#and english sources such as the above are in there too

[boleynqueenes]

The King and Queen are in good health. I came to the Court on Tuesday last about 3 o'clock. I was not there half an hour before his Grace sent for me into a garden which he has just made. He asked me heartily how you did, and whether the town was free from sickness and clean kept, of which I assured him. It would be well for you to speak to master Mayor for the mending of the two gutters from the market to Our Lady Church. If he lack paviours I can send them from London. The King is well conttented that his works go so well forward. I told him in the Treasurer's presence how much more is done in thickness than appears in the book, both in the two towers and the walls. The King is well contented with the pains you have taken about them and the sandhills, and is pleased with the conduct of his retinue, as I think they will see when he comes thither. I advise you to let the drags and ploughs go still upon the sandhills till you can shoot level over them from the mount at Becham Tower. I have not asked the King for wood or anything else, because the letters you promised to send have not come. I wish they were, for I trust to be shortly at Calais. As to my own business, the market was done before I came. We have a new lord Warden of “the Porche,” lord Rochford. (fn. 1) Sir John Dudley is master of the armery, Sir Antony Browne standard-bearer, and master Harper has the “awnage,” that is the sealing of the cloth in Kent. Has given her recommendations to the Queen, who asked heartily how she did and how she liked Calais. Can hear nothing of any false reports about her. Every man speaks of her good and honor, and almost every gentleman and gentlewoman in the Court ask how she does. Has not spoken with Mr. Kingston. He is at Wanstede with my lady, who is sick there. Will try and find out from him and others who they are that report about her ladyship. Will return shortly. Hampton Court, 11 June. Signed.

Sir Edw. Ryngeley to Lady Lisle. June 1534.

[kupfergeist]

You know, I considered keeping these in my inbox, make it an aquarium, but I think it's best if I set them free Just look at how shiny they are!! Absolutely lovely little dudes, I love their coloring and frilly fins

[atlaculture]

Cultural Calendars: Water Tribe

As we all know, the Water Tribe is primarily inspired by Inuit peoples. However, there is no one standard Inuit calendar, as their traditional timekeeping systems are inextricable from the specific areas where they live. For example, the names of their months typically take inspiration from the different life stages of animals and natural phenomenon in their particular environment. Similarly, Inuit is a language family, so the vocabulary varies quite a bit from region to region. So instead of replicating one specific Inuit group or village's calendar for the Water Tribe, I thought I'd share some interesting details and commonalities I've noticed across the calendars I've looked at; from there, you can decide what to incorporate for your Water Tribe calendar.

Seasons

Inuit/Inupiat/Yupik seasons vary between 5-8 seasons, depending on the weather cycle of the particular area. The most well documented seasonal cycles (shown above) are from Nunavut, Canada in the Inuktitut language and King Island, Alaska in the Inupiatun language. Keeping track of the seasons is vital for hunter-gatherer societies.

Years & Months

I've written about the celebration of Quviasukvik aka Arctic New Year before, so I won't go too in-depth about it. The New Year for many circumpolar people is defined by the first sunrise after the Winter Solstice, as it marks the end of the polar nights, a period when the sun remains below the horizon for multiple months. Meaning that from Katara and Sokka's point of view, Aang first met Roku on New Year's Eve. ^_^

Since the ATLAverse uses a 12-month system, I figured I would use the names that Inuit groups have assigned to the months of the Gregorian calendar. Below is a graph I made of month names (translated into English) from different Inuit, Inupiat, and Yupik regions. If you click on the underlined names, you'll get a link to the sources:

(The months called "miscarriage" are in reference to February and March bring common months for seal miscarriages.)

Based off this research, here are the month names I came up with for the Water Tribe:

I didn't want to choose a specific dialect group, so I just went with English "translations". I tried to make the meanings clear, while also giving the months names that sound like month names (to an English-fluent ear).

Days of the Week

The unit of time known as a "week" wasn't really relevant to arctic peoples as they primarily tracked time based on the seasons and lunar cycles, as that's what's most important to a hunter-gatherer lifestyle. As such, I think the Water Tribes just adopted the "international" days of weeks that I mentioned here. East-day, North-day, West-day, South-day, and Center-day would be their day names; whether they'd take a break on Center-day would depend on the month/season they were in.

[thevoidstaredback]

Batman pulled up a world map as soon as the alarm started blaring. There was a red dot centered in Illinois, so that's where the map zoomed in.

"That's Amity Park!" Robin exclaimed.

Batman hummed. "Robin, contact Red Huntress and find out what's going on from her end." The boy nodded and left the room. "Constantine, Zatanna, figure out what's going on."

"Already on it, Batsy!" Constantine called in English before going back to his now four alternating conversations in Esperanto and Latin. Zatanna didn't even acknowledge the order.

"Everyone else," he continued as though he hadn't been interrupted, "set up a perimeter a few miles out from the town. Keep it in your line of vision, but don't get too close." He turned to look directly at The Flash. "I want you to run recon. Make sure this is the only place they're coming from. Once we find out their goal, that's what you'll be looking for."

"Aren't they looking for a child?" The Flash asked. He was ignored.

The heroes emptied the room swiftly, quick to ZETA as close as they could to the town before setting up a perimeter ten miles out. Close enough to see the town, but not close enough to cause any panic.

It was nearly twenty-five minutes later before Constantine and Zatanna joined them all. Though, they were both quick to make it known that the town was wholly aware that they were there.

Constantine went to join the hero's block-in, though he didn't stay in one place. He moved from hero to hero, keeping both eyes and one ear on Amity Park. If it was going to move, he would be aware of it only seconds before it did. He needed to be ready.

Zatanna pulled five of the American based heroes away from their posts to explain what she knew. It was barely any better than a recap from the meeting that they had vacated.

"Like we tried to explain earlier, they're looking for a child that the US Government took from them."

"The one from the pictures right?" Aquaman said, "Phantom??"

Zatanna nodded. "Yep. He's the town vigilante; Operating for several months longer than Red Huntress. From what Deadman told me and Constantine, Phantom is a baby ghost; he's only been dead for about a year." She ignored the various reactions. "He's also favored by several Ancient Beings."

"'Ancient Begins'?" Superman asked.

"Think Primordials,"

"Oh, dear," Wonder Woman muttered.

The magician continued, "Don't attack any of the R̶͎͔̿̅ḛ̴̗̦̯̭͇̰̎͑a̸̻̜̤̼͕͔̘̱̫̓ĺ̴͉̘̥͚̪̹́̈́͋̓͜m̶̬͇̅͑͌ṣ̷̨̺̜̣̮͔̤͕̃̍́͂ denizens under any circumstances. They're already going to be hostile towards us, we don't need to give them another reason to be."

"A bit late for that, don't ya think?" A new voice called, startling the heroes into falling into defensive stances.

It took several seconds to find the source. When they did, Batman asked, "Who are you?"

The being, female in appearance, was above and slightly to the left of the group. She looked to be in her late teens with teal-grey skin, a slight teal glow, and flaming teal hair tied in a high pony, bangs framing her face. Her eyes glowed the same radioactive green as Phantom's had in the picture, though less so. She was wearing black pants, a black crop-top, grey knee boots, and a single black elbow glove. There was a guitar strapped to her back that gave off a slight purple glow. Even from where the Justice League heroes were standing, they could feel heat radiating off of her.

"It doesn't matter who I am, does it?" the girl sneered down at them, "What matters is that you dickheads took on of ours, and we intend to get him back." She very obviously assessed the group, not hiding her distaste. "Phantom told me this world had other heroes." She lowered slightly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Where were you."

"Excuse me?" Green Lantern asked.

"Where were you?" she reiterated.

"I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"You're talking about the threats here, right?" Zatanna asked.

The being turned her full attention to the magician. "You knew?"

Zatanna nodded. "My colleagues and I have been keeping an eye on Amity Park since the rifts opened up last year."

The girl's eyes narrowed and she nodded at the five heroes. "These your colleagues?"

"Technically."

"I don't much like technicalities," she hummed. "You must be the one Deadman told us about."

"You know Deadman?" Green Lantern asked. He was ignored.

"Yeah?" Zatanna nodded.

"I'm Ember," she said after a moment, touching down in front of Zatanna. "Deadman convinced the Council to hold in Amity Park until the end of the day. The second the sun goes down, we act on our own."

"I'm Zatanna," she shook her hand, "We're going to find him."

Ember glared, her grip tightening. "You better. He's done more for your world than any of you could ever acknowledge." She turned her glare on the five heroes before flying back up. "And once he's back with us, where he belongs, we'll think about calling a ceasefire." She left before another word could be said.

Zatanna fell into a crouch, her hands covering her face. "This is a nightmare," she whispered before popping back to her full height. "That could've gone better."

"It also could've gone worse." Aquaman tried to console. It didnt work.

"Well, you heard her, we have less than twelve hours to find the kid before the R̶͎͔̿̅ḛ̴̗̦̯̭͇̰̎͑a̸̻̜̤̼͕͔̘̱̫̓ĺ̴͉̘̥͚̪̹́̈́͋̓͜m̶̬͇̅͑͌ṣ̷̨̺̜̣̮͔̤͕̃̍́͂ denizens set themselves loose."

The group shared a loo, quickly moving to pass on the word to everyone else. Off to the side, Superman was relaying to The Flash.

***

Barry had worked on time limits before. Hel, he was usually pretty good at meeting them ever since he got his powers! What he wasn't great at was working under huge amounts of pressure.

He had to cover the entire United States in less than twelve hours. Easy, done. Adding on every out-of-country US Base around the world? Slightly less easy, but still very doable. Looking for a child in what was probably a secret, undocumented, or at least heavily covered, US Base is a bit harder, especially undetected.

Normally, the Justice League would have no problems with making their opinions on matters known, but this was a delicate matter. Even more delicate than the Metahuman Rights Act and Diplomatic Missions to other worlds. This was an issue they'd not been previously aware of, and the dimension that it most affected was now very close to decaring war.

No pressure.

He'd already cleared all of the known Government Bases along the East Coast and was steadily moving inland. Superman, upon Zatanna's and Constantine's advisement, was being productive away from Amity Park. With The Flash covering the US and Superman literally everywhere else, they had hopes of finding the child within the next few hours. The problems were going to start anew after that.

Batman was already working on several extraction plans based off of the blueprints for every US Gov. Base he has access to- don't ask. But, without knowing the actual building's layout, guard posts, shifts, security, whereabouts, etc., no one could make a concrete plan.

There were too many unknowns and it was upsetting everyone.

Robin had managed to get ahold of both his team, readying them for evacuation, and Red Huntress. Apparently, there was nothing she could do. She'd tried to capture the ghosts - as she'd called them - but they'd quickly overwhelmed her. Everyone was locked in their homes until further notice. Luckily, the ghosts seemed content to them the humans alone as long as they stayed out of the way.

There was now five hours until the sun set in Illinois, and Barry had only just cleared the Midwest.

Nothing. Not a single hint as to where they were keeping this child! They had the two fastest heroes out looking for him, the had pictures of what he looked like! By all means, they should have found him already! And yet, they were still empty handed.

The people of Amity Park were getting restless. The ghosts that had taken over Amity Park were getting restless. The Justice League were getting restless.

Constantine and Zatanna had declared that the town would likely not be moving any time soon, not that anyone even knew what the meant. They'd still be keeping an eye and ear on the town, but it no longer had most of their focus. Instead, they were trying to get ahold of Deadman with little success. If they didn't reach them soon, one of them would have to go into the town proper and talk to the ghosts. No one was very excited for that.

Minutes before the sunset in Illinois, Robin received an emergency call from Red Huntress. One that everyone was patched into.

A boy was missing from his house. Daniel Fenton, son of the town's resident Ghost Hunters, hadn't been accounted for.

The sun set over Amity Park Illinois.

Part 3 Part 5

[satinestales]

❝paint me a heaven of love with your bloodied mouth❞ | qimir x reader, ch1

pairing: qimir x fem!reader!yord's sister

summary: You were never confident about the retreat mission on Khofar, always fearing for your safety and that of your friends. Your worst nightmare comes true when a mysterious masked man kills your brother. Driven by grief and rage, you launch a desperate attack, which leaves you unconscious. You wake up, surprisingly unharmed, on the stranger's home island. Consumed by anger and a thirst for revenge, you set out to avenge your brother, only to uncover secrets you never imagined.

warnings: MDNI!, english is not my native language, violence, major character death, mentions of blood, mental illness, smut in upcoming chapters, enemies to lovers, vulgar language, angst n comfort

a/n: planning for this to be a mini-series, around five chapters, and for the idea I have to thank @ladysw01 . Hope y'all like this one too, and also stay tuned for he turns me scarlet pt2, it's in the works!

now playing, when it's cold i'd like to die by, moby

Shadows loomed, their rough forms twisting in the dim moonlight, filtering through the dense canopy above. The forest floor was a maze of roots and underbrush, but you navigated it with the agility of a creature born to the wild. Sweat poured down your face, stinging your eyes, blending with the fear that clawed at your heart.

You felt it—the tug in your heart, tearing at its edges. You experienced it once before and hoped you’d never have to again. But now, it was back, and far worse than ever. You dared to imagine what might happen but quickly dismissed the thought. He was your only family. You couldn’t let it happen.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you sprinted through the oppressive darkness, the hum of your ignited lightsaber a solitary beacon in the gloom. Branches whipped your cheeks and tangled in your hair, but you pushed on, driven by the urgent sense of danger thrumming through the Force. You had felt it, a disturbance sharp and sudden, a vision of your Yord in mortal danger.

"Yord!" you screamed; your voice swallowed by the infinite, uncaring wilderness. Your steps faltered as the sense of dread intensified, leading you closer, ever closer, to the source of your terror.

Bursting into a clearing, you slid to a halt, your heart crashing at the sight before you. Yord was hanging mid-air, his feet dangling uselessly, held above by a dark force. The stranger you heard so much about, stood before him, one bloody hand outstretched, the other resting at their side with an eerie calmness.

Your eyes were only glued on the man and your brother, dangling in the air. You failed to see Master Sol and Mae standing close by, both standing there in shock, not daring to breathe.

Before you managed to move or cry out, in a fluid, almost nonchalant motion, the stranger twisted their wrist. Your heart stopped. A sickening snap echoed through the forest, and Yord's body went limp, his lifeless form flung aside with a casual flick, landing in a crumpled heap against the base of a tree.

Numbly, you stared at the lifeless body, discarded like a ragdoll, as if he meant nothing. No tears left your eyes, but you swore you couldn't feel your heart beating, as if it had stopped when your Yord’s did. You didn't know how long you stood there, staring at the person who once made you laugh and helped you become a better person. His soft laugh, his insistence on following the rules, and his desire to please others—all gone. He had taught you how to read. Now, everything was gone. His laughter faded into the darkness along with his heartbeat.

You felt like you heard faint voices in the background, but all your focus was on Yord's empty eyes.

It was Sol, shouting your name, desperately warning you to move. But no matter how hard you tried; you were frozen in place. The shock and grief had paralyzed you. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of the creature in the mask. The small flicker of its movement shattered your paralysis, and a surge of anger erupted within you, erasing all other thoughts. The need for vengeance overtook your grief, fueling your every breath and heartbeat.

It all happened like a fever dream—foggy, with only a few clear fragments. You heard a scream, unable to tell if it was yours or someone else's. But you didn't care. Your legs moved on their own toward the stranger, your eyes fixed on his dark, long waves of hair.

Your lightsaber slipped through your fingers, the weight of it suddenly too heavy to hold. Your arms seemed to move of their own accord, rising toward the sky as if reaching for something beyond grasp. The air crackled with a threating storm, ear-shattering roar that drowned out all other sounds. In that moment, you locked eyes with the stranger, fear etched deeply into their features, mirroring your own uncertainty.

Time slowed to a crawl as lightning split the sky, casting an eerie glow over the scene. The thunderous boom echoed through your bones, shaking you to your core. The stranger's expression twisted in horror, as if they knew something you didn't, something that would change everything.

Then, as swiftly as the storm had gathered, darkness enveloped your senses. Your consciousness faded into the cool embrace of the moss beneath you, leaving behind unanswered questions and a lingering sense of dread.

*· . ✶

As you woke up, cold air embraced you, raising goosebumps across your body. Your head pounded with such intensity that you considered it might explode, while your arms trembled in lingering unease. You slowly lifted yourself up on your elbows, trying to figure out where you were and recall anything that had happened.

Your head throbbed painfully, your legs were covered in bruises, and your hands were wrapped in bandages. Confused, you tore them off, only to reveal deep burns etched like tree branches from your palms down to your forearms, resembling thunder silhouettes in the sky.

You had no memory of what had happened, until you spotted your lightsaber next to the mouth of the cave you found yourself trapped in. Yord.

Yord.

Yord was dead. Your brother was dead. My brother's dead. Dead.

Your heart sank into your stomach, and suddenly, you found yourself lying on your side, vomiting beside your makeshift bed. Your hair fell like curtains around your head, your eyes fluttering shut. The reality of your Yord’s death was almost too much to bear. Thoughts swirled chaotically; you wanted to scream, cry, and even trade places with him. Emotions blurred together in your mind, but one stood out starkly: anger. It surged within you, painting your vision red. You yearned for revenge, for the murderer to suffer, to experience the agony you felt in that moment.

You didn't dare count how long you bent over, vomiting on the cold cave surface. The bitter taste of vomit mixed with your salty tears woke you up, pushing you to pull yourself together and look around. You struggled to breathe and see through your watery eyes, so you reached out through the Force. Finding yourself in a small cave on an unfamiliar island, surrounded by a wild ocean, you caught sight of a shadowy figure. A dark force enveloping their silhouette.

Your heart skipped a beat as your eyes flew open. There he was—the one who had taken Yord’s life. And now he has brought you here. Was it to end your life as well? To make you suffer? But you were already in agony. Doubt lingered whether he could intensify the pain any further.

You reached out through the Force again, seeking a clear vision of the target's location. You saw him taking slow, deliberate steps, carefully navigating around sharp rocks until he reached a shore where water brushed around his ankles. Following his trail from your current position, you discovered a path that would lead you to him.

It took you minutes to find the strength to get out of bed, ignoring the messy curls in front of your eyes and the dirty clothes from the previous night. Grabbing your lightsaber, you made your way out of the cave. Trusting your intuition, you followed the stranger's path, mentally preparing to face him. Fear wasn't in your heart—only fury and grief. You wanted to see his head separate from his body.

