#and it would be more concerning if they DID fit

[im-so-normal-iswear]

helloooo, can we have shadow x a reader who tends to get sick a lot maybe?

A/n: I really wanted to make this angsty, but then I remember I'm really bad at writing angst 💔💔

Shadow x reader who gets sick often

"Hmph, you ahould take better care of yourself"

Shadows voice rang as he turned the corner with medicine and water in hand. You got sick often. Today you were immobilized in bed from how sick you were.

"I try to." Was all you could say before going into another coughing fit and sighing.

He set the water down, opening the medicine and shaking some out onto his hand.

"Take this"

He handed them to you, shakily you took it with one hand, grabbing the glass of water and taking a sip as you swallowed the pills, before slumping back on the bed.

He gave you a short glance before turning away, muttering under his breath.

Not that he would ever admit it, but he really did hate how you seemed to always be sick. Sure he cares enough to help you out but it irritates him.

It reminds him too much of her. Maria.

Don't get it wrong, he doesnt view you as her, but he cant help but note how similar you are to her in those ways. Small comparisons here and there.

Its not even you getting sick so much that truely bothers him, its how nonchalant you are about it that irks him. Thats the real similarity he makes internally alot.

When your sick, wether or not its on the more serious flus, or just a common cold, youre always insisting your fine, waving off any and all questions, or concerns unless you cant get out of bed. It really irritates him.

He knows. He knows that not a single time your sick will amount to how serious marias illness was, but he still finds a bit of comfort in being able to take care of you when your like this. Being able to help you get better, something he couldn't do for Maria.

Shadow sat down on the chair beside your bed, arms crossed and his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. He wasn’t one for lingering, but he wouldntvoeave, not yet at least. The sound of your heavy breathing filled the room, and despite how many times he’d heard it before, it still made something in his chest tighten uncomfortably.

He told himself it wasn’t a big deal. You were stubborn, yes, and entirely too casual about your health, but you’d get better. You always did. He was here to ensure tthat though in the back of his mind he saw Maria there in that bed, just for a moment.

It was Maria all over again. The way she’d insist she was fine. The way she’d laugh, even as her hands trembled. The way her light was slowly extinguished while he could do nothing but stand by and watch.

His fists clenched.

"Shadow?"

Your voice broke through the haze of his thoughts. He looked up, startled, and immediately schooled his features into something neutral. You were watching him with a tired expression, your head tilted slightly.

"You’re zoning out," you murmured, pulling the blanket up higher as a shiver ran through you. "What’s on your mind?"

"Nothing," he replied curtly, his tone sharper than he intended. "Just… rest."

You didn’t argue, though your brows furrowed in concern. Closing your eyes, you nestled further into the covers, your breathing steadying as exhaustion overtook you.

Shadow watched you for a moment longer before standing abruptly. He needed air.

The hallways were quiet, the faint patter of rain against the windows the only sound accompanying him as he paced. His mind raced, memories he’d long since buried clawing their way to the surface.

"Shadow, it’s okay! I’m fine, really.”l"

Maria’s voice echoed in his ears, so vibrant, so full of life despite the context. He remembered the way she’d beam at him, even when confined to the cold, sterile walls of the ARK. Her insistence that she was "okay" had been both infuriating and inspiring, her strength something he admired and resented in equal measure.

He knows your not maria. But seeing you in bed sick and unmoving...

He couldn’t let the past repeat itself.

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Christmas Shift | Bucky 🎄

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female! Reader

Prompt : We're doing a poor job hiding our relationship troubles at this family event. 

Part 1 : Holly Jolly Charade

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband on Kindle. 👉 Now available on e-Kindle Amazon! << here's the link.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

It’s two days before Christmas, and you decided to go back home.

Your hand moved slowly to close the apartment door. It felt like you were forgetting something. Last year, he would always double-check the door before locking it.

This Christmas could be the last one, you thought, sighing.

You were headed to your parent's home for Christmas this time—mainly because your annoying aunt Teresa wouldn’t be there. On the ride, it was usually just you and Bucky, who started as a fake couple but ended up in a real marriage.

But it seemed like the honeymoon phase was over. You and Bucky had just had a big argument, which led him to stay at a hotel for a few days. That’s why you were here alone.

Your mom, Robin, greeted you with a hug. “Did the company lock you up?” she asked with a smile. “I’m glad you’re here before the storm.” She helped you take off your coat. “Bucky’s already here.”

You widened your eyes in surprise. He’s here?

“He’s got a much more relaxed schedule than you,” she added casually.

After Bucky resigned from the company, he invested in drone cameras and outdoor equipment. Since his hobby was photography, it seemed like the perfect fit. He made a good decision and gained a lot of profit. His work was successful, but his schedule was much more laid-back than yours.

As you walked into the living room, you saw Bucky talking to your dad and your cousins. He noticed you and made his way over to you, offering a side hug.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’d rather be here than with my dad, who’s with his third wife, and my mom, who’s with her new boyfriend,” he whispered, his lips brushing your forehead.

You and Bucky were in the room, sitting on opposite sides of the bed. The distance between you both felt greater than it ever had before. The usual closeness you shared during Christmas wasn’t there. Both of you acted like everything was fine, but your parents noticed.

Robin, sensing the tension, quietly led you to the master bedroom. “What’s going on? It feels like there’s a wall between you two.”

You sighed, your hands nervously fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. “It’s…,” you hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “We…” You usually had the confidence to speak up at the company, but talking about your relationship with Bucky made your stomach knot.

On the other side of the house, your father was talking to Bucky in the living room. “Did you make a mistake with my daughter?”

Bucky looked at him, surprised. “How did you know?”

“Son, I’ve been married for 35 years. I would know. So, you did something,” your father said firmly, though not unkindly.

Bucky sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “She wants a baby. I’m not ready.”

Your father’s brow furrowed. “Why’s that?”

Bucky’s voice softened, and his eyes looked distant. “Because I’m afraid. I don’t think I’ll be a good father. Look at my parents. You saw them at the wedding.”

Your father nodded, understanding the depth of his concerns. “Well… it’s complicated. But you’re you, not your father.” He placed his hand on Bucky's shoulder. “You're a good man for acknowledging your doubts. It's not a shame, son. Everyone feels nervous about being a parent.”

Meanwhile, in the master bedroom, Robin sat across from you, her hand resting gently on yours. “Listen, I know things aren’t easy right now, but you and Bucky can make it. There will be challenges ahead, but that doesn’t mean it’s the end. You’ve built something real together, and that counts for a lot.”

You looked at her, searching for the reassurance you needed. Robin gave you a small, encouraging smile. “You’ve both come this far. You’ll find a way through this too. Just remember, love isn’t perfect—it’s about sticking together, even when it’s hard.”

Later that evening, you finally found the courage to talk to Bucky. He was sitting on the couch, his arms crossed as he stared out the window. You walked up to him, and without saying a word, he pulled you into a tight embrace.

“I’m ready,” Bucky whispered into your hair, his voice low but steady. “I’m in it. If you’re in it.”

You held him tighter, your heart feeling lighter. “We’re doing a poor job hiding our relationship troubles at this family event.” You chuckled softly, pulling back just enough to look up at him.

He smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Yeah, but we’ll figure it out. Together.”

And the next Christmas, both of you came home—this time, with a beautiful, giggling baby girl in your arms. Bucky and you became the best parents this baby girl ever had.

