#and that's without mentioning how hollow the victory ends up being

[hurlumerlu]

I was wondering how they would deal with the inevitable symbolism of Jack winning the ladder game (basically how could the writers make him win while avoiding a slew of unfortunate implications), and the fact that he closes the gap by chosing to trust a friend and then wins entirely by chance (his oponent simply. landed on the wrong case) was the most graceful way they could pull it off.

[silantryoo]

BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — wonyoung's l/n y/n.

jang wonyoung, before first year.

WARNINGS ; mentions of toxic household, mentions of self-sabotage (1.8k)

jang wonyoung knew it wasn't right to run from her problems.

she wasn't the fastest on the team, not by a long shot. she lagged behind her soon-to-be teammates, always running a mile thirty minutes slower than them. her legs, although powerful, were only good for jumping up, never forward.

still, it never deterred her from trying, the constant reminder of her mother in the mirror and her father in her name. no matter how much she failed and how often it scarred her, she always ended up running.

wonyoung was tired of running.

victor's hall.

trophies scattered the walls, ribbons and banners waving in the air. a collection of all suma's best, their achievements immortalized for the centuries to come. the cases were in pristine condition, glowing in the soft back light that emitted behind the multiple enclosures.

a place in victor's hall was no small thing. after all, suma only took the best of the best, evident in the overwhelming number of olympians and professional players that were alumni.

getting into suma was a victory in itself; being one of the SKYS.

but wonyoung didn't feel like it was a victory. it didn't feel like she won some grand prize, or that she finally got into her dream school, on a scholarship in her dream program.

it felt... hollow.

she had sacrificed too much to not continue. her relationship (although there was barely anything there) with her father, her chance at a 'proper' university, her knee, her diet, her stress, hannah...

god, she even left hyunseo in that horrible, greyed out house with her father who only loved her during the good, when her baby sister reminded him that she was the creation of real love and not whatever the hell wonyoung was.

hyunseo was a lee, she wasn't born under the circumstances of business, not as a jang.

she knew her mother would do everything in her power to protect hyunseo, though. there wasn't much that wonyoung could ensure jiyoung with, but they both wanted the same thing. they both wanted to protect their younger sisters in one way or another, or in jiyoung's case, whatever's left of it.

wonyoung looked at last year's banner, the emptiness settling in her stomach once more.

'FINALIST'.

she couldn't help but wonder if it was her fate would be the same this year. her father was sure to pull her out of suma if that were the case. he'd pull all the funding from under her feet, take her off his will and leave nothing in her name.

she couldn't have that, not until after university. she was on a full ride scholarship, but how was she going to survive? would she starve? wonyoung couldn't work a job on top of being on the volleyball team. in all honesty, wonyoung had never even touched a cleaning rag.

wonyoung poked on the glass, sighing to herself.

was this even worth it? was she worth it?

"are you allowed to get fingerprints on that?"

wonyoung jumped, flinching so hard that her hand retracted from the case at lighting speed.

was she already in trouble? it was barely her first week as an official suma spartan, yet she had already done something that could get her kicked off the team.

was this the moment she was going to get expelled?

"i-i didn't...!" wonyoung frantically wiped the mirror with her sweater, cleaning it of any marks she left. "i was just looking, i swear!"

the volleyball player turned around.

"i'm not gonna tell." a soft smile appeared on the person's face, and wonyoung could feel her knees buckling. "i don't even go here yet."

oh... wow.

part of wonyoung wanted to speak, she wanted to introduce herself like she always did; 'wonyoung', without the jang, of course. for some reason, the air in her throat seemed to get stuck, feline eyes staring at her in wonder.

"i swear, i'm not lying." the girl chuckled. it felt like music, like a lullaby. "i was just wandering around. one of my coworker's told me the bookstore was down victor's hall. i didn't expect it to be so... big."

wonyoung blinked.

she was absolutely lost. would a laugh ease the tension? a smile? maybe a thumbs up was enough, or would that make her look like an idiot?

all wonyoung managed to do was let out a soft 'huh?'.

"the bookstore..." the girl cleared her throat, looking wonyoung directly in her eyes. the taller girl could feel her entire neck burn with a blush. "do you not go here...?"

"i-i do!" wonyoung blurted out, her words jumbled and rushed, just like her thoughts. "i go here, i mean."

the girl giggled once more, and wonyoung blushed harder. the mystery girl was pretty, wonyoung towering over her shorter stature. she was dressed in nice clothes, a little under the radar and not what wonyoung was used to seeing, but still nice. she even fidgeted cutely too, rubbing her knuckles together as if she were...

"are you cold?"

wonyoung bit her lip, cursing at herself internally. she was no good at talking to pretty girls, not when they looked like this. part of her wished her yujin-unnie was here to help her out.

the mystery girl smiled. "maybe a little?"

the volleyball player tugged off her sweater, feeling her sweaty back hit the cold air.

"i-it's a little sweaty." the one time she didn't take a shower after practice was the one time a pretty girl came up to her and decided to be cold.

"i shouldn't-" the pretty girl refused, a bright blush on her face. it took everything in wonyoung to not slam her head into the glass cabinet, feeling too giddy to even breathe properly.

