#also if this is.. confusing i'm sorry lol

[aventurineswife]

Hi there! Could I maybe request a fic with Aventurine, Sunday, Ratio and Gepard (do you write for him? Lol) where both them and their s/o (gn) are turned into their child selves for a day and their reactions to that? Or you could do it with only one being turned back to their child selves, whichever you’d like

We Are Young

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Gepard x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Transformation, Childhood/Younger Versions, Emotional Growth, Humor, Wholesome Moments, Vulnerability.

Warnings: Mild Language, Temporary Body Transformation, Mental Strain or Disorientation, Feelings of Vulnerability or Loss of Control, Emotional Intensity, Reader is taller(in Ratio's and Gepard's part).

A/N: i decided to do both 😇🫣🤭, also sorry to the person who I was supposed to tag because I forgot your username...🧍‍♀️ Also, you may wanna check my masterlists, because I'm pretty sure i have written a lot for Gepard? 🤔 Not sure tho 🤷‍♀️

It was a calm evening aboard the Intelligentsia Guild's sprawling airship. The vast expanse of stars outside contrasted with the warmth of the room, where Ratio sat, his hands poised over a tablet screen. As always, his mind worked tirelessly on the theories of knowledge that he felt should be shared with all. However, today something was… off.

"Ratio, you've been at this for hours. You need a break," you said, your voice carrying warmth and concern. You leaned against the doorframe, watching him lose himself in his work once again. It was then that the strange energy pulse swept through the room, leaving no time to react.

Before either of you could even blink, a wave of dizziness hit you both. A brief flash of light made the air around you shimmer, and when it passed, everything felt different.

You blinked and turned to Ratio. "Ratio?" you said, your voice suddenly smaller, higher-pitched. You glanced down at your hands—tiny, delicate. A wave of shock hit you as you realized the impossible.

Ratio, standing across from you, had shrunk to the size of a child—his normally imposing figure now reduced to a small, wide-eyed version of himself with tousled, wavy hair. His eyes—once filled with wisdom—now looked confused and uncertain, the usual sharpness replaced by innocent curiosity.

"W-What...?" Ratio’s voice cracked with youthful uncertainty as he looked down at his tiny frame. "I—this is highly irregular. How... how did this happen?"

You chuckled lightly, despite the situation. "Well, it seems we're… children, for a day."

Ratio's brow furrowed, though the effect was somehow more endearing than threatening now. "This is a mistake. This must be some sort of scientific anomaly," he said, lifting his tiny hand to adjust his small glasses—except his fingers barely reached them now.

"You don’t look very 'Veritas' now," you teased, bending down to his level. "How does it feel to be small for once?"

Ratio paused, adjusting to his newfound perspective. "This is… disorienting," he muttered. "But it is most likely an opportunity for scientific observation. A learning experience, of sorts."

"You’re always thinking about learning," you grinned, "but don’t you think you could try being a kid for a day?"

The idea seemed to freeze Ratio for a moment. His mind, ever calculating, seemed to find little solace in childlike spontaneity. "Being a child…" He adjusted his golden ornament, now sitting awkwardly on his smaller frame. "This seems… inefficient."

"Try it, Ratio," you encouraged. "Sometimes the most efficient thing is to just have fun."

He hesitated but eventually nodded. "Very well, a break from academic pursuits—if you insist."

As the day unfolded, Ratio was surprisingly adept at indulging in the freedom of his temporary youth. You both wandered around, engaging in games of light-hearted mischief. He was astoundingly quick to catch on to basic games like tag, though his competitive nature was apparent even in his smaller form. Each time he won, his eyes lit up with pride, the traces of his adult arrogance shining through the innocent joy of a child.

In moments when the two of you laughed together—his scholarly rigidity slipping away—he seemed to soften. His usual dismissiveness was replaced by a more genuine curiosity, a part of him enjoying the simplicity of this temporary freedom. It was a side of Ratio you'd rarely seen: unburdened by the weight of his intellect, just living in the moment with you.

Later, as the day drew to a close, you both found yourselves sitting together, your legs dangling off the side of a low couch, both exhausted from the games and adventures. Ratio looked at you, his violet eyes now softer, still retaining their sharp edge but full of warmth.

"Perhaps there is merit to this youthful experience," he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. "I… I had not anticipated it would offer such clarity."

You smiled and leaned against him, feeling the gentle weight of his tiny shoulder brush yours. "I told you. Sometimes it’s about letting go."

Ratio’s tiny hand grasped yours. "Thank you," he murmured, an uncharacteristic vulnerability in his tone.

With a small, satisfied nod, you rested your head against his. "No need for thanks. It was fun seeing you let loose."

"Yes," he said, looking up at the stars outside, "perhaps it was. But I am more than ready to return to my true form." He gave you a side glance, a small smirk pulling at his lips. "I do hope, however, that this is not a regular occurrence."

You laughed softly. "I’m not sure I could handle seeing the genius child version of you every day."

"Indeed," he agreed, his smirk widening.

The Silvermane Guard headquarters in Belobog was quiet, the evening shift having just begun. Gepard sat at his desk, poring over reports. His discipline never wavered, and his devotion to his city was clear in the weight of his every action. Beside him, you were flipping through a small book, offering occasional glances at your partner’s focused expression.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar energy rippled through the room. You both froze. A bright flash of light filled the space, and within moments, everything was different. You rubbed your eyes in disbelief.

Looking down, your hands were smaller. The realization hit you, but before you could react, you turned to Gepard. He, too, had transformed. His tall, muscular frame had shrunk to a much smaller version of himself—still strong, but in a child's form. His eyes widened, and he stared at his hands in astonishment.

"What is this?" Gepard exclaimed, his voice youthful but with a familiar seriousness. "Why am I... a child?"

You burst into laughter, despite the situation. "Seems like we’ve been turned into kids for a day."

Gepard’s young features were framed by his tousled hair, and his usual stern expression was replaced by a mix of confusion and uncertainty. "This is… highly irregular," he muttered, glancing down at his armor, which no longer seemed to fit.

You walked over, crouching down to his level. "What’s the matter, Captain? Aren’t you excited for a day off from all the responsibility?"

Gepard looked at you, his brow furrowing. "I have no time for irresponsibility," he said, his tone surprisingly serious even in his small body. "Belobog depends on me."

"You’re always so serious," you teased, ruffling his hair. "Come on, this could be fun."

Despite his hesitation, you led the way, and soon enough, you both found yourselves in the heart of Belobog, running through the streets with the unburdened joy of childhood. Gepard, while still retaining his sense of duty, couldn't help but join in the carefree fun. His laughter, light and free, was a welcome change from the often grave captain of the Silvermane Guards.

You both played games, chased each other through the streets, and even found time to climb a small hill to watch the sunset. Gepard, no longer burdened by his responsibilities, seemed lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from his broad shoulders.

Later, sitting on the rooftop, you glanced at him, your smaller frame nestled against his. "This is nice, right?" you asked softly, watching the orange hues of the setting sun.

He nodded, his youthful gaze softer than you'd ever seen it. "Yes," he admitted, his voice quiet. "But I also miss the responsibilities... the weight of it all." He looked up at the sky, reflecting on the day. "But this... this was a much-needed break."

"Sometimes," you said, "we need to step back to see things clearly."

He turned to you, a soft smile curling on his lips. "Thank you for reminding me of that, even in my childish form."

You grinned. "Anytime, Captain."

As the day ended and the magic wore off, both of you returned to your grown selves. But the memory of the shared laughter, the momentary escape from the burdens of life, remained with both of you, a reminder that even the most steadfast warriors need a break from time to time.

Aventurine blinked as the swirling light enveloped him, the familiar sensation of a gambit gone wrong sinking in. When the world came back into focus, his hand instinctively went to adjust his choker—only for it to slip off entirely, far too loose on a much smaller neck. His fingers brushed against the soft skin of his now childlike form, and he paused, staring down in bewilderment at the change.

"I—this is impossible." His voice, high-pitched and uncertain, was a far cry from the suave tone he usually maintained. The reflection of himself in the nearby glass confirmed it: a child, no older than seven, wearing a miniature version of his luxurious outfit. His hair was still sandy blond, though a little more tousled, and his eyes still held the same gleam—but everything else was different.

He shifted uneasily, looking up to find you standing in front of him, your expression a mix of surprise and amusement. “What is this?” he asked, clearly flustered.

Before you could reply, the weight of it sank in. Aventurine was a master of control, of risks and strategies—but how could he possibly calculate this? A game he couldn’t win. His childlike body was a puzzle, a problem with no clear solution.

His gaze flickered to his hand, instinctively wanting to hide it, but in this small form, it was far too obvious. “I suppose you think this is... funny.” The words were still tinged with a hint of mockery, though the playful lightheartedness of his childhood form only made it seem endearing.

You chuckled softly, stepping closer. "Just a little," you teased, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "But how do you feel about it? Don’t tell me you’ve lost your confidence too."

Aventurine scowled, though it held no real weight behind it. “It’s... absurd. My stature is an integral part of my presence. How am I supposed to manipulate others if I can’t even manipulate my own reflection?” He glanced down at the roulette wheel details adorning his coat, visibly irritated by the absurdity of it all. But then, the smallest of smiles tugged at his lips, a rare moment of vulnerability creeping in. “Though, I suppose... it’s quite a charming form.”

You smiled, stepping closer to him and pulling him into a gentle hug, feeling his small arms instinctively wrap around you. "It suits you. Maybe this will help you rediscover the joy of playing without the stakes being so high, huh?"

Aventurine froze for a moment in your embrace, but as your warmth surrounded him, he let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh. His usual sharp, calculated demeanor was gone, replaced by something softer, something closer to the man he’d been before life made him hardened. For a fleeting moment, he could feel the carefree freedom of a child—of someone not burdened by the weight of the world.

“I suppose,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. "Maybe I can afford to let go… just for today."

Sunday’s wings fluttered in confusion as his form shifted. A strange, almost dreamlike sensation washed over him, like he was caught in the middle of one of his own contemplations. When the world solidified once more, he looked around, his eyes widening in disbelief.

"Is this...?" His voice was soft, higher than he remembered, but unmistakably his. He instinctively touched his hair, finding it longer now, grazing his shoulders—his normally serene appearance now radiating innocence. His once graceful, ethereal figure had been reduced to a child’s, no older than ten, with all the vulnerability that came with it.

A small gasp escaped his lips as he noticed you standing nearby. There was a soft, affectionate glow in your eyes, but the mixture of surprise and amusement was unmistakable.

"S-Sunday?" you asked, your tone filled with that same gentle surprise that mirrored his own.

“I...” He hesitated, his golden eyes flickering in uncertainty. “I wasn’t prepared for this.” His wings fluttered again—an unconscious response—and his little hands went to adjust the clothing that no longer quite fit the same way. His halo, too, seemed smaller and less defined, as if it were struggling to hold onto its celestial nature in the form of a child.

