#and from there the resentment festers and grows

[theotherrichardpapen]

there being next to no established canon backstory for basically anyone in this film is tonnes of fun cause you can say stuff like 'i think nigel had a brother he accidentally killed when they were both children' and there's nothing to dispute it

[inphront]

severance and centaurworld are two shows that are completely and entirely different except for the way that they’re exactly the same

[jesswritesthat]

Bakugō Katsuki: Class

Fandom: BNHA // MHA — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: ~1.4k, fluff

• Teaching your class at U.A. was an amazing experience but that’s because they don’t know who you’re dating. Until they find out that is.

Warnings: Post time skip spoilers, cursing

>>>>——————————>

You stared at them with a deadpan expression, one that the ever devoted Class 2-A had grown accustomed to over the past year that they'd experienced with you as their Homeroom teacher.

"I told you. I'm retired."

"We know (L/n)-Sensei, but you're like only in your twenties." One of them argued, brow raised in confusion.

"So is Midoriya-Sensei." Now part of you wanted to mutter an additional 'but not for long', however that wasn't your surprise to deliver.

"Different circumstances. You could still do the whole hero gig, especially since you're well trained enough to kick all of our butts without breaking a sweat." Another stood from their desk to contribute rather eagerly.

"Trust me, I have enough of the hero business to deal with once I get home."

———

Of course, they'd never be able to comprehend such a topic when they had no idea you were in a relationship with the number fifteen hero himself, Bakugō Katsuki. You'd hear the villainous tales, the torturous reporters, and dabbled in a few first aid sessions.

This lingering aftertaste of hero work was enough to satisfy you after your retirement, and Katsuki respected your career choice providing you were happy with it. If he had the time he'd even offer to help out with any work you'd bring home since he could still ace any exam put in front of him even now.

However, with your respective busy schedules any time you got to spend together was appreciated. Even if it was a day like today when you'd been gifted the opportunity to do some shopping in the district - Katsuki wearing a hoodie and mask to prevent the whole idea of socialising with anyone but you.

Yet, timing was not on your side. Katsuki had pulled his mask down to meet your lips in a chasté kiss, brief glimpse of a sentimental smile gracing his expression whilst remaining in proximity.

“Oh. My. Wash.” Odd reference to hero no.8 but still, Katsuki and yourself snapped to the nearby interruption finding familiar sets of shocked eyes staring on.

"The hell is wrong with you?" The blonde aggressively barked, flicking to the teens with festering irritation. "Never seen a damn kiss before? Grow up!"

Immediately you grabbed his hood, pulling him back to you close enough to whisper in his ear.

"Katsuki... they're um... from my class."

He froze up then once you released him and looked back to the group with an expression of pure resentment. 

"Fuck."

"Yeah, fuck." You confirmed under your breath, sighing hopelessly when meeting the sparkling gazes of admiration from your students.

"You're dating a pro hero?!" One of them exclaimed, another following in just as enthusiastically.

"No no, you're dating THE pro hero!"

"He's not top ten so technically—" Meanwhile you deftly attempted to subdue their excitement as it began to garner the attention of passersby.

"He's famous! All that stuff during the war, plus he's like a living legend. That man is a freaking powerhouse, I wanna be as cool as him when I make it to the pro leagues." Another proudly claimed, pointing finger guns at Bakugō who only tsked in response wearing his classic glare. Noting the accumulating attention he fixed his mask, reaching for your wrist and angling himself in front of you.

"Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight and (L/n)-Sensei. Who'd have thought it?"

It started to grow out of control, the lingering onlookers surrounding you both and your students in a crowd, then erupting in applause and flashes.

"Did they say Dynamight?! Take a picture!”

"PRO HERO DYNAMIGHT IS HERE!!"

Before you knew it, fresh air brushed your skin and Katsukis' hand lingered on your lower back.

"You good?"

"Dating a pro hero is definitely not boring." You breathed relief, the pair of you looking back in the direction of the shopping districts and both silently agreeing to walk the other way.

"Is when ya can't even browse in peace."

"It's okay, we can grab ramen and head home?"

"Work gonna be okay for you?"

"I'm sure I'll get questioned about it, but the kids will be fine.” You shrugged it off, figuring they’d probably find out eventually anyway.

"Get Deku to talk to the shitheads."

"Izuku is... well being strict isn't his strong suit... so..."

"That wimp can't even manage a bunch of brats?! Course he can't, damn idiot." The blonde moodily attested, flicking his crimson gaze back to you with a cunning smirk far too menacing for his proposition. "If you want, call me and I'll assist in a training session from hell."

"Katsuki, you cannot blow up heroes-in-training regardless of your ‘Explosion Murder God’ title.”

“It builds character. Gotta toughen up if they want to be pros don’t they?” He held the door to a small restaurant open for you, smirking proudly with his justification. You could only shake your head with a laugh.

“I guess you’re right.”

———

As predicted, the next time you saw your students at U.A, the interrogation immediately ensued.

"Today for our English lesson—"

"How'd you meet?" One of your students abashedly cut you off, the moment you’d stepped into class no less.

"By accident. Anyway I have some worksheets—" Again you attempted to continue as if nothing had transpired; as if no revolutionary news had been discovered; as if the entire class hadn’t already heard about it.

"How long have you been together?"

"Long enough. These sheets will—" In vain, you tried, a girl putting up her hand and not even waiting to be selected before speaking anyway.

"Do you wanna get married?"

"I want to get this lesson done. I'm not answering anything about my personal life." Hands on your hips, you faced them with a scolding expression - intimidating enough for them to get the message.

"Dynamight is coming for the sport festival this year right? We could ask him him then."

"You... you do realise the man you're talking about? Mildly snappy, questionable people tolerance, a little explosive..." Saracasm flowed through you, for his attitude toward the public was the sole reason he wasn’t ranked higher. Based on hero ability alone, he would be undoubtedly top three.

"And your boyfriend."

"And my boyfriend." Was your deadpan reiteration, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose before sighing. "I am highly against this, if you do get to speak to him, it'd be wise to gain valuable advice on hero-related subjects. But for now, this is worksheet explains..."

———

Thankfully, your class had stuck to their word, the ‘revelation’ no longer became a tangent for questioning. Aside from for hero advice or genuine check ups on Dynamights’ well-being after a particular gnarly attack portrayed on the news the previous night.

Indeed, they also remained true to their word by tracking the infamous hero down during the sport festival. Cornering him in one of the halls of the stadium before the next upcoming event - no doubt on his way to find you or Midoriya-Sensei.

"Dynamight! Dynamight wait up!"

The hero met the approaching group with a scrutinising side eye, scanning each student and narrowing upon recognition.

"You brats again."

"Yes, but there's a few things we wanna ask you!" One of them desperately explained, trying keep his attention and presence in tact. Meanwhile Dynamight growled lowly, folding his arms with an accusatory glare potent enough to send them running for their lives in moments.

"I swear this better be good else I'm outta—"

"It's about (L/n)-Sensei."

"..." A second of silence. His features softening minutely with his tone morphing to one less antagonistic. "Go on then."

———

Izuku sat opposite you in the faculty room, fingers occupied by the warm cup of tea he was currently nursing after delivering the information to you.

"He... he actually told them?"

"Yeah." Izuku nodded in confirmation, his carefree grin far too chipper for the matter at hand.

"Without yelling?"

"Uh-huh."

"Why...?" It was retorical, almost mystified, but Midoriya only laughed and answered you anyway.

"Kacchan has no problem talking about things he likes or is interested in, it's been that way since we were kids. It just so happens one of his favourite subjects is you (Y/n)." Again he spoke brightly, you think even he is besotted with the situation.

"Izuku, don't say cheesy stuff like that!"

"Sorry, if it's any consolation I think if they asked any 'dumb questions' he'd have shooed them off."

Following your conversation with Izuku, returning to your class came with a sense of both unease and comfort. Apprehensive about how they would react toward you from now on, especially since you weren’t clued up on the details of the conversation they’d had with your boyfriend.

"Hey 2A, I heard your interrogation went well."

"Oh yeah? Did you get told that at home?" One of them replied happily, the exchange between you that of a playful one which left you rolling your eyes with a smile.

"No, Midoriya Sensei filled me in. I haven't seen Dynamight, he’s busy with hero stuff y'know."

"We found out everything we wanted to know so we won't pester you anymore. Also asked about hero stuff like you said." He continued, watching as you focused on writing the lesson objectives on the blackboard rather than the conversation.

"There was one thing that piqued our interest though." One of the girls giddily added on as if it were a trade secret they were all in on. Unawares to you, the entire class held a unanimous feeling of bubbling expectance, like a time bomb waiting to go off.

"Uh huh." You continued writing, lacking investment in the whole ordeal.

"He said wants to marry you too."

The snapping of your chalk echoed a little too heavily in the anticipating silence of the classroom.

<——————————<<<<

A/N: Yet chapter 431 just doesn’t sit right with me…

[ Masterlist ]

[coffinclownery]

No, Leyley Was Not Evil, She Was Just a Kid

I was going to be like "If you thought Leyley was an irredeemable devil as a child you probably just hate kids" but I'll be a little more lenient and say you probably either never interacted a lot with kids nor have had to work with kids. Fair enough. But like you're still wrong and I'm going to explain why.

The first part of Decay was an hourlong flashback showing why Andrew hates Leyley, and as a child how easy it was to view her as the evil thing that's ruining his life. And don't get me wrong, Leyley was an absolute brat. She's rude, she's pushy, she throws tantrums, she has no filter, and she has no qualms breaking things.

But from an outside perspective, especially from someone who's worked with kids like this? She's just being a normal kid. None of this surprises or disturbs me. Her attitude and actions made perfect sense. Like yeah when kids are left to their own devices and made to watch each other, when all the adults in their lives want nothing to do with them, this is going to be the result.

If you don't give them the attention they need and the only way they get it is to break things, they are going to break things. And because Andy initially only bothered with Leyley when she breaks things, she learned this is the only way to get and keep his attention.

And this mindset that Andrew will only give her attention when she breaks things is why she continuously pushes Andrew's buttons present day. She never grew out of this belief, which is why it's hard for her to grow out of Leyley.

And reminder, the reason this happened is due to the parents. This was not Leyley's fault, it was the parents who pushed Leyley onto Andy. And I also don't blame Andy for not understanding that as a kid. Later as an adult Andrew does realize that it was his mom who caused this to happen, but it doesn't remove the resentment he festered for Leyley for so long.

On another note I think it was nice how despite this burden put on Andy that made it hard to like Leyley, there's still glimpses of them getting along. Andy defending Leyley from the teacher, them chatting and laughing about getting baked into one of grandma's pies. It really showed that in spite of everything they could have gotten along as normal siblings would, if only things hadn't been screwed up from the start.

It also shows that despite hating Leyley, Andy was still only ever happy with her in the flashback. During that whole sequence not once was he happy interacting with anyone except those few times with Leyley. The only times he acted happy with anyone else was because it was just that: an act to avoid discomfort or trouble.

When the main source of your misery is also the main source of your happiness...yeah no wonder things went so bad.

[basedonconjecture]

Every time I re-read The Wigmaker Job, I'm reminded how it's so much about Lucanis’ hubris to me. That's not to say he was deserving of imprisonment and torture but it's like...something of that nature was always going to happen while he was on the path he was on. His choices led him there but also they were always going to, ykwim? From start to finish, he's just on a collision course with the inevitable in TWJ.

He's cocky about the Forfex contract, bordering on arrogant at times, dismissive of Illario's concerns and questions. He's done this exact job a hundred times before. He knows the beats, memorized the steps, they'll be in and out. Easy peasy. Of course that's not what happens and things might have turned out differently had he just killed Forfex and walked away when he was supposed to. Except that's not who Lucanis is, right, he was never going to turn away from that. Yes, he's a talented assassin and highly sought after, but the thing that sets him apart from his colleagues is his empathy. It's why he also earns the respect of the Shadow Dragons. There's an implication that his jobs in Minrathous (and presumably elsewhere in Tevinter) also involved helping slaves based on some banter between Lucanis and Neve.

Killing the hair spider demon thing is ultimately what leads him to earning the Demon of Vyrantium moniker and basically seals his fate wrt Zara. But if it hadn't been that job and that demon, it would have been another. That's what happens to heroes—and, to be very clear, I'm not calling Lucanis a hero in the sense that he is one but that is the narrative position he holds within the story of TWJ specifically. (Which is the irony of his "We're not heroes anywhere" line. He doesn't view himself as a hero even while actively saving people and killing the monster. Ugh.) That job earned him a permanent place in Crow mythology, for better or for worse, and legends are often remembered more by their falls than their feats. There's only so far one can rise, after all.