Taglist:

@thezombieprostitute

@mostlymarvelgirl

@scott-loki-barnes

@kjah97

@jeremyrennermakesmesmile

[aonemanarmy]

Vincent's directness was something that Sephiroth could appreciate. He'd long grown tired of dealing with humans in general due to their evasive and treacherous behavior, so not having to do so was a refreshing change. Yet, he couldn't help but feel there must be some hidden motivation beneath the gunman's words as if he were setting up some sort of trap to ensnare him once more.

“I do not desire Jenova as a mother, she is my mother.”

After all this time Sephiroth thought that Vincent would've understood that fact by now. How many times did he have to explain that he was created from Jenova? Her blood ran through his veins and despite her vicious nature she was still the only mother he had and would ever know. It was ironically fitting that a creature such as her had birthed a monster like him, but unlike Jenova he intended to transcend beyond what fate she'd chosen for him.

So...What does ‘mother’ mean to you?

The only frame of reference that Sephiroth had for a mother was what he'd read in books or heard second-hand from others. What he was able to gather from those sources was that a mother was someone that was supposed to protect and care for their child, someone that wasn't meant to ever hurt or betray them. They were supposed to be the one person in the world he was capable of trusting, which was made the sting of Jenova's betrayal all the more devastating, but he'd come to realize what he thought he knew was only an idealized version of reality.

In reality everyone was selfish and would hurt each other so long as it benefited them in some way. So why would Mother be no different?

As he pondered the question he looked out into the distance where the cave hidden behind a waterfall was supposed to be. It would be an arduous and grueling trek back, but it wouldn't be the first time that the madman had undergone such trials and it certainly wouldn't be the last. If anything, through the use of his avatar he needn't be concerned about frivolous things such as food, drink, or rest because he was already far beyond basic mortal needs. All he needed to do was to walk and everything else would easily fall into place, but the same couldn't be said of the gunman who despite his alterations still had his limitations.

Vincent appeared to be aware of his own limitations at least, which was more than could be said about most humans. Still, looking the ex-Turk over Sephiroth seriously doubted the man could make another intense trip back, at least not without having some sort of recovery time.

A rumble passed beneath their feet from a distance causing snow to rain down from the scattering of pines nearby and several rocks to break free and tumble down the mountainside. The WEAPONS were on the move and sooner or later they would make an appearance, but Sephiroth was hardly concerned about it when he already had Jenova to contend with, who was clearly displeased by the current situation. She made that displeasure known with the persistent pain behind his eyes, one that spiked sharply at Vincent's mention of her name.

“Do you think yourself fit to make such a journey so soon?” He asked, studying the other man and wondering if the gunman might need to be dragged there as he doubted Vincent wanted Sephiroth to be left alone with his treasured person.

Vincent seemingly shrugged off his question and began to walk back down the mountain. Sephiroth was hardly deterred by that though, figuring the gunman was simply being stubborn and if he wanted to do that then so be it; he would drag him the rest of the way if need be. It was with that thought in mind that he set off after Vincent as they once more made their way out into the unforgiving wilderness and onto the road back south.

******

Progress had been slow – at least in Sephiroth's mind whose super-human standards were beyond any ordinary human's capabilities – but at long last they both stood before the waterfall that hid behind it the one that Vincent sought. Looking at it the madman was far from impressed, but even he had to admit there was a distinct beauty and serenity to the scenery. It made him wonder if the entire planet hadn't looked similar long ago back before the humans had corrupted it for their own selfish gain.

As he watched the steady cascade of water strike the crystalline pool below he wondered why Vincent's person would remain here after their initial meeting. If they had thought to remain hidden then surely they would've moved onto another location by now, but that didn't appear to be the case and simply looking at the place caused Jenova to sink her claws deep into his mind yet again.

'You waste your time humoring such nonsense.'

Sephiroth had considered that, but he also drawn the conclusion that he really had nothing to lose in the process either. Regardless of what Vincent tried to do the ex-Turk stood to lose far more than he ever did by trying to double-cross him.

'He seeks to manipulate you and willingly you go into his trap.'

Then I will kill what he treasures most.

In Sephiroth's mind that was the end of the conversation. He once more pushed Jenova back, purposely blocking out her voice and ignoring the steady stabs of pain behind his eyes as he glanced over at Vincent. The man certainly looked worse for the wear, but at the end of the day that was of no real concern to him since this was Vincent's idea in the first place.

“You believe that this person of yours decided to remain here after your visit?”

Though Vincent was keen to any sort of reaction Sephiroth might have expressed, Sephiroth remained poker-faced as ever. Though it was somewhat expected, it did give Vincent pause. He had hoped to see something to indicate whether or not Jenova still had her talons deep in the silver-headed man, or if Sephiroth was not independent. Unfortunately, the interaction yielded no fruit on this matter. Nevertheless, Vincent knew it was too premature to place assumptions. At the very least, it did tell Vincent that Sephiroth hadn’t gained any further knowledge regarding Lucrecia.

Perhaps Jenova was indeed actively stifling any and all connection with Sephiroth’s human mother. If so, Vincent knew what he was about to undertake was going to either yield disappointment, devastation, or a long overdue release of emotions. Sephiroth’s sanity was one thing. But Lucrecia’s safety was another. Even though death had become a stranger to Lucrecia, there was no guarantee Sephiroth didn’t possess the power to undo her from that prison, especially now that he was channeling new strength for his awakening. Regardless. If the world was indeed going to end, Vincent didn’t want to regret depriving Lucrecia of her son the second time. As soon as Sephiroth uttered his response, Vincent’s brows slightly lifted in confusion.

‘Claim’… ‘control’…?

It was a curious way of thinking. But the more Vincent listened to Sephiroth’s words, the more he began to understand. Instead of correcting Sephiroth, Vincent allowed the Ex-SOLDIER to express himself. Even being cherished or appreciated was something Sephiroth had no affiliation with. It was a truly a pitiful form of existence. Every ounce of positive human connection had been thoroughly barricaded from gaining access to Sephiroth. And yet if so, why was he so drawn to a motherly figure? Surely, his natural instincts for a paternal connection had been the driving force. Just as Vincent was about to speak, he saw Sephiroth flinch; whatever pain he had was enough to cause him to drop Hojo’s head. Instinctively, Vincent motioned to lift his hand to steady Sephiroth, but he withheld himself and drew his hand back in the event Sephiroth noticed. Though Vincent couldn’t be sure, he had a hunch the pain had been brought on by Jenova. Whatever her motives, she wanted to keep Sephiroth secured behind a wall of lies. This only made the ex-Turk more determined to carry out his plan. Alert to Sephiroth drawing his sword, he watched as Sephiroth made quick work of Hojo’s head and converting it into a hideous decorative piece. Vincent lightly furrowed his brow, not necessarily at the gruesome display, but more so at the message behind it. The threat was unmistakable. But so was the Meteor that was tearing through the clouds, not to mention his companions who he perceived to have either escaped or been caught by Shinra. There was a chance Sephiroth could kill Lucrecia, yes. But there was also a chance that Sephiroth would behold his true mother, and the course of the planet’s fate could be altered. And if anything else, he would have at lease broken the barrier between Lucrecia and her son. The disdain in Sephiroth’s voice didn’t go unnoticed, but Vincent remained visibly unmoving. “You’re mistaken,” Vincent stated boldly. “She doesn’t want to claim you, use you, or control you. You desired Jenova as a mother, did you not?” The gunslinger asked calmly. “So...What does ‘mother’ mean to you?” Allowing Sephiroth to mull over the question, Vincent looked out over the snowy horizon once more, the winds catching his cloak and brushing passed his long raven-colored hair. It was a long ways towards the cave, at least a couple days of brutal straight-shot travel and that was without any sort of delay or distractions. They would have to traverse through the entire mountain and snow, cross into the desert, and then traverse the mountains to cross Nibelheim. They had gone through it before. But if Sephiroth had indeed transcended into a higher form of power, Vincent knew he’d end up slowing Sephiroth down this time. Perhaps he could use it to his advantage… he had to also find out what had become of Cloud and the others. There was a chance they would also happen across WEAPONS along the way. “We might be able to make it in less than three days. It’s just beyond Nibelheim.” Vincent then turned half way to meet Sephiroth’s gaze. “You are your own individual with your own will,” Vincent assured. “She doesn’t seek to use or control you. She’s not Jenova or Shinra.” Vincent left off giving more details for the time being and turned his attention towards their destination, knowing the latter words would likely trigger something from Jenova. “This reunion… it’s been long overdue.” Taking a step into the snowy grounds, Vincent began to travel onward, the harsh winds tearing at his cape and once again sending a painful reminder of the bitter cold. But none of that mattered. Time was running out.