The trail was longer than expected, but you didn't stop once you reached your target. He swam peacefully in the calm water, his back facing you. His long, wet hair draped over strong shoulders marked with scars. You watched as he ran his hand through his hair—the same hand that had killed Yord and torn your family apart. Anger surged within you; your fury fueled by the simple sight of him.

He sensed you; you could feel it. Your anger was loud enough for the entire galaxy to hear, and you wanted him to hear it the loudest. Without thinking, you began walking towards the water, lightsaber ignited, ready to strike.

You focused solely on him—his strong back and raven hair. He didn’t even turn to face you, though you knew he could feel all your emotions. He remained motionless, confident that you wouldn’t attack. Or at least, he thought so.

Lifting your lightsaber as you closed the distance, the water now up to your hips, you struck his back. The stranger was slow to react, barely managing to block your attack. Your lightsaber grazed his shoulder, leaving a scorching scar. Realizing he was wrong about your intentions, he moved quickly in the water, turning and twisting your arm until you dropped your lightsaber, just as he had done with your brother. He pressed you against his chest, his hands gripping your arms, but before he could strangle you, you drove your elbow into his ribs, pushing hard until you heard a crack.

He released his grip to catch his breath, giving you a few precious seconds to summon your lightsaber from the depths of the water. As it returned to your hand, poised to strike, you felt the stranger's hands clamp down on your shoulders, his fingers digging in fiercely. The pain seared through you, his nails tearing at your flesh. Taking advantage of your vulnerable position, he seized your lightsaber and snapped it in half effortlessly, as if it was a mere stick. You watched in disbelief as he threw the broken parts into the deep ocean behind you, leaving you stunned. Before you could react, he swiftly wrapped one arm around your neck while the other pinned your hands behind your back, pressing his body close against yours.

"Not the morning greeting I was hoping for," he purred against your ear, his arm tightening around your windpipe, robbing you of breath. You felt a strange sensation in your stomach as he pressed closer, the warmth of his body making you shiver involuntarily. It was unsettling, making you feel nauseous.

You fought back, struggling to break free from his grasp, but with each attempt, his hold on you tightened, leaving marks on your neck and wrists. You fought against the tears threatening to fall, overwhelmed by feelings of helplessness and humiliation. You yearned to threaten him, to make him scream for what he had done to Yord and to you.

But you couldn't move an inch, forced to endure his deadly grip on you. You felt his breath tickling the hair on your neck, his damp, bare body pressed against your back, his hand crushing your wrists together.

“Do you remember me?” he asked, his voice low against your ear, his nose pressing against your cheek. You felt his smile as you struggled to breathe and move, fighting against his overpowering grip. The fury surged through you even more intensely, his mocking tone fueling a desire to scream out in defiance. How could you not? You saw him twist your brother’s neck and you were certain he was about to do the same thing to you.

As if he could read your mind, which he likely could, he chuckled softly to himself.

"Not from yesterday," he murmured into your ear, his arm around your neck loosening slightly to allow you to breathe, yet he did not release you. "We met a few days ago, in my shop. You were there too." he continued.

You resisted the urge to struggle against his grip, realizing you had no other choice but to listen. Attempting to calm your anger, you unwillingly focused on his words. You recalled visiting the suspect's shop a few days earlier—a place with a man with long, greasy black hair and an odd voice. Uncertain of where he was leading with this revelation, you listened intently.

"So lost in your own selfishness that you didn't even recognize me?" he mocked, twisting your wrists to inflict more pain, as though hurt you didn’t recognize him. Then, the realization struck. He had been there all along, pulling the strings and mocking everyone. Mae's master. The stranger beneath the mask. Yord's killer.

"You—" you choked on your words, barely able to speak. You recalled visiting the apothecary in the days before, noticing him as the new face in the city. He had pretended to be new, and you had enjoyed his company, visiting him several times. A wave of humiliation washed over you, and you sensed that he felt it too.

“That’s right,” he whispered into your ear, his hands briefly leaving your body before firmly gripping your waist and pressing you against the nearest rock. Finally, you got a clear look at his face. In the darkness of the previous night, you hadn't seen him clearly, and moments ago, you hadn't cared. Now, his gaze met yours directly as he pushed you against the rough surface, leaving your hands free, hanging by your side. You had the freedom to strike him, to fight your way out, but you remained still.

He allowed your eyes to roam over him. You scanned his high cheekbones and sharp features, framed by dark waves, curtains to his deep dark eyes. Pink, full lips, and set above a clean mustache. Your gaze then fell to his visible collarbones, adorned with salty droplets.

He was undeniably beautiful, and you felt sick you didn’t even try to deny it. He looked like a fallen angel, someone straight out of religious legends you would read about.

He savored your shocked gaze, but what intrigued him more were your thundering thoughts. Inside your mind, thoughts clashed and screamed over one another, leaving no room for silence or clarity. You instantly recognized his intent from his intense stare and tried to block him out of your mind. But it was too late. He effortlessly stripped you bare, reading you like a mythical book.

"You're scared," he uttered with total seriousness. You struggled to comprehend how he could read you so easily and attempted to use your powers to cloud his thoughts. Yet, after years of suppressing them, you failed once more. “Not of me. Of the Order.” He tilted his head, a gesture that suggested surprise at what he had uncovered.

"Get out of my head," you hissed at him, delivering a punch to his chest, but he didn't even flinch. The water was cold, and the chill in the air only worsened it. The only warmth came from his body—and from another place you tried to ignore.

"You lie to yourself," he added, ignoring the punches to his chest and the barrage of curses you hurled at him. "The Jedi were never your family. You live in delusion." He looked down at you, a hint of pity in his expression.

“You killed Yord,” you cried out, feeling his grip on your waist loosen.

“He was never your brother. Not really.” His words struck you like a blow, and in a surge of rage, you punched him in the chest with all your strength. He stumbled back, the warmth of his grip vanishing from your waist, leaving you both separated and gasping in the cold air.

You stared at him, eyes wide with uncertainty, unsure of your next move. You watched his chest rise and fall, strands of hair falling over his forehead. Fear gripped you, worried that he had seen through you, revealing memories you wished to forget.

"You lied about who you were. You murdered Jedi like they were cockroaches. My brother!" you screamed at him, tears threatening to spill as you fought to hold them back. You slowly made your way back to the shore, ignoring his presence following in your footsteps. The wet pants clung to your body, making each step more difficult than the last.

As you reached the shore, small rocks stabbing at your feet, you heard him speak.

“Then why did he never consider you as his sister.” His voice was cold and low, monotone with no emotions on the surface. Your movements stopped, listening as he made his way to the shore as well, standing just a few centimeters away from you. Your chest hurt like someone was pinching the flesh of your heart.

You forced yourself to turn around, facing him and his ethereal beauty. There he stood, bare before you, vulnerable and exposed. You tried to focus on his words, your heart sinking into your stomach.

"You heard me." He tilted his head, taking a small step toward you. His eyes locked onto yours, unwavering. "You know I'm right. Ever since you became Padawans, he kept you apart. No matter what you tried, even resorting to tricks just to see him, he always pushed you away. Following rules that made it harder for you to be together, like the Order meant more to him than you did. You were just a little girl, and he chose duty over your bond." He continued, every word a fuel to your anger. But now you weren’t sure who the anger was meant for.

“Shut the fuck up!” You raised your voice, stepping down to him. “You don’t know anything. You’re a Sith! A murderer! You don’t know anything about me or my life.’”

"Except I do." He allowed you to approach, keeping you within arm's reach. "You think things changed after you both passed the trials and had more freedom. They didn't. He feared you. He feared your power. An empath, right? The most dangerous ability one can possess. Even the Order feared it. With one emotion, you could overthrow everything overnight. They couldn't trust you. Not even your own brother could."

You lunged at him, aiming a punch at his jaw, which connected solidly. He stumbled back, a red mark blooming on his cheek. However, all you received in return was a smirk on his lips and the sight of him licking a drop of blood from his lip.

"That's not true," you replied, your voice stinging with anger. "They knew about my abilities, but no one feared me.”

You heard a laugh coming from him, lifting up his head, staring you down.

“Why do you keep lying to yourself?” He stepped closer, his breath almost brushing your face. “You knew they wanted to be rid of you from the moment you began showing signs. Master Sol? He distrusted you the most. Yord feared you. Jecki was too naive to form her own opinion and just listened to the elders.”

“Stop,” you failed to form a normal sentence, not knowing what to do or how to act. You were scared he was right. You didn’t want to admit it to yourself.

"Last night, when you attacked me, I took you before they could wake up," he confessed, gently brushing his hand over yours. You stared at his chest, too ashamed to meet his gaze. "What do you think will happen when they discover you used forbidden power? Do you believe they'll spare you when you're already hanging by a thread?”

He is right.

No.

He’s a liar. A murderer.

But he’s right.

"Kill me, and return to your naive trust in them," he urged, leaning closer with a mix of pity and understanding in his gaze. "Or stay here and let me help you."

You failed to notice that your hand was in his, unsure of how long he had been holding it. Your gaze remained fixed on his chest, searching for any hint of deceit or manipulation, but you found none. The weight of uncertainty bore down on you, and you wished to crumble, to disappear and never resurface again. Lost, confused, dizzy, you were paralyzed, uncertain of your next move.

“They’re my family.” You whispered, mostly to yourself.

"A real family wouldn’t betray you," he whispered back, his thumb tracing small circles on your palm. You felt the anger within you slowly melt away, replaced by an unfamiliar, strange sensation.

Raising your head slowly, you met his gaze, surprised by the softness you found in his eyes. Before you could gather your thoughts or resist, a waterfall of tears began pouring from your eyes, and the only arms there to catch you were the same ones that had stopped your heart just a few hours ago.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

"I Love You" in Shakespearean English

Did my heart love til now? Forswear it, sight. For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night (Romeo and Juliet)

For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation (Henry VI)

Hear my soul speak, Of the very instant that I saw you, Did my heart fly at your service (Twelfth Night)

I burn, I pine, I perish (The Taming of the Shrew)

I do love nothing in the world so well as you (Much Ado About Nothing)

I humbly do beseech of your pardon, For too much loving you (Othello)

I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say, ‘I love you’ (Henry V)

I love you more than words can wield the matter (King Lear)

I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest (Much Ado About Nothing)

I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes (Much Ado About Nothing)

I would not wish any companion in the world but you (The Tempest)

Lady, as you are mine, I am yours. I give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange (Much Ado About Nothing)

My love is as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite (Romeo and Juliet)

O beauty, Till now I never knew thee (Henry VIII)

One half of me is yours, the other half yours - Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours (The Merchant of Venice)

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate (Sonnet XVIII)

So is mine eye enthrallèd to thy shape (A Midsummer Night’s Dream)

Sweet, above thought I love thee (Troilus and Cressida)

Thou art wise as thou art beautiful (A Midsummer Night’s Dream)

When you depart from me sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave (Much Ado About Nothing)

Source ⚜ More ways to say "I love you" ⚜ Terms of Endearment Word Lists: Love Pt. 1 Pt. 2 ⚜ Physiology of Love ⚜ Synonyms ⚜ Kinds of Love

[yuurei20]

how muscle is the boy and who the most buff because i think silver gym clothes is lying

Hello hello! Thank you so much for this question! I have been hoping to talk about this for so long ⚔️

There is something special about the school uniform and gym clothes cards 👀

Summary 1) Sprites do not always visually represent what is actually happening in the game 2) Yana does not have full control over what can appear as sprites 3) Yana illustrated the gym clothes and school uniform cards from start to finish by herself!

Details/Sources 1) There is sometimes a disconnect between what the sprites are doing and what is actually happening in the stories, as the limits of the medium mean that they can only portray so much.

We will be told via dialogue that what is actually happening is different from what we're seeing on screen, which is where the "novel" part of "visual novel" has to do some heavy lifting.

(above: We are told that Idia is riding Ortho, Jack has tanned and Kalim is wearing glasses, without anything represented visually.)

This is also true of Silver being unusually well-muscled, with characters referencing such repeatedly! (especially in Book 7, for spoiler-reasons that cannot be shared on this blog)

(Ortho: "Silver is also incredibly built!")

In a vignette Silver explains he was able to beat a man in an arm-wrestling contest who had successfully beaten several "burly" members of Savanaclaw:

"All of Ruggie's burly friends had tried, but each lost within seconds. At first the owner went easy on me. Worried he would hurt me, he said. But once he realized I was no pushover, he stopped holding back...It was no easy feat, but all their encouragement helped me eke out a victory."

As for how Silver can possibly be so well-muscled, he explains it is from life with Lilia:

"I've never really struggled with anything involving physical fitness...my daily life back home was training enough. Drawing river water, chopping firewood...Chasing around the animals who lived nearby must have helped strengthen my legs as well...once I stalled while climbing a sheer cliff, and (Lilia) climbed right up beside me to show me how it should be done."

2) In a tweet posted on 2020/5/12 Yana talks about submitting her idea for Crowley to be wearing a vacation outfit in Book 4, despite expecting it to be rejected.

So it seems that she does not have complete control over how the sprites look: she designs the characters but is maybe not doing the game development work of physically implementing them, and there are others who can approve of or reject her ideas based on in-game limitations.

Was a canon-accurate Silver sprite maybe one of those rejections?

Effort was even made to give Silver muscle in the 2nd anniversary PV, so it does seem to be an important point.

3) We do not know too many details about the team that is helping Yana with card illustrations but we know they have been there from the beginning, with the recently released English-version of the first visual book (called "The official art book" in English) providing translations of Yana's notes to the colorists for the ceremonial robes and labwear art.

(Above: hand-written notes seen on Kalim's labwear and ceremonial robes base art)

She also references a graphic artist in her 2020 interview for the Magical Archives:

"As for the illustrations, this was my first time having my original drawings cleaned up by a graphic artist. I am a very rough draftsman by nature, and I make overall corrections before a piece is complete. No matter how careful I am in my original drawings, sometimes details get confused, so whenever I receive a draft back from the graphic artist, I become a useless original artist who is constantly going back to say, ‘I am so sorry, but can you please make these corrections?’" - Toboso Yana (Magical Archives game guide)

But the gym clothes and school uniforms (the original batch of R cards) were different: Yana says she did them all by herself from start to finish, as they were going to be most people's first introductions to the characters.

Disney Twisted-Wonderland has been released today.  ・Character design ・Main scenario creation ・Card illustration (all rarities / including finishing for the R cards) ・Supervision of personal scenarios (writing several as well) I handled everything above. I hope you enjoy it! - Toboso Yana (Twitter, 2020/5/8)

I felt that the initial R school uniforms and sportswear cards are special, as they are likely to be the first introductions to these characters, so I was in charge of them all. I am grateful to have been trusted with them. - Toboso Yana (Twitter, 2020/4/13)

So there we are! 🥳

If anything we can maybe consider the base card art for the gym clothes and school uniforms as more "canon" than the sprite designs of those same characters, even though the sprites are what we're used to seeing, as card art is not being forced to change the characters' appearances in order to fit the limitations of Live 2D sprites ⚔️ Maybe!

(The sprites have this same issue with height! In the game Epel is made taller while Malleus is made shorter, in order to fit his horns in the screen.)

[sansaorgana]

— HUMBLED (I)

PART TWO

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Vala!Reader // Morgoth x fem!Vala!Reader

SUMMARY — Grown tired of living in your sister's shadow, you offered yourself to the one whom she had rejected once – Melkor. You regretted it quickly as he turned out to be a cruel lover and you became the very first subject of his twisted tortures meant to reshape one's spirit. In his eyes you were nothing by Varda's shadow but in the eyes of Mairon the Maia you have always been the only and the most holy goddess. When his master is gone, he can finally get close to you.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I had two ideas for Sauron with Morgoth's ex and honestly? I will probably write one more because I like the other idea a lot, too. This fic is quite dark because of the nature of Reader's relationship with Morgoth. Not gonna lie, it was a challenge to write a Reader who is a literal Goddess but Sauron himself inspired me to explore this dynamic when he seemed to be so proud of the fact that it was a God himself torturing him... 👀 The Reader in this fic is a Vala (and Varda's sister but she remains undescribed as well), so she changes her appearance like Sauron does but I am not describing any of her forms in any details. In the next part there will be some goo/blob!Sauron + Halbrand and in this part our favourite ginger loser makes his comeback! 🦊 Apparently, I can't write him as a dom... 😂 Well, surely not with someone who is so much above him. Huge thanks to @dinsbeskar once more because we were brainstorming about this idea together. ⭐ Special thanks to @olchr-1 as well! 💚 PS – I haven't described how Morgoth looks like either but I imagine him as a tall, black haired hottie like on the fanarts. 💀😂 There is also a slight mention of the Reader being originally promised to Aulë, which was inspired by the story of Hephaestus and Aphrodite.

WARNINGS — Reader is evil (reshaped by Morgoth but not completely evil), domestic abuse (with Morgoth), mentions of Sauron and Reader being tortured by Morgoth, SMUT, sub!Sauron

WORD COUNT — 4,330

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

HUMBLED (I)

The very first thing you remembered was beholding your sister Varda being crowned one of the mightiest of the Valier and Queen of the Valar, Queen of the Stars, a beauty beyond the description of Men and Elves. So pure to reject Melkor and marry his brother Manwë instead – King of the Valar.

You followed your sister nearly everywhere, hoping to bask in her light but it never seemed to be enough to make you feel warm. You were greedy – at first, you were jealous of her husband and insisted on her spending more time with you than with him, striving for all of her affection. Once you realised that it was a lost cause, you began to detest Manwë.

You watched Varda situate the stars in the heavens above Arda as if they were jewels and you were the one setting them alight with the fire burning within you for they could lighten up the firmament. You were responsible for the treacherous element that the fire was – useful in many ways but also dangerous if not used correctly or with malicious intent.

Aulë The Smith began to court you as he watched you set the stars on fire. He was dreaming of how perfectly you two would go together if you were to fuel the fire inside his forge – the source of all his creation would come from you.

Everyone, including your sister, was encouraging you to become his wife for his heart was of a noble kind. Your own heart remained unsure but you wished to marry as well instead of only watching Varda and Manwë sharing a bond you could only dream of. Aulë, however, was not who you were dreaming about.

It was Melkor that you were drawn to; Manwë’s powerful brother, the very same whom your sister had rejected once and he had grown to resent her. You were observing him often because he fascinated you and you probably were the only one amongst the Valar who understood him. You were outcasts, both of you, but you were better at hiding it.