Then beneath all that, there's this growing tension between Lucanis and Illario, the culmination of which is the conversation in the tavern. Not only has Lucanis been dismissive of Illario, you can tell this is a conversation they've had before, and he's been pushing it off and pushing it off, throwing himself into his work to avoid it, and hoping it resolves itself on its own. (It won't.) The moment he fails to make Illario the promise Illario wants him to make, the course is set for them. It would have been so easy for Lucanis just to make that promise, whether he meant to or no, and he doesn't. He chooses not to.

That final conversation is so indicative of how much distance there truly is between Lucanis and Illario, how much they're presuming to know each other, each banking on how close they used to be, but they're completely missing one another. Lucanis acknowledges this distance but he's so completely in denial that Illario's resentment is festering and going to become a real problem for him. Obviously knowing where this moment eventually leads them, this moment hits significantly harder in retrospect, but, even so, it's a big moment of foreshadowing. The confrontation has to happen, there's no way of avoiding it, but it isn't going to end how either of them wants it to.

It's really well done as a set up for Lucanis' arc in VG. While I imagine it was written with some of the original story concepts in mind—some of which I, personally, would have found more interesting on the whole—I do ultimately like that the line carried through is centered on Lucanis' growth from emotional repression/compartmentalization/avoidance to taking a proactive role in determining his own happiness. Even in a hardened route, he's decided to find a way to separate from Spite for this purpose. In romancing either Rook or Neve, he's taking the steps to express his feelings in a more direct way than previous attempts. And, if Rook gets to help him through the Inner Demons quest, you get to see him make the active choice to work on those things. I just really like that that's the focus of his character development as opposed to being about familial obligation vs personal freedom.

[nataliescatorccioapologist]

As a huge fan of both Lord of the Flies and Yellowjackets, I am absolutely loving the parallels between the rivalries of Ralph and Jack and Natalie and Shauna.

Ralph and Natalie are both true leaders, representing order, reason, and a desire to preserve civilization in an environment that is rapidly unraveling. Both serve as the group's skeptics and voices of reason, as Ralph argues against the boys’ belief in the “Beast,” while Natalie resists the growing mythology around the “Wilderness." Ralph and Natalie are both natural leaders, but their purely rational approaches to leadership fail to recognize and attend to the emotional turmoil in the group.

Both Ralph and Natalie attempt to impose rational structures onto situations that are, by nature, chaotic and emotionally charged. For example, Ralph insists on holding a democratic vote to determine whether or not ghosts exist (an irrational question that cannot be answered by logic or consensus), showing his desperate need to maintain order through reason. And similarly, Natalie orchestrates a trial to decide Coach Ben’s fate, complete with jurors and testimony, in an effort to bring a sense of fairness and procedure to a situation that is fundamentally driven by panic, grief, and vengeance. This is ultimately why they are both overthrown by Jack and Shauna respectively: their strong moral compasses and deep ties to the values of civilization leave them unable to match the escalating brutality and emotional intensity within the group.

As the characters most committed to reason and morality, Ralph and Nat also suffer the deepest guilt for the times they fail to uphold them (Ralph after briefly giving in to the group's frenzy and taking part in Simon's murder, and Natalie after joining in Jackie’s cannibalization and allowing Javi to die in her place). They suffer the most from their actions in the wild due to their inherent goodness.

And, (my favorite parallel) they both have their trusty sidekick/most devoted follower in Piggy and Misty, who are both intelligent, awkward social outcasts with broken glasses (the same lens too!). Piggy and Misty remain unwaveringly devoted to Ralph and Nat even when Ralph and Nat reject/betray them and even when it puts them at odds with the rest of the group.

On the other hand, Jack and Shauna embody the descent into savagery and the intoxicating power of dominance. Shauna mirrors Jack’s journey, especially as she shifts from a passive follower (living under Jackie’s shadow) to an assertive, often violent survivor.

When Ralph is elected as the group’s leader, Jack is furious and humiliated, believing it should have been him, which is paralleled in Shauna’s resentment of Lottie choosing Natalie as the new leader. This resentment festers in Jack and Shauna over the course of Ralph and Natalie’s reigns. Jack and Shauna both long for an emotional release and empowerment that they cannot achieve under Ralph and Natalie’s civilized societies. They both find freedom in shedding the restraints of society and unleashing the rage and violence they have been burying. Jack and Shauna ultimately overthrow Ralph and Natalie by raising doubts and criticisms of Ralph and Natalie’s leadership and leaning into the group’s increasing fear, anger, and tension.

Jack and Shauna both recognize the power of fear, as they utilize intimidation to influence the group. Jack manipulates the boys’ fear of the Beast to control their behavior, using superstition and terror as tools to solidify his leadership. Similarly, Shauna weaponizes the group’s belief in the Wilderness, encouraging the group to elect her as the new leader and engage in acts of violence to “give the Wilderness what it wants” (despite not actually believing in the Wilderness herself). Like Jack, Shauna understands that fear and desperation can be a powerful instrument for control, allowing her to manipulate others and maintain authority.

And, underneath all of that rage and brutality, Jack and Shauna are both deeply insecure and vulnerable. Jack initially hesitates to kill a pig for the first time, showing an inner softness and humanity that he later tries to suppress through violence. He also breaks down crying when rescue finally arrives, showing that he is still just a frightened boy overwhelmed by the realization of his full descent into savagery (very similar to adult Shauna's sobs at the end of Season 3 when Jeff and Callie leave her). Shauna shows her vulnerability through her intense grief over Jackie and her baby (breaking down alone in the meat shed and refusing to let go of her baby's body) as well as her almost begrudging love for Jeff and Callie. They both ultimately just want to be seen.

While Yellowjackets is not a copy of Lord of the Flies by any means (it has plenty unique themes and divergences), the parallels between Ralph and Jack and Natalie and Shauna are so interesting and undeniable. Each pair embodies the war between logic and instinct, order and chaos, conflicts that remain just as compelling today as they were in 1954.

[cece693]

Protect (Hannibal Lecter x Gender Neutral Reader)

Summary: You didn't care if people were against your relationship with Hannibal, calling you all names under the sun for managing to 'bewitch' one of Baltimore's highest socialites, but Hannibal was a different story.

tags: teaching a lesson, Hannibal really just wants to protect you, murder (duh)

"Hannibal, please tell me you didn't kill him." You whined, looking at your lover, who couldn't even bother to feign confusion, simply letting one of those small, knowing smiles grace his face.

You turned back to TattleCrime, reading all about the mysterious disappearance of Alan Wright, one of Baltimore's more notable socialites. Theories of who could've done it, along with useless testimonies from people who 'loved' him and wanted him back, filled the page. With a frustrated sigh, you closed the laptop and stood up from the couch.

"We talked about hunting too close to home. What if they trace it back to you?"

"They won't." Hannibal reassured, his voice laced with a smugness that you couldn’t help but resent. If you were a normal person, the knowledge that you were sleeping with a cannibalistic serial killer would have sent you running for the hills, but you weren’t sane.

Hannibal's ideology, while disturbing, was understandable, honorable even. Rudeness was intolerable (something you wholeheartedly agreed with), but you could overlook it under special circumstances—this moment constitutes as one.

"Hannibal, you can't kill every person who speaks unfavorably of me. That would draw even more unwanted attention from the police and FBI."

Hannibal’s jaw clenched, a clear signal that your words had struck a nerve. He knew you were right—lately, Will and Jack had begun to suspect him, their eyes narrowing in on the smallest inconsistencies. There was no need to get sloppy and provide them with the evidence they so desperately sought.

"Alan Wright wasn’t just unfavorable." he began, his tone measured and calm. "He was a vile creature, filled with envy and spite. He demeaned you, reduced you to nothing more than a trophy, a shallow figure climbing the social ladder." His words were sharp, each one cutting deeper as he continued. "He dared to belittle what we share, to trivialize it. How could I stand idly by while he poisoned others with his malicious lies?"

"Lies." you interjected, your voice firm but calm. "You said it yourself—baseless assumptions that hold no power."

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw tightening again as he processed your words. "Perhaps they were lies." he conceded, though his tone suggested he was far from convinced. "But lies, when spoken by someone with influence, can become a dangerous truth in the minds of others. Alan had a way of manipulating those around him, of planting seeds of doubt and suspicion."

You could see the frustration building in him, the way his control was slipping with each passing moment. "But those seeds would have withered without attention." you pressed, trying to make him see your reasoning.

"They didn’t deserve your time, your energy, or your wrath. It shouldn't matter what others think of us. That would be pedestrian, don't you agree?" You knew it was petty, but Hannibal had to understand the irrationality behind his actions.

"Pedestrian." He echoed, the word seeming to weigh heavily on his tongue. "Perhaps so. But it is not merely about the opinions of others. It’s about the principle of the matter, and the respect I feel you deserve."

Hannibal’s gaze softened, but the intensity in his eyes remained. "You underestimate how far I’m willing to go to protect you, to protect us." he murmured, his voice low and almost tender, though a dangerous edge lingered beneath. "Alan Wright wasn’t just a man spreading lies—he was a threat, one that I could not allow to fester."

You sighed, your frustration growing as you saw no change in Hannibal's mind. "But at what cost? You can’t kill every person who sees us differently, who doesn’t understand what we have. It’s not sustainable, and it’s not worth the risk."

Hannibal’s expression hardened, the control he’d been holding onto slipping further. "I won’t let anyone take you from me." he said, his voice rising, the calm facade beginning to crumble. "Not Alan Wright, not anyone. They will not diminish what we share, what we could become. I will protect you from all threats, no matter how small or insignificant they may seem to you."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his conviction. You could feel the storm building inside him, the way his emotions were beginning to spiral out of control. But even as he unraveled, you couldn’t help but feel a deep, conflicted pull toward him—a mix of fear, admiration, and something else you couldn’t quite name.

"Hannibal." you said softly, stepping closer to him, trying to bring him back. "I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. But we need to be smart about this. We can’t let emotions drive us to do something we’ll regret."

For a moment, Hannibal didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on some distant point as if lost in his own thoughts. But then, slowly, he seemed to regain control, his breathing steadying, the wildness in his eyes dimming. He looked at you, really looked at you, and the tension in his body eased.

"You’re right." he finally said, though the words seemed to come with difficulty. "We must be careful. But never doubt my commitment to us, to you. I will protect what we have with everything I am."

[thisvampireisaloser]

When considering Perpetua as trans, I think it's interesting to consider Copia also being trans (bc it's not unheard of for twins to be trans or generally queer).

And I think that then adds extra layers to who they are, especially when thinking about how much freedom they'd have had to explore their identities within their upbringing.

Copia being raised by his adoptive parents, who shape him into becoming Papa from an early age once he comes out as trans as a kid. They support him and are happy for him to discover who he is, but it also comes with the cost of molding and shaping him into the man they need him to be if he is to become Papa. And of course he knows who he is away from Papa, but there is still that underlying thing of "this is what will be expected of you as Papa, this is how you meed to be" and he wonders how much of him is truly him and how much of it is what he needed to become in order to he Papa.

And then you have Perpetua. Either raised by Sister or in a convent (I personally like to headcanon that Sister kept him as her own child so that it would draw suspicion away from her being Copia's mother too). And he has a lot more freedom to discover and learn who he is without the expectation that he will one day be Papa. I also think that perhaps he didn't figure out he was trans until he was older, maybe late teens or early 20s. Perhaps something always felt different or out of place within him, but because he has a different upbringing to Copia and different parents raising him he doesn't find the words to describe who he is until he's older and does his own research.

This possibility also adds layers to Copia's hatred for Perpetua. While his identity as a man is shaped by his destiny to one day become Papa and he struggles to identify what is him at his core and what is Papa, Perpetua doesn't have that struggle bc he's been allowed to grow and shape himself as his own man without the expectation of becoming Papa. He doesn't have that question inside him of "am I doing this bc it's me or am I doing this bc it's expected of me?" and for Copia that's something he's jealous of and resents Perpetua for.

Copia was so bitter and hardened when we first met him, remember? We joke that he's always been a hater, but it's more fascinating imo to consider that he's always been resentful of the Papas who haven't had their gender identities influenced or shaped by what they are supposed to become as adults. And that resentment has bubbled and festered into hate and spite. Meanwhile, Perpetua is softer, lighter. He doesn't have to question who he is as a man because Papa wasn't an option for him until he was older and already knew more of who he was before the shaping and the molding began. And now Copia has time to figure out and unpack who he actually is away from Papacy and the upbringing he had where all that mattered was becoming Papa.