You stepped forward, a soft smile playing on your lips. “How do you feel about this? A little strange?”

He nodded, clearly unsettled. "It’s... disorienting." He glanced at you, his gaze shifting between his childlike form and your more mature one. "I’ve spent so long trying to maintain control over everything... And now I—"

"You don't need to control everything today," you interrupted gently, reaching for his small hand and holding it between yours. His fingers curled instinctively around yours, the tenderness of the touch cutting through the awkwardness of the situation. "It’s okay to let go. You’re allowed to feel... free, for once."

Sunday's expression softened at your words, and for the briefest of moments, the heavy burden he often carried seemed to lift. His small body fit so easily into your embrace, and the weight of his usual responsibilities seemed to vanish. The deep internal conflict that was often so prevalent in his mind felt distant, as though it were a memory from another time.

His wings fluttered again, the lightness of them symbolizing the fleeting joy of childhood. "I suppose," he whispered, "this day will allow me to remember... what it means to dream without fear."

You leaned down, kissing the top of his head. "Exactly. You’ve been so focused on protecting others for so long—let me take care of you today."

A small, wistful smile tugged at Sunday’s lips, his childlike form reflecting a rare, vulnerable side. "Thank you," he murmured, the words more genuine than he'd realized he was capable of expressing.

[bnyf]

baby you're my bunny ♡

╭﹕୨୧﹒ bunny boy x female reader

┊ warnings : yandere content and themes, unhealthy behaviors, relationship and relationship dynamic, slight body horror me thinks? slight horror, perverted yandere, non consensual touching, suggestive, uhhh that's it me thinks :3

╰﹕୨୧﹒ authoress note : so sorry if it's badly written also sorry if it ends weird :/

no survival instinct what's-so-ever. like... none.

but he was not complaining! it was just a mere observation. perhaps you were unaware of your allure, maybe you were not exposed to the cruel world yet, didn't know how sick people and creatures can be.

well for one... your little secret admirer was not one of those adorable bunnies you'd fawn over, nothing even close really. and no, he's not some cute boy with a bunny tail and some bunny ears. he's far from cute, a little scary actually.

humanoid? sure! typical bunny boy hybrid, uhhhh not really lol! he's mixed with human genetics but he's not quit. and for a bunny hybrid, he sure had a lot of predator instincts.

to put simply, he was an abnormality of mother nature. his lower half resembled a bunny whilst his torso and up is that of a man. his claws on his feet or paws or whatever are dangerously long, digging into the dirt whenever he walks, leaving behind a "too small to notice unless your looking for it" trail.

a muscular, lean build, biceps so perfect and manly hands to hold you down if you even ever think of escaping, awe how sweet of him <3

completely pale skin with small patches of equally pale fur in various spots, completely crimson, blood shot eyes and a pair of floppy bunny ears where any normal human's ears would be.

how did he even came to be? you may ask. well he was a normal boy, once upon a time. but one day, he'd gotten into a serious accident, a near death life experience. that day he could've hear the bells of heaven ringing in his ears but he wasn't ready to die, not like this... in his head he begged for more time, asking whatever god above to answer his prayers.

and yeah! his prayers where answered but, as they say, be careful what you wish for...

the moon goddess answered his prayers, but she also cursed him for it is the price he must pay to live longer.

"i grant you more time, as much time as you may need, but for as long as you roam his earth, your soul belongs to me and your purpose, is to server me," her voice rang in his ears like a bittersweet melody before he'd lose consciousness.

when he awake, he found himself in the mountains, he was a monstrosity of a man and dared not step a foot into society. he's to bare this curse and blessing till death.

he became easily bored and clueless as to what to do next, his every day life felt null and everything felt too much to bare. his eternity just began yet he dreads his mistake with every passing day.

"maybe, i should of just accepted my faith and die that day..."

with nothing and no one, he was left to wonder the mountain and serve the goddess by praying to her and tending to her shrine everyday, he's trapped to keep her energy going so she won't become a forgotten god.

(guys i made the lore up on a whim so bare with me even i'm confused right now :0)

anyways! everything drastically changed for our boy here when you and your family decided to move to the village nearby in the rural area, and live a peaceful life and just run a nice little farm hooray! hopefully, you don't get stalked and preyed on by a lonely scarily tall bunny male hybrid who looks like a utterly angelic, celestial eldritch horror, right?

all he could think about was a pretty girl had moved in next door and he just had to watch her from afar. most the villagers were very welcoming of you and your family, it was big talk because such a pretty girl had just moved in the small village and all the villagers wanted their sons or grandsons to get married.

it doesn't have much young people, mostly elders and young children and even less marriageable women. which is why you easily became popular, with everyone always gifting you things, begging you to marry into their family. they even had a town welcome celebration for you and your family!

he watched everything from afar. feeling a slight sting in his chest. jealous? already? of course he is, he wanted you all for himself. for countless nights, he just couldn't sleep at all.

he spent all his time admiring you from afar. the way he'd blush, his heart beat fastening, the gears in his head would just slow down a bit. gosh, he actually felt his heart warm so much it'd burn in his chest.

he wanted you badly.

you were his new source of entertainment, motivation and inspiration all in one and his mind was melting with how needy he started becoming.

"what the f- she's so kind and pretty..."

"i wanna hug her, wanna kiss her, feel her skin on mine, love her, fuck her."

"she can be my little bunny princess~"

"wonder what our babies would look like? i'm getting heated just thinking about it"

it didn't help much when he found out you adored bunnies and would play with them near the spring. fawning over the little fluffy creatures, hugging them and petting them. and when you held them in your arms and give smooches while rubbing your face on their fluffy fur?!?!?

that's where his obsession becomes almost to much to bare, his entire chest area felt so warm watching you treat those bunnies with so much love.

"everything about her is so perfect, i'm starting to crave her like crazy right now."

"wanna whisk her away, take her, lock her up and keep her all to myself."

his mind starts getting clouding with so many dark thoughts of you.

and so, he start pushing boundaries and going outside his comfort zone to appease his little appetite that consist of you. at night, he sneaks in to steal a closer glance at you and probably a few things so he can remember your scent properly.

the whole house was dark, the whole village asleep by the time it was midnight hour. he'd manage to get in somehow somewhere but when he did, he immediately went to your room.

finally. he could smell and touch you as much as he wanted, his mind was actually in ecstasy when he entered your room, your scent gracing his nostrils as soon as he did, and the poor touch starved male couldn't hold back on touching you various parts of your skin.

"how delightful, her skin is so smooth and her hair feels so good, she smells like flowers all over gosh so fucking perfect, i wanna devour her, drink her up, chew her, spit her out and do it all over again" with every slight movement you make and whimper scaping your soft lips, he can't help but hold back his own voice, he wanted to moan just by being around you, it felt so good.

after so long, why wouldn't it feel great?

to be around around someone for once, to feel the heat of another person's body, the sweet scent of someone else other than himself. he'd lay in bed with you, his larger self cuddling your smaller form as smells your hair, trailing his hands all over you.

he was getting ahead of himself.

it takes everything within him to not proceed and do something to you while in your sleep. his morals along with his sanity were drifting away more and more.

time flies by when you're enjoying yourself, before he knew it he had to leave before the sun raises. forcing himself he does but he also takes like 5 things from you.

"promise i'll return your belongings my love, i just need a little souvenir to help myself with."

the poor thing gets sent into an early heat after that little interaction. he's embarrassed a little but he really needs you, like he really does. and he thinks of ways of introducing himself but... he's a monster, you would run from him and be scared. and when that thought comes to mind it makes him... sad.

"if i'd die that day, i'd never meet her, never be able to see her, but now that i'm alive with the help of the moon goddess, i can't even act normal about her. it's like i'm truly doomed."

this realization was tough. it made him sick to think about. and for a while, he was just okay with sneaking in to see you, and holding your unconscious body but he wanted a lot more, and he wanted your acceptance and love. he wanted you to want him the way he wants you.

it hurt even more when he mistakenly glanced in the mirror only to see a 6 feet tall, half human half hybrid bunny with a deadly eerie looking bloody stare, stare right back at him.

the pale moonlight leaking on him, hitting his skin almost making it look silver.

"she'd surely fear me, she'd run."

he's such a beautiful tragedy. would you be able to appreciate that?

[enhaeil]

KNOCKIN' DA BOOTS ! ☆ 이희승

"i feel so good when I'm near you. that's why I always want to be close to you. i'm so addicted, i'm so addicted to makin' love to you, baby.."

knockin da boots - h-town

a/n: i wanted this to be smut, but idk why I can't write it, so im really sorry. but this is the first part of my old skool series ! enjoy <3

c/w: suggestive !! fluff. heeseung and y/n bein fast lol

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

march 19th 1993

you're in your bedroom, finishing up your chemistry homework when you hear sounds coming from your window.

you glance at the alarm clock that sat on your nightstand, that read 11:00 PM. confused on what could be making noise at such a late hour, you immediately assume the worse.

you carefully approach your window, gulping as you peer into the glass.

as you look see a man throwing pebbles at your window.

and it was none other than your secret boyfriend, lee heeseung.

despite you being in college, your parents were still strict on you. "no boyfriends until you graduate." your mom said. "no boyfriend until you're thirty." said your dad.

however, heeseung was different. he brought out something in you.

"heeseung, what're you doing here?! you know it's late ..." you say trying your best to whisper-yell.

"I came to see you, baby" he smiled as if showing up at your girlfriends window at eleven PM was normal.

"just... hurry up and get in here before my dad sees." you say, opening your window wider so he can climb up and in.

"don't you know how much trouble both of us would get in if they knew you were here?" you speak as your arms fold across your chest.

heeseung plops onto your bed without a care, leaning back on his hands.

"and i'd get in trouble 10 times if it means I get to be with you."

you roll your eyes, and he pats his lap, luring you to sit down.

you reluctantly sit down, still trying to put up an attitude.

"aren't you happy to see me? i'm happy to see you." he says, his hand brushing a stray hair away from your face.

"of course, i'm happy to see you, heeseung. i just don't want to lose you. you know this isn't allowed."

he presses a kiss to the side of your face before speaking.

"baby, the moment you said yes to me courting you, you weren't getting rid of me. you could never lose me. even if your dad doesn't like me. i mean, look at romeo and juliet?"

you scrunch your eyebrows. "first of all heeseung, that was a family feud. also, don't they die at the end?"

"never said I read it!" he puts his hands up in defense. you playfully slap his chest as you both burst into a fit of giggles.

he presses a soft, passionate kiss against your lips, holding your face. an "i love you" falls off his lips, quiet, but not going missed by you.

the kiss quickly turns more heated and breathless, your hips absentmindedly moving against him before you break the kiss, pushing him back.