He was sometimes observing you as well, from the corner of his eye. You could feel his gaze on you and you knew that he had to feel the same way you did – he could see the malice inside of your heart for his was the same.

Whenever you would spend time with Varda dancing in the flower fields, you could feel Melkor creeping in the shadows and watching. Of course, he was there for your sister but still, some of his gazes were reserved for you only.

Therefore, on the eve of your wedding to Aulë, you forsake the light and seeked the shadow as you sneaked out of the palace you lived in and you found yourself knocking upon Melkor’s doors. There was no fear inside of you, only pure determination.

And you knew you could never replace your sister; your power was a mere shadow of hers. Yet, you offered yourself to Melkor on that night and he took you in, claimed you as his own and made you his bride. Before dawn, together, you fled from Arda for some time, leaving behind sorrow and dismay.

Your sister was most grieved by your betrayal. Alongside her, Aulë descended into a state of melancholy until Manwë mentioned to him the possibility of courting Yavanna instead and The Fruit-Giver became his wife – that union became one of harmony and love unlike the one you would have with The Smith.

You always fascinated Mairon the most – (Y/N), Mother of Flames, Aulë’s lost love. As his disciple, Mairon observed you humbly before and he knew his master’s heart enough to know that Aulë would always feel bitter towards you. Yavanna was his love match but she could not fuel the fire inside his forge and become the source of his creation.

What a source of inspiration you were for Mairon, though. The same way others worshipped Varda, Mairon worshipped you. Everytime he stared at the fire inside the forge, your image was all he could think of as the thought of you lingered in his mind constantly. You were long gone from Arda after eloping with Melkor but he hoped it was not yet over, that he would see you again. In the early days, when his spirit was still pure, he often fantasised about you being taken back by the Valar and forgiven by them, so he could build altars for you amongst the kins that would yet awake to inhabit Arda.

Some of his bolder daydreams were about another form of punishment for you – he would have you humbled in the name of redemption, bound to a lowly Maia. He meant himself, of course. He imagined the Mother of Flames becoming the source of his creation, fueling the fire within his forge and watching over his craft as his very own wife. He wondered how jealous Aulë would be then and how humiliated you would be, yet he was certain he could make you happy and fix the malice of your spirit with his undying love and endless devotion.

And perhaps that blasphemous dreams of Mairon the Maia, bold in their insolence, would be a kinder fate for both of you and the whole Arda. Because, in the meantime, you were starting to realise with bitter clarity why you should have stayed away from Melkor, the Dark Lord, in the first place.

In his greatness, he dwelt in solitude and his mind remained ungraspable for you. He would rarely let you inside to allow you to see the world the way he perceived it. Though he desired you, it was not as an equal, neither as companion nor as lover. And even in his desire, there was contempt, too, because as Varda’s sister you were a reminder of her rejection, which still lingered within your husband as a wound unhealed. And your beauty, your power, your holiness… They were nothing but pale echoes of your sister’s qualities; faint reflections of her no matter how hard you tried. And each one of your failures to meet Melkor’s towering expectations was met with your husband’s wrath.

None among his servants who would later know him as a cruel master ever dared to complain about his punishments in your presence because you were his first subject of torment, his earliest experiment in reshaping the will of another and they knew that you survived things they could barely think of. You were a Vala and you could endure the worst treatment, therefore in your suffering he reshaped you in ways that would shatter even the mighty Maiar. Melkor forged you anew and twisted your already spoiled essence to his dark design.

Alone in his presence you felt belittled and humbled. But by his side before others, you were exalted and invincible – cloaked in the might of his dominion – and that illusion of power became intoxicating. For allowing you to get sedated with such greatness was enough to worship him like he was Eru himself and out of all your offerings, he loved that devotion the most about you.

To be his wife was not easy – it was a torment and perhaps you were burdened with the most difficult fate out of all the Valar. Yet, it was what you had chosen willingly for yourself and you carried this responsibility with pride, trying not to think too much of the life you could have lived instead. You were made for much bigger things than spending your whole lifetime resting in the sunlight and being followed by the forest animals like some of the Valar ladies were. No, you were aiming for greatness and the price for it was pain.

When Mairon came to your husband’s service, you sensed immediately the amount of his worship and devotion towards you. You sometimes wondered if the Maia joined Melkor for him and his power or were you the real reason for his spirit’s betrayal. His devotion amused you but you offered him no kindness as his yearning for your favour was met with cold indifference. Even though he was desperate for more of it, he should know better and be grateful for your rejection. Because if Melkor would realise the true nature of Mairon’s feelings, he would not go easy on him and his wrath would be merciless. 

Sometimes you wondered how it was possible that Melkor could not sense Mairon’s admiration for you. Perhaps he thought of it as something innocent – something expected from his servants to feel towards his Queen. Perhaps he thought of it as silly and pathetic, unworthy of his attention, because he knew you would never humiliate yourself to betray him for a servant.

Or perhaps your husband cared about you even less than you suspected.

After Melkor’s defeat, you were hiding inside your fortress in the North from the wrath of the Valar. Your husband’s absence was welcomed by you with relief but also a huge emptiness within your soul. You had been his companion for ages and to be left alone now felt oddly wrong. Many of the creatures of darkness expected you to take the leadership but you stepped away instead, wishing for a calmer and more peaceful time at least. 

The power you had once craved now was something you dreaded. Your husband’s ways had drained you nearly completely, you were a shell of your old self. You wanted nothing but to crawl inside a hole and spend another eternity there, resting as a person unknown to the outside world. 

Mairon was the one who took all the responsibilities upon his shoulders and while committing to his duties, he would always emphasise he was fulfilling them in your name. Forever a servant he would remain. 

Now, without Melkor’s eyes observing him constantly, he gained more courage to bask in the remains of your corrupted light. You sensed his gaze on you wherever you would go.

Your wish, however, was to go much further away and Mairon knew about it, which was worrying him. He was trying his best – nearly desperately – to reunite your husband’s armies and dark creatures of the shadows, to become their leader and build a realm for you to rule over. To become worthy of you.

“My Lady,” he kneeled as he approached you and he kept his eyes low although you knew he dared to look up here and there, too tempted not to lay his gaze on you. “Please, grant me an audience,” he pleaded.

“You wish for an audience, Mairon? But is it not you preparing to get crowned very soon, my cunning spirit? Soon it shall be me asking for your audience,” you teased him and he looked up, his eyes filled with panic. Melkor would punish him for such schemes but you were not him and his influence was upon you no more. 

“I might crown myself the new Dark Lord, my Lady, but I would never consider myself to be above my Goddess,” he confessed and you smiled sadly as you approached him to grab him by his chin.

He swallowed thickly out of fear but his eyes remained soft, filled with nothing but pure admiration. In Melkor’s eyes you had been Varda’s unworthy shadow. Perhaps no one had ever perceived you with such devotion as Mairon.

“I shall build you altars in my realm; in every village, every town, every city. And in the capital of my kingdom where I will reside, I shall build a temple where you can find your peace,” he breathed out. “Just, please, do not abandon me.”

Your soft smile turned into a smirk when you let go of his chin and moved your hand to his ginger hair to caress it softly like he was your pet.

“I must, Mairon. When you build your temple for me, though, then I might come back to reside there. But until then, we must part,” you insisted and walked away at the sight of his eyes getting wet.

“Will they ever follow me without you by my side?” He asked, unsurely.

“They will not. Not all of them. Can you not see that it is a cursed path, destined to become a failure, to follow Melkor’s steps?” You turned around to look at his face once more. “Run away with me, Mairon. Forsake this realm, forsake your schemes,” you proposed and he gasped, visibly contemplating his answer. But the sparkles faded away from his eyes very quickly.

“No,” he shook his head. “I must stay and heal Middle-earth. I cannot abandon its people because of my own selfish desire,” he resisted you as you chuckled at that.

“You are no god, then, Mairon. Gods do whatever they wish. Spirits like you were created to serve,” you teased, cruelly as you sat on your armchair and he moved uncomfortably, looking away, but he remained kneeling and humbled.

“Allow me to serve you then, Mother of Flames,” he dared to whisper, nearly inaudibly, his breath shaky and lips trembling.

You tilted your head, thinking about his words. You would leave this realm soon, perhaps forever. He surely deserved a little treat before your departure for all the worship and devotion he had been gifting you with. And you deserved to give in to desires of your flesh as well after all the treatment your husband had given you.

“Come to me,” you ordered, harshly. You watched him trying to stand up slowly but you quickly stopped him. “On your hands and knees,” you explained.

Mairon glanced up at you as if he could not believe the amount of humiliation you would put him through now. It was true that back in the day you had often contrasted with Melkor’s cruelty but now Melkor was no more and you had been taught the craft by the very master of it.

Perhaps his influence was still upon you and it would remain there forever. 

You waited with an eyebrow raised and Marion gave up eventually, crawling on the floor towards you. He might have been humiliated and embarrassed but his eagerness was obvious in the way his eyes sparkled at the sight of your legs getting closer and closer to him. And when he was nearly in front of them, you opened them slightly as he gasped and looked up at you with admiration. He could not believe the access you had just given him while you smirked at his obedience.

“Serve me, Mairon,” you requested, wickedly. “Let my taste remain on your lips and might you never forget it while you build your kingdom in my name. I will come back to you then, my sweet, unless the Valar find and imprison me before,” you leaned in to caress his cheek with your finger gently.

“I shall fight them then. No matter how much it takes, I will release you and bind you to me instead,” he whispered.

“Bold of you, mighty Maia, to speak of such matters,” you let out a laugh. “Even as the greatest of your kind, you would still only be gifted with a mere shadow of my powers. We will never be equal, Mairon,” you reminded him and his eyes welled with even more tears at such a harsh reminder.

He cursed Eru himself for creating him as such a low spirit because this way he could never be worthy of you and to be able to walk by your side as your equal was all he had ever wanted.

“Let it be then… Anything to be close to you, my Lady,” he cooed. “Please, allow me to touch you,” he begged as he moved even closer to your legs.

“Proceed,” you nodded and watched him closely, observing his every movement, every gaze, which probably intimidated him even further but you could sense his desire to please you becoming too grand to care about anything else.

His hands wrapped around your ankles and moved up slowly, brushing your skin as the skirts of your dress pulled up, revealing your calves for him to admire. He had never seen them.

Well, perhaps he had. He had often sneaked up on you here and there and you had known about it but welcomed it with nothing but a chuckle as you had been pretending to be oblivious.

However, he had never been so close to them. To you. He crawled up even closer as he planted soft and devoted kisses to your exposed skin. You had never known kisses like these because Melkor had been mostly devouring you, tormenting you, using you. 

Mairon sighed and you felt a shiver go down your spine at the feeling of his fingertips brushing the back of your knees. You slid lower on the armchair as your skirts pulled nearly all the way up, exposing your thighs to him. Your obedient servant gasped and looked up at you once more as if he was asking if that part of you was allowed for him, too.

“Have I told you to stop?” You challenged him and he nodded before burying his head between your soft thighs to kiss and lick them softly, breathing the sweet scent of your skin as if you were the holiness personified.

Wicked thought it was for you were the most corrupted and fallen out of the female Valar and yet you doubted any of them were worshipped with such eagerness as you were now.

“If we never left Valinor and I never followed Melkor,” you breathed out, caressing Mairon’s ginger hair and playing with the delicate strands of his hair between your fingers, “you would be my disciple and we would spend forever in the fields under the sun with you worshipping me, my sweet spirit,” you shared your fantasy with him and he whined at that as he moved his face further and deeper, his nose nudging your glistening cunt as he requested for your legs to open even wider.

“So impatient,” you pointed out and grabbed him by his throat to pull him away. You felt him swallow underneath your hand and then you forced him to look up by grabbing his chin. It was slightly wet already from your leaking cunt and you leaned in to give him a possessive, open-mouth kiss; to taste yourself on him as his eyes widened but he gave in immediately.

While granting him with a kiss he would never forget, you opened your legs further and further, giving him full access to the sweet nectar between your thighs and he whined into your mouth like a brat when he realised what you were doing. He laid his trembling hands on your thighs and moved the folds of your dress even further to the back, making sure your cunt was all exposed for him.

The cold air of the room caused your clit to twitch and swell before his thumb found it and brushed it. Now it was your time to moan into his mouth. You broke the kiss and pressed your forehead to his as you closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths in. Pleasure without pain was an experience brand new for your flesh and you had to steady yourself as he watched in awe.

“A-allow me…” Mairon pleaded and your eyes opened once more as you looked deep into his with a nod.

You laid back in the armchair and watched him with curiosity but also a hint of contempt to see a spirit so mighty humbled like this – perhaps you could understand Melkor more than you had ever expected to be able to but it was truly fascinating and pleasurable to humiliate other spirits. 

To be able to kiss and lick your cunt, to devour it – it was surely a life-changing experience for your sweet Mairon. His usually calm demeanour changed in an instant, reminding you of a hungry hound as he whined and whimpered, lapping on your juices as if it was the sweetest nectar granting him immortality. He was intoxicated as his hands squeezed your thighs to keep them open and allow him to feast eagerly. 

Your body of a goddess allowed you to go on without breaks; a peak after peak as you shivered and trembled, caressing his head and meeting his hazy, devoted gaze once in a while to let him know he was doing good. Your praise meant everything to him for all he had always known was your husband’s reprimands. 

Your flesh could go on and on but your mind of a goddess was a demanding one and soon you grew simply bored of his ministrations, therefore you pushed his head away and crossed your legs, taking away the access from him.

Mairon’s face was flushed, his eyes foggy and skin glistening from sweat and your juices dripping down his chin. He was kneeling and looking up at you mindlessly as if he would follow your every order now, no matter how self-destructive it would be.

“You’ve served me good, Mairon,” you grabbed his chin and smiled at him. “Good servant,” you emphasised.

“P-please,” he whimpered and you furrowed your brow before realising what he begged you for.

His own release.

“Was not your kin created to serve mine? I do not think our creator blessed you with such desires, Mairon. Do not be a dirty liar,” you teased him.

“Please, my Lady,” he whined, desperately.

You sighed and rolled your eyes.

“Alright, then, let me see for myself,” you smirked and pushed him down onto the floor before getting out of your armchair and straddling him like a predator would trap her prey before sinking her teeth into him.

He looked so pretty like this – both excited and turned on but also absolutely terrified of you. You could do everything to him and he had no other way but to accept it. And he knew – he knew very well – that you could be as cruel as Melkor if you only wanted to be.

Melkor’s brutality had been driven by his own whim. Yours would be driven by your revenge for all the centuries of being treated like his dog. Beaten dogs tended to bite deadly and Mairon knew.

“Do not fear me, sweet Mairon. I only want to see for myself if it is true that you have fallen and corrupted yourself so much with your devotion towards me that you have been gifted with desires of the flesh,” you smirked. “Or cursed with them,” you pointed out as your hands worked on his robes and the trousers underneath them swiftly and quickly.

You gasped and laughed when you saw how hard he was already after all those hours he had spent between your legs. He blushed even further and his cheeks were crimson red now like his clothes.

“This must hurt,” you pointed out with a sinister chuckle. “Is it the first time for you?” You asked, brushing his thighs with your fingernails, making him shiver under your touch but refusing to actually pay any attention to his hard and reddened cock with its tip swollen and twitching, leaking precum.

“No,” he confessed, nearly inaudibly.

“Interesting,” you hummed to yourself and leaned in, your face so close to his that your noses brushed. “And what were you doing usually when it happened?”

“Nothing,” Mairon confessed, his face wincing out of shame. “Nothing, my Lady. I would never… I would never dare to…” He gasped after every word, so sweetly desperate and frustrated but not brave enough to ask you to do anything in particular. He would never order you around.

“Oh, my sweet, poor Mairon… You should have come to me each time and I would have helped you,” you grinned at him although you both knew it was not true. None of you would have ever dared to commit such an act behind Melkor’s back. “Do you want me to ease you now?” You asked.

“P-please…”

You reached towards his twitching cock and grabbed his wet length as you watched with cold fascination while he struggled and writhed underneath you. A few pumps of your hand was enough to make him spill himself with a whine, bucking his hips into your hand as you kept jerking him off to make more and more of his seed spurt out. 

His body of a Maia did not need breaks but there was always a limit to how much seed any male flesh could produce. And when you felt he could absolutely do no more, you stopped and watched him catch his breath as you giggled, laying on top of him and intertwining your legs. One of your hands kept caressing his sore and softening cock gently as your other hand pulled his head closer to your chest, burying his face between your breasts and caressing his ginger hair strands.

“Please, do not go… I will be so lost without you,” Mairon looked up to meet your gaze and you smiled sadly at that.

“Do not start again,” you scolded him.

“Can you at least stay for the coronation?” He pleaded but you shook your head.

“No. I must leave tonight, as soon as possible,” you leaned in to kiss his forehead and a short while of silence occurred.

It surprised you greatly but some part of you began craving to take care of him now. As if the sinful act you had just performed with him, which stained you in a way – because what else would you call lowering yourself to pleasing a Maia? – as if it had forged an attachment between you two and bound you to him indeed like he had blasphemously suggested before.

You definitely had to leave and hide from the Valar, seek your own peace of mind. But you knew already that you would be back for your sweet Mairon sooner than both of you expected.

MASTERLIST

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - 7

Source for pic

Trouble 7

Word Count: 4814

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Dead Animals Mentioned; Reader in a terror-like state; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: I told you guys this was going to get worse... and believe me or not... it STILL gets worse. Also, mind the red tag, above, please.

Masterlist

The police. 

You need to tell someone, and the police are the obvious choice. You've been tossing and turning in your bed for over an hour, and this is the smartest, simplest answer. 

Zoro is unreachable for a week, so the next best option will have to do. 

You remember your ex, Ichiji, once had a problem with a girl who loved and followed the Vinsmoke siblings everywhere. She was obsessed with the whole family, but mostly Ichiji, since he's the eldest. She resorted to possessive letters and creepy calls, and you've been trying to rack your brain as to how he dealt with the problem. You're almost positive he went to the police. 

And they couldn't help. 

That was when he hired the bodyguards. 

Maybe they took care of the problem? 

A shudder that has nothing to do with the cold travels through your body. Anyway they dealt with it, you don't have the resources to do the same. And Ichiji's bodyguards were real beasts: massive, bulky, scary. They were elite, all-stars. 

You don't have anyone like that to look out for you. 

Lies. 

You have Zoro. But you'll have to be very careful about how you'll tell him once he gets back. And even though the police did nothing to help with your ex’s problem, that doesn't mean they won't help now. 

Oh! 