[mofongomuncher]

𝙃𝙚𝙧 (PT 2)

(Ekko X Reader)

❥ cast : ! Ekko and Reader ¡

The days following their argument were long, stretching into what felt like an eternity. Y/N tried to keep her distance, give him time to breathe, but every moment apart only deepened the chasm between them. It wasn’t just Ekko anymore—it was.

It was jinx

Every time she thought about her, Y/N could feel her blood boil, could feel the growing resentment bubbling beneath her skin. It wasn't rational, she knew that. Ekko had said it himself—Jinx wasn't the same person she once was, that she wasn't even the same person anymore.

But it didn't matter. The truth was, Y/N was starting to hate her. She hated the way Jinx still haunted Ekko, the way she lingered in his every thought, in every word he spoke.

She wasn't stupid. She had seen the way Ekko's face softened whenever Jinx was mentioned, the way his voice trembled with guilt and regret. She could feel it—a constant reminder that he wasn't fully hers. Not while Jinx was still there, buried deep inside his heart.

Y/N didn't even want to think about what they had gone through. The loss, the violence, the twisted game Jinx had played on that ship. Every time she closed her eyes, the memory of the Firelights' death toll flashed before her—the way Jinx had obliterated their lives, the way Ekko had carried the weight of that destruction like a curse.

And he had the nerve to say those things to her.

To attack her and not Jinx.

The resentment festered, a dark seed growing in her chest. It twisted the memories of Ekko's smile, his touch, and his promises, turning them into something bitter. Y/N had given so much of herself to him, only to feel like she was always going to be second place. Everything was a lie.

All of it.

The voices that once whispered assurances now screamed in fury.

Why wasn't she enough?

Y/N walked the streets of Zaun, the lights from the neon signs flickering and buzzing around her. The night air felt cold against her skin, her steps were heavy, like each movement took more energy than the last.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to break something, anything, just to feel something other than the ache that seemed to consume her. But all she could do was walk, lost in her own thoughts, drifting through the world without really being a part of it.

The Last Drop was always there when she needed it. The familiar clink of glasses, the low hum of conversation, the smoky air—it all felt like a distant memory of better times, of times when she could forget about the weight of her world.

She wasn't there for fun. She wasn't there to be social. She was there because she needed to disappear, even for just a little while.

She pushed through the door, the warmth of the bar greeting her, a stark contrast to the chill outside. The usual faces were scattered around the dimly lit room...But.

Her eyes immediately landed on the corner booth. There was a man sitting there, Sipping a drink, his posture stiff, his face drawn in frustration. He didn't belong to the usual crowd of drunks and gamblers that populated the bar. There was something different about him—something that made her pause for a second.

She could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the way his fingers gripped his glass as though it was the only thing keeping him grounded. She didn't know why, but she felt...drawn to him.

With a deep breath, Y/N made her way to the bar, ordering something strong to quiet the storm inside her. But she couldn't stop glancing toward the man in the corner. His energy was familiar in some way, she wasn't sure what possessed her, but she found herself walking over to his booth—taking the seat across from him without asking.

He didn't even look up when she sat down, his gaze fixated on the swirling liquid in his glass.

"You look like you're carrying the weight of the world huh..." Y/N said, her eyes studying him carefully.

The man's eyes flickered briefly toward her before he sighed, rubbing his temple with one hand. "Maybe I am.." he muttered, his voice. "Isn't that how it goes though? You give everything, and it's just...still not enough."

Y/N tilted her head, her heart skipping a beat all of sudden. She had never met this man, but those words hit her like a punch to the gut.

She swallowed hard, fighting the wave of emotion threatening to overtake her. "Ye—yeah..." she replied softly. "You do everything you can for someone, and you still end up feeling like you were never really part of their life. Like they were just passing time until something better came along."

The man turned his gaze toward her then, studying her face with a strange mix of curiosity and recognition. "Sounds like you know exactly what I'm talking about, huh..." he said, his voice softer now, the walls around him crumbling just a little bit.

Y/N forced a small, humorless laugh. "Yeah, well... I guess I know the feeling all too well. Thought I was helping someone, thought I was worth something to them. Turns out, I was just the backup. The second choice."

The man's eyes softened, and for a moment, Y/N could see the pain in them, the weariness that matched her own. He leaned back in his seat, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass, lost in thought.

"You ever wonder if you're the one who's wrong? Like...maybe you're the one who's been selfish this whole time, thinking you were the one who should be chosen?"

Y/N stiffened at the question. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean...." he continued, his gaze steady on her, "....maybe they had their reasons. Maybe you weren't the one they were supposed to be with. Maybe they had their own battles, their own reasons for making the choices they did."

Y/N clenched her jaw, the anger rising again.

"It doesn't matter. They chose someone else, and that's all that matters. I gave everything to them, and that still wasn't enough."

The man studied her carefully, his brow furrowed. "You're angry because you didn't get what you wanted....But sometimes, what you want isn't the best thing for you. Sometimes, letting go...is the only thing that can set you free."

Y/N stared at him for a long moment, the weight of his words sinking in. There was a truth in them—one that was hard to face, but so impossible to ignore. She had been so consumed with wanting Ekko, with trying to prove that she was the one who mattered, that she hadn't stopped to think about what was best for her.

"Maybe..." she muttered, her voice distant now, lost in the realization. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I need to let go."

The man offered her a small, understanding smile. "I know It's never easy, but sometimes...holding on to something that's already gone only makes it harder to move forward. You can't keep fighting for someone who's not fighting for you."

Y/N looked down at her drink, the truth settling heavily in her chest. She didn't want to admit it, but she knew.

he was right.

"Guess we're both just in the same boat right now huh?" she said, her voice softer now.

He chuckled, a quiet, dry laugh."Yeah. I guess we are."

For a moment, the two of them sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, but there was an unspoken understanding between them. A shared pain, a shared loss, and perhaps, a glimmer of hope that they might both find a way to heal. The quiet was heavy, yet somehow comfortable, as though their presence alone was enough to ease the weight of the world for just a while.

The man sitting across from her had a quiet kind of beauty, the kind that spoke of sadness but also strength. His face was striking, with chiseled features that seemed sculpted by time and hardship. High cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and full lips that had a softness to them, as if the weight of the world hadn't completely hardened him. His dark brown eyes held so much depth, a sadness that she could relate to, yet there was a quiet warmth in them, as though he carried his own story and understood hers without needing to ask.

His skin, a rich hue of warm caramel, seemed to glow faintly under the dim light of the room, and his hair was dark and unruly, falling just above his eyebrows in waves. There was something about him—something raw and real—that made it impossible to look away.

"You know." he said quietly, looking at her with those intense eyes. "Healing... healing is possible." His voice was steady, a gentle reassurance that seemed to cut through the fog of her own doubts.

"You're stronger than you think. You've been through more than most people ever will, and you're still here. That means something."

Y/N swallowed, feeling a weight lift in her chest at his words. There was something about the way he looked at her, as if he truly saw her, not just the surface but the person beneath the layers of hurt. It made her feel... lighter, in a way. It made her feel like she wasn't as alone as she had thought.

But as quickly as it had begun, the moment seemed to come to an end. He stood slowly, his movements deliberate but soft, like he was giving her space to breathe. "I should head out now...it's getting late." he said, his voice gentle. "I'm Levi, by the way. It was really good talking to you...I hope... I hope you find peace."

Y/N nodded, her heart stirring with sadness.

"I'm Y/N." she whispered, her voice a little stronger than she had expected. "Thank you, Levi. For everything...really."

Levi offered her one last smile, a sad but sincere one, before turning to leave.

Y/N was left sitting there, the weight of the moment settling on her chest. She didn't know what it was about Levi or why their brief exchange had felt so significant. But as she sat there, she realized something—something small but important.

Healing.

Y/N stormed out of the Last Drop, her mind now a whirlwind of frustration, confusion, and anger. The conversation with Levi, though brief, had rattled her in ways she wasn't prepared for. His words echoed in her mind, a reminder of the things she wasn't ready to hear. Things about moving on, about not letting the past define her.

But how could she let go when every step forward felt like a push to forget everything she'd ever cared about?

She needed to release the pressure building in her chest—the tightness in her throat, the weight pressing down on her heart. She needed to stop pretending that everything was okay.

As she walked, her steps quickening with each passing second, her thoughts turned darker. She wasn't just angry at the world, at the people who kept letting her down.

No, the anger had a target, a name.

Ekko.

It was his fault she felt so torn. He had pulled her in, made her believe that there was something more between them, something worth fighting for.

But then there was Jinx—always in the back of his mind, always there, even when she wasn't.

"Why am I always second place?" she muttered to herself, the irritation simmering just below the surface. She walked faster, her fist clenching at her side.

Suddenly, a group of men appeared ahead of her, their figures blurry from the haze of anger and alcohol clouding her mind. They eyed her with a mix of amusement and mockery, clearly seeing her as an easy target.

One of them stepped forward, a grin playing at the corners of his lips.

"What's a girl like you doing out here alone, huh?" one of them sneered. "You look like you could use a little help... or maybe some company?"

Y/N gritted her teeth, her fists clenching at her sides. "Don't touch me..." she mumbled.

She wasn't in the mood for their games, not after everything she had been through.

The man chuckled, clearly unfazed. "What's wrong? Scared?" He took a step closer, reaching out as if to grab her, but she swatted his hand away.

"Don't.." she said again, her voice firmer now, though the slight tremble in her tone betrayed her.

Another man laughed, stepping forward as well. The situation shifted in an instant. The first man lunged toward her, grabbing her by the wrist and yanking her forward, trying to pin her against the wall. The others crowded in, grinning and jeering, as they made a move to steal whatever coins she had on her.

"Let go!" Y/N snarled, swinging her free arm at one of the men, landing a punch across his cheek. The other men stepped back, laughing at her resistance as if it was all some kind of joke.

But her blows weren't enough to stop them. One of the men twisted her arm behind her back, the pain shooting through her body as she struggled against his grip.

Panic surged in her chest, her mind spiraling. She tried to kick out, but another man knocked her to the ground, pinning her there.

The weight of it all came crashing down. Her anger, her sorrow, her fear, her confusion—it all hit her at once, and in that moment, all the walls she had built around herself shattered. Tears streamed down her face as she gasped for air, her body shaking. She had fought so hard to hold herself together, but here she was now, on the dirty ground with these men looming over her, she felt like nothing.

Like everything she had ever done had led to this. To this moment right here.

"Get off me." she sobbed, voice breaking as she cried out for help, but her words fell on deaf ears.

Just as one of the men raised his fist to hit her, the air around her shifted. She felt a shift in the chaos. In an instant, the man was knocked to the side with a force that made her blink.

She didn't know what was happening at first, too disoriented by the rush of adrenaline. But the sound of the hoverboard—the unmistakable hum she had come to associate with reached her ears before she could register anything else.

In a flash, Ekko appeared, taking out the men one by one with ease. His movements were fluid,

calculated—each strike swift and precise. He didn't hesitate, didn't give them a chance to fight back.

The men were on the ground in a matter of seconds, groaning in pain, unable to get up.

Y/N's heart raced, a surge of relief washing over her for just a second. But then, as Ekko slid to a stop in front of her, his boots barely scraping against the pavement, her stomach sank.

He was standing there, breathing heavily, looking at her with that familiar, protective look she had seen so many times before.

"Y/N..." he said, his voice softer than usual, eyes scanning her body for any visible harm.

But before he could even take a step toward her, she shoved him away, her hands pressing against his chest with more force than she intended.

"D-Don't!" she snapped, her voice shaking with anger. She couldn't even bring herself to look him in the eyes. "Don't you dare say it..."

Ekko stumbled back, confusion flashing across his face. "What? I'm just trying to—"

"Trying to what?" she cut him off, her eyes blazing with fury. "Trying to tell me how reckless I am? How I always mess everything up? Just like you did before? You think you're the only one who can handle things? You think I need you to save me every damn time?" Her voice cracked at the end, her anger suddenly giving way to the overwhelming emotions she had been holding back for so long.

Ekko's eyes widened as her words hit him, and for a moment, he couldn't speak. His chest tightened, a heavy weight pressing down on him. He had seen her angry before, but this... this was different. This wasn't just about the fight.

It was everything that had been building up for weeks, everything he had said to her—everything he hadn't said. He'd hurt her more than he realized.

He stepped back, his gaze dropping to the ground.

"I didn't mean to—" His voice faltered, thick with guilt. "Y/N, I—"

"No Ekko.." she snapped, tears welling in her eyes despite the fierce expression on her face. "You don't get how it feels to be the one who's always fucking second. To be the one who's constantly told that I'm not good enough, that I'm a liability....You think I don't know what you really think of me? How you'd rather save her than me." She wiped at her eyes angrily.