"i'll be fine." the athlete managed to squeak out, suppressing her shiver. "it's cheap anyway."

it was about 100,000 won, give or take. it was cheap to wonyoung, but definitely not cheap enough that anyone without her background would give it out.

she knew at this point, the girl was sure to be curious of her status.

"thanks, um..."

"wonyoung," she said simply.

she prayed that this mystery girl wouldn't ask about her last name. the shorter girl didn't know the implications it held for wonyoung; the pain and the tears that hid behind the word. wonyoung couldn't blame her if she asked, but she didn't wanna think about it right now.

right now, she just wanted to be wonyoung. just wonyoung, talking to a pretty girl (and pretty much landing horrible on her face).

the shorter girl smiled, her eyes studying wonyoung's face with curiousity.

the athlete felt her hand twitch, an overwhelming urge to straighten her hair and put on a camera-ready smile. she wondered if the pretty girl recognized her through the grapevine, or perhaps was debating whether or not wonyoung was worth talking to.

(she was actually admiring wonyoung's beauty, but wonyoung didn't need to know that yet.)

"i'm y/n."

wonyoung grinned. she finally had a name to the person.

it was y/n, who was pretty, and who had a nice smile. she was the pretty mystery girl who giggled like wonyoung's favourite lullaby, currently drowning in her volleyball sweater that seemed a size or two too big on her. y/n was who she met a mere ten minutes ago, with striking eyes and a beauty mark on her nose.

and she was someone who wonyoung couldn't function around.

"nice to, um..." wonyoung stumbled over simple words, her brain screaming at her to finish her sentence. "...meet you, y/n."

as the name left her mouth, wonyoung couldn't help but blush. she couldn't believe that a pretty girl was wearing her sweater, and now she knew her name.

next thing she knew, y/n would be her friend.

wonyoung could only hope.

y/n smiled with a hint of fondness, and wonyoung wished that it was because of her as a person and not because of her current inability to speak proper words.

"nice to meet you, wonyoung."

the volleyball player could feel her ears burn the same shade of red as her sweater, her brain nearly exploding at y/n acknowledging her as wonyoung and just wonyoung.

she was just wonyoung to y/n.

wonyoung watched as y/n fished something out of her pocket, a phone in her hand. the shorter girl opens it with ease, handing it to wonyoung with a smile.

wonyoung looked at the open phone app. what was she supposed to do with this?

"for your phone number." y/n clarified, and wonyoung sore she burst a blood vessel somewhere in her brain. "so i can return your sweater."

the taller girl could feel her ears ringing. she was sure she was dreaming, and she'd wake up to her half empty dorm with yujin banging on the door, yelling at her to hurry up for practice.

she waited a moment for her eyes to open, but all she found was her still staring at y/n in front of her.

"r-right, um," wonyoung cleared her throat, desperately trying to remember her phone number.

wonyoung put it in shakily, reading the numbers over and over again to make sure it was hers and not yujin's or yena's. knowing those two, they'd swoop at the opportunity and wonyoung was not about to let this pass, even if it led to nothing in the end.

the athlete saved it with a sigh, handing it back to the girl in front of her.

"i'm gonna go catch up with the group." y/n smiled, placing her phone in her pocket. "thanks again... i'll see you around, hopefully?"

oh god, wonyoung didn't even think about seeing y/n again.

"yeah..." she nodded stiffly, mirroring a robot from some sci-fi movie she saw yujin's sister watch some time ago. "uh, around sounds... nice."

y/n shot her a look, shaking her head with a smile.

"yeah..." wonyoung missed the way y/n's eyes lit up with adoration. "it does."

the shorter girl wandered away, the opposite direction from wonyoung. she waited until y/n was out of earshot before she groaned, sliding down the wall into a puddle of her own embarrassment.

"'around sounds nice'? are you stupid, wonyoung?" she could die right there, evaporating into nothingness. it would definitely save her pride. "oh god... i'm stupid!"

she was never gonna live this down, but she would definitely try to, even if it meant avoiding the most beautiful girl she'd ever seen.

(but a week later, as if by divine intervention, y/n turned out to be wonyoung's new roommate.)

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[peakyswritings]

Heart, Body and Soul || Tommy Shelby x OC

PART IX

Summary: Tommy learns something more about Nina as she opens up to him about her past. Unable to ignore the feelings they have for each other any longer, they reach a point of no return.

Warnings: mentions of arranged marriage, slow-burn, small age-gap (Tommy’s 30, Nina is in her early 20s), time-typical misogyny, references to past attempted assault, harassment, violence, no proofreading, English is not my first language. This is set between season 1 and 2. This chapter is 18+, smut (it’s a spoiler but I need to say it). This is my first attempt ever at smut cause it isn’t my cup of tea, so it might not be that good. Also I didn’t want it to be just porn but I wanted it to be ✨functional✨ to the story and tell something, so I hope I did that.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

SERIES MASTERLIST

Gif credits

Dividers credits

Nina muttered a few curses under her breath as her elbow accidentally hit the bottle of milk standing on the table, spilling its content everywhere. She hastily grabbed some rugs, trying her best to contain the damage. Maybe deciding to bake so late at night hadn’t been her best idea. But she needed to keep herself busy or she would’ve lost her mind, because apparently sleeping was no longer an option for her.

