instead, there was a small knife, and... binoculars.

You furrowed your brows.

“Are we spying on someone?”

Daryl snorted, checking the sharpness of the knife as if it was the most normal question in the world.

“Nah.” He shrugged. “Figured ya might wanna see somethin' cool.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he nodded toward the trees. You followed his gaze and then you saw it.

Perched on one of the higher branches was a large, brown bird—an eagle, maybe a hawk, you weren’t sure. It looked regal, its feathers gleaming in the rays of the setting sun.

Daryl handed you the binoculars.

“Take a look.”

You didn’t hesitate. You lifted it to your eyes and froze. You could see every detail—the razor-sharp talons, the watchful eyes, the slight tremor of the feathers in the wind.

“Wow...” you whispered, unable to contain your awe.

Daryl was silent, but you could feel his gaze on you. It seemed like he was more interested in your reaction than the bird itself.

You lowered the binoculars and looked at him.

“How did you find this place?”

He thought for a moment, then shrugged.

“Been 'round. Saw it. Thought ya might like it.”

Something stirred inside you. Maybe it was the wind, or maybe something else entirely.

You didn’t respond, but smiled softly, sitting down on the grass.

Daryl did the same.

And for a moment, in this strange, unreal world, time seemed to stop.

For a moment, everything felt suspended. Only the wind sang through the trees, and the eagle slowly soared toward the sky, as if that moment could last forever.

Daryl kicked a stone with his foot, breaking the silence. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, and his lips curled into a slight, almost imperceptible smile.

“Ya lookin' all peaceful, ain't ya?”

A warmth spread through your chest, but you decided not to react immediately. You simply smiled back, feeling a strange relief, like you had finally found a moment of peace you had long been missing.

You struggled to tear your gaze away from the bird, which had disappeared into the clouds, and looked at him. Daryl was sitting next to you, his hands resting on his knees, but his posture was much more relaxed than usual.

You didn’t have to say anything to feel the subtle shift between you two. This wasn’t a moment full of words, and it didn’t have to be. His presence said more than any questions you could have asked.

And suddenly, after that long silence, Daryl spoke again.

“Ya know, sometimes it's nice just to... stop thinkin'... for a bit.”

His voice sounded different—calmer, like those words were rare for him.

You paused, then opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Daryl changed the subject.

“Don’t get used to it, though. Ain’t like this happens often.”

You chuckled quietly, but inside, you felt a strange sense of relief. Something about this moment was so normal, yet so atypical, that you almost wanted it to last longer.

“I won’t” you replied softly.

He looked at you for a moment, then nodded, as if convinced. Silence fell again, but it was a different kind of silence—one that wasn’t uncomfortable or tense, just... peaceful.

At least, until...

He grabbed your shoulder, and the warmth of his hand shot through you like an electric jolt. The moment his touch became inevitable lasted only a fraction of a second, but it felt like time had stopped for a moment. You forgot everything—about the motorcycle, the forest, the uncertainty you had been trying to hide.

Your heart stopped for a beat, and Daryl’s gaze, as he lifted his head, was so intense that it almost felt like he was peering into your soul. His eyes weren’t as cold as they had been before—now they held something more, as if, for that brief instant, he became... available.

You couldn’t bear it any longer. The torment.

Instinctively, you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him toward you with a strength you didn’t know you had. Your lips almost collided. Your uncertainty vanished into oblivion as Daryl took complete control, stealing any direction from you. His grip on your shoulder tightened, and you couldn’t stop the hum of satisfaction that escaped into his mouth.

You felt everything like it was in a haze. The butterfly touch on your cheek. The warmth building between you. The tickling sensation on your face as Daryl leaned in closer, his hair brushing against your skin.

You didn’t want to break it, even though you felt a burning emptiness in your lungs.

But you didn’t have to, because Daryl pulled away from you. Too suddenly, by your standards.

You opened your eyes, seeing his pupils dilated to their limits as they fixed on something behind you. A sharp whoosh of something slicing through the air, a gust of wind centimeters from your face, and the soft thud of a body falling.

You turned around, your mouth slightly ajar in shock. A rotten body lay just a meter away from you. The small knife that Daryl had pulled out earlier was embedded perfectly in the center of the zombie’s forehead, and it now lay lifeless.

“I told ya, don’t get used to it.”

You exhaled the breath you had been holding with a soft hiss. You didn’t even have the presence of mind to think about your momentary lapse. Your whole mind was focused on him. On his perfect accuracy, the vigilance that clearly never left him, the almost nonchalant way he carried himself, which somehow bought you in completely.

You turned back to him, feeling your heart race again, but this time, it wasn’t fear. It was something else—something that pulled you toward him with every passing moment spent together. Daryl was like a mystery you wanted to uncover, but at the same time, you feared what lay behind that gaze.

You looked at him, and he still stared ahead, but you could feel how close his presence was. His arm brushed lightly against yours, as though he hadn’t noticed the proximity. But you knew he did. 

He felt it. He knew it.

Suddenly, without warning, Daryl looked at you. His eyes held uncertainty, maybe even anger, but also something you couldn’t name. He looked at you for a moment, like he didn’t know what to say.

Then, for a moment, he blinked, as if trying to control something that had suddenly risen in his chest. He moved a little closer, and you felt the warmth of his body. There was an unspoken thing hanging in the air, something neither of you could quite understand yet.

“You're gettin' under my skin...” he said, with a soft sigh, as though trying to explain what he felt but couldn’t find the words—“Teasin' me all day...”

You smiled faintly, not sure if it was a challenge. Seeing that moment of hesitation in his eyes, you felt something shift. Like all those moments of silence now held something more than just quiet.

“Maybe that’s the point,” you replied softly.

His gaze grew more intense, almost piercing. You didn’t know if it was desire or something else—but there was something in it. You could feel it, even though he said nothing.