[thefugitivesaint]

My Old Ass (2024) Scene from the above mentioned film. The main character's little brother is obsessed with Saoirse Ronan, has begun moving into his older sister's room (who is leaving for college) and is planning on covering every wall with her image. I was struck by this particular scene because I had a friend in High School who did the same thing but the object of his obsession was Winona Ryder. It was a bewildering experience to walk into someone's bedroom for the first time to see every surface adorned with images of an actress excised from various magazines. I immediately thought about the investment of time and energy. And then I imagined spending every day in this room surrounded almost exclusively by Winona Ryder's decontextualized likeness (and probably giving zero thought as to what she might be thinking, feeling, and doing in any of the given pictures). Eventually finding my thoughts coalescing around one question, "Why?" There's a fine line between innocuous fascination and creepy fixation*. It's a weird experience to find yourself trying to determine which side of that line your standing on and how to tell your friend that *slowly pointing at the walls* "This is concerning." *I think the only way one can determine where that line rests and when it's been crossed is the quantity of pictures of said person being displayed. Generously, I would say that more than 12 pictures is too many pictures. This quantity is a provisional baseline and can be adjusted to fit one's own sensibilities.

[antinitoniny]

santa doesn't know you like i do

"i wonder if santa could bring a whole damn 6ft man this midnight" you said, pouring yourself another glass of red wine.

"...is that what you wished for this christmas?" anton, your best friend asked. he seems concerned & LOOKS concerned.

"i mean, i can't really think of anything i want for christmas except for an intelligent, hot, athletic, 6foot man to ruin my 2025." you said

you & anton have been friends since your womb era considering the fact that both of your parents have been friends for decades.

your friendship is basically fixed & y'all can't do anything about it anymore. proven & tested when you tried to cut him off during elementary after stabbing his arm with a pencil but you found each other in one dining table the next evening.

now that your parents wanted some time to themselves, the "kids" are left to take care of the house this christmas eve.

now, you're sitting on the couch next to anton, trying to figure out how the hell would santa fit in the chimney.

"you brought the cookies out, didn't you?" you asked, checking the table near the tree.

"for santa? are we seriously gonna do that?" anton asked, looking at you like you're some 5-year-old.

"um, no? it's for my future husband that he's bringing over." you rolled your eyes jokingly.

"what did you wish for anyway?" you asked

"i wished for someone to like me back" anton said, sitting back comfortably, looking at the ceiling.

silence.

anton waited for your response but you weren't saying anything. curious (and nervous), anton looked at you to check your reaction.

there you are, spacing out.

"what's on your mind?" anton asked, popping your lil bubble.

"how the hell would santa grant that? it's not like he can put that in a box & leave it under the tree" you said

anton laughed loudly for a minute or two which made you think that he's going insane.

anton, on the other hand, found your thoughts funny. he expected you to tease him about his lil crush or ask him about who it is. but instead, you were worrying about santa.

"i can't think of anything else. plus, i don't really believe in santa." anton replied

silence.

but this time, it was because the conversation was done. silence has never been awkward with anton which is mainly why you've learned to love anton's company.

his presence doesn't make you worry about what you're gonna say next nor how you're gonna continue the conversation. you can just exist in one place in silence & it can be the best hours of your day.

"what exactly did you write to santa?" anton asked, looking at you. for some reason, you felt nervous to look back & engage in eye contact so you stared at the tree.

"good morning, santa. if i'm on your good kid list, i'd like to have a good company for christmas. preferably a 6ft man in his 20s, smart, nice, soft spoken, family oriented, athletic, and hot. thank you, santa. merry christmasㅡ with a bunch of hearts" you recited from your memory.

"that's basically me" anton whispered

"huh? are you badmouthing me on christmas?" you raised your brow

"i said that your wish is not that specific" he said sarcastically.

"santa observed me for years as a good kid, he knows me & he knows my type" you rolled your eyes jokingly at him

"i've been with you for more than a decade, i think i know you more than santa" anton mindlessly replied

"your point being?" you asked

anton gulped. he doesn't know what he's going to say & confessing to his longtime crush is definitely not part of his 2024 bingo card.

"that i'm more than qualified than santa in fulfilling your wish" anton said confidently, succeeding in hiding his nervousness (at least in his end)

"i don't think any of your friends fit the criteria" you said, lowkey hoping that anton will offer himself

"i do" and he did

"huh?"

"i fit your criteria, don't i? am i not enough as a christmas gift?" anton teased, leaning over to your side of the couch. anton's confidence grew once he saw how flustered you are.

"hahaha what are you saying? stop it hahahaㅡ i wonder if they're home? i'll checkㅡ" you said, standing up to go to the front door. your face is obviously heating up from the unexpected turn of events.

"i like you" anton interrupted you. you stood frozen to your spot, looking at anton who's already looking at you.

"i love our little moments together like how we spent hours just walking around town last weekend, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. you make the most random things feel important." anton smiled while recalling your little moments together. you couldn't help but smile as well.

"it's the way you laugh at your own jokes, even when no one else does. it's honestly one of my favorite things. you'll say something dumb, then look at me with that "I know it was bad but I’m laughing anyway" expression, and I’ll always laugh too, because I get it. " anton said, slightly teasing you. you rolled your eyes jokingly, chuckling of how accurate he is as if he has read your mind during those moments.

"also, right, you've always hated wearing those big jackets in the winter, but I know you’d never leave the house without it because someone else might be cold. i mean, you always let someone borrow your jacket without a second thoughtㅡyou act like it’s no big deal, but I know it’s because you don’t mind being a little uncomfortable if it means someone else feels better." anton continued.

his words warmed your heart. you didn't know that he noticed that.

"is that why you always wear two jackets and i somehow find a magic jacket on my shoulder?" you laughed

"yeah, and you always tease me about how dramatic i am for wearing two jackets." anton sighed

"you could've just made me hold the other jacket just in case" you said

"you hate holding stuffㅡ it's always ME who's holding your bag anywhere" anton quickly rebutted which made you zip your mouth.

anton chuckled and continued.

"anyway, i admire your perspective on different things & how you view people. it's like, no matter how messy the situation looks, you always manage to find the good in it. you see beauty in the things other people might miss, like how you can walk through a crowded street and notice a little detail, like the color of someone’s shoes or the way a kid is laughing, that makes everything feel lighter. " he said.

"there’s something about the way you move through the world—so real, so unbothered, but always with purpose—that makes me want to be better too."

anton said, looking at you sincerely.

"i can’t help but fall more for the person you are when no one’s looking. I’m not sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, you became someone I want to know more, be more, and be with." anton said, walking closer to you.

"so.. merry christmas?" anton laughed the awkwardness off.