She couldn’t sleep without having nightmares anymore, and all of them involved the same person. Stefano. Sometimes he had her pressed into the wall again, and no matter how hard she screamed, no one would come save her. Sometimes he was standing in her father’s study, arranging their marriage as if she weren’t there. Sometimes he was waiting for her at the end of the aisle, with a grin on his face and a glimpse of victory in his eyes. And every time she woke up feeling his weight on her again, and his breath on her face, and his hands up her legs. She told herself she was being dramatic, that she should’ve been glad nothing had actually happened and forget about it, but the feeling of disgust that had been pervading her since that fateful morning just wouldn’t go away.

What her father had said during the lunch had been the last straw. All that talk about leaving her free to make her own choice was nothing more than empty words, a way of keeping her sweet until he managed to persuade her. And she was scared, because she knew that if he made that decision for her, she wouldn’t have a say in the matter. Because the alternative would’ve been a break with the Spinietta family, and that was something they couldn’t afford.

She missed her nightly talks with Tommy. For almost a month, he had managed to take her mind off all the ugly things that were happening in her life. Talking came easy with him. She didn’t know how else to explain it except to say that they seemed to understand each other. It was surprising, to say the least. Sure, there were parts of him that stayed a mystery to her, and parts of her that she still couldn’t let show, but they felt more like something to discover rather than an obstacle. Still, that meant nothing. Those parts were not hers to discover, and he wasn’t supposed to get any closer to her than he had already done. So they had pushed each other away, and reduced their interactions to the bare minimum. But that didn’t make it any easier. She missed him, despite her attempts to keep him out of her head, and now that they didn’t talk anymore it was as if she was on her own again, trapped into a world that spoke a whole different language.

However, Nina wasn’t the only one who felt the weight of that distance. She was the one person who had made Tommy’s stay in Italy somewhat bearable, and her detachment had left him feeling… hollow.

It had also brought him back to the reality of his situation, though. There was a war going on on more than one side, and he needed to do what was necessary for him and his family. He was walking on a thin line that became more precarious the more he waited. He had two days left to propose, or else the deal would be off, and God knew what would happen then. The most absurd part of it all was that what rationally should’ve been his major concern was overshadowed by something else entirely. He was scared of what would happen to Nina once he’d be back in Birmingham with Agnese on his arm. He didn’t know what was exactly going on with Spinietta, but if there was one thing he had learned, it was that when a man there decided he wanted something, he’d take it, one way or another.

If he could’ve been sure it wouldn’t have started yet another war, Tommy would’ve taken his eyes days ago. And when It didn’t matter how much he told himself that it was the injustice that made him furious, deep down he was aware it wasn’t true. The truth was he cared about Nina. He cared about her in a way he wasn’t supposed to. He had no idea how it had happened, but she had managed to make her way into his heart with steps so light he didn’t even realise it until it was too late. And now thoughts of her filled his mind night and day.

He didn’t think he’d ever feel like that about someone again, after Grace. Grace had been the first person he had opened up to in a long time, he had allowed her to see those parts of himself he never let show, and he had realised there was still a small light inside of him, a sparkle that had survived the storm brought by the war. And he had thought that maybe there was still hope for him. When she betrayed him, the darkness engulfed him again, and any shred of hope he had left faded into dust. But just like a match, Nina had made that sparkle burst into a flame, showing him that it had never been extinguished in the first place. It overwhelmed him how much he wanted her. He could feel her in his bones, in his veins.

It would’ve been a lie to say that the thought of talking to her father hadn’t crossed his mind. But Nina was not something he could take for himself. He couldn’t rob her of her freedom. Even he wasn’t that bad. He could only be content with the little time he had with her, and carry it with him when everything would be over. Maybe that was the reason why he walked out of his room that night, in the hope that she’d be in the kitchen, making herself her terrible tea.

And there she was, except that - much to Tommy’s confusion- she wasn’t making tea. She was surrounded by bowls and pans, and there was flour spilled all over the table. Apparently unaware that she was no longer alone, she kept on stirring the batter with a whisk, with an aggressiveness that gave away her inner turmoil.

“What are you doing?” He caught her attention, earning himself a brief glance before she shifted her eyes back on her work.

“Baking,” she replied, her imperturbable expression clashing with her snappish motions.

Tommy frowned, walking further into the room. “It’s three in the morning, Nina.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Nina’s statement made him cock an eyebrow in disbelief. It didn’t take a genius to guess that she wasn’t baking in the middle of the night because she craved some sweet treat, and her short answers and dismissive behaviour were all Tommy needed to understand that there was, in fact, something going on in that mind of hers.

Slowly, as one would do with a wounded animal, he approached her, and he could’ve sworn her breath had hitched in her throat. “Are you alright?” He asked, coming to a stop next to her.

Her movements ceased, and her hand clenched around the whisk before she let it go. She swallowed, keeping her gaze on the table, and Tommy wondered whether that reaction was due to the question or their proximity.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She recollected herself, sending him a sideward look.