“I don't know what you're doin' to me,” he said with frustration, but his tone was strangely soft, as if he couldn’t hide what he was really feeling anymore. 

That feeling that connected you both was hard to grasp, but you couldn’t ignore it.

You didn’t respond, only moved closer until you felt your breaths start to mingle. For a moment, you didn’t speak, just stayed there, in that space that was becoming more and more intimate.

And then Daryl surprised you again, pulling you toward him unexpectedly. His strong, sure hands landed on your hips, and his warm breath wrapped around you like a cloak. Before you could pull away, you felt his lips on yours—first gently, as if testing what would happen, and then with an intensity you hadn’t expected.

It was like an explosion you had feared, but at the same time, you didn’t want it to end. You felt the world vanish, and the only thing that mattered was that moment. You felt his hands on your back, pulling you closer, as if he didn’t want to let go, as if he wanted to keep you there forever.

When he finally pulled away, you couldn’t catch your breath. He had always been so closed off, with that mysterious posture, but now... now he was like a book, the pages finally ready to be discovered.

He looked at you with expectation, uncertainty, but also with something special.

“Don’t run away from me,” he whispered, and those words carried more emotion than the rest of the conversation put together.

They were intertwined with a delicate tease, laughter. They sounded so light, yet so certain.

“You’ll never get rid of me" you whispered back.

And somehow, neither of you were ready to say goodbye yet.

[writeblood]

Shadow consumes the Sun

Character Introduction for Anesidora Fig from my fic Shadow consumes the Sun on Ao3. (Link here.)

I'll also post the first chapter here. Let me know if you prefer to read on Tumblr over Ao3. The first few chapters are 6-7k words.

You are a Witch

She learnt that Miriam Fig was a tall witch whose wrinkles creased her face like that of a beloved archeology tome.

In a tent with an interior much too large for what its exterior indicated, a flower-print teapot poured its Earl Grey contents into two cups before setting itself on the stove. The two ceramic children floated genially down to a small green dining room table overburdened with books and maps and research notes. Although patient, the older woman’s expression was crumpled with both concern and curiosity as she waited for the girl to finish dressing in transfigured clothing from behind a privacy screen.

The girl, as of yet unnamed and unknown to this new, familiar world, was torn between watching painted Devil’s Snare move across the boards that obscured her and dressing quickly in the three different types of softly shining gowns provided to hide her sun-bathed skin. She stepped out in hand-stitched shoes, sand still sticking to her feet.

“There. That’s a better look about you, dear,” the witch said, accent thick enough to give its listener an impression of a little green island just to the west of home. She motioned to the chair that sat across from her own. “Just take a seat, lovely, and we’ll get this all sorted out.”

There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell we’re making any sense of this mess, the girl thought.

“I’m Miriam,” Miriam introduced herself once again.

You are a side character’s dead wife. You are a collection of words in a story locked behind a glass screen.

After a moment of silence, she followed up with a question. “Do you remember your name? I know you can talk,” a dry smile touched her lips, “or scream, at least.”

The girl huffed out a laugh. “I think anyone would scream if they woke up to eight-legged crabs crawling all over them.”

“Chizpurfles,” Miriam explained. “They’re attracted to magic, but harmless to anything larger than a Red Cap. I was actually searching for them a few days ago since their fangs are used in anti-curse potions.”

“I can shake out my hair and see if a few pop out for you.”

A smile shared, ice broken, the girl responded, “I remember my name, yes.” Yet she said nothing further.

“Is it a secret?”

No, worse. It’s fucking ‘Anne’. That coincidence had ruined her first playthrough and ten hours of her life. She was not going to make the same mistake again.

“Anesidora.”

 Upon blurting out the name of her second save file, she cringed. It was all well and good to read the super special and unique name of one’s character in text (especially when one mentally shortened it to ‘An[n]e’ anyways), but saying it outloud killed any dignity that had been brought back with wearing clothing.

Why didn’t you say something normal and non-magical like ‘Ava’? If you had been born an Ava, this probably wouldn’t have happened in the first place.

Miriam, living in a society of ‘Nymphadora Tonks’s and ‘Licorus Black’s, did not blink twice. “I’m glad to meet you, Anesidora, even if the circumstances could be better. What were you doing up on the beach like that?”

‘Like that’ referred to the rather barren state of dress she had woken up to.

“I guess having a surprising start to my fifteenth birthday.”

Miriam’s brown eyes widened. “You’re barely fifteen? Dear Morgana.” The air around her seemed to colour dark and twist in sympathy of perceived horror of the circumstance.

Jokes on you, because this fifteen year old is destined to save the wizarding world from goblin liberation. Unless she wasn’t the main character in this hallucination, which would be horribly awkward.

“Nothing bad happened to me.” Anesidora (Anne) shook her head vehemently, dirty hair catching the corner of her eye. “I went to bed as normal and safe as can be, then I woke up in an unknown place.”

There was a hum of consideration. Stopping a small glittery spoon from heaping sugar into her cup, Miriam took a sip of tea, gaze still tracked on the person before her.

“You’re a tad too old for accidental magic. I hope you didn’t try Apparition. There’s a lot more that can go wrong than missing clothes.” She gasped. “Oh! Your wand- I didn’t see one where you landed, dear.”

“I never had a wand.”

Miriam froze, lilac cup inches away from its plate. “You are a witch, yes?”

A self-deprecating laugh escaped from Anesidora. “I don’t think I would be in this situation if I weren’t one.”

“This conundrum is certainly magical.” Miriam relaxed. “And just as mysterious as the matter I’m looking into.”

Anesidora skimmed over the contents of the table. The contents were paradoxically entirely foreign to her and completely expected. A part of her was convinced the writings were all fake and that she had stumbled upon an extremely dedicated roleplay group in the woods. She nudged out parchment with the sketching of a cylindrical container.