"i don't know what to say, i'm really bad at words" you said, tearing up

"obviously, i'm aware. you're not obligated to say anythingㅡ i just wanted toㅡ i just felt likeㅡ" anton's words were soon interrupted by you.

"i love you. like, fuck it, i stabbed you with a pencil when we were 7 because i was sad because you didn't like me" you confessed. you were so close to crying because of anton's words and anton just stood there, laughing his ass off.

"you're pretty violent..." anton said, acting so offended

"h-heyㅡ"

"i'm sorry for the late confession. i should've known." anton suddenly said. he was about to say more but you immediately interrupted him with a hug.

"...maybe i should start believing in santa" anton chuckled, burying his face on your neck.

"merry christmas, ant." you said, breaking the hug to look at him.

"oh my god. thank you, santa" anton said, completely taken away by your beauty & by the thought of how the situation escalated to this.

you laughed at how chaotic he is. the anton you love, the anton you've loved that seemed to have never changedㅡ and you're glad that he didn't.

"i actually wrote your name on my santa wishlist" you confessed

"good to know. after all, santa won't give you somebody that loves you more than me".

[gachagon]

Concerning your theory on Desmond protecting Eloise and knowing her from before the killing game, I think I found something that could be used as evidence for that.

During his introduction in chapter 0, Desmond phrases the fact he never killed anybody in a specific manner : he says

"I only practice on stationary targets. Moving targets are really outside my comfort zone. Believe me, I've never taken a human life."

He never denies having shot somebody, he only says that he never killed someone, and that he doesn't like moving targets.

That seems to be in accord with the theory that Desmond is protecting somebody from before the killing game, as a bodyguard might not have to do any murdering, simply incapacitating any threats.

As for who he protects, I think the scene where Desmond bring attention to the broken locks.

Eloise is quick to understand what Desmond is doing, defending his decision in front of everyone, saying

"I think I get what he's trying to say. You just want to everyone to be honest with each other... so we can cover all our bases... right?"

afterward, Eloise reacts to both Toshiko attempts to choose herself the pairs, and to Ingrid saying they should separate by gender.

While Desmond can keep his calm as it was already established that he was good staying composed, but Eloise, as is shown in her Free time events.

I would also like to hear your opinion on the theory that the organizers of the killing game are previous ultimates. I think we can prove two, and extrapolate two more.

I think Tozu is clearly the ultimate actor, or maybe playwright. He is quite theatrical, and he often makes literary references, from Horace to the bible. He also, in a Inner World (the scenes when Damon sleeps, taking the place of the monokuma theater), he said :

"that's what we in the industry like to call a "cliffhanger"."

Which implies he is from an industry that uses that term, so some form of media.

Mara is most likely an ultimate soldier, or similar, as she uses guns, and dresses similarly to Mukuro.

The two we can extrapolate don't have name, and one doesn't have any known talent.

The one we don't know anything about is the one mentioned in the Inner world about ships. Tozu mentions a "spindly boy with cream-colored hair". I think he is also part of the killing game organizer, even if we know nothing about him, simply because he is described physically.

The second we can extrapolate is the previous ultimate debater. In Wenona's Free time events, we learn that there was an ultimate debater before Damon, who was also more accomplished than him. I think he is part of the killing game organizers mainly because it would fit the theme, as a previous debater but with a more "important" or "real" talent than Damon.

Oh wow I did not think there'd be more evidence to support the idea of Desmond and Eloise being in some form of alliance, but the more clues people bring up the more I'm kind of convinced of it as well. I also noticed that when Desmond said he'd never "killed anyone", he didn't explicitly say he's never actually shot at a moving target, just that he's not that great at it (which I don't believe lol how could you be the Ultimate Marksman if you can't actually hit a moving target?)

However, I think the point in your second theory could have something to do with it. Damon mentions that nowadays the title of Ultimate is just "given to anyone" and has kind of lost it's meaning. And when you think about it, it makes sense when you really examine each character and how they use their talent. Damon is a debater, but he rarely uses it to argue for himself, choosing to instead use it to argue in favor of other people's points.

Eva was the Ultimate Mathlete, but she was clearly good at other things besides math. So if she wanted to, why didn't this Ultimate talent program give her a different title, or one that could encompass all of her actual talents?

Kai is the Ultimate Influencer, but a lot of the people there don't recognize him at all.

Ulysses is the Ultimate Historian but he doesn't even remember everything, and has to write most of it down.

They all are stuck with a talent but either aren't as great at it as you'd expect, or have something holding them back from really excelling in said talent. I wonder if this Killing Game is being put on by truly great Ultimates who lost their titles to the current cast of characters? Imagine you work hard for god knows how long to get recognition, but you lose it all because some kid who's not even that great at it becomes better anyways lol

And from the way Eva described it, being an Ultimate really dictates how people see you in this society. She wrote a lot of papers on other subjects but they were all ignored because "She's the Ultimate Mathlete" and that's all.

[more-than-a-princess]

That was probably wise: anyone wishing to identify themselves as someone protecting a former Remnant of Despair, particularly one so visible as she was, was someone asking for trouble. Sympathy towards her and her friends was not a popular view, even in the Future Foundation itself. Makoto Naegi was only able to command the authority he did, Sonia thought, because he was able to defeat Junko Enoshima and in turn, he was given whatever he asked or got away with whatever he wished. His former classmates, those still alive anyway, followed in his footsteps for that belief. Even Togami.

So where, then, did Yaguchi fit in all of this? As far as she could recall, her classmates had perished in The Tragedy. All of them, and yet she'd somehow survived. Sonia hadn't thought to ask how or why: it wasn't her place, and she doubted it was something Yaguchi wanted to remember.

"If you insist, I will not counter the suggestion of having you accompany me," Sonia told her, unable to keep the fatigue from seeping into her tone or her eyes. Being a midwife for a cat was exhausting enough, but the realization that no one cared about her well-being more than Yaguchi did and that Yaguchi herself didn't seem to fathom the extent of it...well. Maybe it was something between exhaustion and concern. Just like the hopeful future Yaguchi could reach out and grab if she wished, Sonia's own reality would be a blemish upon it. "Besides. If it is not you, I believe the intent is to send someone else very experienced in combat who answers to Togami, who would have to visit far more frequently to assess my progress."

Something she wondered had more motives than one, a thought that made her skin crawl. The world was bigger than the Future Foundation and they both knew it: not even a thwarted Armageddon could alter the familial duties of the rich and privileged. The ones who had survived The Tragedy, anyway.

She nodded at Yaguchi's agreement. For now, that needed to be enough, her vocalized promise to evacuate Novoselic when she was no longer content with her life there. But a part of Sonia wondered if the woman could realize it when she faced it, or if she'd just endure. Her perseverance surely must have kept her alive through The Tragedy, at her own expense. Who was to say it wouldn't surface again?

"Good, that is what I ask of you to accompany me," She replied, leaving no amount of negotiation in her terms. "But my kindness is just...humanity, I think. Or an attempt to be a human again after the monster I was. Or still am, I'm not sure if being a member of the Remnants of Despair is something I will ever be able to truly put behind me. Do not give me too much credit, Yaguchi: I do not deserve it." She didn't deserve to live, even, but Sonia chose not to mention that as she let go of the other woman's hands in order to begin moving the messy blankets and towels off the bed. It was a two person task to move the mother cat and her kittens onto clean, warm blankets for the evening, though Sonia could at least bundle the soiled linens and toss them into a clean laundry bag for someone to retrieve in the morning.