Tommy knew better than to push her. Insisting would only cause her to shut down even more, and that was the last thing he wanted. So he pretended to believe her, and took a seat at the table without another word.

Silence fell in the room as Nina resumed mixing the ingredients, and a new feeling began to rise up inside her. It had been a while since they had spent some time alone, and she had started to surrender to the fact that it would never happen again. Yet, there they were. She would’ve liked to say that it was as if they had never been apart, but in truth it was different, now that she wasn’t lying to herself anymore. With the acknowledgment of her feelings, came the awareness that whatever was going on between them wasn’t destined to last, that the end was near, and that every moment they spent together could’ve been the last. And it didn’t feel right.

She had never felt that way about anyone. She didn’t even know she could be capable of it until she met him. He had made her question everything, even herself, and she despised him for it. She despised him for making all her certainties crumble, for taking everything she had ever known and turning it into an undefined mass of doubts, for making her feel things she was sure she could never feel for anyone else.

Nina could feel Tommy’s eyes on her has she put the chocolate cake in the oven, and that alone made her hands shake. Against all logic, his gaze on her was something she both craved and escaped, it made her feel uncovered and… seen. She wasn’t used to being seen.

Closing the oven, she pushed those thoughts away. There was no point in torturing herself over what could not be changed. She checked the time on clock on the wall. Forty minutes.

“I have to clean this mess,” she murmured, more to herself than to Tommy. One look at the disaster around her, and she already regretted her decision. She inhaled deeply as the thunderstorm of emotions she was trying so hard to contain threatened to slip out of her control, but soon tears welled up in her eyes. She turned her head away so that Tommy wouldn’t see them, but it was too late.

“Oi,” he furrowed his eyebrows, getting up from the chair. “What’s wrong, eh?”

Many things were wrong. Her family, Stefano, that. Whatever that was. “I have to clean this mess,” she repeated, her voice cracking.

“It’s alright, I’ll help you,” he said reassuringly, taking a few steps towards her, worry painted all over his face.

Nina shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “No, no I can do it. It’s…” she trailed off, the knot in her throat making it difficult to even speak.

Tommy’s heart painfully squeezed in his chest. It was overwhelming, to see the suffering she hid behind her mask of fierceness and wit. It was never about the tiredness, or the lack of sleep, or the fucking dishes. She had things eating at her from the inside. Just like him.

“C’mere,” he gently brought his hands to her face, forcing her to look at him. A few tears fell from her eyes, then others followed, like incessant stream that could no longer be held back. “It’s alright,” he said softly, wiping them away. “It’s alright.”

Nina closed her eyes, letting herself be soothed by Tommy’s deep voice and the tender touch of his rough hands on her skin. His fingers traveled through her soft hair, brushing it away from her tear-stained cheeks, before resting on the sides of her face again. “This pain that you have,” he whispered, “share it with me.”

She brought her hands above his, looking up at him through her lashes. Her thumbs faintly stroked his skin, and he could read a hint of hesitation in her features. But when she guided his hands off her face and took a step back, he was certain that she had closed off again, leaving him outside of her mind.

As though nothing had happened, she started to clean up, and Tommy with her, despite her protests. For a while, the clinking of pots and the rush of water were the only noises that broke the stillness of the kitchen. Then, unexpectedly, Nina started to speak.

“It has been going on since I was fourteen,” she said, scrubbing a bowl. Tommy stayed silent, afraid that she’d change her mind if he even made a sound.

“I was in the..” she broke off, looking for the right word. “…ginnasio. I don’t know what it’s called in English. It’s after elementary school,” she explained. “Girls stop at elementary school, they don’t get a higher education. It’s not like it’s forbidden, but it’s just how things are. So as you can imagine, it caused quite the scandal.”

Tommy grabbed a towel, drying the utensils that Nina washed as he listened.

“It caught Stefano’s attention. He studied at the liceo, which is after the ginnasio. He always came to talk to me, asked me questions. My brothers had already finished school at the time, so he was free to approach me without anyone saying anything.” She paused, taking her time to properly clean the whisk. “It didn’t bother me, at first,” she admitted, and Tommy caught a trace of shame in her tone. “He was good looking, a bit older, and he was fairly nice to me. Most girls in the village were in love with him and his brother. I had no idea about what they did.” She handed him a spoon, keeping her gaze on the sink. “Then one day I saw them beating a man half to death in his own shop cause he hadn’t paid for protection. I didn’t even know what protection was,” a laugh escaped her lips, but there was no humour in it. “I have my way of finding out stuff, and people talk, words spread. And once I learned who he was, I decided that I didn’t want anything to do with him. I thought I just had to be patient, cause he was on his last year of school. He asked me to be his girlfriend, on the last day before summer break, and I said no. I thought he’d leave me alone after that,” her voice lowered. “He didn’t. Even when he finished school, he’d always find the way to come to me, to talk to me. He became insistent, he thought I was being difficult, that I was saying no because I didn’t want to say yes right away.”

Fucking bastard, Tommy thought.