“What are you researching?” As if she did not know more about it than Miriam did.

The witch stood up, robe shimmering gold before fading to its usual auburn. She walked to a cabinet, opening it up with a flick of her wand. The same silver container as depicted in the diagram was held in her hands.

“I’m tracking traces of a peculiar type of magic. One that has been drawn out and trapped in containers, ready to be used at will by any witch or wizard no matter their skill level.”

“That sounds useful.”

“And dangerous. Very dangerous.” Miriam set the canister down. “I believe this to be one such receptacle.” Her fingers stroked an embossed runic symbol in the middle, ignoring the wisps of light that moved like clouds circulating around the object of interest. “Right before I heard your scream, I had discovered this in the nearby ruins of a great and terrible power-obsessed wizard.” Gaze flickering over to Anesidora, she spoke with cautious proposal. “While we only have circumstantial evidence, I have a feeling your own peculiar situation could be related.”

“Perhaps that’s true. This seems beyond me,” Anesidora said hesitantly. “Are you going to open it?”

Why was she acting like she was clueless? It was not as if people would burn her as a witch for knowing things beyond her means. Old habits, she supposed. Sometimes, self-preservation relied on hoarding knowledge.

“I wish I could, but no spell in my repertoire is capable of unlocking it.” Miriam sighed. “It makes sense; many would wish for only the most elite and wise witch to have true access to such magic.”

Anesidora reached across and touched the tip with her pointer finger. For three seconds, nothing happened at all.

Noo, don’t embarrass me like this. Please work.

After a brief internal crisis, light congealed and seeped into the container, unlocking its mechanisms to reveal a key.

“Well,” Miriam breathed out, “I suppose I was testing the Moirae with that line.” She cast a questioning look when Anesidora stopped her from taking the key.

“It could be dangerous, right? Or cursed.” Or a portkey. Anesidora stood close, clutching the woman’s robe and hoped that was all the social etiquette she needed to breach in order to be transported along.

“Malitiam revelio.”

The space around Miriam flourished with light which seeped into her wand. There was a perceivable shift inside the tent, like a gust of wind. Seeing nothing was amiss, Miriam picked up the key and-

-nothing happened. Huh? Just a regular key with swirls of gold. Anesidora loosened her hold.

“This looks like a key to Gringotts,” Miriam said. “I must thank you for assisting me, but forgive me for having more questions than answers.” Her eyes had the glint of a scholar witnessing publishing-worthy material.

Did I just do magic for the first time? Moi? Anesidora let free a self-satisfied smile. “I wasn’t sure if I could help. Honestly the container doesn’t seem that special when everything else is just as sparkly.” Perhaps it was just a fake and the real portkey was hidden elsewhere in the ruins.

“Sparkly?” Miriam asked.

“Yes.” She gestured her hand vaguely around the area. “Like when the teacups move.”

Miriam peered closely at Anesidora’s teacup, whose spoon had valiantly kept circulating the liquid despite its guest’s severe lack of interest in tea.

“I don’t see any sparkles.”

“What about the brightness in our clothes? Or the flashes in the self-playing chess set?”

Miriam shook her head.

“Not even the chizpurfles?” Those crustaceans had practically glowed like fat little lightening bugs.

“Besides being green from a thorough feeding, I didn’t see anything out of sorts.”

Anesidora bit her lip. What were the chances she was seeing all this due to glitter being stuck in her eye.

“I don’t understand.” And this time she meant it. “The moving dishes are just normal magic, not whatever you’re searching for.”

“Perhaps I misspoke when I was explaining my quest,” Miriam said slowly. “It is true that I’m looking for a certain type of magic, but that’s just all it is: magic which witches and wizards have typified. Its origin is the same power which drives a simple levitation charm or what makes a thestral unable to be seen.”

It didn’t sound like that in the game but I can’t dispute her logic.

“Well- it’s not so strange is it? To see what I do?” Anesidora had a terrible feeling it was. 

On one hand, she hated the feeling she was doing the magical equivalent of complaining about having too much money. On the other hand, it was terribly alienating to be talking about the bright sparks of magic an enchantment gave off only to be met with a bewildering look. At Miriam’s prompting, she described all that she saw, feeling much like a patient undergoing psychological review for psychosis under the probing academic eyes of an adult. 

The woman picked up the empty key container. “I can sense a great deal of complex magic tied to this device. The visual cues which you report allude me, however. It’s no coincidence we met at this time.”

“Yes,” Anesidora smiled wanly. “It’s like you summoned me out of thin air.”

Miriam peered at her again. “You are a witch, aren’t you? Or maybe an aos sí come to play a trick on me for unwittingly invading her land?” Her tone carried a hint of mirth.

“Perhaps I’m a muggle who’s been thoroughly turned around.”

An uproarious laugh followed. “If you are a little witchling, I shudder to think I’ve kidnapped some poor potioneer’s daughter. What are your parent’s names? I’ll send an owl post haste to tell them their child is fine.”

Fuck. What’s my backstory? “I don’t have parents,” she replied breezily. At least not for 200 years. “I travel the land far and wide to come across clever witches in need of a helping hand.” Lighthearted geniality carried in her voice, letting an ambiguous truth form over her words.

“Don’t tell me you were born from oak tree seeds and sea-foam.” The smile was still on Miriam’s face, but there was a soft sympathy to her cadence.

“And if I were?” Anesidora said quietly. She knew the plot that was supposed to be carried out through her and did not mind taking up the mantle. Annesidora really did not want to go ‘home’.

“Then I’ll be grateful you consider me clever enough to make use of your help.”

An understanding passed between them and Miriam accepted her new ally quicker than Anesidora expected. Surely any muggle woman would have gone to the authorities after finding a girl in such a strange, compromising situation. Anesidora reminded herself this was a world in which seventeen year olds could defeat magic-Hitler. It was also the 1800s, where children worked in coal mines, or whatever the magical equivalent of that was.