Something she realized too, thankfully. Once they'd moved the cats so not only they'd be kept clean and warm, but Sonia would have a place to sleep as well, it was time to settle in. "I am not too hungry, thank you," Sonia admitted, finally able to stretch her legs out properly in her own bed. Small luxuries: she'd nearly been certain she'd have to sleep on the floor that night in favor of the new, growing family that called her cabin their new home. "But a cup of hot herbal tea would be lovely, if you do not mind preparing it. I have some rose and violet tea sent from home, in the pink and purple tin." She gestured to it. Chocolate was still too bitter or too saccharine for her to stomach but she'd give Novosonian roses a try. Since she'd woken up, she'd found the scent too cloying, too irritating for her nostrils, likening it more to blood than flowers (and for good reason: she'd dipped white ones into human blood to decorate her castle). But she'd try it again, if just in an attempt not to let Yaguchi down in how much of a disappointment to Novoselic, and to her, she'd surely be.

"I'm aware that it doesn't matter to Future Foundation, Miss Nevermind, but it matters to me." Shinobu let out a soft sigh. "I don't wish to make myself out to be your protector, or someone to whom you owe anything." That wasn't how she thought, and it was important to impress that upon Sonia. Shinobu had her vanity and her arrogance still, in some places, but to be so self-aggrandizing at this point in her life was unlike her. "But, if the rest of my organization is indifferent, and the world you're soon to inhabit is against you, then, I'd rather you have at least one person on your side."

Her hands were holding hers softly, and what Shinobu wanted to do was slip one of her own from Sonia's grasp, and gently cradle the side of her face. This was the woman who was so resigned to everything in her future? The woman who believed that she deserved everything awful that happened to her? The woman who looked in the mirror and saw in it nothing good reflected back? Were it not so serious a moment, Shinobu might have found it humorous enough to laugh, in their own fragile way.

No, Sonia Nevermind had always been a good person, and Shinobu had known that from the night they'd first met. What other explanation was there for her attempting to extract such a promise? They were friends, perhaps, but Shinobu knew they couldn't be equals, not so long as she was a Future Foundation agent. If Sonia resented her for her freedom and position, Shinobu could never have blamed her. But instead, she sat beside her, urging her to reach out and take happiness for herself. It was earnest and genuine. The least Shinobu could give her in return was the same genuine sentiment, even if there were truths she couldn't speak.

Softly, she squeezed Sonia's hand as she once again looked at her, gazing into Sonia's cool blue eyes without blinking. Her own eyes were intense, Shinobu was sure, as they always were, but she tried to keep her expression as gentle as she could to properly convey her feelings. "You're kind to care so much about my well-being, and my future. Thank you, Miss Nevermind. Truly." It was a gift for another person to be worried about her, to consider her feelings and her desires, even when they might have conflicted with Sonia's own.

The truth was that there was nothing else she wanted. There was no career that suited them, and no home to return to. The family estate could have been destroyed, and were it not, then her pond was rotten with the corpses of her pets and the winds had scattered the rock garden sand such that it would take days to fix. So many of her friends were long-dead, and both her mentor and her girlfriend had been killed recently too. There was nothing back there for her except an empty apartment too large for one lonely woman.

Not that she'd say as much, of course. She'd told Sonia of her life before, but right now, there was no reason to make her feel guilty due to the state of things. Instead, they just nodded. "Alright, Miss Nevermind. I promise." Still looking at her, they gave her hands another small squeeze. "In the event that I decide that I no longer with to be with you in Novoselic, I'll put in my request to leave immediately." That day would not come - Shinobu was sure of it. It was a promise easy to make with that in mind, secure in the knowledge that the thing she would want most in this world would be to be at Sonia's side.

Only then did Shinobu break eye contact, gently bringing her hand away from Sonia's, and standing up from her seat. "But, it's been a long night, Miss Nevermind, and I imagine we might both be up a while longer with all the excitement that's gone on." The movie was still running, but even if it was quite cute, Shinobu had since stopped paying close attention. She supposed that was only natural when Sonia was being rather earnest and charming beside her, instead. "Can I get you something to drink, or, can I make you something to eat that's a little more substantial than popcorn?"

[allylikethecat]

I would absolutely love to read your take on number 21 and 29, Matty and George (obviously) 😍

Yay!! Thank you for sending in these wonderful prompts! I decided to fill them as two separate responses. I hope that's okay! As always, I am having so much fun with these!

I also want to put a disclaimer / warning on #21 just in case. I decided to project my own body image issues onto Fictional!Matty (sorry Fictional!Matty) so, proceed with caution if that is something that any of you lovely people find upsetting 😊

❤️Ally

21. Kiss ... on a place of insecurity.

Matty felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs, he started sweating, panicking as he did another little shimmy hop, trying and failing to suck in his stomach. It was no use, there was still a good inch and a half between the button and the hole of his jeans, and no matter how he twisted, or contorted his body, he couldn’t get the pieces of fabric to overlap. Rationally, he knew he had gained weight over the last ten years. He had an arse now, a little bubble butt George liked to tease him while giving it a smack, but he hadn’t realized just how much weight he had gained.

The jeans he wore now,  the fabric clinging to his arse and thighs, unable to be buttoned, and digging into his sides had been too big for him when he left for rehab. His eyes welled with tears and he tried to blink them away. He knew he was being proper ridiculous. He was thirty four years old, he had gotten this particular pair of jeans when he was twenty four years old, a skeletal drug addicted child. Of course his body was going to change, of course they weren’t going to fit now. He took a deep breath. It just had never occurred to him he wouldn’t even be able to button them.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” George called, still sprawled out on the end of the bed, flipping through a music production magazine, right where Matty had left him. 

“Kinda,” Matty called back, wincing at the way his voice cracked. He turned to look at himself in the full length mirror, thankful for his bougie walk in closet, taking in the way the black fabric was stretched tight over the curve of his ass, the way the waistband dug into his sides giving him the appearance of love handles. The fans were going to be disappointed, he thought hysterically. 

He might claim to be off social media, but he had seen the tweets, he had seen the way they wanted him to wear “the jeans” and the Robbers shirt for Reading and Leeds. They were playing their debut album in full, they were using the old band logo to promote the appearance, the band’s social profiles were plastered with photos from that era. Though he tried to pretend otherwise, Matty knew he was a nostalgic fucker. Once he had seen the Tweet, he couldn’t get the idea out of his head. He wanted to wear the jeans and an old pair of Chelsea boots and while he might not have the Robbers shirt anymore, he still had an endless collection of slutty, gauzy, black button downs. 

He had lost the Robbers shirt ages ago. He was pretty sure he had actually thrown up on it in a parking lot in Arizona and George had left it on the curb, not wanting to bring it with them into the rental car as he tried to maneuver his semi conscious body into the vehicle. But he still had the jeans. They were in a plastic bin in the back of his walk in closet, packed away for safekeeping. It had felt weird to keep them, especially with the changing of times and the evolution of his personal style, but Matty hadn’t been able to bring himself to part with them, lugging them from Shoreditch to Hackney and now Queen’s Park. 

He wished he had donated them when he had the chance. He wished he hadn’t kept them. He wished he had lost the storage bin or left it at his mother’s house. He never would have made the trek up to Manchester for a pair of jeans. He would have ordered another pair online, in his current size, and he would have been none the wiser that the original pair no longer fit him. He wouldn’t be overcome with such an overwhelming wave of self consciousness. 