“The more time passed, the more I saw, and learned,” Nina continued, her eyes darkening at some distant memory. “And I found out Stefano and his brother had a habit of dragging girls into their car. I didn’t know what it was that they did to them, back then. But it was scary. I stole my brother’s pocket knife, just in case, and always took it with me.”

Tommy almost felt sick. It was even worse than he had imagined. It had been going on for years, ever since she was a little more than a child. Years, and she had never said anything. A question burned on the tip of his tongue, a question whose answer he feared, but that he needed to ask nonetheless. For the first time since she had started telling the whole story, he spoke. “Did you… did you ever need to use it?”

She fell silent, and for a moment he thought he had screwed up. But then she nodded. “Yes.”

His stomach dropped at her revelation, and he stopped what he was doing to take a look at her. He could read the effort she was making to talk about that on her face.

“I was buying groceries with Agnese, and she had stopped in a shop. He came to me while I was waiting for her, tried to convince me to go with him in his car. I pointed that knife at his throat the moment he tried to grab me.” Her voice had hardened, her eyes burning with the determination he had witnessed so many times. “That scar he has, it’s because of me.”

Tommy exhaled the breath he hadn’t even noticed he was holding. Although enraged, he was relieved that Nina didn’t share the destiny of those girls before her, that she had been able to hold her own. Something really close to pride swelled in his chest.

“Unfortunately, it didn’t make him stop. If anything, it made him worse. The fact that our families do business together didn’t help. Soon he was everywhere. At church, outside my school, he even helped my mum with the groceries. I only had some rest when the war came. His father sent him and his brother to their relatives in New York, so that they wouldn’t fight. I hoped he’d stay there, but he came back. And he started again.”

Having finished to wash the utensils, Nina began to put them back in their place. “Recently, he went to speak with my father. He wants to marry me. That was why he was invited here for lunch.”

Tommy felt the blood freeze in his veins. He had imagined the nature of Stefano’s visits to the Ferrante house, but knowing it for sure was an entirely different thing. The thought of Nina being married to that fucker made him sick to his stomach. “What you just said to me,” he said, “tell your family. They’ll understand.”

Nina shook her head, the shadow of a sad smile growing on her face. “I tried.”

She kept herself busy with the last things that needed tidying up, the topic clearly being a raw nerve. “The first time Stefano followed me home from school I went to my father,” she elaborated, wiping the table. “He asked me if I had, perhaps, done something to��� encourage that behaviour. To make him believe that I wanted that kind of attention.”

She finally put down the rag, then she went to wash her hands, dismissing the subject as if it was nothing. But that wasn’t nothing. That was a lot, and she didn’t deserve it. It was no wonder she always acted as if it was just her against the whole world. She had to protect herself for years.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said truthfully. It was the only sentence he could muster up. What could he possibly say, after what she had told him?

Yet, those words had an effect on Nina. All that time, she had felt like it was somehow her fault, or something she had to get over. But that short sentence, said with so much sincerity, carried a meaning of its own. I’m sorry that happened to you. It was the recognition that something had indeed happened, and that it wasn’t something she had done, but something had been done to her. Maybe she was overthinking that, maybe he had only said the first thing that came to his mind, but she needed to hear it.

After that, she let the conversation drop. She would’ve probably regretted sharing that much in the morning, but for the moment she felt lighter. The burden that had weighed down on her shoulders for so long wasn’t as heavy, now that she wasn’t carrying it alone. And even if it lasted just for one night, even if that weight came crashing down on her again the next day, it was enough.

Ten minutes later or so, she took the cake out of the oven, then covered it with a clean tea towel. It would’ve been fun to explain to her mother where it came from. “It’s late,” she murmured, glancing at Tommy. He was leaning against the table, an indecipherable look on his face. Her gaze was captured by the way the muscles of his shoulders showed through his undershirt, then lingered on his forearms, exposed by his rolled-up sleeves. A warm flush crept up her cheeks, and she found herself taken aback by her own thoughts. She really needed to sleep. And Tommy, who she had kept up with her. A sense of guilt pervaded her. Things weren’t easy for him either, and he needed to rest as well. She cleared her throat, hesitantly getting closer to him. “Thank you,” she whispered, resting her hand on his arm. “For staying.”

Tommy turned to look at her, his body stiffening. That contact was enough to send a chill down his spine. Only the thin material of his undershirt was separating his skin from her fingers, yet her touch burned, awakening all the sensations he had been trying to keep at bay. She was beautiful, and mere inches away from him, and her scent was making his head spin. His eyes drifted to her lips. He still remembered how they tasted, and that only added to his yearning. As though it didn’t belong to him anymore, his hand moved to delicately stroke her cheek, the roughness of his knuckles contrasting with the softness of her skin. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she almost involuntarily leaned closer. With a burning desire clouding his judgment, Tommy tentatively pressed his mouth on hers, testing the waters. When her lips started to move against his, his hand went to cup the back of her head, deepening the kiss. It was different than the first time, when his eagerness was so intense that he couldn’t bring himself to be gentle. He kissed her slowly, delicately, as if she might break in his hands.

Nina did feel like she could break at any moment. Vulnerable, exposed. And the craziest part was that she didn’t mind, not even a bit. Because she felt safe, in his arms. However, once again, reality set over her like a dark mist. She slightly moved away, shaking her head. “We can’t do this, Tommy,” she whispered.