You still have the picture he sent you of Rob Lucci, that has to get them to act! 

You sit upright in your bed and grab your phone. It's been muted and silent since you retired to your bedroom after closing all the doors and windows, including the door to your room. 

You left the light in your bedroom on anyway, too scared of invisible shadows, too frightened of unseen ghosts.

Obviously, there are texts waiting for you. You knew that, and that's why the phone was silenced. The dread in your stomach seems like it has come to stay, but it still manages to increase as you read the texts. 

Unknown: How are you feeling, Kitten? You barely ate dinner. You need to eat.  Unknown: Tucking into bed already? Don't be scared. You're safe. No one will harm you.  Unknown: You're mine. 

You don't know who it is, but that doesn't mean your mind doesn't conjure up the scariest, raspiest voice to go with the possessive texts. With a heavy sigh, you swipe the texts aside and search for the picture. 

It's gone. 

Just like that. 

You know you deleted some texts when you first started to receive them, but you didn't delete the picture, no matter how ghastly it was. But it's gone. 

With a shaky inhale, you return the silenced phone, face down, to your bedside table and curl up on your bed, comforter tucked high against your chin. You'll still go to the police. You have to tell someone. 

A creak of the old house brings desperate tears to your eyes and you stifle a sob. You don't dare turn off the light and you know sleep will elude you tonight. 

God, you miss Zoro. 

And he's barely been gone a day. 

-*-

Sometime during the night, you must've fallen asleep from exhaustion because the sound of the rooster’s call jolts you awake with a surprised gasp. 

Daylight seeps through the closed curtains, and you will your heart to steady to a normal beat. Nothing bad happened, you're safe, you're alone in your room. You're fine. 

Everything's fine. 

You refrain from grabbing your phone, trying to prolong the moment you’ll have to face the creepy texts, perhaps even new texts waiting for you, and instead head to the bathroom to freshen up and get ready to face a new day.

Your eyes are baggy and darkened, likely because you only slept two or three hours. A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you lay down your plans for the day: feed the animals and do the morning chores, then head to the police station and tell the cops about what’s going on. 

They will have to help you. And even if they don’t do much, at least you won’t feel so alone. 

As you finally gather some courage to grab your phone, a shaky laugh escapes your lips: there’s nothing new. No new text, no new photo, nothing. You were suffering from anticipation without any cause to do so. So, you take the phone off silent mode and stuff it in your pocket. 

The day already seems lighter and brighter. Perhaps you won’t even need to go to the police.

Grabbing a quick breakfast, you open the door, still chewing on your apple, ready to face the day. You don’t find it unusual that there are hardly any birds singing. 

Though you should’ve.

Because as soon as you open the door, you’re assaulted by a foul smell. The apple you are holding rolls in your hand and falls to the floor with a thud. Blood. There’s so much blood. 

Nausea turns your legs to jelly, and you grip the handle of the door tightly as your eyes widen and sweep the scene. There are countless dead birds, squirrels, rats, and even cockroaches. They’re scattered across your porch and thrown carelessly over the railing and the porch chairs. Blood is smeared and pooled everywhere, and the smell of rot and decay makes your eyes tear up.

You gag and fight for your breakfast to remain inside your stomach as your hand flies to cover your mouth. What could this mean?

Then, from the corner of your eye, you find your answer: there’s a cat - its fur an oddly close resemblance to the colour of your hair - dead, lifeless, gutted, and covered in blood, pinned to your door. The note attached to the poor animal is written in crimson words, and the message is clear as day:

Don’t tell anyone, Kitten.

You’re powerless to stop the retches and heaves as you fall to your knees. 

-*-

After what you found on your porch in the morning, you lock yourself in the house again. With the windows locked and the curtains closed, you curl into a small ball on the couch, put on your headphones, and will yourself to just disappear. 

Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

But he doesn’t leave you alone.

Unknown: I love seeing you scared, Kitten. The way your big, bright eyes widen. The way your chest heaves. Unknown: You’re so beautiful. Unknown: I hope you understood my message, darling. Don’t tell anyone.  Unknown: Not. A. Soul. Unknown: Or next time, it won’t be animals…

More threats. More possessive words. More praise.

The tears keep falling from your eyes, and you feel trapped and utterly alone. How did this happen to you? Who could this person be? He’s a man - you can tell because of the hand that was holding Rob Lucci’s eyes in the photo. That much is clear. 

But who?

Who would want to hurt you? Who would want to scare you?

Unknown: You don’t need to be afraid of me, Kitten. I won’t hurt you. Not you, never you. Unknown: I think your dad’s animals might be hungry.  Unknown: Are you going to be cooped up inside all day? Do you need me to feed them?

What? How sick is he? How can he say this? Is he close? How close?

A whimper escapes your lips as you clutch your face in your hands, shaking your head and shutting your eyes shut. 

He’s right, though. You need to feed the animals. You’ve been inside the house for around four hours already. The animals must be starving.

It takes you about fifteen minutes to gather the strength and courage to face the slaughter on your porch and then another five minutes to gather a trash bag and gloves. Then it’s with heavy breaths that you place your shaky hand on the doorknob, turning it slowly, your eyes still closed. 

The smell is still overwhelming, but it’s not as bad as you thought it would be after the dead animals were left rotting in the sun for hours. With another shaky breath, you finally open your eyes.

There’s nothing there.

No animals. No blood. No note or cat pinned to the door.

For a fleeting second, you think you’re going crazy. You have to be. But then your eyes fall back on the door. Your nails scrape gently against the dark wood: there’s a mark where the knife was pinning the cat and the note. 

You didn’t dream it, you didn’t imagine things. It happened.

And he cleaned it all up.

What is going on? Why is he playing these mind games with you?

Suddenly, you hear a distant noise coming from the treeline, just beyond the barn. Your blood runs cold, and a shiver filled with dread makes you tremble. With a shaky step forward you grip the railing, straining your eyes against the brightness of the day to try to discern if there’s something lurking there. 

Your breathing slows down, and your knuckles turn white with the force you’re clutching the railing. Dread rises from somewhere in the pit of your stomach and settles right in your chest.

There’s definitely something - someone? - there. And it looks big. Massive, even. 

The shadow moves forward, and you gasp at the same time your phone begins to ring. A scream climbs up your throat, and you stumble backwards, fumbling with your pockets to fish out the blaring phone. 

Nami.

You pick up shakily, your eyes already moving back to the place where the shadow had been. “Y-yeah?”  

“Hi!” Nami’s voice is bright, she might not have noticed the strain in yours. Your left hand grips the railing again as your eyes dart left and right. Nothing. “How are you, honey? Are you feeling lonely now that your broody cop left for the week?” She giggles, and you force out a shaky, fake laugh. Nothing! “I thought you might want some company. Want me to come over?”

Nothing at all.

Fear grips you again, and you stumble backwards, closing the door with force and leaning against it with heavy breaths. “Come over?” Breathe. Just breathe. There’s no way in hell you’re going to tell Nami to come over. No matter how much you want her company, how alone you feel, or how much comfort you seek. You won’t risk her getting trapped in this person’s web. “Sorry, Nami. I can’t today. Maybe another time?”

She groans on the other side of the line as you move to the window, your eyes scanning the trees again. “Fineee! I was just postponing some boring house chores anyway. I’ve been procrastinating since the weekend.” She giggles. “Talk soon, then?”

You let out a noncommittal noise, and silence fills the line. “Are you okay?” She asks, worry lacing her voice. Calm down! You try to force some semblance of control back into your voice. Nami always sees right through your bullshit, so you need to be a good liar. Just this once. One time.

“Of course I am! I’m just sooo tired! Ace couldn’t help me today, so I’m tending to all the chores alone. I need rest.” You let out another shaky laugh and hope against all hope she believes you.

There’s still nothing out there. 

“Hmm, okay, okay. I believe that. Farm chores are so tiresome. ‘K, gotta go. Call me later?”

“Sure, Nami. Thanks for checking in.”

She hangs up, and you grip the phone tightly. You could’ve sworn that the shadow was coming for you when you picked up the phone. And that thought alone is enough to make you stay cooped up inside for another hour. 

-*-

You don't quite know how you do it, but you force yourself to tackle your morning chores, even though they’ve now turned into afternoon chores. 

Every little noise, every tiny movement makes you tremble and whimper. Even the cows sense your discomfort, some of the older ones gently bump you as you pet them and whisper soothing words. 

How ironic is it that you're the one in need of soothing, not the cows. 

Somehow, you manage. And as soon as you're done, you rush inside, bolting the door and sighing as you lean against it. You did it. You're safe inside. He can't get in. 

He can't get in. 

You're safe. 

-*-

You take a quick shower and have a meager dinner. You wouldn't be able to eat anything different even if you were hungry. Your fridge and pantry are almost empty. You should've gone grocery shopping yesterday, but the sick cow threw those plans out the window and now the last thing you want to do is leave the safety of your home to buy food supplies. 

You can always survive on nuts and cereal. 

A groan leaves your lips as you finish cleaning the dishes. No, you can't. 

You place the towel on the rack to dry, then halt your movements, tilting your head to the side to listen for any noise. You’ve closed all the curtains, but you still feel watched. It's like someone is creeping in on you, watching every move you make, every sound, every thought. 

Shaking your head, you leave the kitchen, turning off the light and running towards the stairs like a child scared of the dark. Your stomach still rumbles a bit, though you're so nauseated and scared that, even though you're hungry, you know you can't eat anything right now. 

Plus, empty pantry and all that… 

So, tomorrow, grocery shopping will have to be. Get out, buy stuff, get back in. 

How hard can that be? 

-*-

Hard. So very hard. 

Considering you didn't sleep much last night. Maybe an hour, two at most. He kept texting you with praise and soothing words, telling you to turn off the light and rest. But how could you turn off the light when he was watching you, and every shadow felt like it was looming closer? How could you rest when your heart kept pounding with adrenaline? 

You don't know how much longer your body can function without sleep, with barely any food and under constant stress. But the truth is, you can't even bring yourself to worry about those things when the real terror hides behind creepy texts. 

And there are still three more days before Zoro returns. 

Trying to ignore the dread in your stomach or the way your breath leaves your mouth in shaky exhales, you open the front door, bracing yourself for anything. 

But there's nothing. 

A longer and much more relieved exhale empties your lungs, and you feed the animals before rushing to your car. The farm feels eerily silent, as if the animals can sense all the apprehension coursing through you. 

And they probably do. 

You drive a little faster than you should on the way to the store and as you park the car and exit with rushed movements, new texts greet you, and you grimace in consternation 

Unknown: Slow down, Flash. There's no one following you, don't worry. No one will get near you. 

Right. No one but this creep, whoever he is. There's no need to worry at all. 

Fear induces hurry, and you take little care in picking the prettiest vegetables or the plumpest fruits. You just want to grab your essentials, and get out. Rush home, and lock yourself in until Zoro returns and you can find some solace in his arms. 

Is that too much to ask? 

“Well, hello there, gorgeous. I see you're all alone today.”

Oh, no, no, no. 

“Hi, yes, I'm in a hurry, excuse me.” It's the store clerk who flirted with you when you returned. And his advances are especially unwelcome today. Even more so since Zoro isn't around to pretend to be your boyfriend. 

He places an arm on your cart, a cheeky smirk in his lips and you suppress a groan as his hand inches closer to touch yours. “I'll help you. What do you need? Besides my number?” He chuckles and now it's the urge to roll your eyes you suppress. 

You feel a faint vibration in your pocket and push the cart forward as you decide to ignore it. “I really don't need your help, thank you.” 

“Are you sure?” You nod and try to push past him again, but his hand moves, gripping your forearm instead of the cart. “Because I can be very… serviceable.”

Hell, no. 

A loud crash from the next aisle - that sounds like broken jars - echoes through the store, and the clerk groans. “Not the pickles, come on. They stink up the place!” He releases your arm with frustration, and you seize the opportunity to slip away, grab the rest of your essentials, and cash out. 

Your nerves are frayed to the breaking point, and all you want is to curl up and disappear. 

It's not until you finally get home, unload the groceries and lock the door, that you look at the unread texts on your phone. 

Unknown: Who does he think he is?  Unknown: He dares flirt with you? He dares TOUCH you? You're mine!  Unknown: Don't worry, Kitten, I won't let him bother you again. 

No! Oh, no!

A quick online search shows you the phone number of the grocery store and you're fast to dial it, your foot tapping the floor impatiently as guilt gnaws at your insides. 

You can't let anyone else get hurt because of you. It's not fair. Not fair at all. 

Someone picks up at the third ring and it's an older female voice. It's not him. You try your best to describe the clerk you wish to speak to and, thank God it's a small town, because the woman on the line knows who you're talking about and calls him. 

The phone buzzes in your ear and you glance at the text while you're waiting. 

Unknown: How selfless of you, Kitten, trying to save him.  Unknown: You can't, though, you know? 

“Hello?” He sounds pissed. 

“Hi! Oh, thank God. Are you okay?” You collapse into a kitchen chair, your legs wobbly all of a sudden. 

“Who is this?”

“Right! Sorry! Uh… I’m uh… The girl you were talking to earlier? Erm… The one you offered to help?”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “The gorgeous one? Yeah, I remember you. Guess you really needed my number, then.”

Bzzzz.

Unknown: He's gone, Kitten. Might as well say goodbye now. Nobody touches what's mine. 

“Good! Listen, you're in danger.” Your voice falters as you think about how crazy you must sound. How delusional. “I can't tell you much, but someone might try to harm you. Don't ask me how I know, I just do! Please don't leave the store alone! And go to the cops, please!”

There's a moment of silence on the line and you hope he's considering your words, listening to the faint edge of fear on your voice, something that shows him reason. 

“Wow…” He's not convinced. “This has got to be the most elaborate excuse anyone’s used to get me to back off.” He chuckles again, but this time in disbelief. “Listen, I get it, okay? I'll back off. You're not interested. I won't try again.”

“No, no, wait! That's not what I–”

“Don't worry, miss. I got it.” He sighs. “I got to go, some asshole spilled the whole aisle of pickles and that shit’s already spilling to the other aisles. Er… Bye, I guess.”

And he ends the call. You hold the phone to your ear, ignoring the beeping signaling the end of the call. This can't be happening. It can't. Someone will get hurt again because of you. 

You drop the phone, and it slips to the floor with a thud, your fingers threading through your hair and gripping tight. The walls feel closer now, the air thinner. You're alone. You're frightened. You're vulnerable.

And you will be responsible for another terrible crime. 

-*-

The chores that could be postponed, got postponed. Those that couldn't, got done half-heartedly. It will have to do. At least until Zoro comes back and you can rely on him. 

You miss him. You need him. So, so much. 

As per usual, you lock the door tightly and double-check all the other locks on the back doors and windows, though you haven't touched those since this whole ordeal started. Everything's locked, and though apprehension still grips your heart tightly, you feel as safe as you're going to feel for now. 

He won't get into your home. You're safe inside. 

You still rush up the stairs and lock yourself in your bedroom, lights on and covers pulled up to your chin. 

After you've settled, and after you've made sure there's nothing hiding in the shadows or inside your closet, you unlock your phone, skim through the new set of texts: ‘You're mine’, ‘Sleep tight’, ‘Drink water and get some rest’, and then open the website of the local newspaper again, dreading the time when you'll see the store clerk's picture or some reference to him. 

It dawns on you that you don't even know his name. 

And yet, you're going to be the one to blame for whatever gruesome thing that happens to him. Should you go confess to the cops? 

No… You can't. He doesn't let you go to the police, you got that message loud and clear: if you do that, somebody else will get hurt. And maybe next time it could be one of your friends. Or you. 

A shaky inhale leaves your lips as a new set of tears threatens to fall. How do you have more tears to cry? How are you still hanging on? How long will you last without fully breaking? 

-*-

Like all the other nights, you eventually give in to exhaustion and fall asleep for a few hours. Except this time, the events from the day before are still pretty fresh in your mind, so the first thing you do is grab your phone - no new texts. Yet. - and open the newspaper website. 

Nothing. 

A relieved sigh empties your lungs, and you actually manage a small smile. Maybe this person, this stalker, is all bark and no bite. 

Though even as you think this, you know you're wrong. He's very vicious. Rob Lucci, the dead animals… You feel he's capable of terrible things. But maybe, just maybe, this time he was just bluffing. 

Bzzzz. 

No. No. No. 

It's a picture. 

Bzzzz. 

Unknown: I always follow through on my threats, Kitten. 

And then there's an address. 

No. It's your fault again. You know you shouldn't open the picture, you already know it's gruesome, you already know you'll regret it, and yet… 

You still open it. 

The shop clerk is blindfolded and tied up with intricate knots, the rope is binding his chest, his legs, his arms. His face is swollen and barely recognizable. There's blood everywhere. And his hands… They're detached from his body, hanging on his neck like a necklace and holding a paper with a bloody note: Nobody touches what's mine. 

-*-

You used the address to make an anonymous tip to the police. You didn’t even know you could do that online, but apparently, there are specific websites that offer that anonymous service. 

You can’t bear to look at the picture one more time, but you hope he’s still alive. All he did was talk to you. Just like Rob Lucci. 

They aren’t guilty of any other crime. And that’s why you feel so responsible for what happened to them. 

The urge to tell Zoro all that’s been happening is stronger than ever, but then there’s a nagging feeling at the back of your mind telling you that if the stalker managed to do this to men who only flirted with you, what could he do to Zoro, someone you’re actually interested in?

You know Zoro is a cop, and you know he can take care of himself, but still… 

You fear for his safety more than you fear your own.

And that is terrifying.

-*-

Shanks called and said he and Beckman are having a wonderful time, and business is blooming. Some of your father’s best horses have already been selected by breeders, so, unfortunately, Shanks is going to have to prolong his stay for at least three more weeks. 

You didn’t have the heart to tell him how alone and terrified you felt. So instead, you feigned happiness that all was going well for him and told him he could stay for as long as he wanted because you had everything under control. 

Lies, after lies, after lies. 

The rest of the week passes in a haze. You barely sleep, hardly eat, and are in a constant state of stress and nerves. The only time you leave the house is to feed the animals and clean the stables. And even then, there are times you manage to ask Ace for help, pretending to feel sick. 

The rest of the time is spent curled up, frightened, and being constantly harassed over text by this creep.

You’ve been wracking your brain as to who he is, but you have no idea. Absolutely no idea. And the fact that he could be some random person might even be scarier than if he were someone you know. 

Friday finally arrives, and as you down your third mug of coffee of the morning, sitting iyour couch, your phone rings. And this time you’re actually happy to see the name on the screen.