He still took his shirt off on stage, he still pranced  around with his shirt unbuttoned. Hell, half the time he was shirtless in his own home, they were having a heatwave in London and despite what he paid for his concrete sanctuary, the air was dodgy. His chest felt tight, and he wished he hadn’t left his phone on the bed next to George, tossed there when he announced he was going looking for the perfect outfit for Reading and Leeds. He needed to google what the fans were saying. He needed to check Twitter and Reddit, TikTok and Instagram and Tumblr, he needed to see if they had noticed. He was sure they had noticed, they noticed everything else about him. Of course they would have noticed that he gained weight. He just wondered why no one in his personal life had told him. He hadn’t even realized Patricia had been buying his trousers in a larger size until this particular moment. 

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” George said, stepping into the closet and leaning against the door frame to give Matty a leer, taking in the juicy curve of his arse. Matty turned away from the mirror and instantly burst into tears, wrapping his arms around himself to hide his stomach and the way he wasn’t able to button the jeans.

“Whoa,” said George, rushing forward, “Whoa, what’s wrong?” 

“Don’t touch me, I’m disgusting,” Matty said with a hiccup and George took a step back, blinking at him in confusion. 

“What?” he asked, bewilderment coloring his voice.

“They don’t fit,” he said, his voice small and wet as he looked up at George. 

“What doesn’t fit?” George asked, not following.

“My fucking jeans! The jeans! The ones the fans want me to wear! For Reading! Because we’re doing Self-Titled! They don’t fit anymore!” Matty said feeling hysterical. “I gained weight and now my fucking jeans don’t fit!”

“Matty,” said George softly, taking a step forward, to pull Matty into his arms. “Matty, love, those jeans are ten years old, I’d be worried if they did fit you still.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Matty asked, his voice muffled by George’s tee shirt, his tears staining the fabric with salt. 

“It means,” said George, pulling back to kiss Matty’s forehead. “That you were two stone underweight when you bought those jeans.” He pressed another kiss to Matty’s chest, in the center of his tattoo. “It means that I thought we were going to lose you in those jeans.” 

“Stop,” Said Matty, trying to squirm away, he didn’t want George to touch his stomach. He didn’t want George to look at it. 

“Nope,” said George, dropping to his knees to bring his lips lower. “It means that you’re healthy now, that you’re hot as fuck, and I can’t believe that out of all the beds in the world, you share one with me.” 

Matty flushed, cheeks and ears burning red as George kissed his stomach, licking along the waistband of the jeans where they were digging into his flesh, mouthing at the V between the two sides that wouldn’t button, nosing along the exposed waistband of his pants and nipping at his We are Kings tattoo. 

He hooked his thumbs into the belt loops and tugged, Matty wanted to die at the way they snagged over his arse, the stiff denim not wanting to yield to the curve, before they caught around his thighs. The discomfort and embarrassment killed the spark of arousal that George had been generating in his stomach. As if sensing that Matty wasn’t in the mood, was still feeling vulnerable, George rocked back onto his heels and looked up at Matty, his own arousal darkening his eyes. 

“I love you,” he said, before leaning forward again to bury his face against Matty’s stomach, and turning his head to kiss along the irritated, red indentation left on his side. Tentatively, Matty ran his fingers through George’s short buzzed hair. 

“I love you too,” he said softly.

29. Kiss…as a promise

It was raining. Because of course it was raining, they lived in London. It was always raining. But of course it was raining when Matty decided to show up on George’s doorstep, soaked to the bone, curls plastered to his forehead. Because despite being born and raised in the UK, despite having lived through more rainy days than sunny ones, Matty was always caught off guard by a rain shower. 

He was always surprised that it was raining. He would look up at the sky in confusion, the droplets sticking to his eye lashes like he couldn’t understand how the weather could possibly betray him in such a way. He had been sick constantly when they were children, always coming down with a cold after being caught in the rain.

It wasn’t that he didn’t own a rain jacket, it wasn’t that he didn’t own an umbrella or rain boots. He just never thought he would need it. He never thought to bring them. Despite his cloudy moods, it was always sunny in Matty’s mind. George wondered what his excuse was today, his justification. It had rained all night, and continued on into the morning. There was no way the rain was a surprise today. 

But it was only fitting then that it was raining now, that it was raining when he showed up on George’s doorstep like the hero out of a romance novel trying to win back the heroine. George wasn’t sure if he counted as a heroine. George wasn’t sure if wanted to be won back. (He wanted to be won back.) 

“What do you want, Matthew?” George asked, purposely keeping his voice flat and monotone, purposely not opening the door wide enough, purposely keeping Matty out in the cold rain, while he stood on the landing in a pair of basketball shorts and socks, the heat from his fireplace warming his back. 

He crossed his arms over his bare chest, watching Matty’s throat work as he swallowed hard, looking up at him from a few steps down. He blinked and shook his head, water dripped from his curls like a dog after a bath. George fought to keep from smiling at the mental image, it was like Matty as a naughty puppy having been caught chewing on his master’s shoe or having pissed on the carpet.

“Any time now,” George said again, he knew he was being an asshole, but he was getting a chill from the open door, and the water was inching closer to his socks. Everyone knew that wet socks were the worst feeling in the world. Matty was shivering, though he didn’t seem to be aware of the fact. The white button down he wore had gone translucent, showing off the distinct dark lines inked into his body. George could see his nipples dark pink and erect. He was sure to have been a sight to see on the tube ride. George wondered if he was here as Matty Healy, George’s oldest and closest friend, or Matty Healy the character on stage. 

George resisted the urge to tap his foot impatiently. If Matty was going to apologize, he needed to get it over with. Rolling his eyes, George went to shut the door, he wasn’t going to play this game anymore. He was tired, it was raining, he wanted to go back to his warm sitting room and continue watching Yellowstone. He was paying extra to stream it now that they were no longer in the states. 

“I’m sorry,” Matty said, his voice low and rough, something about his tone caused George to pause. 

“Excuse me?” he said, opening the door again. He had been waiting for an apology, but he hadn’t expected one.

Matty took a step forward, climbing the first step. “I’m sorry,” he said again as if he was testing the taste of the words on his tongue. “I’ve been a fucking twat and I’m sorry.” 

He ran his fingers through his curls, sending more water droplets flying as he took another step forward. There was only one brick step between them now. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry that I hurt you, I’m sorry that I embarrassed you, that I undermined everything that we stood for. I’m sorry that I’m so fucking selfish that I’m still standing here telling you I’m sorry because I love you more than I love breathing. I’m sorry that I put my foot in my mouth and I don’t think before I speak, and I make everything about me, and that I never learned how to take responsibility for my actions and-”

“Stop,” George said, running his own fingers through what little close cropped hair he had left, a nervous habit that he doubted he would ever break. “Please, just stop.” 

“But George-” Matty said, his voice taking on a breathless, desperate tone, he was crying George realized, he wondered if Matty had been crying the whole time. His saltwater tears mingled with the rain like the sky was crying with him. 

“Just stop.” said George, trying to make sense of the apology, trying to unravel it, trying to get to the bottom of it, trying to understand if that really was, what it was. He was stuck on the three words Matty had said, replaying in his mind like a scratched record on repeat. I love you. I love you. I love you. I’m sorry. I love you.

He stepped out of the doorway, down the step, so that he and Matty were now standing on even footing. It was still raining and his socks were getting wet. I love you.

“I love you too,” he said, surprising even himself with the way his voice cracked on the words. Matty looked up sharply, his eyes wide, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I love you too.” George said again, reaching forward tentatively to brush Matty’s soaking hair out of his eyes. 

For someone that was filled with too many words, for once Matty was speechless as George leaned down and gently pressed his lips warm to Matty’s cold ones. It was their first kiss. It felt like a promise.