They examined the key some more, which genuinely was a simple key to Gringotts. The gold magic on it was part of the unlocking mechanism to their vaults. Importantly, just like with the key, the cylindrical container was made out of goblin silver, a material able to resist brute force magical attacks while also preserving any magic enchanted within.

“Is that rare?” Anesidora asked.

“It’s notable,” Miriam said. “Traditionally, goblins will only share their metalwork with others if they have a close personal relationship. Creating objects specifically for wizarding means is a great honour. Banking is an exception to that.” She pressed her thumbs to the hatches, closing the device only for it to swing back open. “The magical repositories are made out of goblin silver as well.”

“Have you found any?”

She shouldn’t have. Ranrok found them first.

“Sadly not.” She eyed Anesidora. “Not yet. Greater researchers than me have found them in other places, often to detrimental results. You might be too young to have remembered it, but have you heard about the volcanic eruption of Mount Tambora?”

“The one whose ash covered the sun for an entire year?” Anesidora’s mouth fell open in shock. I knew she had her travels, but how many repositories did Isidora make before returning to Hogwarts?

Miriam nodded grimly. “Depending on the amount, the magic we’re searching for could bring the entire world to its knees.”

Contemplation drew them into silence. The ‘Year without a Summer’ caused extreme ecological disaster along with the death of thousands. If someone used the gigantic repository underneath Hogwarts, not only the small group of wizarding kind would suffer. Doubt greater than her usual anxieties pierced Anesidora’s chest. My character died the first time I fought Ranrok in dragon form. I doubt I’m going to get a redo like that and then what? Will the entire world perish because of my ineptitude?

The spark of an idea lit in her mind. Does it have to come to a great showdown in the caverns of Hogwarts at all? Miriam Fig, unshown and dead before the start of the game, stood breathing before her, blood flowing warm in veins. She could save people, save everyone perhaps. That was the purpose for Anesidora’s existence.

—-------------

They would not leave for Gringotts. They would not enter Diagon Alley nor wizarding society for at least one month.

At Anesidora’s alarm, Miriam had simply smiled and told her not to rush, that there were many things to do in the meantime. Instead of life passing by in plot-important cutscenes and tutorial missions, life was composed of seconds strung along in the sparkles of spells and slowly moving suns.

The Department of Mysteries had tasked Miriam Fig to investigate three sites she covered in her research that pointed towards traces of raw magical artefacts, which was what the repositories were classified under. Off the west coast where the duo were situated was the second site. In four days they would head to Orkney.

“You’re going to hand over the repository to the Ministry?” Anesidora asked. It sounded only marginally better than giving it to Rookwood. “What are they planning to use it for?”

“It doesn’t need to be for a specific use. It’s better to place powerful objects in the hands of the authorities than those of bad actors. I’m sure the Department has worse artefacts than the one we’ll come across.” Miriam’s voice drew soft in hesitancy and then she admitted, “There was a lot more funding for my expedition than expected. I suspect the war has given people fearsome ideas.”

“We’re in a war?”

“Not us, dearie,” she quickly said. “On the continent there’s been trouble with goblins. The isles have been unaffected for the most part, but rogue factions leaking over get people nervous.”

Anesidora prodded for more details to no avail; she was deemed too young to get invested in matters of goblin rebellions. She would have laughed at the excuse if it did not make her so angry. As a girl in the modern age, news of war in countries she never heard of had been at her fingertips in the form of a smartphone. Now she was in a desert of knowledge, parched for information on a topic Miriam dismissed. Mentioning Ranrok would bring more questions than answers. 

What if I became a seer? Just declared myself one like that? Except all she knew of divination in the Harry Potter universe was composed of tea leaves and job interview prophecies. Miriam was too smart not to see through the bullshit. So Anesidora kept her mouth shut for two days by way of always opening it to ask questions.

How did this work? What spell was that? Who made wizarding currency denominations an absolute bastardisation of common sense? Miriam answered them all to the best of her abilities, lamenting the absence of her husband, who was an expert at steering the curiosities of young minds. 

Formal magical training was delayed due to lack of a spare wand. Anesidora had to make do with repeatedly opening and closing the cylinder device shown on the first day, empty of the key Miriam kept on her person. Not everything magical had a visual indication and not every sight came immediately. Through concentration, Anesidora could pick up on Miriam’s magical aura, more of a feeling than a picture: warmth and light and safety- the secret closeness of torchlight in ancient ruins at night. 

On the final day of exploring Franciscus the Furious’s castle, goblins came upon them.

The pleasant greeting from Miriam was ignored in favour of drawing their weapons. Understanding dropped the smile from her face. She turned to Anesidora.

“Run back to the tent and wait there for me.”

Anesidora shook her head as she felt the gloopy effects of a disillusionment charm cast on her.

“I need-” to help you!

Her words were cut off when the woman pushed her off the ledge they stood on, sending her on a fall of two metres and a roll down the short hill the ruins had been embedded in. Anesidora scrambled back up and ignored the ache on her backside to run to the castle. Continuing on this path would let her surprise the attackers.

She can’t die now! She hasn’t even met Lodgok, has she? But things are different. There wasn’t a portkey to Gringotts.

Panic and a multitude of ‘why’s consumed her thoughts as she crossed under a fallen archway-

stepping her leather shoes into a mess of red and pink gore. Anesidora slid, landing thankfully on drier, rocky ground. Distant shouts of brachiabindo and depulso indicated the contents did not belong to Miriam, especially when she was looking at the blank face of their owner two feet away.

With an exhaled ‘oh’, Anesidora faced mortality for the first time. It’s a person, not a goblin, she thought. Well, it was a goblin on a technical level. Not a monster, not a beast. A pile of flesh that used to be just as sentient as her. Unbidden, an image of her own body strewn out on the floor came to her. It was not the body she was currently in, which had some modifications in more than eyesight, but her, of an Anne who wasn’t Sallow. 