Ekko's heart dropped. He knew who she was talking about.

The realization hit him like a wave. All this time, he had been so focused on protecting her, on trying to keep her safe, that he had completely ignored what she needed from him. She didn't need saving. She didn't need his constant worry, his control. She needed him to understand her, to be there for her in the way that mattered, not just when things got bad.

And he had failed her.

His voice was quiet now. "Y/N, I...I never wanted to make you feel like that. I never wanted you to think I cared more about her. It's just—"

"No..." she interrupted, shaking her head violently. "You're so damn obsessed with her, and you can't even see what's right in front of you." Her voice cracked again, but this time, she didn't try to hide it. "I'm right here, Ekko. I'm always here. I always have been."

Ekko stood there, completely frozen, as her words slammed into him. The truth of what he had done to her finally settled in, heavy and suffocating.

The anger, the hurt in her eyes—it all became clear.

He hadn't just been protecting her...he had been holding her back. He had been so caught up in his own fears, in his past, that he had completely disregarded what she truly needed from him.

that realization crushed him more than anything else.

"Y/N...please.." he said, his voice breaking as he took a hesitant step forward. "I... I didn't know. I didn't know how much I was pushing you away. I never meant to make you feel like you were second. You're not. You're never second."

Y/N didn't answer at first. She just stood there, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She was so frustrated and heartbroken, but underneath it all, there was something softer—a part of her that was just as desperate, desperate for him to understand.

I don't want to be a shadow anymore Ekko" she whispered, her voice barely audible now. "I just want to be enough."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, before he could even process them, she collapsed—her knees giving out beneath her as she crumpled to the ground.

Her body trembled with each sob, her face hidden in her hands as the alcohol and the weight of everything she had been carrying overwhelmed her all at once.

Ekko stood frozen for a moment, his heart in his throat. He didn't know what to do. Didn't know how to fix this, how to make things right. But as he watched her fall apart in front of him, everything he had been holding back came crashing down. This wasn't just about Jinx anymore. This wasn't about him trying to protect her or save her from herself.

This was about him failing her when she needed him the most.

Without thinking, he dropped to his knees beside her, his arms reaching out instinctively. He pulled her close, cradling her against his chest as she cried. She wasn't saying anything now, just letting the tears flow, the weight of everything she had been carrying threatening to crush her completely.

Ekko didn't speak. He didn't say anything at all. He just held her. In complete silence.

His hand brushed over her hair, trying to comfort her in the only way he knew how. "I'm sorry.." he whispered after a while, his voice thick with emotion. "...I'm so sorry Y/N."

Her sobs began to go quiet. She didn't answer at first, still struggling to regain control of her breath, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. The weight of everything—the alcohol, the anger, the broken trust—was starting to lift just a little, but the pain was still there.

Deep, raw, and unrelenting.

Ekko held her tighter, unwilling to let go, unwilling to let her face this alone anymore. He knew his words could never fix what had happened. He had failed her, hurt her, and he was going to have to work harder than he ever had before to earn her trust again.

"I never meant to hurt you baby.." he continued, his voice soft but full of regret. "I should've seen it. I should've understood how you felt. I... I don't know what I was thinking. I thought I was protecting you, but I was only pushing you away. And—And I'm so sorry."

There was a slight shift in her posture. She wasn't pulling away, but she wasn't completely letting herself fall into him either. The hurt was still there, and it wasn't going to disappear overnight. It couldn't.

After a long moment of silence, she spoke. "I don't know if I can trust you again" she whispered, the vulnerability in her words cutting through him like a blade. "I just...can't keep doing this."

Ekko's heart sank at the raw honesty in her voice. He knew she was right.

"I know.." he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've made you feel like that, and I hate myself for it...So fucking much. But you are enough Y/N. More than enough. And I'll spend every day proving that to you if I have to."

The words hung in the air, but for Y/N, they felt so distant. Something shifted inside her as the weight of Levi's words settled like an anchor in her chest.

You deserve someone who makes you feel like you're the only one.

The sharp clarity of that truth hit her hard, the bitter realization that no matter how hard Ekko tried, no matter how much he cared for her, she was always going to be second place in his heart.

Her gaze flickered away from his, her throat tightening as she struggled to find the right words. She could hear Ekko's voice, soft and sincere, but it couldn't drown out the inner voice that had been growing louder in her mind. The truth she had been avoiding for so long...

Ekko will always have one foot in the past.

She knew, deep down, that he was still tethered to Jinx. No matter how much he tried to prove otherwise, no matter how many promises he made, he could never fully release her. She would always be the first choice in his heart.

That lingering ghost that casted a shadow over everything Y/N dreamed to build with him.

Y/N took a slow, shaky breath. "I—I don't know what to say Ekko."

Ekko's face tightened with concern, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

Y/N shook her head, the tears that had threatened to fall now blurring her vision. "I...I want to believe you. I really fucking do..." she whispered. "I want to believe that you can love me the way I deserve. But I... I can't keep fighting for a place in your heart."

The words felt like a punch to her own chest, but they were the truth.

She had to say them.

Ekko's expression faltered, the guilt and regret washing over him. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He wanted to tell her she was wrong, wanted to say that Jinx didn't matter to him anymore, that Y/N was his choice. But he couldn't.

Y/N took a step back, her chest tightening as she wiped away a tear. "I can't keep pretending that it doesn't matter Ekko. I can't keep pretending that I'm enough when you're always looking back at her."

"I'm not—" he started, but Y/N cut him off.

"No.." she said, her voice a little stronger now, though it still trembled. "You can't choose me the way I need you to. And...I—I deserve someone who chooses me, not someone who's always going to have a piece of their heart somewhere else."

Ekko stood there, speechless. He wanted to say something, to make her understand that he never meant to hurt her, that he loved her so much, but the truth was..

she was right.

Y/N could see the pain in his eyes, but it wasn't enough. Not anymore. "I think it's time for me to move on..." she whispered, her voice cracking.

Her words hung heavy in the air, like an unspeakable truth, and Ekko's chest tightening with each syllable she uttered. His mouth opened, but no words came out. It made it impossible for him to respond.

Y/N took a shaky breath, "I've given everything I can to this... to us" she continued, her voice a little steadier now. "But I can't keep sacrificing myself.."

Ekko's heart cracked at the finality in her words. She did deserve better than the half-hearted love he was giving her.

"I'm so sorry Y/N." he murmured, the words feeling empty as they left his mouth, too late, too little.

But Y/N couldn't let herself be swayed by his sorrowful tone anymore. The trust she had placed in him had been shattered over time, and now all that remained was the stark truth of what was.

She took another step back, her shoulders squared, her chin raised high. She wouldn't let him break her again.

"I know.." she whispered, her voice quieter now, the words more for herself than for him. "But knowing doesn't change anything." She paused, taking a deep breath before the words she knew she had to say. "I'm sorry too Ekko. But this is goodbye."

The finality in her voice struck him right then and there. For a moment, he just stared at her, his mind racing, trying to comprehend what she was saying. He didn't know how to make her stay now, everything he had done had already pushed her too far.

Ekko's sudden frustration grew. He moved toward her quickly, grabbing onto her arm with a fierce grip. "No Y/N" he growled, his voice rough. "You can't just—"

But before he could finish, he saw it. The way she stiffened at his touch, not even glancing at him. The realization hit him like a cold wave. She was done. Completely done. She wasn't going to let him hurt her anymore.

His fingers tightened around her arm, almost instinctively, but her cold silence forced him to slowly let go. Every ounce of frustration, and heartbreak he had been holding onto drained out of him in that one moment.

"Please baby..." he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking as the weight of what he had done sank in. "Please...not like this.."

Y/N didn't respond. She just pulled her arm free and took another step back, distancing herself from him.

Ekko stood there, stuck—feeling like the ground had been pulled out from under him.

it was too late.

Y/N had already made up her mind.

"Goodbye...Ekko..."

With one final look, she turned and walked away from him, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the empty street. And as he watched her leave, he finally understood. This time, he couldn't fix it.

And this time, he wasn't sure if he even deserved to.

She was gone. And it was his fault.

The night air felt cold against his skin, a stark contrast to the heat building in his chest. Every emotion that had once fueled him had been extinguished, replaced by a hollow emptiness that felt like a slow suffocation.

He had pushed her away. He had let his insecurities, his fears about Jinx, and his own selfishness dictate his actions. And now, he was left with nothing but the echo of her words, ringing in his ears.

"I think it's time for me to move on..."

He thought back to everything he had said. He had never given her what she needed, and now, she was gone.

He didn't know how long he stood there, lost in his thoughts, but eventually, the reality of the situation settled in. She wasn't coming back.

He had lost her, and he had no one to blame but himself.

Ekko finally turned away from the spot where she had stood, walking slowly through the streets. The city was as chaotic as ever, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Nothing mattered anymore.

He didn't know what to do next, or how to fix what he had broken. But one thing was clear.

he would never forget her.

He would never forget Y/N.

Y/N found herself lying on the cold ground. She didn't know how she had gotten there, didn't even bother to care anymore. Her body felt numb, her mind in a haze from the alcohol and the emotional wreck that had occurred. She stared up at the sky, trying to steady her breathing, but the weight of everything, the loneliness—pressed down on her chest.

For a moment, she thought she might suffocate under it all.

But then, something shifted next to her. The air around her seemed to change, as if the world was still holding its breath. She turned her head to the side.

And there he was again.

Levi's familiar face appeared beside her, his features soft in the dim green light, his eyes blinking as if he'd just woken up. He was lying next to her, his arm stretched out across the cold ground, looking every bit as confused as she was right now. His dark hair fell messily around his face.

and for a brief second, Y/N felt a strange sense of peace.

Levi blinked a few more times, his confusion slowly giving way to a soft smile as he realized it was her. "Y/N?" he muttered, his voice low and slightly groggy. "What the hell are you doing out here? Did you follow me here?"

Y/N didn't respond immediately. She just kept staring at him, taking in the sight of him as if he were a lifeline thrown her way in the midst of drowning. His presence was a stark contrast to everything she'd just gone through.

Without even thinking, she threw her arms around him. The hug came out of nowhere, and for a moment, Levi froze in place, his breath catching in surprise. But then, slowly, his big strong arms circled around her too. She buried her face in his chest, holding on tightly, as if afraid he might disappear the moment she let go.

Levi, still shocked but now fully awake, whispered into her hair. "Y/N what's going on? Are you okay?"

She shook her head, her voice muffled by his shirt as the tears she hadn't let fall earlier started to come. She couldn't find the words to explain the storm swirling inside her, but the hug was enough to make her feel like she wasn't entirely alone. Not for now. Not in this moment.

"I don't know," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I don't know anymore."

Levi didn't ask any more questions. Instead, he just held her tighter, letting her cry into his chest. The city of Zaun seemed distant, as if the noise of it all had faded away. For now, in his arms, she found something she hadn't realized she needed—comfort. Understanding. And for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel like she was falling apart completely.

As her tears slowed, she pulled back away from him to meet his gaze. There was something in his eyes, something so kind. He was there. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N didn't feel like she was carrying the weight of the world alone.

"I'm so sorry" she whispered again, her voice quieter this time, her eyes searching his face.

Levi gave her a small, almost sad smile. "Don't apologize...We all have our moments. I'm just glad you found me, even if it's in the middle of the damn street."

Y/N chuckled softly, wiping at her eyes. "Yeah, well... wasn't exactly the plan."

Levi tilted his head, a crooked smile playing on his lips. "The best things never are I guess..."

She smiled faintly, the weight on her chest lifting just a little. For the first time in what felt like forever, she didn't feel completely alone. They sat there in comfortable silence, the distant hum of Zaun's chaos fading into the background.

As the minutes stretched, the exhaustion of the day began to settle in. Y/N leaned back against the cold ground, staring up at the patch of stars visible through the smoke-filled air. Levi followed, his arms folding beneath his head as he lay beside her.

"You know..." he said after a moment, "this is probably the strangest way I've ever made a friend."

Y/N turned her head to look at him, a faint laugh escaping her lips. "Friend, huh? Is that what we are now?"

"Would you prefer being enemies now?" Levi replied, chuckling.

She rolled her eyes, but there was a softness to her expression. "Nah, I could use a friend right now."

"Good." he said, his tone light. "Because I could use one too."

They stayed like that, lying side by side under Zaun's polluted sky. Y/N's eyes grew heavy, the day's events finally catching up to her.

"Levi?" she murmured sleepily.

"Hm?"

"Thanks for... being here. Even though we just met today.." she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Anytime" he replied softly.

"Get some rest, Y/N. You're safe."

And she really did believe him.

They both drifted off there on the cold ground of Zaun, two broken souls finding solace in each other's company.