He nodded, closing his eyes shut. They were still close enough for their noses to brush, and the tried to imprint that feeling in his mind, in his soul. “I know,” he rasped.

Neither of them moved for a while. Neither of them wanted to. They had been restraining themselves for so long. But it was too late. Inhaling sharply, Tommy took a step back, and a feeling of coldness engulfed both of them.

Nina paced back and forth in her room, fragments of what had happened less than ten minutes ago in the kitchen playing in her head again and again. It felt as if she had reached a point of no return. She couldn’t lie to herself anymore. She couldn’t go against herself anymore. She wanted him. It didn’t matter how much she tried to convince herself that she didn’t, that she should step aside before it became serious, that she’d forget about him anyway. None of it was true. She had tried so hard to put an end to that, to push him away, but she hadn’t been able to. She felt selfish, and cruel, and a traitor for that. And the worst thing was she didn’t care. In that moment, she didn’t care at all. She wanted to be selfish. She wanted to be cruel. She wanted to be a traitor. For once, she didn’t want to think about anyone but herself.

Fuck it, she thought. She walked out of her room, her pulse racing. It wasn’t fear, she wasn’t scared of being caught. With her parents’ chamber being in the other corridor and her brothers being away on business, no one would see her entering Tommy’s room. It was the anticipation for something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She stopped in front of the door, pondering whether to knock, just open it, or simply leave, feeling her courage already slip away from her. What if he didn’t want to see her? What if he was already asleep?

Determined not to let the whirlwind of thoughts and panic scare her out of it, she brought her fist to the wooden surface. The seconds stretched into an eternity as she waited, nervously fidgeting with her fingers, and when the sound of his footsteps came to her ears, she thought her heart could jump right out of her chest. Tommy opened the door, confusion painted across his features, but before he could say anything, Nina pulled him in and crashed her lips against his. It didn’t take much for him to recover from the surprise and wrap a strong arm around her waist, pulling her inside as he closed the door with his free hand. She found herself trapped against the hard surface, enveloped by the warmth radiating from him as their bodies pressed together. Her hands slid behind his neck, bringing him impossibly closer, eager to feel more. The feeling of his strong frame all over her made her knees buckle, and she was pretty sure she would’ve ended up on the floor hadn’t he been holding her. His smell, which had become now so familiar to her - a mixture of soap and cigarette smoke, with a hint of whiskey-, invaded her nostrils, making her head spin.

His hands roamed down her body, covered by the cotton nightgown. He gripped at the soft material, feeling the last shred of his self control drift away from him. It was too much. She was too much. God knew how much he wanted her, but he didn’t want her to do something she was going to regret. Once they had crossed that line, they couldn’t go back. “Nina,” he groaned, breaking away from her. “We have to stop now. I have to stop now.”

“Don’t.”

In the dim light of the room, Tommy examined her expression, only to see there was not a trace of doubt in her eyes. He gulped, gently stroking her cheek. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He leaned with his forehead against hers, rubbing his thumb on the skin of her jaw. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop,” he husked. “At any moment.”

She nodded, but when he leaned in to kiss her again, she put her hands on his chest. “Wait,” she blurted out, causing him to take a step back. “I’ve never…” Nina didn’t finish her sentence, but she didn’t need to.

Shit. Tommy had imagined it, of course, he was no fool, but having it confirmed… He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. But there was a part of him that didn’t care at all. The bad he couldn’t help.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Nina pondered her answer, the reality of the situation washing over her. Theoretically, she knew what to expect. Practically, it was a whole different thing. And she knew that if she said yes, she’d be ruined. Still, she didn’t care. And she was hit by the overwhelming awareness that she’d let him do whatever he wanted to her. “No,” she breathed out.

She felt like she could melt right there when he raised her chin to capture her lips again. What started as a tender kiss became more heated, and soon he was basically devouring her, unable to restrain himself any longer.

Tommy had thought about that moment more than he’d ever admit, and now that she was actually there in his arms, it almost felt unreal. Yet she was there, and she was trusting him. And as he grabbed her waist to press her against him, he noticed his own hands were shaking.

Nina tilted her head as he started to leave a trail of kisses down her neck. A gasp escaped her lips when he reached a particularly sensitive spot, and an unfamiliar ache spread between her tighs, causing her to unconsciously rub them together. Her reaction didn’t go unnoticed, cause she felt his lips twisting in a grin against her skin. He moved down to her collarbones, then perilously close to her breasts. His fingers travelled up to the straps of her nightgown as he pulled back slightly, a silent question in his eyes. When she nodded, he slowly slid them down her shoulders, uncovering her inch after inch, until she was standing in front of him with nothing on but her knickers.

Her heart raced as she saw desire burning in Tommy’s eyes. Except it wasn’t just desire, or lust. There was something more, something she couldn’t read. No one had ever looked at her that way. With trembling hands, she shyly took ahold of the hem of his undershirt. Her fingers brushed against his skin as she raised it, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps and making his muscles twitch. Once the clothing was lying on the on the floor, she allowed herself to look at him, and explore him. She delicately traced the bullet scar on his shoulder, as if she might hurt him by pressing too hard, then the tattoo on his chest, then the lines of his abdomen, everything that told the story of his life. It was like watching a masterpiece. A torn, tainted masterpiece, but a masterpiece nonetheless.