[waywardstation]

WIP FRIDAY

I apologize for getting this out two days late, I’ve been busy with lots of packing and events! But I have a little reprieve, so I wanted to post another WIP; this one is from Heart Full, Bowl Empty.

BE AWARE THAT THIS SEGMENT INVOLVES A CONVERSATION REVOLVING AROUND UNWILLING BUT INTENTIONAL STARVATION. I know there are people who say they can’t read this fic because of themes like this, so be aware of this before reading this WIP!!

I included this snippet in today’s WIP because I have like three versions of the entire segment this snippet is from. I feel like it’s a really important segment with a really important conversation, and I’ve had a hard time balancing all the emotions the way I want to between Ingo and Akari, with frustration, sadness, anger, and empathy, to realistically get them to the resolution I want at the end of it.

The final version will probably only include a few parts from this particular segment.

Enjoy!!

—————

“I knew it! You’re doing it again!” Akari’s eyebrows scrunched, trying to understand through the frustration. “You said you wouldn’t!”

“Circumstances will improve soon.” Clearly done with the conversation, that was all Ingo said, but it was confession enough that he had fallen back on his word. Shame contaminated his voice, but if there was any regret, he hid it well.

“No, it won’t!” They were not even half-way through winter yet. “And you know it won’t!”

Ingo said nothing as the kits carefully moved around his slumped form, finding comfortable places to settle around him. She didn’t know if he intended to snuff the conversation out with angered silence, or if he was just too exhausted to care about arguing with her anymore. If it wasn’t for his small occasional signs of movement or acknowledgement, she’d think he was actually sleeping.

Akari carefully stepped into the nesting layers, moving to sit down next to Ingo. She settled with her back against the cavern wall, pulling her knees close as a few kits shuffled around to accommodate her. “You know I’m right.”

Huffing out an irritated sigh and nothing more, it didn’t seem like Ingo had any intentions to engage with her argument anymore.

“You couldn’t even pull yourself up over the ridge,” She prodded at him again, trying to motivate more conversation out of him. “I had to help you!”

“There are many, many factors that go into that.” A reluctant answer, perhaps a reflexive attempt to quell her worry; Ingo feebly rubbed his wrapped hand, almost as a display for his excuse.

“I’ve seen you do more when you’ve been hurt worse.” Akari retorted, a little softer now but still cold.

Ingo’s eyes remained closed, though his hardened expression implied that it came across as more accusatory than she’d intended. But perhaps it was precisely the time to be accusatory.

“Ingo, you’re so tired all the time now – you stopped coming to the training grounds because you just can’t make the trips all the time anymore! And you’re sleeping so much more than you used to, and it’s like you’re always hungry all the time, even though all I see you doing anymore is gathering food!” Akari’s voice grew more jagged as she continued to jab at him, entirely uninterrupted.

It was getting difficult. With Ingo’s tunic still sopping by the bucket, still somewhat red from the exhausted effort of washing out the blood, it could not hide the ribs that pressed out just a little bit more, or help fill out what the waistline had lost under the loosening belt. The abject dread of directly acknowledging that was too much.

“And- and look! You aren’t even willing to hold a conversation with me anymore, and I don’t know if it’s because you just won’t, or because you can’t!” The kits shifted uncomfortably as Akari retreated back into her own frustration instead. “People think you’re sick, Ingo! They’re asking me about you! What are you doing?”

The exhausted man remained where he laid in the nesting material, only moving his hands to rub at his face and sigh — a deep, forced sigh that swelled his side before releasing. Akari almost didn’t think he’d answer her, but with some effort, he propped himself up first onto his elbows, then slumped forward. The teen watched him run shaky fingers through his hair as he sat next to her.

“…I don’t know what I should do.” The guilt. The weary guilt cracked his voice and tore Akari’s anger down to heartache.

[quietwingsinthesky]

.

[prodixal]

He's pleased by her lack of reluctance to take his hand. But apart of him does hope the news of it do not reach his sister. She was far too sensitive to rumours these days, and while Varyn was not usually concerned with that -- he would hate having to argue his intentions with the young princess. Especially after the day he had had.

"I've no doubt the Queen knows what she is doing. Though I should say, confusions are prone to raise questions." and the Queen was not above questions. After all, she was still but a woman. And the legitimacy of her daughter and her prospects of marriage, should not have been a matter to play with -- nor take so lightly.

Alas, none of that was Varyn's concern. Not really. Though Rheynas words do meet him somewhat by surprise. Her candidness was much too welcome, for his ego had certainly needed the reassurance.

"Had I any idea you were interested, perhaps I would have tried harder. I should certainly offer my apologies, Rheyna -- I've no doubt my life would have been much...happier, had things turned out the way we so wished." he realised he had stopped in his step, so he proceeded with the walk now. "Alas, time cares little for desires of the past. I am certain you will find a match more fitting, in time to come. I certainly wish you nothing but joy."

The words chosen were careful. The same kind he would afford Telessa. Or any young lady still out looking for favourable prospects. He was past all that now. His life had a direction carved, and he was still struggling to discern his feelings on what had to be done.

"As for love. I hear it develops in time. Do not be hasty to assign it more value than it is worth."

Her thoughts of him were sweet. Fitting of her genuine composition. But he could not help feel like he'd wanted them to be true -- more than they really were. Varyn put up a front, a persona for the world to see. Who he was beneath it, he would seldom face, and more often than not, he did not like what he'd see.

Still, he smiles in flirtatious gratitude, and his eyes take on the charisma he had previously left at the bottom of a cup. "No one shall swallow me tonight, princess. I've found company much to my liking. After our conversation, I shall withdraw to my chambers 'til the 'morrow. Much better that way, I fear."

she knew too well that the walls in the castle had ears and eyes when it was beneficial to them . she could not blame him . the sentiment will always be there for him . ❝ It would be a pleasure . ❞ there was no hesitation in taking his hand . despite it all , found herself trusting him , considering she was comfortable around him . perhaps her fondness of him played a factor in the fact that she would blindly take his hand .

❝ a point I told her before but my mother says she knows what she is doing ❞ and rheyna would at least like to believe so . Albiet , her choices in their lives are making it difficult for them all . VAELORA ESPECIALLY .

his confession came at a surprise for her . ONCE . She had no doubt that his father did not approve . No noble who wanted nothing more than to elevate their family standings would . Still , the thought made her lightly chuckle as she thought about how she felt for him . ❝ I would have said yes to you in a heartbeat , my lord ... all considering , my heart desired to belong to you and I wanted to give you all of me , once upon a time . ❞

lilac eyes looked up as his every feature . ❝ I promise I do not feel discouraged . ❞ yet to be desired and to loved were different . She knew the eyes many had for her . she had her mother's beauty and more so . ❝ Wishful thinking of me to hope to marry for love , should someone actually decide to ask for my hand . ❞ FOOLISH EVEN . Rheyna knew otherwise . when it came to royals , despite being a bastard , happiness and marrying for love is the one thing they can never have . Only the rare few in her bloodline was able to have that . ❝ nevertheless , even if it's irrelevant , now ... Thank you . ❞ part of her didn't dare to venture out the thought of what could have been .