It wasn't perfect, and it didn't fix everything, but it was a start.

I will be posting a happy for the Reader and Ekko ending soon <3.

Just had to let this one sink in fr.

Check out my Ekko one shots on Wattpad for more stories!! :3

[tolkien-povs]

One thing about Kidnap-Fam?

It's how four broken souls had a few years of reprieve, before they went on to becoming even more broken.

It's about the emotions involved. Maedhros is severely traumatised. Maglor is in immense grief. Both brothers don't even want to live — their only reason for life is the Silmaril, and after Elrond and Elros, they just left it for "later".

Elrond and Elros witnessed the killing and blood spilled of their family, from their adopters. These boys are traumatised. They're too young to understand grief, yet they experience it.

And these broken twins are taken in, adopted, cared for, fostered by the murderers of their clan. On their end, it's trauma, hate, exhaustion, and reluctant trust.

Maedhros and Maglor may have made negotiations with Elwing about her twin sons. They provide for the twins, run behind them, and even foster them — although initially it is reluctant. To these brothers, the twins are mere burdens.

But as they grow closer, as they understand each other, their grief and trauma are festered into a love so deep, they were willing to let go of each other to keep each other safe.

It's how in the beginning, Maedhros and Maglor saw Elrond and Elros as political burdens, but in the end, they were a blessing, and a source of temporary healing for them all.

It's tragic that they don't have a happily ever after. However, they enjoyed every moment spent, and that in itself is a respite, a happiness no matter how twisted it started.

All I can think of are Maedhros's last moments. When he threw himself into the fire, was he thinking that for children like Elros and Elrond, his passing would make the world better? Was he reminded of Eluréd and Elurín, whom he failed to find, and in a twisted turn of fate, found and cared for their nephews? Was he thinking about Maglor, about his family?

All I can think of are Maglor's thoughts when he threw the Silmaril into the sea. Was he cursing himself and his family? Did he think that by drowning the stone, perhaps he and the twins could have had a happier ending? Was he lamenting the lives he took, only for the Silmaril to slip from his hands, all to go in vain, his brothers and father gone, his mother a whole world away, his deeds unforgivable? Did he think he was too horrible for death, so he chose the utter torment of life?

And Elros and Elrond. What did they think when their guardians left? Did they feel abandoned? Angered? Resentful? Or did they understand, and mourn for what they didn't and could have?

For Maedhros and Maglor, time spent with the twins was short. Too short.

For Elrond and Elros, time spent with the brotbers was long lived, but not as long as they thought when they grew older.

They all do have a happy ending, though. Perhaps Maedhros met Elros briefly in death. Perhaps Maglor met Elrond briefly before Elrond left for the Grey Havens. Perhaps, when the world will be remade, or by some miracle wherein the Valar are more merciful and allow the Fourth Age to see the Kinslayers re-embodied, they may have a reunion.

One thing is for certain, in Tolkien's stories, when people love each other, no force in the world can tear them apart. They may be separated, but they will always get back to each other somehow.

[vidduality]

SPOILERS for Episode 6 of the Avatar Live Action series

AKA why this episode makes me SO grateful for this adaptation (re: the Zuko flashbacks and the Agni Kai).

----

Wow.

I admit, I was really worried at the idea that Zuko might potentially fight back in the Agni Kai against his father in the live action. I expected to HATE it, and it's certainly a bold change, but it fits in SO WELL with why Zuko is the way that he is (and why he works so hard to push down his empathy whenever Aang tries to reason with him).

The Agni Kai - Zuko obviously did NOT want to fight his father. He still tried to apologize and beg for mercy, but in the end he was just too terrified of his father to disobey a direct order.

But when Ozai left him an opening to see what he'd do with it, Zuko couldn't bring himself to actually land a blow that might burn him. Making his lack of ruthlessness the weakness that Ozai ends up mutilating him for - even straight up telling Zuko that compassion is weakness and then demonstrating by holding his own child down and lighting him on fire - adds a layer of depth that only enhances the original scene (and in another stroke of genius, we see Ozai nearly in tears himself. He's convincing himself of this lesson as well as Zuko, which was likely passed down to him by his own father). Honestly, this to me is even more heartbreaking than Ozai burning him for refusing to stand and fight. Zuko did everything his father asked and he still failed, because his family has distorted what it means to be honorable and believes Zuko's capacity for mercy to be a shameful weakness unbecoming of an heir to the throne.

The 41st Division - And here come the waterworks. Assigning the very people Zuko was hurt so severely for trying to save to his ship as it's being cast out of the fire nation (presumably forever, with the Avatar not having been seen in 100 years) is SUCH a brilliant addition. His crew resents Zuko for being stuck on this impossible mission with this bratty, angry child. And Zuko is too ashamed of his "weakness" to explain why they were assigned to him.

I can totally see Zuko's hurt at their lack of respect making him even more angry (especially after everything he went through to save them from being sacrificed), and his seemingly irrational anger at them just continuing to make them resent him more in a neverending feedback loop of anger and disrespect that's been growing and festering for 3 years.

Which makes the scene at the end when Zuko's crew finally learns about how he saved their lives (as well as why he's obsessed with the avatar, why he's banished, what his scar means and why he's trying so very hard to rid himself of empathy, even if he can never quite manage it when it counts) so much more impactful. I SOBBED when the 41st Division stood at attention and showed him their utmost respect and loyalty, possibly for the first time since they've been on that ship. Zuko's soft "what's going on?" at finally being honored by his crew is just imprinted on my brain.

The seed of the idea that his compassion may NOT actually be what was shameful about his banishment afterall can finally begin to take root.

I just, damn, I love this episode so much.

[hunny-pp]

my lcb oc diaochan + sketch dump of her

when i posted her for the first time, lots of ppl were on the money over the fact that she and lu bu/fengxian were the same person.

in actuality they occupy the same body, occupying the same EGO, with lu bu piloting the body, and diaochan's lingering anger and resentment causing bouts of lost control and violence.

-a romeo and juliet situation between two syndicates, both were the heads' strongest weapons and their respected adopted children. Lu Bu to Dong Zhuo, Diaochan to Wang Yun - they encountered each other, respecting each other's strength and became fast friends

-lu bu admired diaochan's beauty, unsure however, if he wanted to be with her or be her, he started to grow his hair out and stash cutesy hair accessories, his scrunchie being a gift from diaochan after she noticed his new habits

-diaochan grew resentment over her appearance being used, resenting that her beauty meant more jobs relating to it, to charming seedy people, to being used as an object of admiration - she just wanted to exist as a person

-planning on running away together, they were overheard by dong zhuo's lackeys and a scheme was made to keep wang yun's syndicate under his control while also keeping "his prized stallion" lu bu in check: an arranged marriage with diaochan, agreed upon by wang yun (intending to use it as a ploy for control as well), diaochan was informed and forced into silence, fengxian remained uninformed (naively believing his hedonistic father was planning yet another banquet)

-on the wedding night, diaochan snapped, her anger and resentment culminating her into killing as much as she could, her father dead and dong zhuo near death - lu bu who had been waiting for her in their rendezvous, returned to see the aftermath - getting caught in the crossfire and killing some of his own men. Seeing diaochan, they run away together and were on the run until lu bu sacrificed himself with both his life and innocence, taking the credit that he caused the mass slaughter and fire to protect diaochan

-in grief over losing her only friend, she convenient met someone who offered to keep him alive, putting them both thru a procedure that intertwined their nervous systems together into diaochan's body - making them occupy and control the same body and EGO

-prior to the company, lu bu had been adjusting to her new body, keeping up pretenses that she is diaochan and keeping the original diaochan's festering anger and grief buried deep, she's still rather awkward about herself because of all the pressure and repression

-their arc is all about vindication and self love, with diaochan avenging herself once again from an alive dong zhuo with her rightous fury and lu bu accepting herself - both finding ways of accepting themselves and carving their own freedom from people who used them in different ways

-in the end, they come into one being made by a person who wished to simply exist as she is and someone who loved her for that, still named diaochan and piloted by lu bu - who as she says "it's a name chosen and kept with love"

[ghostchems]

infernal - terzo x f!reader - part seven

and now... a flashback chapter

art by the always amazing @piaart

author’s note: i feel like shit but it helped me finish this up. plenty of terzo pain here meanwhile reader is home, blissfully unaware. i also have no idea if my writing is good at this point but here ya go! part one/two/three/four/five/six. ao3 link.

If you could see the wreck I am these days, you’d have new reasons to stay away. Just hold my hand for a little while —

Misery never goes out of style.

Terzo traces a delicate finger along one of the bags under his eyes, no longer concealed by the dark eye paint he once wore. His brows furrow at the sight of himself in the mirror. The wrinkles have deepened since he left the stage. His hair, now less lustrous, betrays gray strands emerging from his roots and sideburns. All those years spent cultivating his image, trying to become the perfect imperfection that Lucifer himself boasted—only to unravel after one fateful show. He grits his teeth, his mismatched eyes sharpening in his reflection.

With all the glitz stripped away, he loathes how much he now resembles his father…

Terzo forces the thought out of his head. His days are spent analyzing his time as Papa and what went wrong. He wouldn’t do anything differently but it still stung, especially after the new heights and exposure he had achieved for the Ministry. Somehow, it was not enough. His father was never proud of him, a theme that stretched throughout his entire life. Terzo was only ever the Third to him, the third son that would serve his purpose and then be pushed aside for whoever was next. While this had been the typical progression, Terzo was the fool who thought he would be different — even after being warned by Secondo.

Secondo.

“Cazzo.”

He’s late for Uno Night.

The once-revered Emeritus brothers now find themselves relegated to a desolate corner of the abbey with their only entertainment being a silly card game. Their influence wanes with each passing day. Terzo can't help but sneer at the irony of their situation - former leaders now barely more than forgotten relics, with only each other’s company. There was a time when the Emeritus brothers were revered as gods among men. Crowds would surge forward at their concerts, desperate to touch the hem of their robes or catch a glimpse of their painted faces. Devotees would line up for hours, sometimes days, just for the chance to receive a blessing or a fleeting moment of attention. Their every word was treated as gospel, their gestures analyzed and imitated by legions of faithful followers.

In the halls of the Ministry, their presence commanded instant respect and adoration. Ghouls and Siblings of Sin alike would bow their heads in reverence as they passed. Their chambers were filled with lavish gifts from admirers - exotic incense, priceless artifacts, and fervent love letters. The very air seemed to crackle with power and dark allure whenever they entered a room. Now, that electric atmosphere has faded to a dull static. The gifts have stopped coming, the adoring crowds have moved on to newer, shinier idols. The once-mighty Emeritus brothers find themselves grasping at the fading light of their former glory, clinging to memories of a time when they were worshipped as the embodiments of their infernal master.

He used to delicately paint his face for each meeting, a ritual of devotion to himself and his roll as Papa. But now, as he stares at his bare face, he feels a bitter resentment towards the being he once revered. The paint feels like a mask of lies, concealing the growing doubts and anger festering within him. Lucifer's promises of power and glory now ring hollow in his ears, leaving only the taste of ash and disappointment. Terzo exhales through his nose and tears himself away from the mirror, satisfied with his appearance but frustrated with the progression of his thoughts. He had grown more disillusioned by the day with the cause he so passionately promoted, the being he worshipped. Lucifer, once his guiding light, now seemed like a cruel puppeteer, manipulating him for some cosmic joke.

Omega did not like these thoughts. In fact, Terzo has begun avoiding him and instead has been seeking the company of his brothers. Perhaps the one silver lining in all of this is that he is closer than he ever has been with his true family, minus daddy dearest, of course. They had grown up together, with Primo practically raising him and Secondo after they had come to the ministry. Back then he was a true zealot - a satanic lunatic whose fervor for the dark arts knew no bounds. It was from him that Terzo learned the intricacies of their infernal faith, absorbing every ritual and incantation with wide-eyed fascination. Yet, somehow, both Terzo and Secondo emerged less fanatical than their older brother.

But still competitors, nonetheless. Secondo and Terzo had been born to different mothers three months apart so it came naturally. The more time spent together now, the more they realize how similar they can be and deep down, Terzo wishes they had not been so combative. It was encouraged, though, fed and grown by the higher ups in the ministry and their father. Maybe they feared they would be too powerful if they were close.

Now all they care about is Uno.

"Fuck!" Terzo exclaims again, his voice tinged with frustration as he runs a hand tiredly over his face. The weight of his thoughts bears down on him, but he knows he can't afford to dwell any longer. With a deep sigh, he forces himself into action, slipping his feet into his shoes - the familiar spats clicking as he gets them on. Just as he reaches for the door handle, a sharp knock echoes through the room. Terzo pauses, his hand hovering in mid-air. Irritation flashes across his face.