Her hands reached his trousers, but she raised her gaze on him before unbuttoning them. A glimpse of something that looked a lot like surprise crossed his face, almost as though he wasn’t expecting her to ask. Then he gave her a single nod. After helping her remove them, he gently guided her towards the bed.

A mixture of edginess and anticipation took over Nina as Tommy positioned himself on top of her, one hand beside her head to support himself, the other ghosting over her breasts. She arched her back as he ran his thumb over one of her hardened nipples, the new, strange sensation becoming more and more pleasant as he fondled her flesh. He leaned down to pepper her chest with kisses, his lips warm and soft, then he trailed down to her stomach, her ribs, her belly. That new attention had her squirming under him, eliciting a deep chuckle from Tommy that caused her face to flush. His lips travelled up again to meet hers in a slow, sensual kiss that fogged her brain so much that she almost didn’t notice his hand making its way down to her most private parts. Breath hitched in her throat as he ran his fingers over her clothed sex.

“Do you trust me?” he asked her, his voice reverberating in her own chest. He raised his head to look at her, studying her expression.

Nina’s hand found its place on the back of his head, the short locks tickling her palm. She didn’t even need to think about her answer. One look at his face and she knew. She did trust him, with all her heart. She pulled him down to press a tender kiss on his mouth. “Yes,” she whispered.

Still close enough for their lips to brush, Tommy delicately rubbed his fingers over her heat, stimulating the area while allowing her to get used to the sensation of being touched. When his fingertip found her clit, she let out an involuntary gasp, her fingers tightening around the nape of his neck. He then pushed her knickers to the side, caressing the wet folds before stopping at her opening. Slowly, he inserted one of his digits, and she winced at the foreign, mildly uncomfortable feeling. Tommy stilled his movements, giving her the time to get adjusted.

“Is this alright?”

“Yes,” she breathed out.

He began to pump his finger in and out, careful not to go too deep just yet. Nina let out a ragged breath, pleasure building up inside her as she gradually got used to the feeling. His thumb rolled over her clit, the unexpected move eliciting a whimper out of her. Her breathing became more laboured as he added another finger, stretching her further.

Tommy took in the sight of her under him, eyes closed, swollen lips parted, her eyebrows slightly furrowed in a frown. God, she was beautiful. And she was his, even if just for one night. He moved faster and deeper, working her open until he felt it was enough. A whine of protest left her lips when he removed his fingers, and he smirked at the reaction. “Be patient,” he playfully scolded her, earning himself a glare.

He got rid her now inconvenient last piece of clothing, then took off his briefs. Nina couldn’t help but let her gaze wander to the newly exposed part, and a wave of concern overcame her. It couldn’t possibly fit.

Tommy gently parted her legs more to settle between them and hovered above her again, but he must’ve read the apprehension on her face. “Do you want to stop?” he murmured, running his knuckles over her cheek.

His attentiveness warmed Nina’s heart, dissolving any fear she had. She was safe with him. He wouldn’t hurt her. “No,” she shook her head.

He cradled her head in one of his hands and leaned in to place a sweet kiss on her forehead, then lined himself up with her entrance. Nina braced herself for what was to come, her fingers ghosting over his shoulders in a soothing motion. Tommy inserted his tip, and she couldn’t hold back a stifled gasp at the intrusion. He stood still for a moment, reassuringly rubbing her waist with a hand, then pushed a bit further inside her tight slit. Nina squeezed her eyes shut, the burning sensation almost unbearable.

“You alright?” he asked, the effort he was making to restrain himself showing through the rasp of his voice. Her velvety walls were squeezing him in the most delightful way, and it took all his self-control to stop there.

She nodded, silently giving him the permission to go on. Pain and pleasure mixed as he carefully worked his way past her resistance, until he was buried deep inside of her. He stilled again, giving her the time to adjust to his size. That feeling of fullness took her breath away, it was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. She pulled him impossibly close, eager to feel every inch of his skin on her skin, to melt into him until she could no longer tell where she started and he ended. A low groan reverberated into her ear as she pushed her hips up against his, encouraging him to move. Tommy started rolling his hips, setting a slow, sensual pace that allowed both of them to feel everything with the outmost depth. His lips claimed hers in a searing kiss, stifling the moans that threatened to escape them. Nina’s hands went to cup his face, the softness of his lips enough to distract her from the last shreds of pain and help her relax, thus allowing him to go even deeper. His teeth grazed her bottom lip, further igniting the fire inside of her.

So that was what Nina had been warned about all her life. That was the sin she had been taught she should avoid at all costs, the sin that would bring shame and ignominy upon her and all her family. And she was surprised to find out that it didn’t feel like a sin. It didn’t feel wrong. How could there be shame in that, when it felt so right? How could there be shame in being in the arms of someone she cared so deeply about, who made her feel so safe? Where was the shame?