❝ your sister is only looking for your best interest which is her best interest ❞ she lightly laughed . ❝ you have nothing to worry about . at least not with me . ❞

then rheyna pondered at his question for a slight moment before stepping closer . As if to assess him , with a smile gracing her lips . ❝ I care not what others say . I like to form my own thoughts about someone when the times comes ... so far , my thoughts ; you are very much like the symbol of your house . Much like a lion , fear becomes irrelevant , and every challenge is just another opportunity . The roar of a lion is not without reason but the lion is not so fierce as they paint him to be ❞ then the dragoness decided to lightly tease . ❝ There is also the obvious answer ; handsome , strong , irresistibly charming . you should be careful not to get swallowed tonight . I am sure someone is bound to .❞

[wonder-worker]

"...Walsingham, the monastic author of the St. Albans Chronicle, was by far [Alice Perrers'] harshest contemporary critic, who in his venom has (somewhat ironically) left us with the longest and most detailed account of her background and personality, her influence as Edward’s mistress, and her subsequent trial. He describes Alice as a shameless lowborn meretrix (a word variously translated as mistress, whore, or harlot), who “brought almost universal dishonour upon the king’s reputation […] and defiled virtually the whole kingdom of England with her disgraceful insolence.” Although Walsingham was not always accurate and, specifically in this case, clearly heavily biased against Alice, he nevertheless provides a truly contemporary account, and his importance as a source should not be underestimated. Likewise, the anonymous monk of St. Mary’s York recorded that in the Good Parliament the Commons (represented by their speaker, Sir Peter de la Mare) stated that it “would be of great gain to the kingdom to remove the said dame [Alice] from the presence of the king both as a matter of conscious and of the ill prosecution of the war.” During the same assembly, the bishop of Rochester, Thomas Brinton, preached from St. Paul’s Cross that “it is not fitting nor safe for all the keys of the kingdom to hang from the belt of one wife.” Although the word wife (uxoris) is used, it is widely accepted that this is a reference to Alice.”

-Laura Tompkins, '"Edward III's Gold-Digging Mistress": Alice Perrers, Gender, and Financial Power at the English Royal Court, 1360-1377", "Women and Economic Power in Premodern Courts" (edited by Cathleen Sarti). Italics by me.

[obstinaterixatrix]

oh I really liked this one but I can’t really pin down what made it stand out to me. more drama/tragedy… it feels more self-aware in a way? I like how dulled some of the emotions are portrayed.

[itsalwaysdark]

i do need 2 work on rewiring my brain so that my immediate very first thought whenever i dont do a small task (like brushing ny teeth taking a shower picking up my room etc) isnt 'We Should Kill Connor ." this would be pretty good for me to do. putting this on the list

[verystressedcollegestudent]

if there's one thing i hate more than slackers in group projects its goddamn hypocrites

[pepperyduck]

this is love ft. kento nanami

a/n: a few sappy slices of life with my main man :3 enjoy as i dig up motivation to finish kinktober. 18+ mdni!

"honey?" kento's voice is muffled through the door as he calls out to you, "everything okay?" the door rattles as he tries to open it, knob jingling.

"uhm, yeah! everything's fine!" you nervously shout, much too loud, and rush to unplug the iron that had melted your husband's favorite shirt. you panic and yelp when the hot iron scorches the side on your hand, throwing the stupid device to the ground in a clatter.

"why is the door locked—are you okay?" he asks, voice becoming more concerned as he hears the movement inside.

"i'm—i'm fine! promise! just give me a minute!" you're rushing into your shared master bathroom to run cold water over your hand, and kento’s using a screwdriver pulled from thin air to break into your bedroom. tears well in your eyes when you catch the sight of kento seeing his favorite shirt burnt and melted to his own ironing board. "i’m so sorry…"

in reality, he doesn’t care about the shirt—he’s already at your side to inspect your burnt hand. after a few seconds, he speaks.

"did you try to iron my shirt for me?" nanami asks, a small smile on his face, "you didn’t have to do that." he turns off the faucet and takes a small towel to dry your hand off.

"i tried to, i’m sorry—i didn’t know it would do that." you apologize, looking down at the cold tile flooring in defeat.

"oh, honey." he coos, "it’s only a shirt."

"have you seen your father?" you ask your son, yū, who’s sat at the dining table, eating breakfast. he shakes his head no, and when you look at your daughter, mayu, she does the same.

"jeez," you grumble to yourself, bedroom slippers pattering down the hallway as you go to search for your husband. saturday mornings were his time to sleep in, but realistically, he never slept past 9am. and currently, it was nearing 10am.

you check everywhere. he isn’t found in the bedroom, living room, his office, the garage, the patio or in the little garden he kept. upstairs, downstairs, everywhere, he isn’t there. and when you check in your bedroom for the last time, you hear a soft buzzing coming from the bathroom. upon entering, you see your husband bent over the counter, leaning close in the mirror as he shaves his stubble with an electric razor.

"there you are—when did you get that?"

kento had always been a clean shaven kind of man, going to a barber shop once every two weeks for his straight razor shave. it hadn’t even crossed your mind he didn’t go after work yesterday.

but when he looks at you—you burst out laughing. he’d shaven most of his beard off, but a few fuzzy patches remained on his cheeks, along with a mustache grazing his upper lip. peach fuzz and a few knicks litter his chin. this was the first time you’d seen him unable to do anything perfectly. and he looks ridiculous.

"is it really that bad?" he groans, pouting when you wrap your arms around yourself in a giggling fit. you shake your head, although your unforgiving laughs are a testament to the opposite.

"no—no, let me help," you say after calming down.

after gathering a new razor and some shaving cream, you sit atop the counter and your husband stands between your legs. kento is surprised how flawlessly you shave his face, without creating any more marks or cuts. you giggle and kiss him, getting some shaving cream on your face.

"ken?" you shout from the kitchen, where you’re sat, working on your dissertation. it’s been a long road of blood, sweat, and many, many tears; but you’re finally getting towards the end. about to earn a doctorate.

"yes, darling?" kento replies, walking into the kitchen on queue, his timing impeccable.

"can you read over this paragraph, please?" you kindly ask of him, pointing to your most recent written paragraph. he leans over you, planting one firm palm on the table, the other on your back; his eyes read along the sentences and his fingers tap along your spine.

"ah," his finger becomes more focused on a certain word, "wrong 'there', honey."

"no it's not..." you instantly retort, squinting your tired eyes to read over your writing. and you're right, it was the correct one the first time. this was his version of teasing you. but kento couldn't keep up the face much longer before he's giving in with a shit-eating grin you didn't see that often. "you're funny." you groan as kento stands back up.

after reading over the paragraph for about the nineteenth time, you notice kento silently slipping you some tea before turning back around to keep himself busy with cleaning. you absentmindedly take a few sips, then some more...and you find yourself becoming more and more sleepy...

and you're out like a light, forehead pressed directly against the table as a puddle of drool forms on the papers below. kento already has a warm blanket straight from the dryer to drape over you, and you stir just enough to get comfy on your arms.

kento knows that his back will hurt in the morning, but he sits around the corner of the table next to you, settling his head into his arms to drift off to sleep alongside you.

music of your taste plays rather quietly in the kitchen. you stir the pot of soup and inhale the flavorful aroma that wafts through the air.

kento sets two bowls next to the stove, then rummages through your silverware drawer to find two spoons. the kids are at their grandparents for the weekend, it's only you and your husband, converted into the duo you were long ago.

you step away from the stove to go fill up two glasses of wine, the brand kento had as his favorite had slowly turned into your favorite over time, too.

kento fills up the two bowls to the brim of the delicious food, grinning on the inside at the simplicity of it all. just you and him. he lids the pot with the matching glass top and makes his way over to the table.

you set out place mats for the both of you, then place the wine glasses in their prospective areas. kento places the bowls on top of the mats as you grab the spoons from the counter.

in the kitchen, your bodies subconsciously dance around each other. carefully, in perfect tune and pace. delicate steps of a routine formed over so much time together.

in the universe, your souls are tied, striding alongside one another in each lifetime repeated.

and this, is love.