"heeseung, we can't do this here." you say, trying to catch your breath.

you and heeseung have done stuff before. however, it was always at his house or even in his car. doing it in your bedroom was just too risky.

"y/n, please. i wanna make you feel good, i'll be quiet as a mouse."

you're still hesitant, biting your lip in worry.

"if you really aren't comfortable with it, we don't have to, baby, and I would never make you. but I hate having to love you in secret." he says sincerely.

you sigh, knowing he's right.

fuck it.

you pull him in for another kiss, removing his letterman jacket in the process.

you can't lie, the thrill of it does turn you on a bit. and you would be lying if you said you weren't ready for him to take you right now.

you moan into the kiss, and heeseung lifts you up, laying you on the bed.

"i can't wait to feel you, baby.."

im so sorry i wish i could finish this

[snowballseal]

My Dearest

Part 4

LaDS Zayne X Foreseer!Reader

Prologue / Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Summary: You know you should stay away from Zayne. He represents everything you hate, yet defies every expectation you hold. His life brings warmth to your home, and since Fate is so noticeably silent, you find yourself slipping. Closer and closer and closer. Just who is this man? And why did he end up here?

Word Count: 3442 (it's a long one lol)

Note: sorry this took so long! I'm truly struggling with the pacing. I rewrote this part like three times. I don't want things to move too fast, but I also really don't want the story to drag. Let me know what you think! More backstory will be revealed in the next part so keep an eye out ;)

Warnings: there's a lot of religious speech and terminology at the end, and just a sprinkle of murderous intent from Reader, rightfully so (you'll understand)

---

For all your years, Fate has never been a fickle master. Unrelenting in her kindness or in her fury, but never wavering in between. You’ve witnessed every side she has to offer.

So when you wade into the depths of your magic, seeking answers, seeking anything to help ease the turmoil within your soul, only to find an empty room, a blank book, no hint of what’s to come, you feel almost swept under by the force of your own confusion.

For so long, you’ve devoted yourself to her work. You’ve done all you’ve been asked, revealed truths that society has so desperately hidden. You faced their wrath, you faced their scorn, you bare the scars of their anger. It has driven you to the brink of madness, yet you have always pressed on.

So why has she left you like this? Stumbling through a darkened room with nothing to guide you, no light to show where you are meant to go, even to see where you are stepping.

It is a cruel punishment, far crueler than you expected for saving a sole human life. But these are your consequences, and you must face them for defying the order of life. For simply choosing to follow your own desires. This is how she has decided to teach you a lesson, to make you regret that brief moment of disobedience.

Yet, as you watch Zayne recover, watch him grow in strength and learn more about his character, something deep in your frozen soul curls defiantly between your ribs, whispering so viciously that you were right right right.

Zayne is unlike any other human you have had the displeasure of meeting. He defies every expectation you may have. You expect him to be angry, to grow spiteful with his condition. The weakness brought on by his hypothermia. The limitations of a persistent limp. Like a wounded pup, he is trapped under your care, for which he should hate you.

However, where most men would respond by lashing out, threatening you, and cursing your home, Zayne faces his circumstances with an unthinkable…patience. Not a single complaint passes his lips, not a single moment of frustration, and he seems more than content to wander the endless halls of the Tower on his own, even though he must lean on the walls to support himself. He continues to carry himself with an elegant air of composure, treating the ancient building with nothing short of reverence.

He is a stoic man, you learn. More often than not, his face is drawn into a contemplative frown, always deep in thought, reflective. Yet his eyes cannot hide the depths of his emotions. The way they gleam with unbridled appreciation as he takes in the stained glass in the Tower’s chapel, how they soften with deep gratitude at every meal, and burn with such unabashed curiosity as he searches the tomes of your library.

He is just so undeniably alive. His sole presence fills your home with a new warmth, chasing away the biting cold you have grown so used to.

Watching him exist with such peace, such gentleness, you can’t help but stand in stubborn defiance against Fate.

You made the right choice.

Even if your instincts still bid you to keep your distance. You walk a perilous edge between caution and curiosity. To listen to your desires would draw you closer, would permit you to ask the boundless questions wavering on your lips. Though you’re sure Fate would rather you lock yourself away until he leaves, to build up your walls and allow things to go as they will.

But Fate is silent.

So you make the decision. No man would want to stay in this icy hell forever, so surely you can allow yourself a moment of reprieve, a moment to soak in the strange warmth of his life before he disappears, as they always do.

And who knows, perhaps if you learn more about him, you will find a reason to hate him like all the others. Every man has their sins, a darkness poisoning their soul. Once you discover that, it will certainly be easier to cast him away, to forget about his very existence.

Yes, certainly that will be for the best.

Even if it severs the remaining threads of hope you cling to.

Zayne notices the shift immediately.

After days of wandering the halls on his own, finding magnificent sculptures and walls and walls of fascinating books, but never catching even a glimpse of your robes, he could only assume you were avoiding him.

After a few days, he had resolved himself to the truth - that his time in this place is limited, and so he spends every waking hour memorizing the beauty of it, a beauty not unlike your own. Beyond time. Beyond human.

Given all of that, he can’t help but falter when he sets foot into the library. A familiar chill curls into the depths of his bones, the breath in his lungs stalling as his eyes land on your unexpected figure.

At first glance, one would simply assume you are a human of great beauty, but Zayne knows the truth. He can feel it, the power radiating from your form, even as you drape yourself so effortlessly in the armchair, an old leather tome perched intimately on your lap.

You truly are something otherworldly.

At first, he had seen you as the distant and ethereal demigoddess, the Foreseer with the power to act out Fate’s will in cold calculation, as he had been told. Then, when you allowed him to bow at your feet, he saw you as a vision of refined grace and broken faith, surrounded by insurmountable walls to keep him at bay, to protect yourself.

Yet here, you are something different again. Here, with your heavy adorning furs, surrounded by your single source of comfort, your fierce mask seems to slip away. The low candle light illuminates your face in a gentle manner, embracing the delicate curves of your features, accentuating the thoughtful draw of your lips. You are truly a vision of the goddess tethering herself to earth, hiding the power of your being behind the tender curves of a human form, allowing yourself to be soft, to be something so utterly breakable. 

And still, he is aware that you are in control. Over yourself, over the air around you, over the tower he stands in. You are in complete control, and you are allowing him to see you like this.

Something akin to wonder floods his chest.

Why would a divine being like you have such mercy on a man like him?

It is truly a baffling question, one that repeats like a nagging whisper in his mind every waking moment he spends walking through these halls. Along with several others, all questions that draw him deeper and deeper into the mystery of you.

Why have you sought out such solitude? Why have you kept your distance from him yet allowed him to stay? Why do you offer him even this meager amount of trust when you know nothing of what he has done?

Zayne has never coped well with unanswered questions.

“I must admit, I find it odd how you humans like to stare,” you murmur, not once looking up from your book of poems. You can practically feel his gaze burning across your skin, and you don’t need to look up to read the intensity behind such a gaze. “Is it truly striking of me to enjoy my own collection?”

Heat creeps up Zayne’s neck and he immediately tears his eyes away. Hearing your voice is just as startling as your sudden appearance. The cool edge of your tone sets his heart racing, a strange sort of anticipation curling in his chest.

Finally, he has the opportunity to learn more about you.

“My apologies, Foreseer,” he starts, voice surprisingly steady, “It would seem my manners have slipped in my time alone.”

“Hmm…” You bite back a rye smile. Always so ready to apologize. Truly a strange one, this man. “No need for apologies. I am simply here to read in silence, and given the interest you have shown in my collection, I assumed you may want to join me.”

An offer of proximity.

One Zayne does not hesitate to take. If you are willing to bear his presence, he is more than willing to spend hours in silence by your side. Talking is not the only way to learn about someone.

You watch keenly from the corner of your eye as the man shuffles over to your bookcases, still favoring his right knee. A splinter of concern wedges itself between your ribs, small yet exceedingly uncomfortable. It must be causing him a great deal of pain with all his walking. 

Did he have this before? Or did he injure himself on his journey? Why does he insist on walking on it if it causes him such pain? 

So many questions.

You attempt to dismiss them for now, along with your concerns as  Zayne sits down in a smaller chair across the room, an old medical journal in his hands. One he has been eyeing the past few days - you note. He must have an interest in medicine, another unexpected discovery.

All of those questions stubbornly stick to the tip of your tongue, buzzing but unspoken.

Thus begins a tentative pattern of relative peace. The mornings are spent apart, aside from when you bring him his morning meal and an herbal medicine you created, which you leave while he sleeps. In the afternoons, you both find yourselves in the library, reading in silence most days. At first, he sits across the room from you, keeping his distance as you originally requested.

As the days pass, though, you find him drawing closer. As if pulled in by an invisible force. Or as though you are some wild animal, and he wishes to acclimate you to his presence.

It is more than a little entertaining. Even with his overwhelming level of patience, he can’t help but reveal his hand so openly. All humans want something, and for some reason, Zayne wants to be close to you.

While you may not understand it, you can’t deny that you feel the same pull. Perhaps that is why you feel your already weak defenses lowering all together as time passes so languidly. You find yourself more at ease while sharing the room with him, as though his constant, soothing presence is a balm for your nerves, a lullaby that calms the cautious beast locked behind your ribs. Day by day, you feel more confident in your poor decision to save this man’s life.

Enough that you find yourself pushing the boundaries more than you should. It occurs when you notice him wince, none-too-subtle, as he lowers himself into his chair, now mere feet from you.

You break the silence.

“Most would call you unwise for walking on an injured leg,” you hum, keeping your focus on the flowing poems in front of you, “Though I assume you are aware given that you seem to have extensive knowledge of human medicine. Not many can read the dialect of those tomes.”

Zayne blinks, eyes tearing away from his book to look at you. Sharing the silence with you had become so natural, so comforting. Being in your presence is a blessing he doesn’t deserve, and he never once thought of pushing your boundaries to start a conversation, even though his lungs ache with the questions he wanted to ask. So having you address him, acknowledge him, feels like a breath of fresh air.

“It is an old injury, from before my journey,” he answers, voice a bit raspy from lack of use. You tilt your head towards him minutely though, obviously not displeased, so he continues, “And you would be correct. I have studied medicine quite extensively, my lady.”

You falter, eyes locking on the words on the page, but not reading them.

My lady.

A new title. One you have never been called before. And you have been called many things.

As if by instinct, or perhaps from practice after spending so many hours trying to memorize the subtle changes in your expressions as you read, Zayne notices the tension between your brows. And realization dawns on him.

“My apologies, Foreseer,” he sighs, frustration washing over him, at him. What a careless slip. “I will refrain-”

“No,” you cut him off, still not looking up, “I will…permit it. For now, you may address me as you please, Zayne.”