"Enter," he calls out, his voice tinged with impatience.

The door creaks open, revealing a young Sibling of Sin. Their face is pale, eyes wide with fear and urgency. Terzo's irritation gives way to curiosity as he takes in their disheveled appearance.

"What is it?" he asks, his tone softening slightly.

The Sibling swallows hard before speaking, their voice trembling. "Papa, I... I have news. It's about Omega."

Terzo's eyebrows furrow. "Omega? What about him?" He nonchalantly goes back to adjusting his outfit, wondering if this is another plot from the ghoul to try and make him listen to “reason”. He certainly has stooped rather low, almost as low as Terzo.

The Sibling takes a deep breath, as if steeling themselves for what they're about to say. "He's been banished, Papa. Omega has been cast out of the Ministry."

The words hit Terzo like a physical blow. He stumbles back a step, his mind reeling. "Banished?" he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. "But... how? Why?" Pain is etched across his face.

The Sibling shakes their head, clearly as confused and shaken as Terzo. "I don't know the details, Papa. It happened so suddenly. They're saying it came from the highest levels of the Ministry."

Terzo's mind races, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Shock, confusion, and a sudden, unexpected pang of loss all vie for dominance. Despite their recent disagreements, Omega had been a constant in his life for so long. The thought of him being gone, cast out... it's almost inconceivable.

Terzo's composure shatters as the weight of the news crashes over him. His eyes flash with unbridled fury, causing the Sibling to take an involuntary step back. "Get out!" he roars, his voice reverberating off the walls. "Leave me! Now!" The Sibling, wide-eyed with fear, scrambles to obey, nearly tripping over their own feet in their haste to escape. Terzo slams the door with such force that the entire room seems to shake, the sound echoing through the corridors like a thunderclap.

As soon as the barrier between him and the outside world is secure, everything crumbles. A primal roar of anguish and frustration tears from his throat, echoing off the walls of his private chambers. In a whirlwind of unbridled emotion, he lashes out at his surroundings. His fist connects with the ornate mirror adorning his vanity, the impact sending a spider web of cracks across its surface before it shatters completely. Shards of glass rain down, glittering in the dim light like fallen stars.

But Terzo's rage demands more destruction. He overturns his meticulously organized desk, unleashing an avalanche of papers, pens, and trinkets onto the floor. Books, once neatly arranged on shelves, are torn free and flung across the room, their pages fluttering like disoriented birds. His wardrobe—a carefully curated collection of robes and suits that once symbolized his power and prestige—falls victim to his fury next. Garments are ripped from hangers and strewn about haphazardly, silk and velvet mingling with the debris below. Spotting one of his Papal robes, an early prototype, he seizes it and tears, splitting seams and fabric into pieces with savage force.

He could kill them. End the reign of his father and Sister Imperator with a knife to their throats, a hammer to their heads. He’s capable and he’s angry.

But that’s not who Terzo is.

His appetite for destruction is as swift as it is thorough. When the storm of his anger finally subsides, Terzo finds himself standing amidst the wreckage of his once-immaculate quarters. His chest heaves with each ragged breath, his knuckles having bloodied his gloves from his outburst. The room, previously a testament to his refined tastes and exalted position, now lies in utter ruin around him. He closes his eyes, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath as the full weight of what has transpired begins to settle upon him.

The dust settles around him, both literally and figuratively, as his mind wanders to Omega. Their relationship, once the core of his existence within the Ministry, had deteriorated over the past several months, transforming into a strained and tenuous connection. The rift between them had widened, growing into a seemingly unbridgeable gap that threatened to swallow everything they shared whole. Omega, ever faithful of their infernal master, had persistently begged Terzo to embrace what he perceived as a well-deserved retirement—a supposed reward bestowed upon them by Lucifer himself for their years of unwavering service and dedication.

"Papa, you've more than earned this rest," Omega would implore, his eyes blazing with sheer intensity behind his cool mask that Terzo found increasingly difficult to look at. "Our Dark Lord Lucifer, in his infinite wisdom, has granted you this period of rest and reflection. Why do you persist in resisting? Can you not see the honor in this gift he has bestowed upon you?"

But for Terzo, the notion of settling into a life of idle luxury felt suffocating—a gilded cage that threatened to strip away everything he had fought so hard to achieve. The very thought of turning his back on the empire he had painstakingly built, nurtured, and expanded over the years felt like a betrayal of who he is and what defines him. As time wore on, his arguments with Omega grew increasingly heated and frequent, his frustration mounting with each tense exchange, threatening to boil over into hostility.

"You call this rest, Omega?" Terzo would retort, his voice rising with each impassioned word, hands gesticulating wildly to emphasize his point. "This isn't rest—it's nothing short of exile, a banishment from everything I've ever known and loved! How can you, of all people, expect me to sit idly by, content to watch as everything I've dedicated my life to—my very existence—crumbles around me like dust?" The air between them would crackle with tension during these confrontations, an electric charge that made it increasingly difficult for them to occupy the same space without the risk of conflict erupting at any moment.

Now, with the shocking news of Omega's sudden and unexpected banishment reverberating through the chambers of his mind, Terzo finds himself consumed with emotion. Relief, guilt, anger, and a profound sense of loss intertwine in a dizzying dance, each vying for dominance in the turbulent landscape of his mind. Despite their recent differences and the ever-widening divide between them, Omega had been a constant, unwavering presence in Terzo's life for longer than he cared to remember—a touchstone of familiarity. His abrupt absence leaves a gaping void in the fabric of Terzo's existence, a wound so deep and raw that he isn't certain he possesses the means to heal it.

Even with the turmoil raging inside him, Terzo finds himself drawn to the familiar comfort of his brothers' company. With a heavy sigh, he straightens his posture and smooths down his attire, a reflexive gesture from years of public appearances. He may be struggling, but he'll be damned if he lets it show—at least not to them. They have all had their hardships. If anyone knows and understands what he is feeling right now, it is his brothers. Terzo’s steps are heavy, using his feet to clear a path forward amidst everything now on the floor. He reaches the door, hesitating for just a moment. There’s a weight pressing down on him that threatens to crush him, to break him down until there’s nothing left.

He won’t let it.

Terzo opens the door and leaves his room. As he makes his way towards the small room where their Uno nights are held, his mind goes blank, going numb to the intense feelings that are simmering beneath the surface. He trudges down the dimly lit corridor, his footsteps echoing off the ancient stone walls, focusing on that sound to keep him grounded. As he rounds a corner, lost in the maelstrom of his thoughts, a familiar voice catches his attention, causing him to halt abruptly.

Turning, he sees Cardinal Copia emerging from his office, a stack of papers tucked under one arm and an Uno card inexplicably held between two fingers of his free hand. The Cardinal's painted face breaks into a warm smile as he spots Terzo, oblivious to the storm brewing within the former Papa.

"Ah, Papa, on your way to Uno Night, yes?” The cheerful greeting hangs in the air, a stark contrast to the darkness swirling within Terzo.

Terzo's entire body tenses, his jaw clenching so tightly he can hear his teeth grind. The sight of him, so content and oblivious to the turmoil raging through the Ministry, ignites a fire in Terzo's chest—one that he had hoped was extinguished following his outburst in his room. His eyes narrow as he regards Copia with barely contained irritation. "Uno Night," he repeats, his voice low and controlled, though tension radiates from every syllable. "Mmm… yes." He takes a step closer to Copia, his presence suddenly looming and intimidating.

Copia's smile falters slightly, but he presses on, still oblivious and sweet. "It's become quite the tradition with your brothers, hasn't it?" He hesitates for a moment, then reaches into his sleeve and pulls out a blue reverse card. He holds it out to Terzo, a tentative peace offering. "Here, Papa. I always keep this one for luck. Perhaps... perhaps you'd like to have it for tonight's game?"

Terzo's gaze sharpens dangerously as he struggles to maintain his composure. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest, fingers digging into his biceps. The sight of that blue card in Copia's hand—a symbol of the carefree life he now leads—causes the fire to spread inside him, consuming him yet again. Terzo’s voice, when he finally speaks, is low and menacing, barely above a whisper.

"Tradition?" His voice is guttural and rough. "You dare speak to me of tradition when everything is crumbling around us? When the very foundations of our world are ripped away from us?" His words are full of anguish and rage, each one striking Copia like a physical blow.

The Cardinal stumbles back, his expression morphing from confusion to outright fear. "P-Papa, I... I don't understand-" he stammers, his voice trembling.

"Of course you don't understand!" Terzo cuts him off, his composure shattering completely. "You're nothing but a pawn, a naive fool dancing to their twisted tune!" He gestures wildly, his movements sharp and erratic. "Do you have any idea what's happening beyond your little bubble of blissful ignorance? Omega is gone! Banished! Cast out like yesterday's trash! And here you stand, grinning like a fool, oblivious to the chaos swirling around you!"

Copia's eyes widen in shock, the full weight of Terzo's words finally sinking in. "Omega? But how- Why-" he begins, but Terzo is far from finished.

Terzo snatches the blue Uno card from Copia's hand, gripping it so hard it begins to crumble in his grip. "And this?" he spits, brandishing it like damning evidence. "You think this changes anything? You think a game can fix what's broken? This card, this... this mockery of what we once were!" His voice rises to a near-scream. "Do you have any idea what this represents? It's not just a game, you fool! It's everything we've lost, everything that's been taken from us!"

With a primal yell that seems to shake the very stones of the corridor, Terzo tears the card to shreds. The pieces flutter between them like confetti, a mockery of celebration in this moment of utter despair. Copia flinches, raising his hands as if to shield himself from the physical manifestation of Terzo's rage.

"P-Papa, please," Copia stammers, his voice barely above a whisper, a plea for understanding, for mercy. "I didn't mean to-"

But Terzo is beyond reason, beyond mercy. His voice drops to a low, dangerous hiss, each word dripping with venom. "Get out of my sight," he commands, his tone brooking no argument. "You don't belong here. You never will. You're nothing but a pale imitation, a cheap replacement for something you could never hope to understand. And take your pathetic games with you!"

As Copia retreats, practically running down the corridor, Terzo stands amidst the scattered remains of the card. His chest heaves with each ragged breath, anger and grief warring within him. In the sudden silence, the weight of his actions begins to settle upon him. He knows, in some distant corner of his mind, that he's overreacted, that Copia isn't truly to blame for the chaos engulfing their world. But in this moment, all he can feel is the crushing weight of loss - of his position, of Omega, of everything he once held dear. And that damned Uno card, now in pieces at his feet, seems to mock him with its cheerful blue color, a stark contrast to the darkness consuming his soul.

If only he could reverse being removed from the Papacy.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Terzo straightens his posture and adjusts his shirt in an attempt to calm himself. He struggles to push down the turmoil within, determined not to let his brothers see his inner struggle. As he approaches the card room, he steels himself, forcing his face into a mask of nonchalance.

Opening the door, he finds his brothers already seated. An almost startling wave of relief washes over him. He allows a scoff to escape his lips at the sight of Primo, face fully painted and wearing a Burberry scarf. Before he can comment, Secondo interjects.

"Already gave him trouble for it, stronzino. If you'd been on time, you could've joined." There's a glint of mischief in Secondo's eyes.

Terzo rolls his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his best efforts to maintain his aloof facade. He saunters over to the table, pulling up a chair with dramatic flair. "Well, shall we begin? I'm feeling particularly lucky tonight." He shoots a pointed look at Secondo, silently accepting the challenge in his brother's gaze.

He settles into his seat and the feeling of relief continues to spread through him. Here, surrounded by his brothers and the familiar rhythm of an extremely low-stakes card game, he can momentarily push aside his anger and frustration. In this room, he's not the fallen Papa or a disappointment to the Ministry - he's simply Terzo, the youngest of the Emeritus brothers, ready to lose himself in the game and forget, if only for a while, how far he has fallen.

On this particular evening, Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil would make an unexpected appearance, delivering news that would leave the brothers startled and confused.

They would be unable to continue their card game.

Terzo is deep in his desk chair, his body nearly slipped from it onto the floor. His gaze is locked on the the hell phone which has been ringing nonstop since you left for the night. Your taste is still on his tongue, your scent clinging to his robe. He’s afraid to move to disturb the haze he’s settled into, even though you would be back bright and early for work the morning after next. Fingers fall to his temples, rubbing them with each piercing ring of the phone.

He wouldn’t answer. He doesn’t want to face who is on the other line.