I might die here. Really die.

And that terrified her. The body before her had briefly sundered her from her original goals. Anesidora watched blood congeal in real time until she caught the edge of Miriam’s magic. It burned like the fire of war and in the silence she could imagine it crackling. She ran towards the woman, calling her name.

Miriam sharply looked around, letting hostility bleed from her when she dismissed the charm on Anesidora.

“Dear, I thought I told you to run away.”

“I wanted to help.” Anesidora swallowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t.”

“You couldn’t, you silly thing. You don’t even have a wand.” Miriam clasped her on the shoulder. She followed her gaze at the surrounding dead bodies. “Is this your first time seeing death?”

“Um, in real life, yes I guess.”

“Oh my. Blessed Morgana.” Miriam hugged her tight.

They searched the goblins for clues. Besides money and a letter written in Gobbledegook, there was nothing else to take.

The walk back to the tent was brisk. Under the disillusionment charm they prepared for an ambush. When that didn’t come, they packed quickly. Miriam took Anesidora’s arm tight and Apparated them.

—-------------

“If they knew we were at the castle then they’ll know we’re at Orkney,” Anesidora said after she got her bearings.

“We’re not at Orkney, we’re near Abergwesyn, a muggle village,” came Miriam’s clipped reply.

Anesidora struggled to keep up to the hurried strides of the taller witch. “Why?”

“The portkey won’t activate until tomorrow. For now, blending in with the muggles will lose anyone tailing us. The goblins have their own version of the Statute of Secrecy.”

“But we’re still going even when we know there will be another attack?”

“I shall be going to Orkney; you will stay put in Abergwesyn.”

“What!” Anesidora stopped suddenly. “Miriam, no. I can see magic. I was able to open the device. You need me there.” You’re going to die there. I know it.

“You don’t have a wand and you disobeyed my direct orders to keep yourself safe, young lady.”

“One doesn’t need a wand to perform magic and nothing ended up hurting me. Miriam.” She stopped, the forename sounding too personal for the case she was pleading. “Mrs. Fig-” A hearty laugh erupted from the woman. “It’s dangerous to go alone. If you get hurt or something” like dying “then I’ll be stranded with no way to help you. Even if I can’t fight with you, I can still assist you in any other way.”

Miriam’s mouth twisted. “I’ll consider it. For now, we need to get a place to stay.”

Abergwesyn was a quaint little village whose architecture was likely the same as it would be in 2020. Clothes transfigured into poofy-sleeved dresses, they walked to what approximation for an inn the place had. Anesidora looked openly at the old clothing and carriages that they came across. Some muggles looked curiously back as well. Miriam had forgotten to give her a hat to wear.

“How much do you know of muggle culture?” Miriam muttered.

“I’d know more than a pureblood, although I didn’t grow up like this.” Anesidora may have been a muggle herself pretending to be a witch but she knew enough of history to guess she would not enjoy Victorian era social conventions.

“My father was a muggleborn. Every summer after Hogwarts we would visit a different muggle city, just to learn what it was like to live as them.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Aye,” Miriam confirmed. “I’ve had good memories in non-magical areas. I nearly married a muggle myself, but simple flowers are no competition for romantic broom rides across the Alps.”

When they got to their room, Miriam sent an owl to one of her contacts at the Ministry to investigate any leaks on her research. The next day with some lingering reluctance on Miriam’s end, they both held onto the portkey to send them to Orkney.

—-------------

Orkney was stone and rain. Miriam promptly set about teaching Anesidora the shield charm, substituting a wand for eternally damp twigs and then using a finger when she managed to set them all on fire. Anesidora, who always pronounced protego as proh-TEH-goh in her head, had more success by copying the way Miriam’s magic rose and burst forth into a yellow dust shield than by any wand movement or words. Miriam pelted her with stones until she got the timing right and healed up the cuts with an episkey that she was not allowed to learn due to the nature of casting a spell on oneself.

The second spell was a complex alternative to the lumos solem charm as there was no wand to centre the magic on. This time it was Miriam suffering the pain of hearing Anesidora constantly mispronounce teine sith to conjure a little fairy light that had the tendency to blind anyone within a five metre radius.

It was upon practising a levitation charm that a third entered the night-dark camp. Firelight glinted off the eyes of a person no taller than three feet.

A week ago, Anesidora was staring into a similarly black gaze. A silver-quick thought: It’s the goblins again. I have to warn Miriam. But just like before, she sat and stared. Behind her was the fwoop of a thick tent cloth opening. 

“Hello there. Why don’t you stand closer to the light?” Miriam asked, warmth in her tone. “Despite the season, it can be chilly at night. Don’t get a cold just because we’re a bit scary looking.”

The two dark eyes, locked on the taller of the two humans, did not move one step closer nor one step back. Anesidora shifted in her seat to break the tension.

“Umm, we have tea if you’re into that sort of thing.”

Miriam tsked. “You’re the only one in the world who isn’t into tea, dearie.”

Boots slowly crunched on the ground until the goblin came into full view of the camp. He waited, tense, for the revulsion and condemnation and hatred. Instead Miriam smiled, said she would fetch the tea, and turned her vulnerable back to Lodgok in order to enter the tent.

She doesn’t know what I know. The last goblin she interacted with, she killed. Miriam had smiled and waved to them first while they clearly had battleaxes strapped to themselves.

Lodgok was staring at the closed entrance, awed and appalled at the witch’s brazenness.

“Hello, my name is Anesidora. What’s yours?” At the replying silence, she continued. “Is it a secret?”

“...Lodgok.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Lodgok.” 

And now he was staring at her like she had two heads. Anesidora felt the protection wards strengthen. Keep him talking. Err, listening.