Your nose wrinkles ever so slightly as your own realization washes over you. It’s almost unsettling how soft you’ve become in such a short time. How unbecoming for a demigoddess.

Yet, when you chance a glance up, you can’t find it in yourself to regret your words, not with how Zayne’s usually stoic expression gives way to surprise, followed by a kindled warmth. He’s pleased. Too pleased. 

“Thank you, my lady.”

And you hate that you feel just as pleased hearing him say it again, his voice curling around the title with such devotion, as if he reveres you so.

This whole endeavor was meant to reveal his faults, not give you deeper reason to care. You mustn’t get lost in human emotions, lest they tear you apart again, just as they did in your past. Caring too much causes nothing but pain.

Still.

“Does this old injury bother you often?”

You are more than capable of satiating your interest while keeping your distance, aren’t you? .

Zayne gives a rueful smile, one that makes you turn around and question yourself, “The cold makes one’s joints more sensitive which can lead to mild irritation of old injuries. It may worsen my limp for a time, though I assure you it appears more painful than it feels, my lady.”

A part of you wishes to deny such concerns, but you would rather not lie again.

“Why did you not seek medical attention?” You press instead, brows furrowing, “Did you not have a mentor in your studies? Could they not have treated you?”

The air in the library falls suddenly still. Zayne shifts, his jaw clenching as he looks back down at his current book, fingers fussing idly with the pages. A nervous habit. He’s uncomfortable talking about this for some reason, which makes you want to press further, though you restrain yourself.

When he does speak, his voice is impassive, as if mentioning the weather outside, “I was not permitted to have my injuries treated.”

Not permitted? A frown mars the gentle curve of your lips. Are humans truly so cruel to each other? You have experienced their cruelty yourself, of course, but you had thought they might treat their own kind with greater care. To force a man to exist with such pain for the remainder of his life? It is nothing short of vulgar.

A bitter kind of disgust festers on your tongue. If you were to meet such humans, you fear you might tear them apart with just as much cruelty and throw their flesh to the snowy beasts of the mountains.

“Who would deny you such simple care?”

“That is of little importance, my lady,” Zayne dismisses with that same rueful smile, “I do not wish to burden you with my troubles. My injuries are merely a…reminder.”

His assurance does little to ease the glimmer of rage behind your expression. And Zayne can’t tear his eyes away. He has witnessed such fury before, has been at the mercy of human wrath, but yours burns with the force of the world, violence bridled by righteous judgement, as though you wish to punish those who have done this to him.

You are truly a goddess. Untouchable in your grace and unyielding in your abhorrence. You do not disguise your emotions behind fragile politeness, and instead control each and every feeling like a tool, a weapon. The world would fall at your knees if you so wished it to.

It leaves him with a trembling urge to kneel at your feet once more. Though that would likely make you uncomfortable, so he remains settled in his seat, admiring from a distance.

You let out a slow breath, reigning in your anger with practiced ease. If he does not feel contempt for his past, then it is not your place to hold on to it. Instead, you choose to press a little further.

  “Then I have another question, I suppose. Did you travel here seeking refuge from your kind?”

“Perhaps.” He worries one of the journal’s pages between his thumb and middle finger, letting the texture soothe his mind. “I had little choice in the matter, as I could not live in the kingdom any longer. In honesty, I hardly believed that the Tower of Thorns existed at the time. It sounded like a mere legend. As did you, my lady.”

You huff out a low sound, something between a laugh and a scoff, “I wish more believed I was a mere myth, then perhaps I could finally escape from your kind.”

Zayne’s brow furrows. This is the first thing you’ve shared of yourself. He studies the slight tinge of exhaustion in your features, as if a sudden weight has been draped over your shoulders. It is not lost on him, the standard you must hold yourself to as the Emissary of Fate, how harsh you have to be to protect yourself against his kind. It must feel…suffocating.

“You do not like humans.”

It’s not a question. Merely a conclusion in no need of a direct answer.

Still, you give one.

“No, I do not,” you hum matter-of-factly, leaning back into your chair. “Do you not feel the same after all they have done to you? Maiming you and chasing you from your home?”

“I-” Zayne falters, jaw clenching again. He should, he wants to, but, “I do not know, my lady.”

A beat of silence passes between you and it is as though you can read his conflicting desires.

“Then I shall hate them for you.”

Zayne inhales sharply. It is a solemn oath, as though you wish to take the weight of such a decision from him, as if you are not already carrying enough.

“My lady, the sins I have committed-”

“Are of little importance to me,” you murmur easily, almost startling yourself with how true the words are. “All humans have their sins. Those who fail to repent will suffer at Fate’s hands, and it is my destiny to warn them despite how I detest them. If you believe your sins to be so great, then I suppose I must warn you too.” Your eyes linger on him, somber and ancient, like that of an old painting. “Find a way to atone and move forward. I have chosen to give you a second life, and I will be sorely disappointed if you waste it. Do you understand?”

Swallowing around the thick lump in his throat, Zayne nods, “Yes, Foreseer. I hope my answers today have not displeased you.”

The faintest hint of a smile pulls at your lips, a glint of amusement softening your gaze, “They have not. I have actually somewhat enjoyed this conversation. While vague, your answers have offered me insight. For now, you have my interest.” You stand, straightening out your robes as you do. You brush the nonexistent dirt from the fabric. “You may initiate conversation in the future, if you wish, though I make no promise that I will engage. For tonight, however, I will be retiring to the main hall.”

You need time. Time to think. Time to reflect on your words, his words, all of it. Away from the devout attention he offers you, that seems to blur the lines of your rational thought.

Though, just like always, you waver in the door frame as you attempt to leave, something causing you pause.

Until the words pass your lips, “Have a good evening, Zayne.”

Yes, perhaps you cannot keep your distance, as you already seem to care too much. Perhaps this is destined to end in catastrophe and his sins will prove too gruesome for you to excuse. Perhaps you will have to seek your own atonement when it is all said and done.

But for tonight, you will relish in the shock-turned-wonder in Zayne’s eyes when he notices the intricately woven staff that appears with a flurry of magic light as you leave. In this, you find no regret.

For tonight, you will merely take it one step at a time.

Fate’s consequences be damned.

---

I hope this wasn't too wordy - I got a bit carried away at parts, and I couldn't bring myself to simplify any of it. I also worry there is too much back and forth in Reader's thoughts/emotions. Anyways, let me know what you guys think so far, and maybe what kind of scenes you'd like to see!

Tag List: @pirana10 @antivanblessing @animecrazy76 @xx-riffraff-xx

[greatbananaboat]

i keep seeing people complaining abt the blisters and bedrock letter vander wrote to silco. stuff about how it wasn't a good enough apology. it's actually rlly confusing to me bc watching it, i thought it wasn't meant to be an apology?

it kind of mirrors something my friend and i do when one of us is upset about something the other did. we don't get to see each other super often unless we're actively making time to, so we will text that we're sorry and ask to see them in person so we can actually communicate.

vander's letter reminds me of that. reading it, i thought he was trying to get silco to come see him so they could actually talk to each other and he could really apologize. a letter isn't good enough to get your emotions across.

i did a bit of a breakdown of the letter, not sure if it's very good though lol

"I’ve looked everywhere, but it’s clear you don’t want to be found."

he's been looking for silco so he can apologize personally. this isn't his plan a. this is what he has to do bc he can't find silco and he can't apologize the way he wants until silco allows himself to be found.

"God I’m shit at this. I’m sorry. When she died…I lost my head."

he acknowledges this isn't going to sound very good, because again, this wasn't how he wanted to apologize. it's still not how he wants to apologize. he tries to explain himself hoping silco can use it to see where he was coming from and calm down enough to be willing to see him in person.

"I told myself what I did to you was for the greater good, that you deserved it, but the dirt was on both our hands."

he acknowledges he was in the wrong and that his personal justification in that heated moment was flawed. he's saying that originally, he thought silco was the reason for everything that happened, the reason felicia died, but now that he's cleared his head somewhat, he knows it was just as much his fault as silco's.

"Anyways, you know where to find me. Blisters and bedrock. V."

he extends the offer to reach out, knowing he's not going to find silco unless silco wants to be found. he also adds a sentimental touch to it with the blisters and bedrock part, knowing it's symbolic of the relationship they had before what happened and hoping that relationship can be rebuilt.

and as we saw from the au, it could be rebuilt. silco just had to find the letter and decide to meet vander.

honestly i thought this was a rlly nice letter considering i didn't see it as an apology. a letter is never going to be enough to sincerely convey your emotions and really communicate with the other party. it's not like a face-to-face conversation.

i assumed from scenes with vander that he's someone who likes spending time with the people he loves. he likes being at the last drop with the people he cares for, music playing and drinks pouring. it stands to reason that he'd prefer in-person conversation over a letter.

idk maybe i'm way off base with this one lmk

[zepskies]

I know you're telling me not to worry in your AN, but I can't help but worry. 😬😬😬 That supe virus was nasty AF in season 4.

In those breaks, he scoured the Internet for answers and tried to keep his frustrations over it quiet with little grunts and a deeply creased brow.

As ominous as this situation is, there's something really cute about picturing Ben doing this lol. He loves her fr fr. 💗

“I told you not to worry. I’m alright,” she says, her throat dry and her voice coarse. Her words are meant to soothe her husband. She can see the worry shimmering in his juniper eyes. She’s lucky he’s not a supe anymore, or he would’ve gone nuclear a while ago.

Small favors? 😅 Your worldbuiding with the cure vs. the virus is so interesting here. I'm wondering how they're going to get her better at this point if they can't make her a non-supe...

And admittedly, she knows she might be in denial. If true, it seems like a cruel trick the universe is playing on her. Giving her all she’s ever wanted and take it away immediately after? It definitely feels like a cosmic joke all the Gods are laughing about. But deep down, she knows it’s true. She knows she’s screwed, but she doesn’t know how to tell Ben. He’ll lose his shit. She knows he’s not built for this.

But that moment where she literally coughs blood is so visceral. 😭 Really well done, even though my heart is in my throat now. 🫠

Ben pulls the knitted wool blanket up to her shoulders and gently kisses her temple. It’s been two hours since she’s fainted in the supermarket, and she’s still burning up.

So sweet. 😭 I was expecting his call to Victoria lmaooo, aaaand it went about as well as I expected loll. You've soothed my worries that she was the one who might've had something to do with the reader getting sick, but I'm still on the edge of my seat on how you're going to fix this...

“I know where the fuck it is,” Ben grits, his brow densely creasing with a mix of confusion and angry suspicion. “What exactly do you think I’m gonna fucking do with it?” “Shoot me.” Her eyes are steady and firm, his voice is sterner. “No.” The word booms through the living room, threatening to quake the earth and shake books off their shelves.