Was it Omega? What could he possibly say? He would only complicate matters—as he already has. The hell phone materialized before you, and you listened to the sounds of the abyss. It drove you into Terzo's arms and bed, but... you didn't deserve to experience such terrors or feel so frightened in his home. Or at least, if anyone was going to frighten you it should be him. His fingers drum along the arms of the chair, a deep grumble vibrating from his chest. The goal is to get you to stay, to devote yourself to him and only him. Yet the fear gnaws at him. What if the terrors you've witnessed push you away? The thought of losing you to the very darkness he once revered sends a chill through him. He wants you by his side, but you have to want to be there. Perhaps, he muses bitterly, this is another of Lucifer's cruel jokes—dangling happiness before him, only to threaten it with the very forces he once embraced.

Maybe the imp who fixed your tire that Terzo had shredded was calling. What was that all about? He didn’t have time to mull that incident over earlier while you were here. Is he manifesting things?

The memory of when he had accidentally shocked you resurfaces, Terzo's frown deepens. He recalls the pain on your face when he zapped your wrist. His gaze drifts to his hands, studying them as if they belong to a stranger. These hands that once commanded crowds, that channeled unholy energies with precision and purpose, now feel like unpredictable weapons. He clenches his fists, feeling the familiar tingle of power just beneath his skin. What if he hurts you again?

Another memory flits to the forefront of his mind — when he screamed at you over his relics being displayed causing a lightbulb to shatter. He remembers the fear in your eyes as it happened. It wasn't Lucifer's doing—it was his own power, his own lack of control. The realization hits him like a punch to the gut. Perhaps the true threat to your happiness, to any chance of a future together, isn't some external force or cosmic joke. It's him.

The silver lining is that you had seemed to be… into it. But what if next time, it's worse than a small shock or a broken bulb?

The thought sends a wave of despair crashing over him. Is he doomed to be alone, forever isolated by the very gifts that once made him special? The irony isn't lost on him—he who once reveled in his dark powers, who used them to seduce and enthrall, now fears them as the very thing that might drive you away. Terzo slumps further in his chair. The illusion of his perfection continues to fade but he’s stubborn. Unwilling to change his ways even though he knows he can be cruel and difficult.

He originally expected you to just deal with it.

Terzo rises with a frustrated growl, letting the hell phone continue its incessant ringing. He stalks over to his liquor cabinet, hands trembling slightly as he pours himself a generous measure of whiskey. What have you done to him? How dare you make him want to be better? He decides he must, at the very least, attempt to protect you from whatever hell seemingly has in store for you. This includes tempering his emotions, an obvious factor of his otherworldly abilities. Seriously, how dare you?

Taking a long swig, he savors the burn as it slides down his throat. It's a familiar comfort, one that does little to reduce the budding anxiety he feels. With a heavy sigh, he turns his back on the still-ringing phone and retreats to his bedroom, drink in hand. The door closes behind him, muffling the sound of the hell phone but he can still feel its presence. Terzo takes another sip, hoping to drink himself into unconsciousness.

Only two sleeps until he sees you again.

[hermaeusmorax]

In Their Shadow

CHARACTERS: Viktor x reader x Jayce

SUMMARY: Viktor entertains a one-sided love with his two best friends, Jayce and you.

WARNINGS: angst with NO happy ending and NO comfort, I wanted to try something different!

A/N: fortunatelly the Arcane brainrot brought me back from my cave, be nice 'cause I'm rusty af in writing atm (as expected after 4 years!). I am also taking more Arcane requests yay! (rules for requests)

Viktor, Jayce and Y/N. The Three Musketeers. If you saw one of them around, no doubt the other two were somewhere nearby, inseparable as they are. What others looking from outside didn't see though, was Viktor's growing resentment towards his two best friends.

It didn't start like this, Viktor used to love them. Love, love them. He still does, but it's twisted now, love and anger so mixed together it's impossible to distinguish which is which. His affection began souring through disappointment at first, Viktor felt disappointed in Jayce for being distracted, their - yours - project suddenly wasn't Jayce's main concern anymore, you were.

When you weren't around Jayce would pester Viktor with daydreams and questions about you "Can you help me find out what's Y/N's type, man? You're way closer to Y/N than I am, please?". Jayce's eyes would shine and his cheeks flush, so enthralled in his own feelings he failed to notice Viktor's growing irritation.

Along the many years the three of you spent together working on Hextech, Viktor couldn't help but be in awe of his two companions. He fell in love with Jayce's passion and with your bright mind. Viktor wanted nothing more than to spend eternity alongside you, picking your brains. But as the two of you grew closer, specially after Jayce's reciprocated advances towards you, you both naturally drifted apart from him.

Viktor was forced to watch on the sidelines, drowning in the darkness of the long shadow your bright relationship cast over him. Left only to daydream about what it could've been like, had he had the courage to tell you or Jayce of his true feelings. Left only to reminisce about the early days of your shared research, when he indeed had the both of you to himself. As an attempt to anesthetize his festering wound, he threw himself at his work on the Hexcore.

Yet another day comes to an end, with Jayce leaving the laboratory with you glued to his arm, both dressed in fancy clothes for a dinner party you were supposed to attend, together, of course. You wave a gloved hand at Viktor, bidding him a gentle goodbye. It irritated him how oblivious you both could be to his true feelings, scientists of the damn year! As the door closed behind you, Viktor was left alone in the dark of the laboratory, so focused on his own misery that he missed when Sky knocked at the door. "Viktor? You still here?" she shyly called from the other side, smile faltering at the deafening silence that followed.

Sky knew he was still there, as it was an habit of his. The tinkering sounds and occasional curses that echoed through the door were just extra proof of his presence. Viktor was so preocuppied with the shadow your and Jayce's love had cast over him, he didn't notice he had cast one of his own. Such is life.

A/N: it physically hurt me to do him so dirty I'M SORRY! Promise to do lots of indulgent and Viktor-focused pieces too, I'm getting my writing groove back on ;).

[adding-a-little-lemon--and-lime]

Hate Me

Warning: kidnapping, murdered, yandere, sexual harassment

Note: Border credit to @cafekitsune go check them out)

Chrollo was a hard man to crack.

He didn’t flinch when you screamed at him. He didn’t recoil when you clawed and kicked and spat like a cornered animal. He didn’t grow irritated when you hurled insults, nor did he falter when you hurled yourself at him in a blind rage. He simply watched you, head tilted in amusement or mild curiosity, like a scholar observing a peculiar insect. Your pain never reached him. Your hatred didn’t sting. Remorse wasn’t something he could even pretend to mimic.

And yet, none of that mattered.

Because you despised him.

You woke up every morning with one mission stitched into your bones — to make his life as unbearable, as twisted and agonizing, as he had made yours. Usually, you failed. He never cracked, never slipped. But that only fed the fire. The more futile your attempts, the more that hatred festered, growing sharper, darker, heavier.

Screaming didn’t work. Crying didn’t sway him. He watched, unimpressed. Kicking only led to being pinned down, his iron grip pressing your limbs into the mattress while his cold breath ghosted across your face. His expression never shifted — always calm, always detached — but his strength? That was undeniable. And terrifying.

So you started thinking differently. Strategically.

You had to find something — anything — that might chip at whatever rotted thing pulsed in that small, black, wrinkled heart of his.

You sat on Chrollo’s bed. Not by choice. Never by choice. The chain fixed to your ankle — polished, thick, and deceptively delicate-looking — gleamed under the soft, amber light of the room. A recent addition. A punishment for your latest escape attempt. He had chuckled when he installed it, fingers brushing your ankle like he was affixing jewelry. “Be grateful,” he had said with that infuriatingly calm smile. “I considered a collar.”

Be grateful. For your kidnapper’s mercy.

You seethed.

Now he sat beside you, too close, his thigh pressed against yours, flipping through a new book — stolen, no doubt. It was always a new book. Chrollo read fast, absurdly fast, sometimes devouring ten volumes a day. And you hated those reading sessions more than anything else. He’d light a few candles — romantic ones, lavender-scented or vanilla, as if the atmosphere made this more palatable — and then wrap an arm around you. Not with affection. With ownership. His chin would rest on your shoulder, heavy, his breath cool and steady by your neck.

And gods, his grip.

He’d hold you in place, tightly, impossibly tight, like he was trying to press you into his skin. No space. No air. No room to shift or breathe. You weren’t a partner. You weren’t even a person. You were a prop. A pet. A pretty doll stitched with resentment.

Even now, sitting in silence, you could feel the phantom weight of his hand on your side, fingers cold and skeletal. You shifted uncomfortably, and the chain gave a faint clink. His cologne — expensive and over-applied — hung in the air, clogging your throat like poison. You gagged reflexively. It clung to your skin, to the bedsheets, to the inside of your lungs.

“Is something wrong, dear?” His voice slid past your ear like a silk ribbon dipped in venom. Polished. Controlled. Grating.

You didn’t respond at first. Just shifted again, trying to wedge a little space between your thigh and his. It didn’t help.

Where to even begin with your list of complaints?

You had too many. A lifetime’s worth. But one was enough.

You turned to him, your eyes hard. “Yeah. For one — you kidnapped me.”

His fingers flicked the page as if you hadn’t spoken at all. “I suppose that would linger on your mind,” he replied airily, like a parent humoring a tantrum from a tired child.

Your jaw tightened.

“And you murdered my family!” The words ripped from your throat, raw and hoarse. You hated how they wavered at the edges. Hated that your voice cracked like something breaking. Your chest rose and fell with the sudden weight of memory.

The day flashed before your eyes — too vivid, too detailed to forget. The way the sun had bathed your street in gold, blinding and beautiful. Birds chirping. Wind chimes tinkling. A perfect day, if you didn’t know what was coming. He had walked in like he belonged, smiling, calm. A wolf in neatly pressed clothes.

Your family had welcomed him. Warmly. Trustingly.

You could still hear their laughter. You could still see him talking — comfortably, easily — like he’d known you all forever. Like you were already his. And when the violence came, when the blood ran down your kitchen tiles, he had held you through it. As if to comfort you. As if you weren’t already screaming.

And gods, you had screamed.

That’s what you remembered most. Not the blood. Not the mangled body

The screaming from your insisted denail.

The way your voice broke as you begged, pleaded, for someone—anyone—to see what was really happening. You weren’t dating him. You weren’t in love. You weren’t happy. But the moment you opened your mouth to object, Chrollo would glance your way—calm, measured, cold—and your voice would catch in your throat. You froze. Every time. Like a switch was flipped inside you, locking your muscles, draining the breath from your lungs.

And he’d lie. So smoothly. So easily.

He told them you were just being shy. Embarrassed. That your little outburst was a lovers’ quarrel. Your mother had blinked, unsure, her fingers twitching with the discomfort of a truth she couldn’t quite name. Sweet, trusting woman. Always too kind. Always too eager to believe the best in people. “I’ll go make some tea,” she’d said, voice trembling at the edges.

But you saw it.

You saw how she slipped her hand into her pocket and walked to the kitchen with forced ease.

You saw her pull out her phone, already dialing.

And Chrollo? He saw it too.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t speak. He simply pulled out that leather-bound book of his—like it was any other day—and in a blink, your mother dropped like a marionette with its strings cut. Her phone shattered on the floor beside her. There was no ceremony. No flourish.

Just silence.

And then?

Screams.

You’d give anything to forget the sound of your father’s voice breaking. The sickening crunch of bones. The metallic scent of blood flooding the room like perfume. Your sibling’s wails—desperate, wet, real. The way limbs bent the wrong way, torn apart like paper dolls in the hands of something cruel and godless.

It plays in your head every night. You don’t sleep anymore. You remember instead.

“I wouldn’t have,” Chrollo murmured now, voice low and tender, closing his book with a soft thud that felt far too gentle for the weight of what he’d said. He turned to you with those ink-black eyes, giving you his full, undivided attention, as though the world itself had stilled to make space for you. His lashes lowered, a graceful curtain fluttering shut. “If you had just let me be yours.”

Your throat tightened.

“Let you be mine?” The words fell out slowly, brittle on your tongue. They cracked like dry leaves underfoot. “Let you be mine?”

The rage hit you in a wave.

“LET YOU BE MINE?!”

The scream clawed its way from your chest, raw and ragged, trembling with disbelief. The tears were hot before you even noticed them, streaking down your cheeks as your voice broke again and again.

“You kidnapped me! You murdered my family! You stole everything from me—everything good—and You want to be mine?!”

Your sobs came in sharp, unsteady gasps. The pain was volcanic—simmering under your skin, erupting through every word. Your chest felt like it might crack open from the force of it, the heat of your fury.

And Chrollo? He just watched.

Unblinking. Silent. As though your outburst were a storm he expected. Something weathered. Understood.

You hated that.

You hated the way he made you feel unimportant in your own pain.

You hated how composed he always was.