It’s Zoro.

But as you’re about to answer, the call disconnects suddenly. Did he hang up?

Bzzzz.

No. He didn’t. 

Unknown: Remember, Kitten, don’t tell him anything. You don’t want to see the cop pinned to your door next, do you?

Zoro calls again, and once more, the call dies before you pick it up. 

Unknown: You know by now that I don’t make idle threats. You do not want to see me mad, Kitten. I don’t want to hurt your friends because I don’t want to see you sad, but I will hurt him. 

Zoro calls again, and still you have no time to answer. 

“Shit!” You almost sob. “I won’t tell him anything… I won’t…” You mutter to yourself, tears already gathering at the corner of your eyes as the feeling of being trapped and alone overpowers you. 

This time, when Zoro tries again, you manage to pick up. 

“Hey, Troublemaker! What the hell is wrong with that damned phone?”

God, oh God, you missed him so much. His strong voice, his confident demeanour, the way that just hearing him speak to you makes you feel instantly safer.

It’s too much.

Too much.

You try to keep the tears and the sobs at bay, but you can’t. “Zo…” You sniffle, and it’s clear that he immediately stands at attention on the other side of the line.

“What’s wrong, Trouble? Talk to me. I’m still heading home, I’m about two hours away. What’s wrong?”

Bzzzz.

Unknown: Kitten… don’t disappoint me. 

“Nothing!” A wet, shaky laugh climbs up your throat, and you bring your knees to your chest, trying to feel smaller. “I’ve just been feeling lonely this week. Nami and Robin have been busy, I don’t want to bother Kaya and Usopp. Luffy is busy at the fire station, and… and… I’ve missed you so, so much… I’m such a crybaby, I’m sorry.”

Is this enough?

Silence stretches, and all that you hear on the other line is the sound of cars and chatter from his coworkers. “I’ve missed you too, Trouble.” At least his worry is hidden behind a semblance of softness. It might’ve been enough. “Are you sure that’s it?”

Another excuse, quick.

“Yeah… I mean, my dad just called saying he has to be away for more weeks than he initially thought, I guess that I also miss him…”

Zoro chuckles softly, and you sigh in relief. 

“You’re an emotional mess today, Trouble.”

You laugh softly and sniff, your hand cleaning the remnants of your tears from your cheeks. 

“I guess I am.”

“Well, Nami texted me earlier, saying the gang’s going to meet at Robin’s. Are you coming?”

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. You don’t want to put any of them in danger, but you don’t think you can spend more time alone inside a locked house. You need your friends, you need Zoro…

“Yeah, I guess.”

“See you soon, then?”

You hum, and before you can say anything else, the call ends again. Did he hang up? Was it the service? Or… maybe you should think about changing phones…

Bzzzz.

Unknown: Such a good girl, Kitten. I knew you could do it.  Unknown: I hope you think of me at the gathering later. I do want you to have fun, you know? But remember…  Unknown: Behave, Kitten. You do not want to see me angry. I don’t want to have to punish you.

Taglist: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000

|Chapter 8|

[yurislilygarden]

ʚїɞ Self Aware! Hazbin Hotel

ʚїɞ Their reaction after becoming self aware and first thoughts about reader! part 1

ʚїɞ Alastor and Lucifer Morningstar

ʚїɞ Keep in mind English is not my first language, so you may find mistakes!

ʚїɞ Word count: just about 1.7k

ʚїɞ I planned for all hotel characters first but then I realized how much I'm thinking on each paragraph and its details that I decided to just do 2-3 charas per part😭

Very few characters would notice something wrong on the first watch of the show, but wouldn't realize, nor become self-aware until the 2nd or further watch. 

While everyone's reaction would be different with different amounts of stages before total acceptance of the situation, they all would share the first emotion, simple disbelief. They would first need to even process the fact that they're not real, that they were created solely for the purpose of entertaining… something? Someone? In a completely different Universe. That everything that they thought had happened to them before they died didn't actually happen, they were never alive in the first place. Only after that did the emotions and reactions differ. The very first emotion or actual personal reaction would be:

ALASTOR

Irritation with a hint of madness.

His first thoughts about the situation would be how ironic it is that he seeks entertainment for himself while his own person, no, character, was a source of entertainment for whatever was watching them from time to time. It was quite ironic how he said that his face was made for radio when the truth couldn't be further from that. He was literally created solely to be watched on that funny colored box by… whatever was watching him and the others.

He was irritated at not noticing that something was wrong immediately, now he thinks about how blind he was, how obvious everything was. The city is actually quiet, too quiet when the noise and demons aren't needed, when they're not meant to be heard. Nothing actually happened that one time when he was out for a fix of his coat, it just got magically fixed, he went and came back when someone else decided he was to do so. They didn’t have much actual free will when he thought about it and that's what he was mad about. He thought that his deal was a massive problem to him, oh how wrong he was because the problem was you.

He doesn't know how he or the others didn't notice the small, glowing butterfly flying above their heads from time to time. They couldn't be that blind, could they? The little crystal thing (could he break it?) must have done something to be unnoticed for so long. He wondered how long they were watched for, the little thing above their heads seemed to be speaking sometimes, seemingly knowing what would happen… at least he thought so, the words would cut out so often that he was left with a pure guess at one point.

He didn't want to accept that he wasn't real, that he was just a 2D character with the sole purpose of entertaining someone. He was meant to be the one entertained, not you. But he couldn't actually do anything, could he? For sure not until more of the people he knew were aware. 

That's also something that he noticed. When it came to the hotel staff and guests, he seemed to be the only one who realized the situation at first. It took a few times of some events repeating before he noticed that someone else from the hotel was noticing the little crystal butterfly above their heads as well. 

Alastor seemed to be the first, or one of the very first people who noticed that something was wrong. He wasn't sure if someone realized before him, and if they did then who, but he was somewhat glad that he could finally discuss the topic at least a little once the other hotel patrons found out about the truth. He isn't one to really open up in any way, but this was a matter where he had to communicate with the others.

You. He didn’t know what to think of you at first. He did see you in a more negative light at first, under many emotions hitting him at once which he hated but after he calmed down, he started thinking. At first, he was sure you were some sick person seeking entertainment from the suffering of others, and yeah he was doing pretty much the same, but were you really alike when he wasn’t even real and you were? He was pretty sure that he’s never gonna get used to saying that.

Over time, when he stopped overthinking (he’s gonna deny that he was doing that till the day of his 2nd death), he noticed a few changes. The less negative his posture and thoughts were about you, even if neutral, the more he was able to find out. Alastor was able to pick up more than a few words whenever you talked, he was able to hear you talking clearly enough to recognize a possible gender, and something he wasn’t sure that he wanted to think about, it was way easier to pick up your emotions in your words.

I feel like he would be more lenient towards you if it turned out you were a female (or identified as one), but that would be the mama’s boy inside of him talking. There wouldn’t be too many differences of course, but those who spent enough time around him would be able to tell there's a difference after finding out your gender if it turned out you weren’t a man (again, not too much but it IS noticeable).

He would go from lowkey hating you at first to being mostly neutral with a hint of positive light as you seemed to do nothing but watch, up until later on when everyone is self-aware as well and would talk about the whole thing. Only then would the feelings towards you, the little watcher, as he first called you, turn more positive.

LUCIFER

Massive inner conflict and a complete mix of emotions

He didn’t know what to think. It was hard to comprehend that he didn’t actually live for as long as he thought, that all the things that supposedly happened, in fact never were even close to happening, they were just… a scripted past. 

Was all his suffering for nothing? Was it there just to entertain someone? Did those things who watched them enjoy seeing them sad and hurt? He was simply lost on what to think about the whole situation, it wasn't something that he could prepare himself for in any way beforehand. 

He was disappointed in himself for not noticing immediately or at least faster that something was not right. He's the literal King of hell! Even if… only in a show apparently… but he still is. No one better say anything about that because he's already on the brink of a yet another breakdown. He cannot take much more.

Should he try doing something about this? Or should he stay quiet and go with the script as he's supposed to? He wasn’t sure about the answer himself and had no one to answer his questions. The thought that what he thought were eons of life was actually a lie was… a little terrifying. Who knows just how much can someone force them to do without caring for their opinions because they don’t know that he and the others are aware of everything now, how much can you cause without their consent? He wasn’t sure if you or anyone else knew about them being self-aware or not.

He would actually try to ignore the little butterfly whenever he would see it, but at the same time, many questions were swirling in his mind.

Why were you around? Did you like to see them suffering? Did you have any control over what you saw? Did you have some sort of control over them? Did you have plans regarding them? Did you-

Yeah, again, he has a lot of questions and absolutely zero answers.

His personal feelings about you were all around at first. Not sure whether he should hate, dislike, or be generally negative about you, be more neutral, or be on the more positive side, especially since you didn't seem to do anything but watch them. Like it's all that you could do when it comes to them, but he couldn't be 100% sure.

Similarly to Alastor, he would be one of the characters who noticed something wrong on the first watch of the show before becoming self-aware quite soon after that. I don't think he, nor Alastor, would notice the other knows too fast, since both try to act like nothing's wrong around others. He did not want to be just a 2D character, something to be watched on a screen. It was… humiliating, in his eyes. He could tell that Charlie and the others weren't aware of anything at first so he didn't speak about it until later on when he was sure that they came to their senses, as he would like to say.

He wondered how long were you actually there before he, or anyone else, started to see or notice you, especially since he could literally hear you. Both as the small insect and the occasional words he was able to pick up. And that's if he was to forget the butterfly was literally, softly fucking glowing. Yeah, they're all blind.

I think that if you’re on the younger side, (which technically is any age a human can be alive at compared to him lmao) he would be a little softer, especially if you're similar to his daughter in character. It would come from the paternal side of his, you would probably remind him of Charlie so much :(

He would be more on the negative side at first, as much as he wishes he didn't straight up assume how you were as a person, it took some time but he went into the more neutral zone before being positive about you after being able to hear more of you talking, as he was able to at least have more idea about your character and wasn't completely clueless like at the start.

Your nickname also got changed to something else, something cuter over time, as Alastor’s name for you, little watcher, was deemed not good enough by everyone (Lucifer's words)

Notes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated

[redxx95]

Exploring Kurosawa's internalized homophobia and compulsive heterosexuality

oh yea baby we bustin out the Big Words for this one 😎

This was supposed to be posted at the end of pride month but Life happened and it got delayed a lot 😩 So yea happy pride month (and happy birthday Kurosawa I guess 😂)

(btw I think I've never mentioned this on any of my other posts but english is not my first language, so if anything I write ever sounds awkward, that's probably why 😅) (also I had to merge a bunch of images to get around the image limit, this post is really long, the word count is at 1930 words 💀)

Hope you guys enjoy the read! 💞

Spoilers for anything up to vol 11

Let me start this by saying that there's no actual textual evidence of Kurosawa being gay (rather than bi/pan), so this interpretation is definitely veering towards headcanon territory. I'm also not trying to establish this as the only Correct opinion and anyone is of course allowed to have their own sexuality headcanons, this is very healthy and valid 👍

Kurosawa's internalized homophobia

The first scene I want to put under a magnifying glass is this one.

Let's examine what's going on here: Kurosawa has just tried to kiss Adachi, whose hesitation he perceived as disgust. Then he pretends it was disgusting for him too, because he thinks that is the average reaction anyone would have, extending this to Adachi as well. The way he says "who'd be into that?" is already lowkey homophobic, but the japanese line makes it even more evident: "普通嫌だよな" (= "Normally, you'd dislike that right?"). Keyword here being "普通" = "normal, ordinary", implying that anyone who would like that is abnormal. So what does that say about him then, who was so happy to get the chance to kiss another man? This is pretty much textbook internalized homophobia, where he has accepted what he perceives to be the general opinion on gay people and has made those values his own, hating himself for it (albeit only briefly here), which is why he internally apologizes to Adachi.

This is not the only instance of him feeling like that, although this next part is slightly more speculative than the more obvious example above.

So we all know that Kurosawa is a jealous, jealous man. It's one of his defining character traits and it's often the source of conflict and comedy alike. But he does not express his jealousy equally across genders. With men he has this strong rivalry where he needs to prove himself better and more worthy of Adachi's attention.

But with women he has a different approach: gently coaxing them away from him, lest they realize what a catch Adachi really is.

So, why this difference? The answer I have is that he doesn't actually believe he can compete with a woman. If Adachi wants to be close with a man, Kurosawa thinks it might as well be him, he's the best option after all. But if Adachi wants a woman, he cannot offer anything and is therefore the inferior option. He believes this even after he found out Adachi's not completely repulsed at the idea of being with a man. Even if Adachi's okay with men, he'll always prefer a woman.

And whenever he imagines anyone else with Adachi, it's always a woman, specifically Fujisaki, which he believes is "his type".

And he at least thinks he's very far away from that ideal. (He's not but that's a topic for a different essay.) If anyone's wondering why he even bothers at all then if he's so sure that a woman will out-compete him, I think the lyrics from the anime opening actually put it best, specifically the last verse:

I have these impatient feelings I doubt this love will come to fruition But still I can't give up this happiness There's a feeling here I can't resist A love like a castle in the sky

So basically, his plan is that he might as well ride the high of his first ever crush as far as it will go, intercepting where he can to prolong it just that little bit further, until it all inevitably comes to an end. (a castle in the sky = an unreachable dream) This plan kind of fluctuates throughout volumes 1-3 as Adachi gives him a bunch of mixed signals, but it holds true most of the time.

Adachi's side

Now I'd like to highlight the way Adachi actually thinks about their relationship, because it serves as a great contrast to Kurosawa's assumptions about him.

Throughout the first three volumes we see him grapple with his newfound feelings for Kurosawa, but he (almost) never puts his gender at the forefront of his musings. The manga makes it very clear that it's his lack of romantic experience and low self esteem that make it hard for him to accept Kurosawa's affections, and not the fact that he's a man.

This second page here being his own little gay awakening, where he realizes that he is not, in fact, disgusted by intimacy with a man.

It's also worth mentioning that when he later introduces Kurosawa to his parents (ch 41), they are immediately welcoming of him, suggesting he grew up in a very tolerant environment.

And it's not like he's completely unaware of heteronormativity/homophobia either, especially after he does his research in vol 8, but he is slightly more defiant in responding to it.

(I love how he just buys that bag he probably doesn't need that's supposed to come with all the wedding magazines, just as this very tiny act of rebellion.)

So now that we can see how different Kurosawa's thought patterns are compared to Adachi's, the next question we should ask ourselves is: Why is he like that?

Heteronormativity in Kurosawa's life

(yes we're finally getting to the comphet part of the essay 😂)

First let's look at the environment he grew up in. There are not many scenes with his family, but from those that we do have, we can at least make some assumptions about how he must've been raised.

His mother is clearly the authority figure in his life, judging by how she's described as "strong" and how terrified he is at her merely setting down a teacup (while Adachi has a more mild reaction). Her reaction to the news of them dating and Kurosawa expecting his parents to go as far as disowning him for it would suggest that she might just be generally homophobic.

But when they actually go meet her we see this slightly more nuanced perspective.

She's not entirely against it, but she does believe they are making a mistake by choosing to be together, hence why she thinks they might "regret it". There's many hardships that gay couples in Japan face, some of which we even see discussed in the manga, so it's not hard to see why she would be concerned for her son. The way she talks about Kurosawa never causing any problems, but "changing" ever since he fell for Adachi further supports that conformity is what she believes will ultimately lead to a successful, happy life. And that's also why she accepts Adachi later, when he's made it abundantly clear in his speech that they are happier in this non-conforming relationship than they were without it.

To contrast, her other child Mari is shown to have a very progressive stance (see: her pep talk in ch 47) and it would not surprise me if that is the reason she's rarely in japan and is never seen together with her family, save for the one time they're all at the wedding. She might find the conforming environment too restrictive and preferring to keep her distance. (shoutout to naina for this bit 🙏)

So that's Kurosawa's family situation. Now let's check how his social circle holds up.

From what we see of his friends, they never even seem to consider him possibly being with a man.

And his work environment seems rather toxic to say the least.

It clearly dictates traditional gender roles as the ideal. Nobody except Fujisaki even clocks any of Kurosawa's advances on Adachi as romantic in nature, even though he seems to be quite obvious about it (see: ch 34.5). And it's not like dating in general is discouraged at Toyokawa either, as we can see from all the women constantly vying for Kurosawa's attention.

From all this we can conclude that Kurosawa's upbringing and social/work environment is painfully heteronormative and until he falls for Adachi it seems he never questioned the status quo either.

The famous onsen scene, while funny, also reveals the sad truth that Kurosawa, in his 30 years of life, probably never even had the chance to explore his sexual orientation, rather focusing on being "perfect" in his straight relationships.

Speaking of those relationships...

He apparently had a bunch of girlfriends, who all seem to have dumped him pretty early on. His mother's surprise at him expressing a willingness to commit also makes me think he's never brought anyone home either. He also only seems to have a surface level understanding of what a proper relationship is supposed to entail, if his idea of an ideal date is just "what the average person" thinks is romantic. So why were all of his relationships so short-lived? Before I answer that...

Intermission: Kurosawa's smiles

It has come to my attention that this is not common knowledge, so let me explain: There's a way to tell apart Kurosawa's fake smiles from his real ones, without any context clues, just purely visually.

Real smiles: (ch 23, 24, 37)

Fake smiles: (ch 5, 13, 32)

The difference being very simple: Blush = real, no blush = fake 👍 And before anyone mentions it: No he doesn't just blush when he's around Adachi, that last fake smile is actually directed at him. (ch 32)

Edit from the future: This holds true like 90% of the time, but as Toyota's art style becomes more detailed, this doesn't apply as much in the newer volumes. I think there's also new details added that I haven't quite figured out yet so take this bit with a grain of salt. (The images below are still from her early art style though.)

So now that we have this additional knowledge, let's take a look at every instance Kurosawa is paired with a woman.

He's smiling in all of these. Not a single one has a real smile in it though.

I think he's never actually had his heart in any of his relationships, and the girls probably noticed it and that's why they dumped him.

And, of course, the first time he actually falls in love...

... just so happens to be with a man.

Even his friends comment on this, who have known him since high school.

It's almost funny how perfectly this aligns with real life gay people. Having numerous, short-lived relationships with people of the "wrong" gender is one of the more common traits of compulsive heterosexuality. (source: me oof) (but also shoutout to the "Am I a lesbian?" masterdoc, google it if you don't know, it's truly eye-opening)

After dating Adachi

So we have already established that he's far happier when he does finally get to date Adachi, but do any of his other thought patterns change?