I felt that No in my chest, jeezus. 😭😭

“Well, if you’re behaving like a fucking baby…” he retorts and patiently follows her frantic steps. “You also won’t find fucking scissors and pills, either.” “Ironic coming from you,” she scoffs, opening and shutting cabinet doors in the desperate search for something strong enough to put her out of her goddamn misery. “Yeah, how do you think I knew which shit to hide, huh?” he asks rhetorically and takes a careful step closer, cornering her between counters and appliances. “Would you stop that now and fucking talk to me?”

Oh my Goddd their rehab days coming to bite her in the butt loll. But good on Ben for learning something! 😂

“Is that you or the fucking V talking, huh?” Ben has never said it out loud before, but he hated how that blue shit changed her. Sure, it only amplified certain parts of her that he supposes have always been there, but it made her less caring, more arrogant, too.

Honestly I could see this. 💔 The V changes people, typically for the worst. And with her, I feel like she was kinda quick to suggest divorce after everything she and Ben had been through.

He feels a flood of relief rush through his body. Thank fucking God, because he’s totally been bluffing.

lmfaoo. I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh. 😂

She had barely gotten that. She stupidly sacrificed it all for him, and he still wishes she would’ve never done that. He was supposed to die that day with Homelander. It had been his time. Not hers.

Aww not the survivor's guilt!!

“You selfish fucking prick! You can’t even let me die in peace?!” she grits through her teeth, fighting another surge. She feels the nausea too, like a parasite trying to flee its host through her throat. “Look, I’m fucking sorry, but I had to take the shot, alright?!”

OhGodohGodohGod!! Her anger is so valid, but also, I can't help but root for Ben's side on this one. 😅

She sends him a weak smile and mouths, ‘I love you, too.’ And all there’s left then for him to do is staring at a closed bedroom door. And waiting. Fucking waiting…

oooooh the waiting. But at least it's not a long wait!! loll So excited for the grand finale tomorrow!! I have a feeling Ben's gamble is gonna pay off, thanks to the one time he paid attention to science. 🤓

Lover – Part 2

Series Summary: Free from his past, Ben’s trying to move on and find a little drop of happiness in this new world. But when he finally holds everything he ever wanted in his hands, it threatens to slip through the cracks, and he has to fight one final time with everything he’s got to keep it.

🫡 Catch up here! Sequel to Rehab & Video Games.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female!Reader

Warnings: 18+ due to language & mature themes, established relationship, Soldier Boy x wife!reader, human!Soldier Boy, angst with a side of hurt/comfort, sickness & generally gross descriptions thereof (the Gen V virus says hello 👋 – with minor adjustments), tw: mentions of euthanasia & suicide, sprinkles of fluff between

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Don't read too much into the whole virus situation, guys. I promise this is a full fix-it, and that annoying little bug is just how we're gonna do that 😜 Come tomorrow, all's well because we all know the V stands for... I do this joke every year, don't I? Never mind! Happy reading! 💕

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Part 2: Lovesick

Ben’s worried. Y/N keeps saying she’s fine.

They stroll through the supermarket. Benny pushes the cart in front of them, racing down the aisles.

She woke up this morning around eleven o’clock after a thirteen-hour sleep. He’d held a small mirror under her nose several times at night to assure himself she was still breathing. She never woke up. She’d looked so peaceful it had almost been creepy.

She also sweat through her sheets and jittered like a leaf in the wind. He tried to hold her when she was freezing and gave her distance when she was ablaze. In those breaks, he scoured the Internet for answers and tried to keep his frustrations over it quiet with little grunts and a deeply creased brow.

The hard lines on his face are still there, though. They never left.

Ben isn’t entirely clueless, however. Sure, he’s spent some four decades locked away, then came back for a short period of time to a world he can barely understand, only to be put to sleep and experimented on some more for a couple of years. People don’t really expect him to follow the news at this point, and they’re not wrong in their assumption – he rarely ever gives a shit.

But he remembers how she’d given him an update of the world’s dire state when he’d first gotten to the clinic. She’d mentioned a virus – one designed to kill any supes. The plan was to wipe everyone out. Biological warfare, they’d called it. It hadn’t come as a surprise to Ben. He’d seen this all before. Hell, he’d even helped with some of those things back in his glory days.

The virus had been one more reason, one more need for the cure. It had been the perfect deal: If you can’t kill ‘em, cure ‘em. But once that infectious little vial was opened, well, it had been hard to put the genie back inside.

The cure acted as both a vaccine and a remedy against the virus. Soon, the pesky little thing was pushed back but was never quite eradicated. It had eventually slowed its progression but never became any less deadly.

Now, instead of quick and painless, there was agonizing and torturous.

But Y/N can’t take the cure. He might as well kill her this second out of mercy.

When she woke up from her beauty sleep this morning, she admittedly looked better. She said she felt better. Ben still didn’t believe her. She barely touched her food, picked at her breakfast, and ended up only eating the leftover crusts of their son’s toast. He watched her from his periphery as he nursed his coffee in the kitchen, stoically worrying more.

Y/N coughs once more next to him as they pass the frozen food aisle. Ben eyes her cautiously. She’s done it all morning. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to help her or how to stop it. Not even the blue vial could help him fix it. He doesn’t even know if it’s real yet. Is it normal? Is he overreacting?

She coughs again. He shakes his head and bites his tongue.

“You okay?” he checks gruffly, his voice thick with tension and concern, but he already expects her answer.

“I told you not to worry. I’m alright,” she says, her throat dry and her voice coarse. Her words are meant to soothe her husband. She can see the worry shimmering in his juniper eyes. She’s lucky he’s not a supe anymore, or he would’ve gone nuclear a while ago.

And admittedly, she knows she might be in denial. If true, it seems like a cruel trick the universe is playing on her. Giving her all she’s ever wanted and take it away immediately after? It definitely feels like a cosmic joke all the Gods are laughing about.

But deep down, she knows it’s true. She knows she’s screwed, but she doesn’t know how to tell Ben. He’ll lose his shit. She knows he’s not built for this.

She coughs again into a used tissue, which she has stored in her pocket since last night. Her tongue tastes something metallic – copper and iron. And when her eyes land on the white cloth, they notice spots of a deep, scarlet red.

She stops walking then and swallows thickly, her hands trembling as her eyes transfix on the blood. Ben halts as well when he realizes she’s not moving. He sees the panic in her face, sees she’s a lot paler now than the night before. Her skin looks clammy, her eyes red, weary, and dazed as if she had just taken a hard hit from one of his blunts.

“What’s wrong?” Ben asks and steps closer. He cocks his head at her, the creases of his brow now harsh lines. She seems out of it, confused. She doesn’t even seem to understand his question, let alone be capable of answering.

Her mouth opens, but instead of words, she only inhales shakily like it’s the last breath she’ll ever take. Ben barely reaches her fast enough when her eyes roll back into her head till there’s only shining white and her knees begin to buckle.

Ben pulls the knitted wool blanket up to her shoulders and gently kisses her temple. It’s been two hours since she’s fainted in the supermarket, and she’s still burning up.

He caught her just in time before her head hit the linoleum. He shooed away a group of concerned strangers that had gathered around them, assuring them that his wife was fine and just experiencing a minor dizzy spell. He sold it with a humorous eye roll and chuckled the word “women” before grabbing the kid and carrying her quickly out of the store and into the car. If she hadn’t been out cold, he’s certain he would’ve heard several objections to that comment.

Ben knows he can’t take her to a hospital, however. No one knows she’s a supe, and these days, they don’t receive the best treatment – too many bridges burnt after Homelander’s reign of terror. People have become angry, fearful, and distrustful.

Again, he feels a little responsible. He’s sure Soldier Boy had laid some groundwork for that, too.

Softly, the door to their bedroom clicks shut, her phone in his hand as he searches her contacts. His shoulders tense as he reaches the one he needs. His jaw tightens as he holds it to his ear and waits for an answer.

“Hey, I figured you’d call. Already fed up with the wrinkly dick and coming back?” Victoria Neuman’s voice sounds through the speaker, causing Ben’s hair to stand up on its ends.

Chalk on fucking board, he thinks and bites the anger back. He hates talking to that bitch, hates being nice, and hates asking for favors. But he swallows the acrimony down for the sake of his wife.

“It’s me,” Ben grits and feels his jaw beginning to ache. Why the fuck does everything hurt all the time? It’s something he figures he’ll never get used to – every time his back cracks and creaks in the mornings.

“You have exactly five seconds to tell me she’s not locked up in your basement before I make a few calls and let hellfire rain down on you, you decrepit piece of antiquity,” she bites her threat, but Ben can hear the concern in her voice, although he doesn’t give it too much weight. She’s probably faking it like her orgasms.

“Look, I wouldn’t fucking call if it wasn’t serious, you cunt,” Ben snaps and squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing the surge of fury and impatience out of his temples.

His admission causes a beat of silence on the other end. “What’s going on?” Neuman then finally asks and swallows down her own snarky remarks.

Ben licks his chapped lips before pushing the words out. “She’s-… she’s sick.”

There’s another long pause. “She can’t be sick. She’s a supe.”

“I fucking know that.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah…”

They both sigh (and both hate that they have something in common).

“I-… I have the cure,” Ben says and bites down on his tongue immediately after. He doesn’t want to show her all his cards.

“You can’t give it to her. It’s going to kill her,” Victoria reminds him firmly.

“The fucking virus is gonna kill her too, right?” Ben’s eyes drop to the floorboards that hold the solution to all his problems underneath.

“Yeah, it is,” Victoria admits. “What are her symptoms? You sure she’s not just pregnant?”

“I fucking hope not.” There’s a sentence he never expected to say. But– “I haven’t fucking cum inside of her for months.”

“Charming,” Neuman retorts on the other end.

“Wait, do you fucking know something? Did she cheat on me?” The grip around the phone in his hand tightens. Was that why she forgave him so fast and said she believed him?

“Unfortunately, no,” Victoria replies with obvious disappointment. Ben refrains from releasing the sigh of relief he feels. “Believe me, I’ve tried to get her cockdrunk on someone else…”

If Ben still had super-strength, he would’ve crushed the goddamn phone in his hand. Instead of exploding, he closes his eyes and takes a deep fucking breath, though. Ten… nine… eight… Where’s your happy place?

“Why the fuck are you calling me? What do you want?” Victoria’s voice snaps him out of his fatal fantasies of tearing her limbs off one by one.

“What d’you got in your labs? You gotta have a new cure, a new sample, fucking something,” Ben says but doesn’t even know what he’s asking. He’s grasping at straws, hoping to stumble upon an answer.

“If they’d found something, I would’ve already given it to her,” Neuman says.

“You fucking sure about that?” Ben doesn’t believe a drop of what she’s tellimg him.