You hated him.

God, you wanted him to hate you back—just so you'd know he could feel something.

"You’ll never be mine," you hissed, your voice trembling with grief and fury. "You know why?"

His brow rose, curious. As if you were a specimen to be studied rather then a Human.

You took a breath. Let the air burn in your lungs. Let the words settle like venom on your tongue.

And then, you said it—perfectly.

"Because I hate you. With every fiber of my being."

There was no scream this time. No fire. Just cold, unwavering resolve. Your words were crisp. Polished. Laced with clarity. Every syllable hit with the precision of a blade. It felt good. It felt like yours.

And for a second—just one—you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes.

But then he sighed.

He placed the book down on the table with deliberate grace, aligning the corners like nothing had happened. No tension. No heat. Just routine.

And then he moved.

He reached for you—slowly, almost tenderly—and cupped your face in his hands. His fingers ghosted over your skin, cool and light, tracing the outline of your jaw with an intimacy that made your stomach churn.

“I love you,” he whispered.

And for a moment… you almost believed him.

That made it worse.

Your gut twisted. The back of your throat clenched, nausea rising like bile. You wanted to scream, to spit in his face, to push him away—but before you could speak, something changed.

Something shifted.

You felt it in the air before you saw it—a shadow, deep and violent, stretching behind his eyes. A hunger. A darkness. His smile didn’t change. His tone remained sweet. But something else took hold of the room. It sank its claws into you, dragging goosebumps across your arms.

You stared up at him, and now his grip was tightening—subtle at first. Then brutal.

His nails dug into your cheeks, slicing through skin with slow pressure. Warm blood began to trail down your jaw.

You gasped, the pain sharpening your senses. His fingers squeezed until you could barely breathe.

“But I’m not above cutting that tongue of yours,” he said softly, his voice dripping with saccharine malice, “if you continue to use it like that.”

And then he kissed you.

His mouth pressed against yours—calm, cold, possessive—while your blood still ran down between his fingers.

You couldn’t scream.

Not anymore.

[hyacinthandmoss]

Meleth nín

Pairing: Elrond x Plus Size Human Female Reader

No descriptions of physical features, but ya know, I only write for fat women. 

Summary: Elrond meets you, the muse from his visions, after the siege of Eregion.

Word count: 2,122

A/N: Been having a shitty week, so this is just something I quickly wrote to help lift my spirits. Hope you enjoy it. X

Elrond perched on a sturdy branch of an ancient tree, his quill gliding across parchment as he poured his thoughts into poetry. These days, he sought refuge from his responsibilities in Lindon, immersing himself in his visions in the form of glimpses of you, a beautiful stranger. With his gift of unprompted visions, he often found himself enveloped in visions that flickered like candlelight in his mind.

He saw you wandering through a vast field of tall orange blossoms that waved gently in the breeze as you called his name softly. Your eyes sparkled like the brightest stars scattered across the night sky, shimmering with mystery and warmth. The scene shifted to your playful laughter as you splashed in a crystal-clear lake, droplets of water catching the sunlight as they arched through the air, inviting him to join you with an irresistible smile. 

At last, the final vision settled into his mind like a cherished memory: you stood before him in a flowing gown, radiant as you became his bride. Though you were human, your ethereal beauty felt otherworldly, as if you transcended the borders of reality itself. What significance did these powerful images hold? Was fate hinting at a destined connection with you, the woman who captured his heart and imagination? While uncertainty shrouded his thoughts, one thing remained clear: you had become his muse. Each day, he committed himself to becoming a better version of himself, striving to embody the qualities that would make him worthy of you.

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Since his last quarrel with Durin, Elrond had prioritized visiting Durin and his family more frequently. Their friendship meant a great deal to him, and he was determined to mend any lingering tension, vowing never to let any resentment fester again. Elrond found himself at their sturdy, warmly lit stone table, surrounded by the rich aromas of hearty dwarven cuisine. Laughter filled the air as they indulged in generous portions of roasted meats and robust loaves of bread, their goblets brimming with ale.

As Elrond listened to Durin and Disa share fond memories of their romantic past, he felt a sense of comfort enveloping him like a well-worn cloak. 

“Elrond,” Disa said, her voice clear and inviting, drawing his attention. “We’ve shared our tales and adventures. Now it’s your turn. Is there a fair maiden who has captured your heart?”

Elrond nodded slowly, his thoughts drifting away from the warmth of the hearth and into a distant realm. His gaze seemed to search for you, the ethereal figure that had appeared to him in fleeting moments.

“Yes, a mortal maiden. Her name is Y/N, and in my vision, she shines like the stars. I know it sounds strange and perhaps foolish, but there’s a connection I can’t ignore.”

Disa clasped her hands together, her eyes sparkling with intrigue. “A love that transcends realms! How romantic! But are you not worried about the differences between your kind?”

Durin crossed his arms, a frown creasing his brow. “Humans are… fleeting,” he said, a hint of protectiveness lacing his voice. “What future could there be in that?”

Disa put a gentle hand on Durin’s arm. “Sometimes, love finds you in the most unexpected ways, dear heart. We cannot judge what we do not understand. Elrond’s heart speaks to him; that is enough.”

Elrond met Durin’s gaze, unwavering. “Life is fleeting for all of us, Dwarves and Elves alike. It is our nature to grasp the moments we have, to cherish them. If this bond were to grow, it would be worth the risk.” He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle. 

Disa smiled warmly. “Aye. You speak with wisdom, Elrond. If this Y/N is as wondrous as you say, then it seems fate has a hand in this.”

“Fate or folly,” Durin muttered with a hint of skepticism, though there was a softness in his eyes. “Just remember, old friend, to tread carefully.”

“I will,” Elrond assured him. “But I cannot ignore the calling. She is a part of me, even if we are strangers.” 

Disa beamed at him. “Then let us hope the stars align for you, Elrond." 

Elrond returned her smile, feeling a swell of hope within him. "Perhaps one day you shall meet Y/N, and she will seize your hearts just as she has captured mine in visions.”

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After the brutal siege of Eregion, with smoke still curling in the air and the echoes of battle fading into memory, Elrond felt the weight of exhaustion settle upon him. His heart ached for his dear friend Galadriel, whom he had just finished healing, though the effort had drained him completely. He let himself sink to the forest floor. A group of elven healers, their expressions a mix of concern and resolve, carefully carried Galadriel away to a quieter part of the woods, where the sounds of battle faded.

“We shall return for you, Commander,” one of the elf healers said softly, a hint of sadness in her eyes as she offered him a reassuring smile. 

“I am truly  fine…” Elrond replied, his voice more weary than he intended. “I but only require a moment's repose…”

As the healer turned to leave, a rustle of leaves caught his attention, followed by the sound of water dripping steadily onto the earth, forming tiny puddles in the dry soil. 

“Could you please lend aid to the Commander behind the oak tree?” he heard the elf maiden call to her companion, her tone infused with urgency.

“Truly I insist, it is but unnecessary,” Elrond interjected, lifting his weary gaze. “There are others who are injured and need—”

“— need you to be whole first,” you interrupted softly, your eyes unwavering. “You need to be taken care of now,” your voice interrupted him, rich and warm, commanding his attention. “Even the mightiest need to rest. You cannot bear all the burdens alone.” 

He raised his gaze and found the source, his heart skipping. 

Elrond blinked in incredulity. You, his muse—the very inspiration behind countless verses penned in the serene beauty of Lindon, where every word had been infused with longing—were now standing right before him, as tangible and radiant as the dawn. It was as if you had been summoned not by chance but by the very desires of his heart, materializing amidst the chaos to fill the void he had been carrying.

Elrond found himself unable to look away, caught in the depths of your gaze. With a heavy sigh, he finally relented, letting the weight of exhaustion wash over him, if only for a fleeting moment. 

“Very well,” he finally conceded, his voice softening like the gentle rustle of leaves in the evening breeze. “I will accept your help.”

“You fought well, Commander Elrond,” you said, your voice a melodic whisper as you studied the lines etched on his face. Your fingertips traced the evidence of hardship and valor, each movement deliberate and tender. The touch was gentle yet electrifying, sending waves of warmth cascading through him, reawakening a sense of life he thought was lost. 

“What is your name?” he asked, an insatiable desire coursing through him. 

“Y/N,” you replied softly, a name practically singing from your lips. 

“How did you come to be in this realm, Y/N?” he asked, overwhelmed by the mere fact of your existence beside him. 

“I was part of an envoy sent to aid,” you explained, your touch gentle and comforting, reflecting years of practice. “When word of the siege reached my ears, I felt a powerful pull in my heart that drew me back to this place. It seems that fate had other plans in store for me.”

"Indeed,” He said, fighting the urge to smile because he knew with certainty that fate was unfolding right before him. “I am deeply grateful for the generous aid you have rendered to my people," Elrond replied sincerely. A warm smile spread across his face, illuminating his wise features and reflecting the kindness in his eyes. "Am I mistaken in presuming that you are a healer?" he inquired, his tone inviting and intrigued.

“I consider myself a wanderer of distant lands, and yes, a skilled healer dedicated to the well-being of others, and an eager student of lore,” you declared with a sense of pride and purpose.

"A traveler," Elrond said, a touch of sadness clouding his mind as he thought of your departure. "Where will your next adventure take you?"

You paused for a moment, your brow furrowing as you contemplated the weight of his question. "I'm not entirely certain," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. "Perhaps I'll continue my journey northward and see where the path takes me." Your gaze drifted toward the horizon, filled with lingering possibilities. 

Elrond felt a surge of concern twist in his chest, a protective instinct rising up at the thought of you traversing the wilds alone, facing whatever challenges the unknown might present.

"Might you consider joining us on our journey? The elven people of Eregion have faced great hardships; many have been displaced from their homes and bear the scars of battle. If you’re willing, we would greatly appreciate your ongoing skilled healing." Elrond cast his gaze downward, avoiding your eyes, feeling an uncomfortable mix of vulnerability and fear about the possibility of rejection.

"I accept," You replied with a warm smile, your eyes shining with compassion. "I would be truly honored to keep offering my support in helping your people heal," you added, your voice full of kindness and sincerity.

Water splashed quietly as you dipped the cloth into the worn bucket, the sound almost soothing in the stillness. As you began to wipe the dirt, grime, and blood from his face, Elrond felt battle weariness begin to ebb, replaced by the comforting sensation of your attentive care. 

The moment feels strangely intimate. You’re so near, so close, and he notices things: the small sounds of your breath, and how your focus is intense; he observes the way your brow slightly furrows, and the world around you fades away, making your features glow with a contemplative light. More so, he notices the unfamiliar sensations that flare up when you’re near.

“Meleth nín,” Elrond murmurs softly, his voice barely above a whisper, unaware that the words have escaped his lips loudly enough for you to catch. He quickly averts his gaze, a flicker of panic crossing his mind and he hopes that you haven’t heard him.

“Hmm?” you query, your tone light and curious as you continue to wipe away the smudges of dirt from his face. “I assume you said something in Elvish?”

“I did…” Elrond replies, hesitation creeping into his voice. “I said ‘my friend,’” he lies terribly, and he wishes you would not probe any deeper into his unguarded moment.

“Ah,” you respond, a playful smile curling your lips as you consider the beauty of the language. “Such a lovely tongue,” you add, reclaiming the cloth to finish your task. With gentle, careful movements, you tuck a stray curl behind his ear, your fingers brushing against his warm skin as you wipe his forehead clean. The moment your eyes meet his, an electric connection ignites, and you softly whisper, “Meleth nín…”

Caught completely off guard, Elrond’s breath catches in his throat. The innocent sincerity in your voice sends his heart racing and his mind into a whirlwind of emotion. If only you  understood the true weight of the words you  so naively uttered, he muses, a mix of longing and trepidation coursing through him. He can't help but chuckle. The sound dances in the stillness around you both, breaking the tension and momentarily allowing him to gather his thoughts as he stands on the verge of something he cannot yet define.

"I mispronounced it, didn't I?" you asked, a playful laugh escaping your lips. Your eyes danced with a mix of humor and a hint of embarrassment, creating an atmosphere of warmth and understanding. "Well, we shall have ample time for you to teach me your tongue," you continued, your voice filled with enthusiasm. 

Elrond gently releases the tension that had been coiling in his shoulders and jaw, finally allowing himself to lean back against the sturdy trunk of the tree. The rough bark presses reassuringly against his back as he sinks into a state of relaxation, savoring the warmth of the sun filtering through the leaves above. You sit comfortably right next to him. 

In that fleeting moment, with a soft breeze rustling the branches around him, he visualizes a future where he and you reminisce about this very instant. He imagines you laughing together as he draws you into a warm embrace.