“Did you know,” she started, “that two weeks ago I met my very first witch? Then one week ago, I had my first encounter with muggles. Now, I’m meeting a goblin for the first time.” Might as well address the elephant in the room. “So I have a question for you.” Anesidora leaned closer and by an inch, Lodgok moved closer as well. “Next week, do you think I’ll meet a vampire or a werewolf?”

More silence.

“I hope it’s a vampire.” Her guilty pleasure had been reading Twilight.

Lodgok gaped. “You would willingly be near a vampire?”

“Why not? She would have to be a friendly vampire, of course. I don’t think that’s too impossible. I’ve heard of friendly werewolves and there’s friendly muggles too. We have friendly goblins,” her smile surely held a bit of a challenge to the words, “and friendly witches as well.” Anesidora picked up parchment she had been trying to keep afloat and fed it into the campfire. “So why not?”

Miriam came back with two cups of chamomile and a wooden block. She transfigured the block into an appropriately sized chair for Lodgok, placed next to her own and farthest from where Anesidora sat.

“There we go.” She bent her knees to place the tea in the goblin’s hands who could do nothing but politely accept.

“Miriam, this is Lodgok.” Anesidora introduced the two. 

What proceeded was the most nerve-wracking round of small-talk she ever experienced. In the game, Miriam had successfully turned Lodgok, but there were now a million variables to change that outcome, including her own presence. Anesidora knew very well she wasn’t a charming person and if her Plan A went through, she was going to be downright repulsive to him after dealing with Ranrok.

Lodgok sipped his drink slowly and hesitantly responded to Miriam’s surface level comments about the weather and anything else not directly asking why he was there in the first place. He declined the offer for a second cup and awkwardly left the camp, not responding to Miriam’s offer to visit the camp again later.

Afterwards, they put out the fire and retreated inside the tent. 

Miriam immediately sighed. “On the sídhe I’ll be forever thankful seanmháthair taught me to smile in the face of fear.”

“You were scared?” Anesidora tried to keep her voice level despite feeling the silencing ward already in place. “You acted like this was a picnic outing. Lodgok thought you were insane.”

“Better insane than an enemy.” Miriam smiled. “You did wonderful, dear. Sometimes, a witch doesn’t need a wand at all to fight.”

“Why do you think he was here?”

She became solemn. “This meeting was no coincidence. Whoever sent him wouldn’t have thought to use him as a spy. He didn’t have any weapons either. In all honesty, Lodgok was clearly uncertain about what he wanted to do.” Miriam went to the kitchenette and poured herself another cup. “We’ll play it by ear for now. Anesidora, I fear this matter with the magical repositories is far more complex than we ever thought.”

—-------------

Lodgok came back the next night, his form entirely revealed during Anesidora’s overzealous practice of her light summoning charm.

“Uuagh,” he cried, stumbling to the ground with his long-fingered hands pressed to his face.

After an emergency healing spell and profuse apologies, Miriam left to brew a fresh  Wiggenweld Potion ‘just to be sure’.

“I actually thought I was making good progress  in reducing the spell’s intensity,” Anesidora said, contriteness evident.

“Perhaps to human eyes,” Lodgok replied while he squinted. “Goblin eyesight tolerates light less.”

 “I see. Uh, and I hope you can too.” Bad choice of words. “I have the worst habit of using too much magic.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, why weren’t you using your wand?” He drew out his words, unsure in breaching a line.

“I don’t have a wand. I won’t until we finish researching this place here.”

Lodgok peered at her. “I would have thought you were far old enough to be given one.”

Far? “How old do you think I am?”

“Twenty?”

Anesidora’s loud echo of the reply made them both jump. She pouted.

“A month ago, I was fourteen. Now I look twenty?” It’s totally the hair colour, isn’t it?

“I had no intent to offend. To me, a twenty-year-old is still young.”

“How old are you?”

“Seventy.” At her reaction, he added, “This is young for goblins too, but I’m a full adult.”

“So what is fifteen to goblins?”

Lodgok chuckled. “Little more than a baby.”

And with each small conversation over the days, Ranrok approached.

—-------------

There was a myth underneath Orkney.

Waves rushed against rock in a cave which might have been a hydra nest a hundred years before but now only contained a cancer of chizpurfles, hundreds of them scurrying out of the way when Miriam and Anesidora first entered. Magic sleepily re-awakened to press a riddle into the walls. Upon Anesidora’s transcription of the words, Miriam translated the Ancient Greek:

Somewhere up there midnight strikes, I think I hear the fall / Of little drops of water, magnified against the barren wall

Shockingly, the answer involved being in the cave at midnight. Fresh water dripped down to open up a passage. There greeted, before the first split in the tunnel, a mural that Miriam could see depicting a princess bequeathing a sword. A gold string that Miriam could not see threaded itself over the sword and deeper into the labyrinth. The end of the string led to a Hogwarts Prefect badge, silver letter over a faded green background.

During a cloudcast afternoon above ground, Anesidora finished examining the hibernating green magic embedded in the badge and placed it in a cylindrical container. It closed without a sound, letting her draw her eyes to notice Lodgok’s open staring.

You definitely know what this is.

“Hey.”

Guilt flashed through his face before he returned the greeting and took his usual seat on the wooden chair.

“You work with metal, don’t you? We think this is goblin silver. Can you tell me anything else about it?”

Two days ago, Miriam taught Anesidora the summoning charm. Lodgok’s hands shook when he reached for it. He traced the centre symbol.

“This is the goblin rune for power.”

Literally the key to power, huh.

“How were you able to open it?”

“I’m not sure. You’re welcome to try. Miriam can’t open it either.”

His claws roved over the device, making sure not to cause scratches. The device remained closed. As if summoned by her name, Miriam exited the tent.

“Oh! You’re here early. Let me put the kettle on.” Her movements froze when she spotted what Lodgok was holding. She locked eyes with Anesidora and went inside.