“Yes,” Victoria still insists. “Look, before you give it to her, I’ll ask around, make a few calls, okay? See if there’s any possibilities to stop this.”

Ben’s hands tremble, his jaw quivers as he desperately tries to steady himself. “Thank you, fucking hurry,” he forces out in a murmur and immediately hangs up.

Y/N stretches with a grumbling sigh as his hand gently caresses her head. He presses his lips to her burning temple, her weary eyes fluttering open.

“Hey, my love,” Ben says, his deep voice soft as if he’s singing her a lullaby. “How are you feeling?”

She yawns and fights back the sleep in her eyes. “Still tired.”

“You’ve been sleeping for five hours,” he tells her and watches as she curls into the couch cushions with a coughing fit. He lowers down to the carpeted floor, stroking her back till she strenuously takes a breath again. “I think we need to talk about it now.”

Slowly, she meets his gaze, and he sees the fear shimmering in her eyes behind a thin veil of tears. She knows what this is, what her body is fighting, and Ben wonders how long she’s known without saying anything. He guesses she knew right from the start. Sometimes, he forgets he likes to pretend she isn’t really smarter than him.

But then, the fear morphs to determination. She nods, swallowing. “The gun’s in the safe in the closet.”

“I know where the fuck it is,” Ben grits, his brow densely creasing with a mix of confusion and angry suspicion. “What exactly do you think I’m gonna fucking do with it?”

“Shoot me.”

Her eyes are steady and firm, his voice is sterner.

“No.”

The word booms through the living room, threatening to quake the earth and shake books off their shelves.

“Ben–“

“You fucking listen to me, I’m not fucking killing you. End of discussion,” he snaps furiously. She’s not sure she’s ever seen him this angry before – not even when she said they should consider a divorce. Although, this seems to be a different kind of anger – one that cuts deeper.

“Sid shot Nancy,” she says quietly, hoping it appeals to him in some dark, ironic twist.

“She was stabbed, and they could never fucking pin it on him,” Ben shuts her argument down. “Ain’t fucking happening. I’m sorry, but you’re not gonna be the last person on my kill list, love.”

She forces a wry but weak smile. “It’d be a mercy killing. Euthanasia.”

“I’m familiar with the fucking concept,” Ben huffs tiredly. His hand then dives into the pocket of his sweats and pulls out a small vial that holds yellow liquid.

Her lips part in shock as her eyes fix on the familiar cure in his grasp. “How long have you–“

“Stole it from that black site while you and that Neuman cunt were busy yapping about policies,” Ben explains. “I also took something blue. Figured I could use it at some point.”

“Still wanna be Soldier Boy, huh?” Her voice sounds almost bitter, mocking. A small part of her has always hoped she’d be enough for him someday. That he didn’t need the fame, the money, and the fake heroics. That he’d love himself enough to not rely on a façade.

“No,” he replies to her surprise and watches her straighten a bit on the couch. “I’d fucking do it for you.”

“I don’t want that,” she tells him firmly, hoping he still remembers her words even when she’s gone.

“I know that. Why the fuck do you think I haven’t done it yet?” Ben says with a raised brow and as much patience as he can find within himself. Chats like these aren’t his strong suit.

“So, this is your idea?” She cocks an eyebrow at the vial in his hand, her look pointed. “You don’t wanna kill me quickly, but you’d rather watch me die in fucking slow-motion?”

“It’s better than nothing,” Ben argues, the lines on his freckled face hardening again. Why does she have to be so fucking stubborn all the time?

Ironically, she thought the same thing about her husband.

“For who? You?! You can’t be that fucking selfish,” she spits and rises from the couch with a shaking head.

“Funny. I was just about to say the same fucking thing to you,” he returns with the same fire.

She thunders into the bedroom and slams the door shut before he hears her rummaging through the closet. Annoyed, he rolls his eyes once the first expletives bleed through.

“Where’s the fucking gun?” she snaps as soon as the door flies open again.

“Already hid it somewhere you won’t fucking find it,” he answers slyly and purses his lips as she storms past him into the kitchen.

She lets out a deep sigh of frustration when she finds both the knife block and drawers empty. “Seriously? Did you fucking baby-proof the house while I was asleep?!”

“Well, if you’re behaving like a fucking baby…” he retorts and patiently follows her frantic steps. “You also won’t find fucking scissors and pills, either.”

“Ironic coming from you,” she scoffs, opening and shutting cabinet doors in the desperate search for something strong enough to put her out of her goddamn misery.

“Yeah, how do you think I knew which shit to hide, huh?” he asks rhetorically and takes a careful step closer, cornering her between counters and appliances. “Would you stop that now and fucking talk to me?”

“You don’t wanna talk to me,” she retorts. “You just wanna fucking pump me full of poison, so you get to feel fucking good about yourself again.”

“You think that’s it? I’m fucking jealous?” He arches a brow and crosses his muscular arms over his broad chest, his offense hiding behind amusement.

“Aren’t you?” she bites back.

“Is that you or the fucking V talking, huh?” Ben has never said it out loud before, but he hated how that blue shit changed her. Sure, it only amplified certain parts of her that he supposes have always been there, but it made her less caring, more arrogant, too.

“It’s me, you asshole,” she snarls.

The look on her face breaks his heart into a million pieces. He almost doesn’t recognize her anymore, and he knows reaching any sense of clarity or humanity within her is impossible at this point.

“You sure about that?”

She doesn’t reply, just shakes her head at him and opens the fridge. Her shoulders still for a second, and Ben knows at that moment she’s found something and is thinking of a plan to outfox him.

His gaze swerves to the full beer bottle that has found its way into her hand. She’s quick when she breaks it forcefully against the countertop, the golden-brown liquid splashing onto the floor. But Ben’s faster and bruisingly clutches her wrist, spinning her to face him. Tears sting her eyes as she fights against his hold. Ben knows she’s not using her full strength on him, though, and is almost curious as to why.

He’s not sure Soldier Boy would’ve shown the same hesitant restraint, even if it had been her.

“What the fuck are you doing? Let me fucking go,” she grits through her teeth.

Ben only shakes his head, his gaze on her stern as he tightens his grip around her wrist.

“You want me to fucking melt you into a puddle?” she threatens.

“Fucking do it,” he challenges her defiantly without a blink of a single eye. “If you wanna do this, you’re gonna have to step over my fucking body first, ‘cause there’s no way I’m letting this hand go unless you drop that fucking bottle. What’s it gonna be?”

Her nostrils flare in sync with the heavy rising and falling of her chest, her glare deadly. Slowly and mutinously, she opens each finger till the bottle crashes to the floor and shatters into sharp daggers at their feet. As soon as his grasp on her loosens, she breaks down and falls into his arms, sobbing against his chest.

He feels a flood of relief rush through his body. Thank fucking God, because he’s totally been bluffing.

He wraps his arms tighter around her, holds her closer, and nuzzles his face into her hair. “I know. It’s okay, sweetheart…”

“I’m fucking scared, Ben,” she cries, and he swallows the thick lump in his throat and forces his own tears back into his skull.

“I know, I know…” He cradles her head, resting his chin on her crown. “You know, admittedly, I’m-… I’m a little scared, too.”

She peels from his chest and meets his forest green eyes, amusement dancing on her lips. “Well, I’m glad you’re not a cold-hearted psychopath.”

Ben curls his lips, cheeks reddening. This is what he gets for opening up. “It’s my job as your husband to take care of you. Be a strong front.”

She rolls her eyes back dramatically and groans into his shirt. “You know, it doesn’t make you less of a man for feeling things.” She teasingly grins up at him. “In fact, I think only guys with the biggest dicks can pull it off.”

His lips tug at a smile. “I know what you’re doing.”

She locks her arms around his neck and pulls herself to his height for a scorching kiss. And Ben can’t fight the feeling this is meant to be their last one.

“Don’t get weird when I’m gone, okay?” she tells him then, and it feels like the beginning of a list of last wishes. “No reverting back to full asshole. No blue shit.”

“Christ, you’re not fucking dying,” Ben replies, his deep voice calm but firm.

“Ben, denial will only make it worse,” she says, her heart cracking at the forlorn look on his face. “You can’t fix this. There’s nothing you can do. It’s okay.”

Ben shakes his head wordlessly, and she knows the conversation is about to be over. There really isn’t more she can do, either.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to bed. You need some rest,” Ben says and already scoops her into his arms before she can respond.

Y/N’s head rests on his broad and bare chest as he holds her tightly in his arms. The skin-to-skin contact seems to soothe her, which is good because he plans to never let her go. If he just keeps her here right next to him, she’ll be fine. She won’t leave him.

She’s talked some when she wasn’t out like a light, but Ben could tell her mind was getting hazy. She talked about her parents and her childhood, something she rarely ever does.

They had never really talked a lot about their respective pasts altogether. They’d covered the basics, but what actually happened didn’t matter as much. They knew they’d both done things they weren’t proud of. But the point of their relationship had always been a clean slate – a fresh start.

She had barely gotten that. She stupidly sacrificed it all for him, and he still wishes she would’ve never done that. He was supposed to die that day with Homelander. It had been his time.

Not hers.

She snores softly in his arms. Her heartbeat is faint, her breathing shallow. An hour ago, it used to be labored, each breath a struggle. She’s so hot he’s afraid she’ll melt in his embrace. He knows she doesn’t have long anymore. He’s running out of time.

Carefully, he stretches his arm to reach for the glistening yellow vial on the nightstand. He pops the lid open and stabs the syringe through the top, drawing it to the brim.

There’s a flicker of hesitation in his green eyes. What if he makes it worse? More painful? What if he kills her?

Victoria’s words ring in his ears. There’s a chance the virus accepts the cure. A loophole, if you will. The cure’s deadly for two-timers, but if they were also infected with the virus, the cure could piggyback on that. One in eighty rats had survived the ordeal before they stopped the trials. Ben didn’t understand the rest of the scientific mumbo-jumbo, but he knows those aren’t great odds.

Still, it’s something.

Ben doesn’t have the luxury to be picky about solutions, though. What he thought were minutes turn to seconds once her breathing stops entirely.

He rolls up the sleeves of the oversized shirt she’s wearing, one of his, and looks for a good angle on her forearm, just below the elbow. He’s not a doctor, he has no idea what the fuck he’s doing or where it should go best, but that one time he did heroin in the 80s, he’d put it exactly there, and it had been fine.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he mumbles into her hair and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

One rough prick through her steeled skin, and the needle is in. He empties the liquid in one swift motion before discarding the used syringe back on the nightstand. He cautiously slides out from underneath her then and ensures she’s lying comfortably on the mattress. He doesn’t want to leave her side, but he knows her powers might short-circuit soon.