Honestly it seems like he throws every single reservation about being seen as gay out the window.

He starts bragging like crazy about his new relationship to anyone willing (and unwilling) to listen, he has no qualms about PDA, he marks Adachi up and down so everyone knows he's taken and the only thing stopping him from proclaiming his love for Adachi to the whole world is the still very much existing societal homophobia. But he is a lot more easy-going about it now than he ever was before.

And I think the best way to describe this mental shift is, hear me out, the date song from volume 4...

... specifically the last 2 verses as a whole, and this section in particular:

"I won't let anyone divide our fraction! You couldn't pry this thrill from my hands when they're cold and dead!"

Horrible lyrics aside, this perfectly encapsulates how Kurosawa simply couldn't care less anymore now that he finally has what he's wanted for more than a year, maybe even his whole life. All the societal pressure pales in comparison to the sheer euphoria he feels at finally having someone that he loves and who loves him back just as strongly, feeling cared for and seen like no one else ever did.

And, you know, just happens to be a man. 🏳️‍🌈

[matan4il]

Update post:

The biggest thing everyone's talking about on the news in Israel right now is the finding of a MASSIVE Hamas compound underneath UNRWA's main headquarters in Gaza, and finding proof that UNRWA were supplying the compound with electricity and internet services, supply which allowed Hamas to develop their intelligence, used during the Hamas massacre among other things. When Israel published the finding of the compound, the head of UNRWA claimed they found nothing up until October, and weren't able to check anything since. Israel responded by pointing out that a compound so developed most likely took no less than ten years to dig and build, and that UNRWA was repeatedly told that Hamas is operating under its headquarters, but chose to ignore this. What I think is most telling is a tour taken by an Israeli journalist in the compound, where they showed him that the server farm in the Hamas compound is found directly under the server farm of UNRWA, and that cables from the latter were running down into the terror tunnel compound directly beneath it (source in Hebrew, here's a vid in English giving viewers a tour of the compound, I'll attach the vid itself below, too). Something like that doesn't happen by coincidence, and without the knowledge of those in the server farm above groud. Some of the cables were also cut in the UNRWA server farm, like someone realized the IDF was coming, and tried to hide the link between the two server farms. As one officer pointed out, if you're an innoncent, interenational humanitarian aid organization, you have no reason to cut the cables of your own server farm, or remove the name tags from the doors of the rooms inside your headquarters. You only do that if you have something to hide.

Israel's army has been fighting Hamas in all of Gaza, except the southern city of Rafiach (Rafah in English). There are a lot of Gazans there, who have been evacuated from other zones. There's also 4 Hamas regiments there, which means Israel will have no choice but to fight there. So the only question is how to fight in that city, in order to minimize the harm to the civilian population. There are reports that Israel's Prime Minister has asked the IDF to present plans both on how to fight Hamas in Rafah, and how to evacuate the civilians.

In that context, I got to hear a radio interview with an Israeli minister, who used to be the head of Shabak (Israel's equivalent of the FBI). When asked about the US warning for Israel not to fight in Rafah during the upcoming month of Ramadan, Avi Dichter said that it has never been a month during which Muslims have not fought in wars. In fact, in 1973 the Egyptians and Syrians (with soldiers from even more Arab countries fighting alongside them) chose to attack Israel on Oct 6, despite Ramadan that year starting on Oct 4, causing the war to be known in the Arab world as "The Ramadan War." More than that, in Israel Ramadan is always a time of peak alert, because so many terrorist attacks are carried out during it (here's an example from Mar 2023, when Hamas was encouraging individuals to carry out terrorist attacks during Ramadan, and here's another from 2022). Dichter suggested that if Muslims can carry out terrorist attacks during Ramadan (and it has happened outside Israel, too), the war in Gaza which was started by Hamas can continue during it.

On an Israeli TV news panel, someone shared the estimate that over 100,000,000 dollars (one hundred million dollars!) is the sum of money that Hamas made just since the start of the war from selling to the civilian population the humanitarian aid that was allowed into Gaza, and which Hamas stole from the Gazans (more than once, by using violence).

This is Chagit Rein.

She lost her son Benaya in the Second Lebanon War, back in 2006. I got to hear an interview with her following the fact that during this war, she decided she would try to visit the shiva (the mourning week following a burial) of every fallen soldier. According to her, she has so far visited the families of 400 soldiers killed on Oct 7 or since. "If they see me, then it's living proof that there can be a life alongside the loss. That was our kids' last will and testament. They died so we could live. So we have to live." When asked what she's asked most often when she visits the families, she said it was what she did first after her son's shiva. "My other son was being drafted into the army, so the first thing I did was to accompany him in that." She was asked whether there were moments when she was overwhelmed herself. She replied that she's seen wounded soldiers making incredible effortrs to come to the shiva of others who were killed, to offer their families some comfort. In one case, an injured soldier recognized her, and told her that it was thanks to her son Benaya that he was an officer in the armored forced. He tried to hug her, but was at first unable to get up or reach her from the stretcher he was on. Chagit recounted that she tries to make sure her visits would be about the families she's conmforting, not about herself, but that's when she broke down and cried.

This is Doctor Elai Chogeg-Golan with her husband Ariel and their baby daughter, Yael. On the right, their house in kibbutz Kfar Azza.

On Oct 7, due to Hamas' massive rocket attack, Elai was inside the bomb shelter in her home with her family from 6:30 in the morning, when Gazan civilians got in at around 1 in the afternoon. The Gazans tried to get the family to come out, but it wouldn't. Then, those invaders set the house on fire, probably thinking that would force the family out. Instead, Elai and the family tried to keep themselves safe using water. At some point, she recounts they even fought face to face with the Gazans, who tried to beat them with sticks from the outside. She said she managed to grab a stick, and beat them back. These Gazans then threw in two gas balloons into the burning house. Elai says that most of the burns she sustained were from the fire ball that that created. At some point, the Gazans moved on, and that's when the family got out, because the whole place was on fire, they were choking from the smoke, and even the roof collapsed. They hid nearby, but then baby Yael lost consciousness, and the parents decided to try and get out of the kibbutz. At the entrance, they met soldiers who helped get them to a hospital. Elai had severe burns on over 60% of her body. She was in a coma for 53 days, but incredibly, they all survived.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[red-ropes-of-avalon]

Sukuna is the kinda guy who demands you get the proper amount of respect and will fight for you if it's not given. Absolutely nobody gets away with taking anything that's yours and claiming it as their own- because what's yours is also his.

Modern AU Blurb:

You were always rather unfortunate with lab partners when it was up to luck of the draw. Being a woman in STEM was never labeled as easy, and while your beloved boyfriend was as helpful as possible he couldn't take that burden away. Being a business major meant he knew all the excel tips and tricks, so he helped when he could. While you had never foreseen dating your roommate's older brother, it was an interesting dynamic. Anything you accomplished brought him pride, for your achievements were his too.

Finals week in your room was hectic- your direct roommate Nobara had her interior design papers everywhere. Some pinned on the wall, others strewed all over the floor. Your own Biochem notes sprawled all over a calendar whiteboard. Megumi and Yuji's room was a mess on only one side- Megumi's sources for an English paper written neatly on the whiteboard with checks next to the ones he has cited from, while Yuji's side generally always looked like a bomb had been dropped but now with added notes sprawled around. You were sprawled on the floor writing out an assignment for your Biochem lecture while Nobara sat at her desk above you.

Your email pinged- an email from your lab partner. You inwardly groaned not wanting Nobara to pick up on your distress. He had been emailing you all day for the final project that you'd be presenting tomorrow. The problem though was you had found out he had been using your excel file for the whole semester. All of the hours trying to bullshit excel into working, and all of Sukuna's help had been being used by him. Normally this wouldn't bother you but he was using it and claiming it to be his own work- taking all of the credit for your hard work. You flipped your phone down and turned your notifications off trying to focus on the paper you had to read.

You didn't even realize how many hours you had been working on this paper until Yuji was standing in the doorway. "Yo Y/N are you ok?" Looking up at Yuji you tilted your head slightly, confused why he was asking. "Sukuna's been texting you and you haven't responded. He's calling me and yelling at me." Your eyes widened, how long had you been laying here struggling to read this paper on PEPCK. "He's already on his way over here now. Just I guess be ready to explain why you weren't answering." You nodded quietly and began racking your brain for an excuse. You could say you were doing work, but that usually never warranted you turning on Do Not Disturb. If you told him about the actual problem he could blow it into something more than it's worth. You didn't even notice Yuji had disappeared from the door and Nobara stepped out.

Before your mind could stop running in frantic circles, Sukuna was now hulking in your doorframe. "Hey twerp, why weren't you answering me? Almost gave me a goddamned heart attack."

"Aw you missed talking to me did you?" You teased hoping to distract him.

"No dodging the question brat. You never turn your notifications off, so spill." Sukuna's eyes felt like they were piercing into your soul. You couldn't hide anything from him. His perception rivaled his intelligence even.

"I have a final presentation tomorrow for my Biochem lab. I have to do it with my lab partner and he's just been overwhelming me with emails. And...and I just found out he's been taking all the calculations I've been doing in the excel. Y'know the ones I need your help with sometimes because they take hours trying to get excel to work..." you trailed off eyes down.

"What are you going to do about it then twerp? Because if I don't get a good answer I'm taking that laptop and I'm sending an email to the professor for you."

"I was going to talk to her in person before we have to present. I'm just...y'know nervous." Sukuna sighed lowering himself to sit beside you on the floor, pulling you into him.

"If the professor doesn't handle it, I'll make sure someone else does. Now let me see this presentation. I'm assuming you made it since your one of the few competent individuals I know so this better be good." You smiled softly, switching tabs to the presentation you had formatted. The other group members had all their data in, and your heart dropped to your stomach when you found screenshots of your excel sheet placed in. Sukuna just ruffled your hair distracting you from the panic filling your heart. "At least you know the data is right, don't work yourself up over this or else you'll mess up your part. Don't forget what's yours is mine so you gotta make me proud."

---------

I wrote this while upset because I found out my lab partner has been using my excel sheet all semester and taking credit for all my work hahah. Love being a woman in STEM.

[didalexiabreakupwitholgaisback]

look at these clowns from the selection singing in english and celebrating the new year 😅 and mariona wanting to get her mom to stop smoking 🥹

source: futfemiberdrola on twitter

translation under the cut:

m: i'm not going to sing, eh?

m+l: we wish you a merry christmas, we wish you a merry christmas.

m: 2024 on a sporting level for me has been about many titles with barça and being able to play in the olympic games for the first time.

l: the truth is that it has been very exciting and also very exciting the call i had to come back to the national team, so very happy about that part.

m: very exciting.

l: very exciting. and discipline too i tell you. no, girl, the year was almost competitive.

v: comings and goings and above all with surprises like the call-up to the senior team.

"desires for the new year?"

m: performance and titles.

l: it will be a long time. i would like to win titles with manchester city, the truth.

m: and the euro.

l: and the euro.

c: i want to start doing something that has nothing to do with football.

v: improve my english.

maría: i'm going to stop using my mobile so much.

c: very good.

m: i want to start studying again. a master's degree in sports management.

l: stop procrastinating.

m: that word was made for you.

l: no, no!

m: i'm going to ask for something for my mother to stop smoking.

v: in 2025 i want to start to stop giving importance to things that don't…

maría: you got it.

c: come on, i was already talking about me!

m+l: happy 2025! *said with little emotion*

m+l: happy new year!

all: from the spanish national team, we want to wish you…a happy new year! I'm already! happy 2025!

[amethystarachnid]

APOCALYPTIC LOVE

⤷ JAMES LOGAN HOWLETT & WADE WILSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: James Logan Howlett x fem!reader x Wade Wilson

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff with a tiny bit of angst and some action

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Multiverse

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 8.4k

ᯓ★ Summary: The world went to shit after the apocalypse but you are probably one of the safest people on the planet with your two scary best friends by your side: Logan and Wade. Best friends...You're not sure what you feel for them after you kiss Logan, and then Wade too. You care deeply for both of them, do you really have to choose?

ᯓ★ TW(s): post apocalyptic so destruction, lots of violence, brief mention of cannibalism (none of the characters practices it, it's a 'joke')

ᯓ★ AU: Post Apocalyptic world

ᯓ★ Request: The way I’d eat up deadpool x fem reader x wolverine post apocalypse au is insane. Like mutants etc aside, the world just goes to shit with [apocalypse setting of choice] and for once their proclivities for violence aren’t shameful, a possible relationship turn off, etc- they protect and provide!!! idk something about Logan specifically healing from his ‘I hurt everything I touch’ mentality because in this new world his claws mean the safety and protection of the people he loves 😩 maybe they were all close friends before events of apocalypse happened and it morphs into something more since their survival as a small group depends on that impossibly heightened trust idk man 💖 ( @scarlettsoldier)

ᯓ★Turns out I had my asks turned off (I can't believe it) so now if you want to make anonymous requests you can! <3

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The sky is a sickly hue of red, a canvas of ash and blood that stretches endlessly above the desolate world. Once-crowded streets now lie cracked and broken, littered with the skeletons of old lives—burnt-out cars, shattered glass, and the occasional, all-too-frequent, human remains. You kick a small stone, watching it tumble and clatter in the silence. Silence. It’s unnerving how quiet the world has become, like someone turned the volume down on life itself. But the crackle of flames in the distance, the occasional growl of something far too close for comfort, keeps the dread alive. Keeps you alive.

“Well, if it isn’t the end of the world and we still look amazing,” Wade quips, his voice cutting through the air like it always does—reckless, loud, and defying the weight of reality. He’s walking beside you, his suit covered in a layer of grime, but his stride is confident. Unshaken.

Logan snorts from your other side, his growl more a breath than sound. “Yeah, amazing. That’s the word.” He runs a hand through his wild hair, scanning the ruined city ahead of you with sharp eyes, never stopping, never fully relaxed.

You glance between them. You’re used to their banter—dark, heavy, and always ready to bite back. You were friends long before the world crumbled, before survival became an endless nightmare. Wade’s mask, hiding the scars underneath, has become an almost comforting sight. And Logan’s claws, once more a source of fear than security, now gleam in the fractured sunlight like a promise of safety.

“You think we’ll make it to the safe house tonight?” you ask, pulling your jacket tighter around you. The nights are cold, too cold for October, and you’ve already lost too much to the chill.

Logan’s eyes flick toward you, softening just a bit. “We’ll make it. One way or another.”

Wade grins beneath his mask, probably smirking even though you can’t see it. “Oh, sweetheart, with me around, survival is practically guaranteed. And you know I can be very… motivated when it comes to keeping the three of us alive.” He spins a pistol in his hand, unnecessarily flashy. “Besides, we’ve got Logan. Nothing like a living weapon with a questionable moral compass to keep things interesting.”

Logan glares at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Shut up, Wilson.”

You catch a glimpse of Logan’s claws retracting back into his knuckles—something you’d once flinched at, but now… now it feels more like reassurance. Because while the world is full of things worse than death, you’ve got two of the deadliest men in existence walking beside you, and they’ve never failed you. Even if Wade’s jokes sometimes make you wish you could strangle him.

“We’re not dangerous anymore,” you muse aloud, more to yourself than them. “Not like we used to be.”

Wade scoffs, his mask crinkling as he looks at you. “Us? Dangerous? I mean, maybe Logan over here, but I’m a cuddly ball of sunshine wrapped in skin grafts.”

Logan shoots him a look that says everything. “What you mean is, the world got more dangerous than we ever were. Doesn’t mean we’re harmless.”

“True,” you admit. “But the things that used to scare people… those are the things that protect us now.”

Logan doesn’t answer immediately, but you see him flex his hands, as though feeling the phantom weight of those claws. “Guess you’re right,” he mutters.

You stop, turning to look at both of them fully. “I’m glad you two are with me,” you say softly. “Really.”

Wade chuckles, a rare genuine sound. “We’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. You’re stuck with us. Forever. And lucky for you, that’s a long time.”

Logan’s eyes meet yours, steady and unflinching. “You’ve kept us sane this long. Don’t plan on leaving you to this hellhole alone.”

You smile, and for a brief moment, it feels like things could be okay—like the world isn’t a rotting corpse and you aren’t three souls wandering through the bones of what was. But it’s fleeting, because the apocalypse doesn’t allow for much peace.

A distant scream echoes, sharp and frantic, yanking you all back into reality. The world may be dead, but it isn’t empty. Something out there still hunts.

Logan’s claws snikt out, gleaming deadly in the fading light. Wade pulls out his twin katanas with a flourish.

“Showtime,” Wade grins, and then the three of you are moving. You run side by side, the sound of your breath matching the rhythm of your steps, like old times—before the world fell apart, before survival was the only goal left.

And yet, despite it all, you’re not scared. Because the monsters you run with are the ones that will keep you alive.

You sprint through the crumbling city streets, the distant scream still echoing in your ears. Logan moves ahead, a blur of raw power and purpose, while Wade stays close to your side, keeping pace like a madman with a plan. Your heart pounds in your chest, not from fear, but from the anticipation of what’s coming.

You’ve encountered other survivors before. Some are just as desperate as you—lost, broken, scavenging for whatever they can find. But others… others are predators, thriving in the chaos, more dangerous than the creatures lurking in the shadows. The kind that would kill you for your supplies, or worse.

The kind that’s hunting you now.

You round a corner, your boots skidding on loose gravel, and freeze. A group of five—no, six—survivors step out from the alleyways ahead, weapons raised. Makeshift blades, clubs, and a couple of rusted guns. Their eyes are hollow, skin pale and stretched thin from hunger, desperation clinging to them like the filth coating their clothes.

One of them, a tall guy with a buzz cut and wild eyes, points a jagged machete your way. “Drop your packs. Now.”

Wade chuckles beside you, twirling a katana lazily in his hand. “Oh, I love these moments. The awkward stand-off, the tense threats, and then… well, you’ll see.”

Logan steps forward, his gaze locked on the group, shoulders squared. His claws gleam in the fading light, long and wickedly sharp. “We’re not in the mood for this,” he growls, voice low and dangerous.

The leader’s eyes narrow, flicking between Logan and Wade before landing on you. A twisted grin spreads across his face. “She looks valuable,” he says to the others, voice like gravel. “Might be worth more than their packs.”