Lodgok handed the container back.

Two pots of tea and one charcuterie board later, Miriam took a few papers out.

“A while ago, we came across this letter. I wonder if you’re able to translate it for us.”

Anesidora looked into the fire while she waited for Lodgok to read. She didn’t look up when he inhaled sharply, less in surprise than unfortunate acceptance.

“Um, well… They seem to be orders to… deal with a witch in a castle and take her belongings.”

“Does it say in the letter who ordered that?” Miriam asked softly.

Distantly, evening birds called out to prepare for darkness.

“A goblin called Ranrok.”

—-------------

Five days later, destiny came to a dying campfire and stars opening their eyes to the stage before them. Miriam spotted him first.

“Hello there. Are you a friend of Lodgok’s?”

“Not quite,” said a goblin armed in silver gauntlets grasping hazy red magic. “I’m his brother, Ranrok.”

Miriam stopped her advancement to greet the pair of goblins and took a step to her left. She spoke to the person directly behind her back while keeping eyes locked on Ranrok’s night-clothed stature.

“Anesidora, get the emergency portkey.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“No,” Ranrok agreed. “You aren’t.”

Miriam raised her wand-

“Avi-”

-and transformed into a blue speckled jobberknoll after a wave of a goblin hand.

Anesidora dashed inside the brightly lit tent. Flames shot at the canvas, overwhelming power eating at the material’s protection charms. She barreled into a table holding research materials, grabbing the cylindrical device near the edge. At a telling warcry, she popped a shield charm over herself just in time for it to shudder and break along with the aggressive magic that aimed at her head.

“She’s just a child!” Lodgok shouted. “She doesn’t have a wand!”

A bird flew in through a rapidly expanding hole in the tent. Light like ritual fire engulfed it to reveal Miriam, positioned in the middle of Ranrok and Anesidora. Lodgok rushed forward to his brother’s side instead of trailing behind.

“You said you just needed the device! We don’t need to hurt them- they’re good people.”

Ranrok flexed his gauntlets. “The only good human is a dead human.”

“Inflatus! Depulso!” Miriam pushed back Ranrok. “The portkey, Anesidora!”

Lodgok ran to where Anesidora stood against the kitchenette counter. He passed Miriam, her focus not wavering from Ranrok.

On seeing his gaze fall to the container in her hands, Anesidora said, “He’s going to kill Miriam and me no matter what.”

“That’s not right,” said Lodgok helplessly.

Ranrok, deflated, hurled Miriam into the burning section of the tent, canvas moving with the motion to entomb her. His black gaze looked up at Anesidora and he grinned, inhumane.

“You should close your eyes,” she said, low enough for only Lodgok to hear.

Anesidora, arm straight down, flicked her fingers to point towards Ranrok and followed her own advice.

“Teine sith.”

Sun exploded beyond the darkness of her eyelids. Through Ranrok’s screams of anguish, she searched along the counter and threw whatever she could get her hands on in his general direction. The screaming grew louder, closer. A second shout joined the commotion and Anesidora dimmed the spell, blinking open to the scene of two goblins wrestling with each other. The tent covering Miriam moved energetically, too slow in letting her out.

A punch. A crack. Ranrok on top, red magic and red liquid on his goblin silver gloves. Power swirled and lashed out to choke Anesidora. Her left hand clawed at her own throat. Her right hand raised off-centre from her body to, palm with a straight line of red and flat in a ‘stop’ motion, cover her view of Ranrok’s head.

Anesidora rasped out: “Accio knife.”

That kitchen knife which had been on the counter she rushed to- that knife which had been grabbed blade first and thrown above Ranrok’s short frame- that knife which lay on the ground just beyond the fighting brothers- flew point-first to pierce through her hand and cut the remaining pieces of tent behind her (leaving a hole in her hand the same size as the hole in Ranrok’s head).

[under0-0s]

_________________________

_________________________

_________________________

Tony Stark arrives fashionably late. Because of course, he does.

The moment he steps through the grand entrance of the ballroom, a hush falls, just for a second—just long enough for him to catch the flicker of recognition in people’s eyes. Some murmur his name, some just look, but Tony? Tony revels in it. He wears attention like a second skin, lets it roll off him like the expensive cologne laced into the lapels of his black-on-black Tom Ford ensemble. No tie, top buttons undone just enough to toe the line between calculated recklessness and devil-may-care arrogance.

Gold cufflinks, because he isn’t James Barnes and he doesn’t do subtle.

And, because he’s still Tony Stark, he makes an entrance like he owns the place.

The ballroom is dripping in gold, decadent and dark in that kind of elegant way that people with old money love. It reminds him of a high-stakes poker table, where every glance and whispered word is a gamble. A fitting choice for Barnes. Every move he makes is some kind of strategic play—this whole event is a chessboard, and everyone here is a piece.

Tony doesn’t play chess. He flips the board and watches the pieces scatter.

“Barnes really went all in on the whole ‘mysterious benefactor with a war strategy’ vibe,” he mutters to no one in particular, picking up a champagne flute from a passing tray. He doesn’t drink it. Not tonight.

Not when she’s here.

Pepper stands across the room, poised and polished in some shimmering dress that catches the low light just so. A vision, as always. The kind of woman who walks into a room and effortlessly commands it. The kind of woman Tony used to think he could hold onto.

Except, he couldn’t.

The engagement is off. The ring—once a heavy weight in his pocket, a promise—feels like a ghost on his fingers now. He doesn’t look at his hands. Doesn’t look at her, either, not directly. But he knows she sees him. He can feel it.

And if she’s here, it means she’s watching. It means he has to be Tony Stark, in all his brilliance and bravado.

So he squares his shoulders, flashes his best smirk at a senator who looks too eager for conversation, and steps further into the lion’s den.