Ben remembers the stories from other supes at the rehab clinic – the agonizing pain, the feeling of puking your organs out before the rest follows. Flickers of his own process trickle into his mind. He can’t remember most of it, but he remembers how they’d locked him up in a nuclear-proof prison at some point during the procedure.

For now, he prefers not die by a rain of acid if he gets to pick.

His hand gently caresses her head. He’s not even sure she’s still alive. She might not, and he may have been too late. All for nothing.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers and takes her hand in his. It feels cold and lifeless, but he still tries. He’s not ready to let go yet. He’s not sure he’ll ever be. “I know you can beat this shit like everything else. We’re this fucking close. Just a little more…”

And then, there’s a flicker of something – a weak tap of a finger against his palm. There’s movement behind her eyelids and a twitch of her brows.

“Sweetheart?”

There’s a groan, her hands gripping a fistful of bedsheets as she coils into the mattress, muscles contorting. He gently rubs her back, trying to help her as the pain tears through her.

“Hey, hey, you’re good. You’re alright,” he soothes and feels the guilt bubbling in his stomach. He hates that he did this to her, but he did it for love. The knowledge barely makes it better, however.

“Oh, fuck, Ben!”

She usually screams those exact words for different reasons, and Ben notes the soft tones of annoyance and anger that are lacing her voice.

“Did you give me the fucking cure?!”

Ben draws his lips into tight line and nods. Admittedly, she might not have fully consented to the procedure. But he prefers her furious with him for the rest of her life over dead. Besides, he’s her husband – shouldn’t the decision be his? Like pulling the plug? That’s a thing, right?

“Motherfucking–“

She bites down on her tongue and swallows her curses with some blood as another surge of pain takes control of her body. Her fingernails claw at her forearms as if she’s trying to scratch it out of her system. If Ben could compare it to anything, he’d probably go with a demon exorcism.

“You selfish fucking prick! You can’t even let me die in peace?!” she grits through her teeth, fighting another surge. She feels the nausea too, like a parasite trying to flee its host through her throat.

“Look, I’m fucking sorry, but I had to take the shot, alright?!”

Y/N groans in loud exhaustion, and Ben’s not entirely sure if it’s because of the pain or a little bit because of him, too.

“Ben, you need to fucking leave,” she presses through her lips, her stern gaze finding his.

He can tell by her look that she’s not saying it out of anger. She’s not saying it because she doesn’t want him to stay and never see him again. She says it because she’s trying to save his life.

Again. The fourth time.

Her name falls from his lips, but she shakes her head as she stumbles out of bed and pushes past him towards the bathroom.

“Leave,” she tells him with more urgency. “Close the door. Go now.”

Ben stills with a hand on the doorknob and looks at her. He can’t leave her like this, can he?

“I’ll be fine. I promise. Please go,” she says as if she can read his mind, steadying herself against the cool wall. She can feel it everywhere, trying to escape her body.

His breaths are ragged, his heart is hammering against his ribs. “I fucking love you,” he says through the sting of tears in his eyes. He says it like it’s the last time he gets to say it while she can still hear him.

She sends him a weak smile and mouths, ‘I love you, too.’

And all there’s left then for him to do is staring at a closed bedroom door. And waiting. Fucking waiting…

Part 3: Lovestruck – TOMORROW 💕

Ah yes the waiting game 😂🫶 Are you excited for the finale aka the happy end tomorrow? After this, they truly deserve it haha

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Soldier Boy: @deans-baby-momma @snowayumi

Rehab Series: @nancymcl @sparkydonugh

[cyanocophrenic]

Sweets (1/?)

The snugness was barely tolerable. She had overestimated herself. She looked surreptitiously over her shoulder and ducked around a corner. The only thing following her were her bad decisions, but she felt chased all the same.

Okay. Calm down. Breathe (but not too deep). Evaluate the situation. What are your options? Can you loosen anything?

She looked down at herself. Past her swollen breasts, past a fluffy roll of upper belly, she examined her waistline. Nope. The button was the only thing keeping the zipper together, and vice versa. For the millionth time, she lamented her morning. What a bright idea, interviewing for a job with a snack company. She was very well aware of how sweets affected her.

Could she find somewhere discrete to wait out her... little metabolic mishap? She looked around for a discrete nook to accommodate her fresh bulk.

The little atrium she had found had a series of plush benches around the walls. She sighed and headed for the one in the corner. She sucked in as best she could and sat down. Some horny little corner of her mind made note of how it felt as her tight belly shifted against her puffy thighs.

Sitting like this, only barely upright lest bending too far compromise her jeans, she couldn't ignore how her waistband was trying to cut her in half. She thought back to how she had done this to herself. The lovely HR manager had very explicitly pointed out the basket of the company's sugary offerings there in the middle of interview table. The woman had been insistent that she try at least one of each, gushing like any good salesperson about their rich flavors and subtle textures, occasionally even peeling one out of its wrapper and handing it to her.

How could she have done anything but eat what was offered to her? And by a beautiful woman, no less. She knew how her body reacted to food like this, but she had been desperate to make a good impression, to look good and eager and employable. A good girl. She ignored that last thought, and the accompanying shiver through her frazzled tummy.

She closed her eyes and tried to steady herself. Breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth (but not too deeply). All she had to do was calm down, and give her body a chance to do the same. Then she could find a back door to sneak out of, go home and hope that somehow that she hadn't blown the interview.

She opened her eyes again and caught sight of herself in a mirror across the room. Holy crap, she was huge. She had been her normal, narrow self, and her outfit had fit very very normally, when she had arrived. But now? Now it looked positively painted onto her. Her breasts were trying to spill out of her tastefully exposed bra and over the lapel of her blouse. She was more balloon than woman at this point. She ignored another tingle.

As she watched herself in the mirror, she noticed something change. Slowly but surely, the last wrinkle in her blouse smoothed out. Uh oh. That meant... she was still filling out. Panic. She tingled again.

No. No. Calm. Breathe (but not too deep). She closed her eyes again, and could feel her plump body quietly grow. Crap.

Panic. Calm. Breathe (but not too deep). Calm.

Maybe if she didn't look, it would go away. That had never worked before, sure, but there's a first time for everything, right?

As she rationalized to herself, she noticed the sound of heels clacking towards her hiding spot. Panic!

Maybe their owner would pass and not notice her?

No such luck.

The woman who had interviewed her rounded the corner.

"There you are!"

She struggled to stand. So tight.

"You left your purse upstairs. I get it, though. Interviews can be pretty stressful, huh?"

Like nothing had changed. Did this woman not notice that she was currently three times the size she was when she had shown up? Could this woman not hear every seam in her clothes creaking in harmony? Could the woman not see how wide and deep and round she was becoming?

"It's such a beautiful handbag, I almost wanted to keep it for myself!" The woman laughed. "Oh well."

She took the bag from the woman. "O-oh! Thank you!" Leapt out of her.

"Listen," said the woman, "technically I have to review a few other candidates, but I think you're a shoo-in for the position." The woman moved closer. "No one else has shown so much... enthusiasm." Closer still. She basked in the smell of the woman's musky perfume.

"Oh... that's great!" she managed to squeak out.

"In fact," the woman continued, "if you'd like to come back upstairs, we can have you fill out the onboarding paperwork now, so you don't have to come back just to fill out some forms if... when we give you the job." So close now.

"Um! Okay!" What.

The woman placed a gentle hand on the side of her massive, tight, growing belly. "Listen, between you and me, that passion you showed today will take you far with us. Do you feel like the offer is fair? We can negotiate further if you need." The woman's eyes were so sincere.

What was going on here? She could barely think.

The woman placed her other hand on top of her belly, well hidden by her burgeoning breasts. "I do hope you'll say yes."

"Um..."

There was a pop. Her button pinged away across the room from her overburdened jeans. It made a little thwack sound as it hit the far wall. Her zipper flew down, zizzing audibly. Her belly erupted through the breach. Her blouse retreated upwards. The tingling became a roar. All the while, the woman, as though no tectonic shifts were happening right there and then, continued to implore with borderline puppydog eyes.

The world held its breath with her. How had this woman not reacted to any of that?! What? Was the woman still waiting for an answer?

"...okay?" She tried. She wasn't sure if her brain was still working. "Sure?" Best to stick to small sentences.

"Yay!" cheered the woman, "I really think you'll love it here!" The woman launched in for a quick hug around her exposed belly. The woman's arms didn't go even halfway around her. And still the woman didn't seem to notice that anything was wrong.

"Well! If you'll follow me back to the elevators, we can at least get the formalities out of the way."

The woman took her by the hand and pulled, still gentle. She followed, mutely. Even the horniest, shamiest corners of her mind were silent, waiting with bated breath.

As they reached the elevators, the woman pushed the up button and stood to the side. "Please," said the woman, "after you!"

On autopilot now, she stepped into the elevator and... wedged into the door. Stuck. What. Panic? Calm? The elevator dinged again as if to say "I'm waiting!"

The cold of the elevator doors brought her back to reality. She put a hand on either side of herself and tried to pull herself in. As though this were somehow normal, the woman chirped "Oh, here, let me help!"

She felt a gentle pair of hands press into her oceanic bottom. Her horny brain thrilled again. She clamped down on those thoughts. No time to be a pervert.

Between the two of them, they muscled her into the elevator. She turned to face the doors in time to watch the woman press into her in order to let the doors close. Normally equipped for eight full-sized human adults, due to her immensity, it very barely fit two.

"We need floor thirty," said the woman into her barely contained cleavage. She tried to reach for the panel of buttons, but by now there was simply too much of her in the way.

"I've got it," said the woman, reaching behind her without looking.

They rode the thirty floors quietly. She could feel herself still widening, pressing towards the walls of the elevator car. Her embarrassment had burnt out, leaving only a kind of stunned peace in her mind. She tried to will her body away from the woman, but where else could it really go?

By the time they reached their destination, the woman was firmly pressed against the doors, still showing no indication of the extra-ordinariness of the situation.

As the doors opened, the woman stepped back, grabbed her hands, and pulled as she tried to wiggle through the door. Eventually she floomped through, and they set off toward the HR suite.

Full-on waddling now, she felt an inner tension release. She had stopped growing. Relief. If nothing else, at least things had stopped getting worse. Sure, she was almost round enough to roll. Tingle. Sure, her clothing had been reduced to barely covering her... rude areas. Tingle. Sure, a beautiful woman was acting as though this was all perfectly normal. Tingle tingle tingle. But hey, at least it finally wasn't getting worse.

The woman pushed open the double doors to the HR suite and welcomed her in with another glittering smile. They seemed to be the only ones there. The woman led her, patiently, to the front desk area. The woman ducked behind the desk, looking for something.

"Hmm, it looks like I'll need to go print off more some more copies of the forms. Shouldn't take more than a minute or two." Finally she'd have a moment to collect herself.