Wade tilts his head, his tone somehow casual and unhinged all at once. “Buddy, if you finish that sentence, I’m gonna get really creative with how I kill you.” He steps forward, spinning his katana in an almost playful manner, but the deadly intent in his movements is unmistakable. "Like… Picasso-levels of creative."

The leader sneers, raising his machete higher, but Logan’s already moving before the man can blink.

Logan’s claws flash, quicksilver arcs of death. One of the survivors lunges at him, but Logan sidesteps effortlessly, sinking his claws deep into the guy’s abdomen with a wet snikt. Blood sprays, and the man crumples without a sound, his eyes wide in shock. The others hesitate for just a second, but that’s all it takes for Logan to tear through them like they’re nothing—flesh and bone no match for adamantium claws.

Chaos erupts around you, and you feel the air crackle with the violence of the moment. Two of the survivors rush toward you, wild and frenzied. Before you can react, Wade is already there, his katanas slicing through the air with deadly precision. The first man barely has time to register the movement before his arm is severed at the elbow, a spray of blood marking Wade’s path. The second lunges at him with a rusty knife, but Wade sidesteps, twirling with a laugh before driving his blade through the man’s chest.

“Y’know, I used to hate getting my hands dirty,” Wade quips, wrenching his katana free. “But now? Now it’s like therapy.”

You’re frozen for a heartbeat, your senses overwhelmed by the brutality unfolding around you, but you don’t flinch. You’ve seen Wade and Logan like this before. They’re killers—always have been—but now, in this broken world, their violence is justified. Necessary.

Logan cuts down the last survivor in front of him, his claws slicing through the air with brutal efficiency. His chest heaves with breath, and for a moment, the primal rage in his eyes is terrifying. But when he turns to you, the anger fades, and he’s just Logan again, your Logan.

“You okay?” His voice is gruff but soft in that way it only ever is when he’s talking to you.

You nod, even though your pulse is still racing. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good, because you looked a little distracted there for a second,” Wade says, nudging one of the bodies with his boot. “Need me to give you a quick rundown on how to properly dismember someone? Always happy to teach.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “I think I’m good, thanks.”

Wade wipes the blood off his katanas with a flourish, slipping them back into their sheaths with a dramatic sigh. “Another day, another group of cannibalistic weirdos trying to steal our stuff. I swear, it’s like a reality TV show out here.”

Logan wipes the blood from his claws, retracting them back into his knuckles with that familiar snikt sound. He’s quieter than Wade, as always, but you know he’s still on edge. Even in moments like this, where you’ve won and you’re still standing, Logan’s never fully at ease.

“Let’s keep moving,” he says, his voice low. “We’re too exposed out here.”

You agree, and the three of you start walking again, quicker now, the weight of survival hanging heavier than before. The adrenaline still courses through your veins, but beneath that, there’s something else—something that feels almost like safety. Not the kind you’d known before the world ended, but the kind that comes from knowing that the two people beside you are willing to tear the world apart to protect you.

The safe house isn’t far now, just beyond the next few blocks. But with the sun dipping lower, casting long shadows that seem to breathe and writhe in the distance, you don’t take anything for granted. Not anymore.

Logan stays ahead, leading the way, his eyes scanning every corner. Wade lingers by your side, never too far, always ready with a joke—or a blade.

You reach the edge of the block where the safe house is supposed to be, a decrepit warehouse looming ahead. It’s dark, but it’s shelter. And shelter, in this world, is as good as gold.

“Well, home sweet hellhole,” Wade mutters. “Let’s see what fresh horrors await inside.”

You glance at Logan, who’s already inspecting the entrance, his gaze sharp and calculating. He doesn’t say it, but you know he feels it too—that gnawing sense of dread that never really leaves anymore.

“Stay close,” Logan says, eyes flicking between you and Wade. “We’re not out of this yet.”

And with that, you step forward, into the dark, with your deadly companions at your side.

Inside the safe house, the air is thick with dust and the scent of decay, but it’s shelter, and that’s enough. The warehouse’s tall, cracked windows let in little light, and the building creaks ominously as the wind passes through the broken slats. You find a spot in the far corner, away from the door and any potential threats. Logan checks the perimeter, his sharp eyes scanning every shadow, while Wade busies himself by making a bed out of old crates and blankets.

“Well, this is cozy,” Wade says, plopping down on his makeshift bed, already peeling off his gloves. “If anyone tries to kill us in the middle of the night, at least we’ll die in comfort. Five-star accommodations, am I right?”

You chuckle, the tension from the earlier fight easing slightly. Wade’s irreverence, while grating at times, has always been a strange comfort. It feels like a sliver of normalcy in a world that has none. Logan remains quiet, his posture tense, as he finally settles down across from you and Wade. His eyes linger on you for a moment longer than usual before he reclines against the wall, his arms folded across his chest.

“We’ll take turns keeping watch,” Logan says, his voice rough but steady.

You know better than to argue. He never sleeps long, not deeply enough to truly rest. You’ve grown accustomed to that, just as you’ve grown used to the sound of his claws, the low growl in his voice, the way he always seems to be on the edge of something dangerous. But tonight, the weight of exhaustion pulls you down, and you close your eyes, trusting that between Logan and Wade, you’re safe for now.

Sleep comes quickly, but it’s not peaceful. Your dreams are fragments of the world you’ve lost, of the friends who didn’t make it, of the constant fight for survival.

Hours pass, maybe less—time blurs when you live on the edge. You wake with a start, the cold night air pressing against your skin. For a moment, you think it’s the howl of wind that’s disturbed you, but then you notice something else. Logan isn’t where he was.

You sit up quietly, glancing around. Wade’s still asleep, sprawled out in a ridiculous position, muttering something incoherent. But Logan… he’s standing by the window, bathed in the pale moonlight that streams through the broken glass. His broad shoulders are tense, his back turned to you, but it’s the way his hands are held up in front of him, claws extended, that draws your attention.

You slip out of your bedroll, feet silent on the cracked concrete as you approach him. Logan doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge you at first. His eyes are locked on his claws, the deadly, silver blades gleaming in the moonlight. For a moment, it’s like he’s not even there, like he’s lost in some internal struggle, his face shadowed in a way that makes him look even more haunted than usual.

"Logan?" you say softly, your voice barely more than a whisper in the quiet of the night.

He doesn’t answer right away. His claws glint as he flexes his hands, and you can see the tension in every inch of him. Finally, he speaks, his voice low, almost strained. “I used to hate these,” he mutters, eyes still fixed on the metal protruding from his knuckles. “Always thought they were a curse. Somethin’ that’d end up killin’ everything I touched.”

There’s a weight in his words that you hadn’t expected, a raw honesty that cuts deeper than any of his claws ever could. You’ve known Logan long enough to understand some of his pain, but this… seeing him like this, staring at his own hands like he’s still disgusted by what he’s become, makes your heart ache.

“But now…” His voice trails off, and he finally looks at you, his eyes intense, searching yours. “Now, they’re all I’ve got to protect you.”

You step closer, drawn to him, your chest tightening at the vulnerability in his voice. “Logan,” you whisper, not knowing what to say but feeling the weight of his words. “You’ve always protected me. With or without them.”

He shakes his head, his expression hardening for a second before softening again as he looks down at his claws. “I’ve killed more people than I can count. Hurt more people than I can remember. I’ve been trying to fight that part of me for so long. But now… now the only thing keeping us alive is what I hated most.”

You reach out, gently placing your hand on his, feeling the cool metal of his claws against your skin. It’s strange, but in that moment, you’re not afraid. You never have been. Not of him.

“They’re not a curse anymore,” you say quietly. “Not if they’re used to protect the people you care about.”

Logan’s breath hitches at your words, and when his eyes meet yours again, there’s something different in them. Something more than the usual hardness and regret. Something vulnerable, yet fierce. You feel the tension between you shift, a current pulling you closer, heavier than the world outside.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the air change, thick with unsaid things that have been building for years. Your heart races as the silence stretches between you, and before you can overthink it, you lean in. Your lips brush against his in a tentative kiss, slow and soft at first, but the moment Logan responds, everything ignites.

The kiss deepens, and Logan’s hands, claws still extended, hover near your sides, careful but intense. He pulls you closer without touching you fully, as if he’s still afraid he’ll hurt you. But you press against him, letting him know that you’re not scared, that you trust him.

His lips are rough, his kiss desperate but controlled, as if he’s spent too long holding back and can’t anymore. Your hand rests on his chest, feeling the tension in his body, the restrained power that he’s always carried like a second skin. His other hand cups the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as the kiss grows more heated, more raw.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathing hard, the cold air mingling with the warmth between you. Logan’s forehead rests against yours, his eyes closed, his claws slowly retracting back into his knuckles with a soft snikt.

“I…” Logan begins, but his voice cracks, and for the first time, you see the cracks in his armor—the fear of what this means, of what he’s allowed himself to feel.

But you just smile softly, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “It’s okay, Logan. We’ll figure it out.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, like he’s searching for some kind of reassurance, and what he finds seems to settle him. For now, at least.

Without another word, Logan pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively, and you stay there, wrapped in his warmth, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten.

The warehouse is quiet again, the night’s earlier chaos now a distant memory. After your moment with Logan, sleep feels elusive. You lie awake in the dark, staring up at the cracked ceiling, your mind swirling with thoughts. Logan had gone back to his usual, silent brooding self—though something between you has undeniably shifted.

Beside you, Wade stirs. He’s not asleep, despite the rhythmic breathing you’ve been hearing. Maybe you’ve spent too much time with him, but you can always tell when he’s faking it. His chest rises and falls in exaggerated movements, like he’s mimicking sleep just to mess with you. Typical Wade.

You roll over to face him, catching his eyes already on you. The dim light barely reaches him, but you can still make out the faint glimmer in his gaze beneath the mask. He lies sprawled out on the floor, his arms behind his head, too relaxed for someone who’s always on edge. There’s a familiar playfulness to the way he’s watching you.

“Can’t sleep, huh?” he asks, his voice softer than usual, but still with that teasing edge.

You smirk. “Guess not. And I’m pretty sure you weren’t sleeping either, Wade.”

“Me? Oh, no. I was totally in dreamland,” he says, his tone light as he mimics a dramatic yawn. “I was having this crazy dream where I was a billionaire playboy, and I owned a private island made of chimichangas. You know, the usual.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "Of course you were."

There’s a moment of silence after that, but it’s not uncomfortable. Wade’s humor has always been a kind of shield, deflecting any real vulnerability with a joke, but you’ve learned to read between the lines. He may act like nothing ever gets to him, but you know better. The world you live in has a way of wearing down even the toughest masks, and Wade—despite his bravado—feels it all.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, you know,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wade’s head tilts, and though you can’t see his face beneath the mask, you know he’s staring at you, really staring at you. His fingers tap idly on his stomach, as if weighing your words.

“Pretend? Moi? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, though his voice lacks its usual sharpness. “I’m as real as it gets, babe. What you see is what you get. Unless, of course, you want me to break into a musical number, then all bets are off.”

You prop yourself up on your elbow, looking at him closely. “Wade…” you begin, and this time, his tapping stops. His whole body stills, like he’s waiting for you to say something that he’s not ready to hear, or maybe he’s been waiting too long for it.

“I see you,” you continue, your voice soft but sure. “Behind all the jokes, all the masks. I see you.”

Wade doesn’t move for a long moment, and you wonder if you’ve crossed some line, peeled back something he didn’t want to expose. But then, slowly, he sits up, turning to face you. His usual cocky demeanor is gone, replaced by something quieter, something raw.

“And what do you see?” he asks, his voice low, almost vulnerable in a way you’ve never heard from him.

You hold his gaze, knowing that beneath the mask, Wade is asking you for something more than just an answer. He’s asking you if you can handle him—all of him. The scars, the madness, the brokenness that he tries so hard to hide behind humor.

“I see someone who cares more than he lets on,” you say, your heart pounding in your chest. “Someone who acts like nothing bothers him, but who would do anything to protect the people he loves. Even if he pretends not to.”

Wade is silent for a long moment, and when he finally speaks, his voice is rougher than usual, almost like it’s caught in his throat. “Well… shit.”

You can’t help but laugh, though it comes out softer than you expected. “That’s your big response?”

“What can I say?” Wade replies, his voice returning to its usual self-deprecating humor. “You go and pull on my heartstrings, and I get all emotionally constipated. Not a pretty sight.”

But there’s a warmth to his tone now, a vulnerability that lingers beneath the joke. He reaches up, tugging at the edge of his mask like he’s contemplating something. His fingers hesitate, then slowly pull the fabric up over his nose and mouth, revealing the scarred skin underneath. It’s not the first time you’ve seen him without his mask, but every time he does it, it feels like he’s giving you a piece of himself that he doesn’t share with many.

“God, I must look like an old potato that’s been left out in the sun too long,” he mutters, trying to laugh it off, but there’s something uncertain in his eyes.

You reach out, cupping his cheek gently. “You look like Wade,” you say softly.

Wade stills under your touch, his eyes widening just a little, like he’s not used to anyone touching him so tenderly. His breath hitches as your thumb brushes over one of his scars, and for the first time in a long while, Wade is speechless.

Then, without warning—without overthinking—you lean in. Your lips meet his in a kiss that’s soft, tentative at first, but Wade responds almost immediately. His hand comes up to rest on your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens. It’s not as desperate or raw as the one you shared with Logan, but there’s something equally intense about it. It’s Wade—his humor, his chaos, his scars—all wrapped into this one moment of quiet vulnerability.

The kiss breaks, and for a moment, the two of you just sit there, foreheads resting together, breathing each other in. Wade’s hand lingers on your waist, his thumb tracing small circles, and you can feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Wade says, though his voice is softer, almost breathless. “Not that I’m complaining.”

You smile, your hand still resting on his cheek. “Neither am I.”

He chuckles, though it’s more of a nervous laugh. “So… does this mean I get to put ‘official apocalypse snuggle buddy’ on my resume? ‘Cause, you know, I’m a package deal—jokes, chimichangas, and quality cuddles.”

You laugh softly, leaning into him, letting the warmth of the moment wash over you. "Guess you'll have to prove your cuddle game is up to standard first."

Wade grins, but there’s something softer in his eyes now, something unspoken but understood. He pulls you a little closer, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Challenge accepted, sweetheart,” he says quietly. “Challenge accepted.”

The first light of dawn filters through the broken windows of the warehouse, casting long, pale beams across the dusty floor. You lie awake, staring up at the ceiling, your mind tangled in a mess of emotions that didn’t exist a day ago. The air feels heavier this morning, more charged. It’s not just the lingering exhaustion or the ever-present tension of survival—it’s the weight of what happened last night. Of what you did.

You kissed Logan.

And you kissed Wade.

And now… well, now everything feels like it’s teetering on the edge of something dangerous and confusing. The safe house, once just another forgotten building in the apocalypse, now feels like a pressure cooker. Every breath feels sharper, more significant, and the two men sharing this space with you… they look at you differently now.

Logan is already up, standing near the doorway, his back turned to you as he checks the barricades and watches for any signs of movement outside. He’s always the first one awake, always vigilant. His broad shoulders are tense, his posture alert as usual, but there’s something softer in the way he glanced at you earlier, a warmth in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He hasn’t said anything about what happened last night by the window, but you know he’s thinking about it. He hasn’t looked away from you for long, and when his gaze does meet yours, there’s a silent promise there—something unspoken but heavy.

But then there’s Wade.

You turn your head slightly, finding him still lounging on the floor nearby, but he’s awake too. His mask is back on, but you can feel his eyes on you from behind it. Even with the fabric between you, you know he’s watching, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment, some sign that what happened between you wasn’t just a fleeting moment of insanity. His usual jokes and casual comments are there, but softer now, less of a shield. Every once in a while, you catch him looking at you differently too—like he’s holding back something real, something more than his typical irreverence.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

You have feelings for both of them, and not the fleeting, confused kind. Real, complicated feelings that have grown over time—through every fight, every desperate scramble to survive, every shared glance when you thought you might not make it through the day. With Logan, it’s deeper, older—a connection that feels like it’s been building ever since the world began to fall apart. With Wade, it’s unexpected, chaotic, but just as intense. Both of them have been there for you, in their own ways, and now you’ve crossed a line you can’t uncross.

You sit up slowly, trying to gather your thoughts, but your mind keeps looping back to the kisses. Logan’s rough, desperate kiss by the window—the way he had pulled you in like he was afraid to let go. Then Wade’s kiss, softer but just as powerful, laced with the unspoken vulnerability he rarely shows.

The guilt creeps in, though. You care about both of them, but you kissed them both, and they don’t know.

Wade shifts beside you, drawing your attention. He’s stretching his arms overhead, glancing at you with a lazy grin behind the mask. “Morning, sunshine. Sleep well, or were you up all night dreaming of little ol’ me?” His voice is teasing, but there’s an underlying warmth there that makes your heart twist.

“Or both of us,” Logan grumbles from his spot by the door, his sharp ears catching Wade’s quip. His eyes flick to you briefly before returning to the street beyond the window, but even in that quick glance, you can feel the weight of what happened between you last night.

Your stomach flips as their eyes linger on you, and suddenly, you feel exposed—like you’re carrying this secret that’s too big for the small space you’re all sharing. How are you supposed to act normal when both of them are looking at you like this? When you don’t even know what normal looks like anymore?

Wade, ever the one to break any tension, lets out an exaggerated sigh and props himself up on one elbow. “So, what’s on today’s agenda? Raiding a grocery store for canned beans? Fighting off another group of apocalypse weirdos? Or”—he leans forward, voice lowering to a mock-conspiratorial whisper—“planning our post-apocalyptic ménage à trois? I mean, no one’s judging. It’s the end of the world and all.”

Your heart skips a beat at Wade’s bluntness, and you quickly look away, feeling your cheeks heat up. Wade laughs, clearly enjoying your discomfort, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s testing the waters. Logan, on the other hand, tenses visibly, his eyes narrowing at Wade, though he says nothing. The silence that follows is heavier than it should be, stretching out uncomfortably.

You swallow hard, forcing a smile as you stand up and brush the dust off your pants. “We should get moving,” you say, trying to sound casual, like your heart isn’t hammering in your chest. “We’ve stayed here too long already. It’s not safe.”

Logan grunts in agreement, pushing off from where he was standing and grabbing his jacket. He doesn’t say much, but his gaze lingers on you a little too long before he turns toward the door. Wade just watches you with that familiar grin, though you can feel the unspoken questions hanging in the air between you.

You’ve survived so much together—fights, hunger, loss—but this? This might be harder than any battle you’ve faced. You’re torn between two people who mean everything to you in different ways, and they don’t even know it yet.