The air hums with anticipation, threaded with tension—the kind of tension that comes with knowing that somewhere outside, beyond the golden glow of the ballroom, protestors linger. The anti-mutant crowd, waiting, watching. A reminder that not everyone in this city drinks champagne and smiles for cameras.

And then there’s HYDRA. Always HYDRA. A snake with a thousand heads, slithering where you least expect.

Tony twirls the flute between his fingers, scanning the room, reading the movements, the faces, the spaces between them. He wonders how many people here have secrets. How many have blood on their hands. How many would flinch if the lights suddenly went out.

James Barnes, ever the soldier, moves through the crowd with purpose. There’s a weight on his shoulders, a carefully hidden one, but Tony sees it. The same way he sees the way some of these people look at Barnes—not just as a host, but as a leader.

Interesting.

Tony files that away, tucks it into the part of his mind that calculates things others don’t catch. Not that he’s here to get involved. He’s just here to be seen, to play his part, to remind the world that even when everything else falls apart, Tony Stark still stands.

Even when the woman he thought he’d spend his life with won’t meet his eyes.

Even when the night is thick with the promise of something brewing on the horizon.

He moves through the crowd, past politicians and power players, past people who want something from him, past the ghosts of old deals and shattered alliances. He smiles, he nods, he keeps the charm on autopilot.

But in the spaces between conversations, in the pauses where laughter doesn’t quite reach his ears, he feels it—the weight, the absence. The thing he refuses to name.

Then he sees her.

Not across the room, not in the periphery of his vision, but close—too close. Close enough that he has no choice but to look at her. To really see her.

Pepper Potts.

She’s standing in a circle of people, engaged in some polite, diplomatic conversation, but her body is angled slightly away. Like she already knew he was here. Like she’s been waiting, dreading, preparing.

Tony stops. Just for a second.

And for the first time all night, he doesn’t know what to do.

The instinct is to go for the easy out. A quip, a joke, a perfectly-timed wink that would let them both pretend this is just another night. Another party. Another moment where nothing has changed. But something has changed. Something broke, and for once, Tony doesn’t know how to fix it.

The air between them is thick, charged in a way that makes his fingers twitch, his jaw tighten. She hasn’t turned fully, not yet, but he sees the set of her shoulders, the way her breath catches, the way the others in her circle notice the shift but pretend not to.

She’s too graceful, too controlled to let it show, but Tony has known her too long. He knows every single one of her tells.

And she knows his.

For a split second, he considers turning around. Walking away. Letting her have the space she clearly carved out for herself. But that’s not who he is, and more importantly, that’s not what they do. They don’t avoid each other. They never have.

And now, what...?

Edited, which is why re-tagging: @the-winter-smolder-official @pepper-potts-in-charge

SATURDAY OPEN RP! GOLDEN GALA CHARITY EVENT HOSTED BY EMERSON ENTERPRISES CEO!

The atmosphere within the main ballroom is spectacular with all the golden accents on top of black table clothes. The room is decorated to the nines with everything that could ever be done. James has his staff to thank for that.

The guests start to trickle in slowly but surely. The splendor of it all actually makes some of them gape in awe.

James knows he's going to have to go around the room talking to each one throughout the night, and maybe they will talk to each other. Tonight is about making connections and possible friendships with the people of the city. They have to band together to fight what could possibly come. This is his strategy.

This is just one step of many to take down HYDRA.

But they aren't on his mind tonight.

He greets everyone with a smile when he walks up to them. And they greet him in return when they want to speak with him.

The auction will be towards the middle of the event followed by dancing. He's pretty sure the ones with children won't stay for that.

Mingle and have fun.

Even though there are Anti-Mutant protestors threatening to show up at any moment.

At least Rumlow isn't going to be here.

//OOC Instructions: Mingle, have fun, and make some chaos happen.//

@luna-draven-barnes @wilsonfisk-thekingpin @under0-0s @the1-and-only-peggycarter @thund3randrain @thebestmerc-1 @the-daily-bugle-official-blog @nearthewaters @theoldcapsicleicle

If I missed your tag, I'm sorry, I can't remember everyone that I talked too for some reason (probably fibro brain fog) and anyone is welcome to join!!!

[completeoveranalysis]

[5]

Ohoho Egg Time!

Or at least Egg Explanation Time. 

I can’t remember exactly how much xxxHolic told us about where the Egg came from, but we see a little glimpse of it in the first frame here - in Acid Tokyo, when Sakura had her solo mission in the desert and brought back the monster egg that split into two when given to Yuuko. 

It’s a lovely parallel to what happened with Lava Lamp and Watanuki. 

And I’m sure Yuuko is just about to explain which two people the egg is for, but it’s Watanuki and Himawari! Or like, Himawari and Doumeki, but the Doumeki egg is specifically to save Watanuki, so that’s basically the same thing.

Yeah here we go!

With an addendum of ohhhhhh! So the different names and appearances was a deliberate choice in an effort to keep them both existing and not erased by the vague timeline rules!

That’s very fun. 

Also you could also draw a parallel between one egg that was born to be raised (Lava Lamp) and one egg that gave birth to nothing (since Watanuki was originally intended to vanish). That’s slightly less fun!

Also if Yuuko opening the locket is the going to reveal the actual faces of the parents I’m going to scream.

I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN. 

BUT!

BUT! MATCHING FAMILY MOMENT! WATANUKI WITH HIS PARENTS! WATANUKI IN LITTLE FORMAL WEAR! 

WATANUKI AND LAVA LAMP HAVING MATCHING PHOTOGRAPHS WITH THEIR PARENTS! 

And their parents giving Watanuki an auspicious name designed to protect him from his fate - which has worked so far! And even the word itself is about a process of conversion!

The meaning behind it all!

[vounoura]

I do think a Mercar Rook having utterly no ties to Dock Town other than a more vague 'Neve and I are from the same city but different parts' is a bit of a lost opportunity ngl