Then the woman produced a basket, laden with various goodies, from underneath the desk. "Here! Help yourself, sorry to make you wait." Uh.

"Oh, here, allow me," said the woman, picking out a chocolate confection, peeling it, and pressing it into her mouth. "I'll be right back!"

She chewed and swallowed the treat.

Uh oh.

[gunsatthaphan]

~ Monthly BL Breakdown: April 2024 ~ 

🌷 Happy May!!! ☀️

Disclaimer: ALL shows can be streamed here or here, as well as on Youtube and other platforms. For more info on where to watch what, check out this post! 

New breakdowns are coming at the end of every month - feel free to add stuff! -> previous breakdowns

What came out this month? (green = seen/currently watching)

🌟 Love is Like a Cat - April 1st (South Korea / Thailand) 

🌟 We Are - April 3rd (Thailand) ✅

🌟 Memory in the Letter - April 6th (Thailand) 

🌟 Living With Him - April 11th (Japan) 

🌟 Gray Shelter - April 11th (South Korea) 

🌟 Beating Again - April 13th (Thailand)

🌟 Blue Boys - April 15th (South Korea)

🌟 At 25:00 in Alasaka - April 18th (Japan)

🌟 GMMTV2024 Part 2 (lineup event) - April 23rd (Thailand) ✅

🌟 Boys Be Brave - April 25th (South Korea) 

🌟 CHANGE2561 2024 lineup event - April 25th (Thailand) ✅

🌟 My Stand-In - April 26th (Thailand) ✅

🌟 City Boy Log Vol. 3 - April 30th (South Korea)

New series & movie announcements

🎥 The Fridge - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 Flavor of Us (starring Benjamin B., Dome W. & others) - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 Children's Day - Date TBA (Taiwan)

🎥 Blue Time - Date TBA (China, possibly censored)

🎥 Bad Guy My Boss - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 Oriental Magician In The Ent. Circle - Date TBA (Taiwan)

🎥 Under the Oak Tree - Date TBA (Vietnam)

🎥 Invitation - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 The Love Matter - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 I Saw You in My Dream - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 I Wish You the Best - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 Impression of Youth - Date TBA (Taiwan)

🎥 Meet You at the Blossom - Date TBA (Taiwan)

Other news from the BL world

❗️ The production company Studio WabiSabi announced that their actors Boun N., Prem W., Santa P., Sammy C., Yacht P. and Stamp P. have terminated their contracts and will no longer be artists under the company on April 15th. Shortly after, GMMTV announced the 6 of them as newly signed artists, along with the disclosure that BounPrem's upcoming BL Vampire Project is now being produced under GMMTV, who now also own all broadcasting rights; WabiSabi will function as a co-producer. New S. stated on Twitter that the decisions had been long in the making, as well as the fact that WabiSabi no longer functions as a management agency for actors and is now a mere production company. He also denied the rumors that the company is shutting down. Shortly after the transfer of the Wabi Sabi actors, actor Fluke Jeeratch (formerly Pongsakorn) joined GMMTV as well.

❗️ The Filipino BL Gameboys is getting a third season. An air date has not been confirmed.

❗️ P Ekkapop and Pan Jirachot, the lead actors from Kiseki Chapter 2, have announced a new project together. Details are unknown.

❗️ Actor Barcode Tinnasit has announced his departure from his agency Be On Cloud.

❗️ After some confusion, the Korean production company Studio X+U announced that their upcoming series Fragile - which was initially advertized as a Korean SKAM remake - is in fact not connected to the Norwegian web series and is instead a standalone series, which focuses on the life of a group of teenagers. According to ZUM News, there was supposed to be a Korean SKAM remake based on the Norwegian original, which was however cancelled due to unknown reasons. Fragile was created as a substitution.

❗️ GMMTV held their 2024 part 2 event on April 23rd. The following BL projects were announced:

The Heart Killers (starring FirstKhao & JoongDunk)

Perfect10 Liners (starring ForceBook, PerthChimon, JuniorMark)

Heart That Skips a Beat (starring EstWilliam)

Revamp (starring BounPrem, formerly known as Vampire Project)

Sweet Tooth, Good Dentist (starring MarkOhm)

The Ex-Morning (starring KristSingto)

❗️ The production company CHANGE2561 held their 2024 lineup event on April 25th. The following BL projects were announced:

This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans (starring SailubPon)

Goddess Bless You From Death (starring PavelPooh)

I’m The Most Beautiful Count (starring PingSupanut)

Pit Babe Season 2

Upcoming series & movies for May

👉🏻 You Made My Day (starring Tar A. and Bom T. from I Will Knock You) - May 3rd (Thailand)

👉🏻 Inverse Identity / Upside Down - Mary 3rd (China)

👉🏻 Wandee Goodday - May 4th (Thailand)

👉🏻 A Balloon's Landing - May 10th (Taiwan)

👉🏻 City of Stars: Special Episode - May 10th (Thailand, cinema release)

👉🏻 The Time of Fever (Unintentional Love Story spinoff) - May 15th (South Korea)

👉🏻 Blossom Campus - May 16th (South Korea)

👉🏻 OMG! Vampire - May 19th (Thailand)

👉🏻 Manji Reverse - May 24th (Japan)

👉🏻 My Biker 2 - May 28th (Thailand)

[temeyes]

pfp change!! ft an actual doodle of myself gaspppp!!

[pardonmydelays]

felizusnavidad -> pardonmydelays

[kindahoping4forever]

The 5SOS Show Tour Hollywood - 6 September 2023

Via 5SOS IG Story

[anakins-soulmate]

Deleted the post I will just say to the anon

Familial relationships exist.

To me their relationship is strictly familial.

Why? Because I have a same/very similar type of relationship irl just ya know without all the sci-fi aspects.

I blacklist any and all variations of the heavily misinterpreted ship.

I pretend it doesn't exist ♡ my life has been enriched because of it.

Sorry not everyone is into shipping the same stuff.

We all have our own interpretation of our favourite characters and I happen to be extremely protective over mine but not to the point where I willingly seek out people who ship them together and harass them. I simply blacklist all variations of the ship names, do a great big "fandom is fandoming again" eyeroll and move on.

if you're mad at that, I think you need a break from the internet buddy.

[another-clive-blog]

clive

This started as a "character wearing their worst trauma on their shirt" meme redraw, but then I got too invested lol

So now it's an AU : what if Constance wasn't that rich and Clive had to earn money other ways

[sugarsnappeases]

thank you for the tag @fxreflyes this is so cute, except the format is trying to hinder my propensity to ramble, so i’ve rectified this in the tags lmao

i’m over 5'5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child

no pressure tags for @static-radio-ao3 @inevitablestars @itsjaywalkers @carniferous @orbitfalls @transsexualpriest @futurequibblerjournalist <333

[here-there-were-dragons]

The modern term, "dragon", does not in actuality derive from draconic common language* at all, but instead has it's roots in an archaic long-dead beastclan tongue.... 's misinterpretation of a word from the very earliest variants of earth flight's equally long-dead archaic tongue.

The ancient earth flight word, Dûnhag (Dune-haug, rolled slightly in a growly sort of way), the precise translation of which has long since been lost*, was the name of one of the earliest ancient breeds of dragon, and the first draconic civilization to emerge from within the cradle of greatwyrm's breach. in the very earliest days of interaction between the newborn dragonkind and the beastclan civilizations of the day this ancient breed's name was interpreted by the common languages of the beastclan societies who first encountered them (who's vocal cords were not precisely up to the task of imitating quite all of the sounds a giant growling predatory quadruped elemental death-lizard can make, much like many dragon breeds have their own sounds that other breeds find difficult to imitate themselves-for example ridgebacks' signature cetacean-like "zipper noises") as "Drohag" (Droe-haug), further misinterpreted not as the name of that breed (as intended) but instead a blanket term for all creatures of their general category of shape.

the ancient beastclan language in question quickly appended the suffix " 'an" (pronounced like a cross between the word "on" and the sound "ahn" , and roughly translating to something along the lines of "-people" or "-race") to this sound, resulting in Drohag'an. So when these first-contacted beastclan peoples went out to the rest of the world to tell them of these strange new Drogah'an people they had encountered, that was the name what would become dragonkind became known to them by.

In the early days of dragonkind, there was no agreed upon unified name for all among their kindred. The ancient breeds, as biologically and culturally separate and at odds as they were, saw eachother to be as fundamentally distinct from eachother as modern dragonkind sees themselves to be from beastclans. Each ancient breed an entire "dragonkind" unto their own-and "breed" in those days meaning something more akin to what users on the forum out-of-universe would call "subspecies" and "linebreaking terts". Gaolers to their own and Banescales to their own and Undertides to their own and so on, each of those names as all-encompassing a description of a class of being as "dragon" itself to their respective holders. to the ancients of the time, "gaoler" and "banescale" were not just names of breeds, but entire distinct species that shared no common nature. there was, in effect, no dragonkind, and therefore, no unified name. why would they need one? it would be like calling apes and elephants and dolphins and octopi the same, just because they're all intelligent.

Tens of thousands of years of history-the rise and fall of civilizations, creation and extinction of many breeds, the drifting of language and the death of nearly every one of these ancestor tongues that had come before-later, modern dragonkind began to view themselves less as disparate unrelated entities at fundamental odds and more as something of a shared clade, and eventually as one single species of many morphologies. Rather than use the existing name of one of the many breeds of the time, or make up and somehow collectively agree on (using "papyrus scrolls carried by trade caravans" levels of communication technology) a new word to describe themselves as a collective, they simply began, almost entirely unthinkingly out of pure simple casual convenience, to simply adopt the term-it's meaning long forgotten, it's origin in two long-dead languages of civilizations equally long-gone- the beastfolk often called them all as a category already- Dragon.

*modern draconic common language is a trade-tongue derived from the most dominant language spoken by the people of wind flight, spread out by their traveling traders and merchants in the early days of the beginnings of more shall we say cooperation and travel-friendly relations between flight societies, and adopted for convenience of trade by the many population centers they did business with.

*Some scholars have suggested the possibility that Dûnhag may have been an ancient name for the ancient genetic progenitor breed to what in modern times has become the Dusthide breed (the actual, in-universe, non-translated-to-english name of which is actually "Dûsaah'ad" or "Dûsaah'ad'a", which also does not originate from or have meaning in the modern dragon common tongue), meaning the modern words would share ancient roots with the origin of the word "dragon" itself. Other scholars dispute that just because two things sound similar doesn't mean they necessarily have anything to do with eachother.

[jsuika]

Fixed reference sheet also sorry for bad wing design 😭 I'm not good at making wings like I've used to jjsjsjdjsjjdjjjjdjss.

I'm probably thinking of redesigning my OC's reference sheet one by one and then maybe I can make a new character. His name is still Arach but I haven't put him yet in the ref. nor was he revealed yet....