As you gather your things and prepare to head out into the wasteland again, you can’t shake the feeling that this fragile balance won’t last long. Wade and Logan, so different yet so important to you, are bound to notice the tension eventually. And when they do, you don’t know what will happen—or how you’ll make sense of the feelings you have for both of them.

But for now, you focus on the next step. One foot in front of the other. You’ve survived the apocalypse this long—maybe you can survive this too.

Wade’s joke about the ménage à trois lingers in your mind, even though you know it was just Wade being Wade—always looking for a laugh, always ready to break the tension with something outrageous. Normally, you’d brush it off, roll your eyes and move on. But this time… something about it sticks. Maybe it’s the intensity of everything that’s happened, or the undeniable attraction you feel for both of them. Maybe it’s the strange new world you’re living in, where the old rules don’t seem to matter as much.

But whatever it is, you can’t stop your mind from wandering down that path.

Would they even be open to something like that?

The thought sends a shiver through you—part nerves, part curiosity. You know Logan, with all his brooding and tightly controlled emotions, doesn’t seem like the type to share easily. He’s possessive in his own quiet way, always watching, always protective. But Wade… Wade is unpredictable. Beneath his mask of jokes and sarcasm, there’s always been a deep well of feeling, something more complicated than anyone else gives him credit for. He’s seen more than most, lived through hell and come out the other side—scarred but still here.

And, if you’re being honest, you’ve wondered what it would be like to have them both in your life—really in your life—since last night. Logan, with his fierce protectiveness and raw intensity, and Wade, with his chaotic energy and unexpected vulnerability. The idea feels impossible, even reckless. But the way they look at you, the way both of them have made you feel… maybe it isn’t impossible.

You try to shake the thought away, but it’s like an itch you can’t scratch. In the quiet moments between gathering supplies and checking the perimeter, you catch yourself glancing at Wade, then at Logan, wondering how they see this. Could they…? Would they even consider it?

Unbeknownst to you, Wade has been thinking about something like this for longer than you’d imagine. Long before the world crumbled into chaos, he had joked about it, made those half-serious comments to hide what he was really feeling. He never thought it would actually be possible, but there was a part of him—deep down—that wanted it. That wanted you. And Logan, too, in a weird way. He’d always respected Logan, admired his strength, even if they got under each other’s skin.

Now, in the post-apocalyptic wasteland, where survival means making your own rules, Wade’s been waiting for a moment—waiting for you to realize that maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to choose.

As the three of you move through the remains of a once-bustling city, Wade walks alongside you, his usual swagger in place. He cracks a joke about the abandoned cars you pass, something about Mad Max and your new potential career as a desert warlord, but his eyes keep flicking toward you, more serious than he lets on. Logan stays ahead, scouting silently, but even he glances back more often than usual, as if he can feel the weight of everything unsaid.

When you find a small diner that hasn’t been completely picked clean, you settle in for a rest. The windows are cracked, grime covering the once-shiny counters, but it feels safe enough for now. Logan takes first watch outside, his back to the door, as Wade plops down in one of the booths across from you.

“Ah, breakfast for champions,” Wade says, gesturing to the dented cans of food you’ve scavenged. “Can’t wait to see what culinary delight we’ve got today. Hope it’s Spam or baked beans.”

You snort, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest. “I think it’s some kind of… corn mash? I don’t even know anymore.”

“Delicious. We’ll call it ‘Corn à la Apocalypse,’” Wade says, and you can’t help but laugh. His humor always finds a way to crack through your walls, even when you don’t want it to.

But as you laugh, that thought creeps back into your mind. The joke. The impossible idea that’s been following you since this morning.

“Wade…” you start, your voice hesitant.

He looks at you, his expression still light but his eyes sharpening. “What’s up, buttercup?”

You pause, chewing on your lip for a moment, unsure if you should even bring this up. But the weight of it has been pressing on you, and maybe if you just throw it out there as a joke, like Wade does, it’ll be less terrifying.

“About what you said earlier,” you murmur, keeping your tone as casual as possible. “The, uh… ménage à trois thing. You were joking, right?”

Wade blinks, his head tilting slightly as if he’s surprised you’re even asking. “I mean, yeah, I was joking. But, you know… joking with a sprinkle of truth. Like all great comedians.” He leans forward, dropping his voice to a mock-serious whisper. “Why? Were you hoping I wasn’t?”

Your heart races at the way he says it, playful but laced with a hint of something real beneath the surface. You glance toward the door, where Logan stands on guard, unaware of this conversation. The thought of him mixed up in all this makes your pulse jump even more.

You try to laugh, but it comes out too forced. “I don’t know… maybe.”

Wade’s eyes lock onto yours, his usual playful mask slipping just a bit. He sits back, folding his arms over his chest as if he’s sizing you up. “Oh? Well, that’s interesting. You know Logan’s not exactly the ‘share your toys’ kind of guy, right?”

“I know,” you whisper, unsure what else to say. “I just… I don’t know what I’m feeling right now.”

Wade’s expression softens slightly, and for a moment, the tension lifts. He lets out a slow, exaggerated sigh, then leans forward again, resting his arms on the table.

“Look,” he says, his voice unusually gentle, “I’m not gonna lie. If this apocalypse has taught me anything, it’s that life’s too damn short for regrets. And, full disclosure, I’ve been hoping for something like this since way before the world went all zombie movie on us.”

You blink, startled. “What?”

Wade shrugs, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “What can I say? I’m a man of… complex tastes. But it’s not just a joke to me, sweetheart. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m all about the jokes, but if you’re asking whether I’d be open to it—us—then yeah, I’m game. I’ve been game. But you… you’ve got to be honest with yourself. If you’re into me and Logan, that’s not exactly something we can pretend isn’t happening.”

Your mind reels. You hadn’t expected this kind of openness from Wade, though you should have known better. Beneath all his chaos, Wade is probably the most straightforward person you’ve ever known. He doesn’t hide who he is, not really.

But now… now you have to figure out if you’re ready to be that honest. To admit that you have feelings for both Logan and Wade, and to figure out what the hell that means.

Wade watches you carefully, his playful demeanor tempered by something more serious. “It’s not like we have to figure this all out right now,” he says, his voice soft. “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that we can’t let the world tell us how to live. Not anymore.”

Your chest tightens, and as you sit there, staring into Wade’s eyes, you realize he’s right. You don’t have to figure it out right now. But sooner or later, you’ll have to face the truth: you want them both.

And somehow, that doesn’t feel as impossible as it once did.

The weight of everything Wade just said hangs in the air between you. His usual sarcastic, playful attitude is gone, replaced by something raw and honest—something that feels entirely real. Your pulse pounds in your ears as you sit there, processing the fact that Wade has been hoping for this, for you, for you and Logan, since long before the world turned upside down. And now… now you realize you want it too.

You’ve spent so long trying to ignore your feelings, pretending they didn’t exist. But it’s time to stop running from them. The truth is undeniable: you want both Wade and Logan in your life. Not one or the other. Both of them, in ways that shouldn’t make sense but somehow do. They’ve both been with you through the worst, through every fight, every moment of fear and desperation, and you can’t imagine facing this world without either of them.

Wade leans back in his chair, watching you with a mix of curiosity and patience. He’s waiting for you to say something, to give him a sign that you’re on the same page.

“I think…” you begin, your voice quieter than you expect. “I think I want this. I want both of you in my life, and I don’t want to have to choose.” You swallow hard, your gaze flicking to the door where Logan stands on watch. “But Logan… he doesn’t know. He has no idea.”

Wade smirks, though it’s softer than usual. “Yeah, well, I figured that much. He’s not exactly the ‘let’s talk about our feelings’ type.” He tilts his head, eyes thoughtful behind the mask. “But he cares about you. He’d tear apart this entire wasteland if it meant keeping you safe. I think that’s something we can work with.”

You nod, your throat tightening. The thought of Logan’s reaction—of how complicated this will be—makes your stomach churn. But Wade is right. Logan cares about you, and you care about him. If anyone can understand the messy, chaotic nature of love in a world like this, it’s the three of you. Survival has forced you to redefine everything, to make new rules in a world where the old ones don’t fit anymore.

“We’ll have to talk to him,” you say, your voice steadier now. “As soon as we find another safe place, we’ll tell him. I don’t want to keep this a secret from him.”

Wade nods, surprisingly serious. “Yeah. We’ll talk to him. And I’ll try not to make too many jokes during the whole ‘hey, we both want to be with you’ conversation. Promise.”

A laugh bubbles out of you, despite the tension. “Good luck with that.”

“Hey, I’m capable of being a little serious.” Wade stands, stretching his arms over his head and casting a glance toward Logan outside. “Well, maybe not too serious. But I’ll behave. Mostly.”

You smile, but there’s still that nervous flutter in your chest. It feels surreal, the idea of sitting down with Logan and Wade and having this conversation. But as terrifying as it is, you know it’s the right thing to do. You owe it to both of them to be honest, to let them know how you feel.

Wade catches your eye again, something softer in his gaze now. “Hey,” he says, his voice low. “No matter what happens, we’ll figure this out. We always do. And for the record, I’m glad you want this. I’ve been waiting a long time.”

His words warm you in a way you didn’t expect, and you realize that, despite all the chaos and fear, there’s a strange sense of peace in knowing where you stand with Wade. That he’s been waiting, hoping, for this moment. That he’s willing to face whatever comes next with you.

You take a deep breath, standing up and stretching the tension from your shoulders. “I guess we’ll see how Logan takes it.”

Wade chuckles softly. “Yeah. Should be fun.” But there’s no malice in his tone—just a shared understanding that this conversation won’t be easy, but it’s necessary.

As the sun begins to dip lower in the sky, casting the remains of the city in a golden haze, you and Wade gather your supplies, mentally preparing for the road ahead. You’ll have to move again soon, find another place to hole up for the night—somewhere safer, more secure than this crumbling diner.

Logan steps back inside, his eyes scanning the room before landing on you. “Time to move,” he says gruffly, though there’s a flicker of something in his gaze when he looks at you—a softening, maybe, from what happened last night.

You nod, your heart beating faster as you stand beside Wade, feeling the weight of what’s about to come. You’ll tell him soon. You’ll lay everything on the table, and you’ll deal with whatever comes after. Logan deserves to know the truth.

As the three of you head out into the wasteland, the tension between you is palpable, but different now—less about survival, more about the unresolved feelings hanging in the air. Wade walks beside you, occasionally tossing out sarcastic comments to break the silence, while Logan keeps his usual steady pace ahead, unaware of the conversation waiting for him.

It’s only a matter of time before you find another refuge—another place where you can stop running for just a moment and finally have the conversation that’s been building since last night.

And when you do, you’ll be ready to face whatever comes next, knowing that no matter what happens, you won’t have to choose between them.

Because in this broken world, maybe there’s room for something unexpected. Something messy, but real.

The sky darkens as the three of you push further into the wasteland, navigating through the crumbled remains of a city that was once alive. You move in silence, each step taking you closer to the inevitable conversation that weighs heavily on your mind. Wade walks beside you, his usual swagger muted but present, while Logan leads the way ahead, his posture tense and alert, as always.

After a few hours of walking, you find a relatively safe building—an old, abandoned warehouse with heavy metal doors still intact. It’s not perfect, but it’s shelter for the night, and that’s all you need. Logan pushes the door open, motioning for you and Wade to head inside before sealing it behind you.

Once inside, the air is thick with the quiet hum of anticipation. You glance at Wade, who gives you a reassuring nod. It’s time. You know that. It’s just… how do you even begin?

Logan drops his pack on the floor, his muscles visibly relaxing for the first time today. “We’ll stay here for the night,” he says, his voice gruff as he checks the windows. “Move again in the morning.”

You take a deep breath, stepping closer to him, your heart hammering in your chest. “Logan, we need to talk.”

He turns to face you, his brow furrowed. “About what?”

Wade moves in beside you, leaning against a wall casually, though his eyes are more serious than usual. “It’s kind of a big talk, actually,” he says, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Like, ‘world’s going to end again if we don’t handle this’ big. But no pressure.”

Logan’s frown deepens, clearly sensing something unusual in the air. “Spit it out.”

You swallow hard, glancing between the two of them. “It’s about… us. All of us.”

Logan’s gaze sharpens as he looks at you, then flicks to Wade. His arms cross over his chest, a defensive stance you’ve seen him take a thousand times before. “What about us?”

Wade clears his throat, stepping forward with his hands up like he’s trying to calm an angry animal. “Alright, listen, bub. Here’s the deal. Our dear Y/N here”—he gestures toward you—“has been doing a lot of thinking. Like, a lot. And what she’s realized is that she doesn’t want to pick between us. She’s into both of us, and she kinda, sorta… wants us both in her life.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly, the expression unreadable. His gaze flickers between you and Wade, his jaw clenching as if he’s trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke. But then his eyes settle on you, and there’s that softness again—mixed with confusion. “You want… both of us?”

You nod, your voice coming out softer than you expected. “I do. I care about you, Logan. I care about Wade, too. And I know it’s not exactly… normal. But nothing about this world is normal anymore. I don’t want to choose between you two, and I don’t think I should have to.”

Logan’s face is unreadable for a moment. You watch as he processes, his shoulders tense, and you brace yourself for the worst. Wade, however, just stands there, his usual carefree attitude tempered by a quiet patience. He knows this won’t be easy for Logan, but he also knows it’s the only way forward.

After what feels like an eternity, Logan lets out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. “So, what? You want me and Wade to share? That it?”

Wade can’t help himself. “Look, it’s not so much ‘sharing’ as it is ‘teamwork,’ Logan. And I know you’re more of the lone wolf type, but come on—we’re in the apocalypse here. Gotta adapt.”

Logan shoots him a sharp look, but it’s not as biting as it could be. He’s still trying to wrap his head around the idea, his eyes narrowing as he turns back to you. “You’re serious about this?”

You meet his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest, and nod. “I am.”

For a long moment, Logan just stands there, staring at you like he’s searching for some kind of answer in your eyes. Then, slowly, the tension in his shoulders eases. His expression softens, just a little, and he lets out a low grunt, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Well, shit,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I can’t say I saw this coming. But…” He looks at you again, his voice quieter. “If this is what you want, I’m not gonna stand in the way.”

Relief floods through you, the weight lifting off your chest. You can’t believe it, but Logan—gruff, guarded Logan—is actually willing to give this a chance.

Wade, of course, wastes no time in breaking the tension. “See? I knew the big guy had a soft spot for us. Now, don’t worry, Logan, I promise not to steal all your clothes in the middle of the night. Well, not unless you ask nicely.”

Logan glares at him, but there’s a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if even he can’t help but be amused. “Keep talking, Wade, and I’ll find a new use for those claws of mine.”

Wade puts his hands up in mock surrender, laughing. “Hey, no need for threats! We’re a team now, remember? A very sexy, very complicated team.”

You can’t help but laugh, the tension in the room finally breaking. Wade’s inappropriate jokes are his way of lightening the mood, but underneath it all, you can tell he’s just as relieved as you are. Logan might still be wrapping his head around the idea, but he’s in. You know it, and so does Wade.

Wade grins, throwing an arm around both of you, clearly enjoying the moment. “Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, what do you say we celebrate this beautiful union with some canned beans and a group cuddle? Or—wait for it—a ménage à trois?”

Logan rolls his eyes, but there’s a softness in his gruff exterior that wasn’t there before. “You’re pushing your luck, Wilson.”

Wade winks at you, leaning in with his usual flair. “Oh, trust me, I haven’t even started yet.”

first time writing this type of relationship thing, and I hope I did good lol.

if you liked the story like, reblog and if you want to read more drop a follow! <3

[artemismoorea03]

DP x DC: Deaths Song

Mostly have DC in mind for this one but again, it could work for Marvel too.

Danny is quiet no matter which form he's in. He's quiet and withdrawn from the rest - sure when they ask him a question or it's a topic he knows stuff about or interested about he can go on forever! Typical traumatized teenager with big interests and no outlet.

He's as helpful around the house as he is on the streets, helping Alfred reach the otherwise impossible crevices of the manor which would otherwise only get cleaned twice a year. He doesn't complain and will often offer his help just to keep busy.

It's during one of these 'spring cleaning' events that Alfred hears it for the first time.

Danny is singing.

It's quiet and muttered, but it's there. Alfred doesn't comment and instead listens to the voice as it stays soft. It's hard to tell from where he is standing but from what he can tell it sounds like he's singing in another language.

He discovers later it's French.

One by one the rest of the Bat-Fam catch Danny or Phantom mindlessly singing when he's doing something absent mindedly or when he doesn't think anybody is listening. Each time it's a different language which is impressive on it's own but what they're more focused on is the fact that Danny feels safe enough to sing.

Like a bird once caged and trapped he was finally starting to share his songs once again.

The Justice League has no idea about Danny's past though, just one of many tightly guarded secrets about the newest member's history. They know he's half-human, that he protected Amity park for years without any help from outside sources but they have no idea about the hells he went through.

So while they're all reading through debriefs and looking through paper after paper they're all caught off guard when he starts gently singing to himself once again. It's in English this time and just an absent minded action which Batman had grown used to.

It made the others freeze though and look towards Phantom as he continues singing, completely unaware of his own actions as he floats above his chair, laying in thin air as though there was a table under him.

In the end it's Flash who breaks the silence, not by commenting on the singing but instead joining in as he goes through his own paperwork. Phantom tenses, looks at Flash as the other members look down but as Flash continues Phantom starts singing again.

One by one the league joins in, even those who hadn't originally lived on Earth had learned the iconic song and those who hadn't learned it quickly enough.

Soon the paperwork was forgotten as the energy in the Watch Tower got more and more energetic, as Phantom and Flash were the first ones who got out of their seats to dance but they were far from the last. Captain Marvel joined in and little by little others did. They broke their character little by little.

Something Batman couldn't understand until he saw the look on Phantom's face. A genuine toothy grin surrounded by almost teary grins of some of the heroes. They weren't acting like fools because they had too much energy but because in the minds of the Justice League they were making a dead kid smile.

"Come on, B! Join in!" Flash said, and Batman sighed.

He was the last one at the table but the look on his newest sons face was impossible to ignore. Finally he got up and stood by Danny, humming softly and clapping while the others continued to sing and even do the actions along with the song.

Later, long after the meeting was over and they were getting ready to leave somebody made the comment;

"Who would have thought the Song of the Dead was YMCA."

Which caused Danny to bend over with wheezing laughter.