Tommy’s hands rested on the back her thighs, fingers squeezing the flesh as he felt her tightening around him. He wanted to take it slow, to savour that moment, but it was getting harder and harder as her warmth, her scent, her shaky breaths clouded his senses. It felt like being in a bubble. Nothing else mattered, nothing else was real. Time had stopped for them to exist in that moment.

Nina hid her face in the crook of his neck as he quickened his pace, feeling her muscles tightening in her lower stomach. Tommy guided her to wrap her legs around him, the new angle making her see stars. His thrusts became more erratic, more frantic, causing that strange feeling in her abdomen to become even stronger. “Tommy,” she whimpered, overwhelmed by that vortex of sensations.

“Let it happen, love,” he whispered in her ear, his length twitching at the way his name sounded on her lips.

With a few more thrusts, he pushed her over the edge, and she had to press her mouth over his shoulder to silence the sounds she couldn’t hold back anymore. It didn’t take long for Tommy to follow her, his hips jerking as he spilled himself inside of her.

The world stood still as they stayed in each other’s embrace, Tommy’s cheek brushing against hers. He buried his nose in her dark hair, inhaling her lavender scent. For once, his head was silent. No nagging thoughts, no shovels against the wall. Just peace.

Nina gently stroked the back of his head, breathing deeply as her heart slowed down to a normal rate. Fuck, she had never felt anything like that. It had been… intense. And it had tied her to him more than she could’ve ever imagined. It was scary, to be so connected to someone. To feel someone that much. That was the right expression. She felt him. As if he were part of herself. As if there had been an empty spot inside her soul, and she had lived with it all her life, only to find that it was him the missing piece.

A sudden blast of cold hit her when Tommy got up, depriving her of his warmth and weight. She watched in confusion as he disappeared in his private bathroom, wondering whether something had happened. She sat up on the bed, bringing her knees to her chest. Had she done something wrong?

However, she didn’t need to worry for long, cause soon Tommy walked back into the room, with his private parts now covered by a pair of briefs and a fresh towel in his hand. Without saying a word, he climbed back on the bed, smiling softly at the puzzled look on her face. Slightly embarrassed now that the disinhibition brought by the feverish state they had previously been in had faded, she felt her cheeks grow hot when he gently spread her legs apart. He delicately ran the towel over her sensitive skin, cleaning her up from the sticky mess between her legs, his eyebrows knitted in a concentrated frown. Once again, his attentiveness made her heart skip a bit, and she was amazed by how easy it was to let him take care of her. She never let anybody take care of her.

As Tommy discarded the towel somewhere on the floor, Nina’s attention was caught by the blood stain on the white top sheet. Shit. She got up to remove it from the bed, doing her best to ignore what she’d prefer would stay tomorrow’s problem. “I’ll have to take care of it in the morning,” she murmured.

Tommy laid on the bed again, then reached for the cigarettes on his nightstand to light one. He watched her as she looked for her nightgown among the mess of clothes on the floor, naked, with only her long, ruffled hair to cover her a little. She was quite the sight.

Much to his dismay, she soon found what she was looking for, and covered herself. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, motioning for her to get back in bed, having had enough of having her away from him. “C’mere.”

Nina gladly took her place back next to him, resting with her head on his chest as he draped an arm over her shoulders. She could’ve stayed there forever. But she knew that it wouldn’t be long before the sun made its appearance on the horizon.

They stayed in silence as Tommy smoked his cigarette, his fingertips mindlessly grazing her arm. He didn’t want to think about tomorrow, or about what would happen next. He wanted to stay in that moment while he still could, because he knew he wouldn’t get it back. That thought stung. But he was aware they needed to have that conversation. This time they couldn’t just pretend nothing had happened, and the sooner they talked, the sooner they would clear things out.

“Nina,” he whispered, but no reaction came from her. She had fallen asleep.

Tommy stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray, then turned the small lamp off. He didn’t have the heart to wake her up.

They would think about it tomorrow.

NEXT CHAPTER

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[banshee-king]

The more I think about the finale of Season 3 All Stars, the more I find things to dislike about it.

Obviously spoilers, but whilst I get that the ending was suppose to be “you won but at what cost?” or “who really won?”, I feel like A) it’s been done before so this story is nothing new. It’s only the first time they’ve done in Disventure Camp itself, if you watch other shows it’s old and unoriginal. More importantly B) Riya’s plot armour really undermines this.

In Episode 17, Conner is in the lead, he goes all the way to the back of the race to save Riya, he doesn’t just put her down on the ground but instead carries her with him, he reaches the front of the race AGAIN, and then she kicks him off to win the race with his horse. Her winning with his horse is tolerable I guess, the rules are unclear. But how does Conner’s horse go from first, to last, to first again? Riya shouldn’t have won, Grett should not have been voted out.

In Episode 18, Riya’s plan of framing Jake for breaking Ally’s game should not have worked either. Conner just never told Ally for some reason. Why? Even worse, when Jake zaps Ally at the end, why doesn’t he or Conner then zap Riya? Somehow she just breaks both their buttons? Bullshit, they could totally have zapped her too. Why was Jake even helping Conner move around? It’s not like Conner was going to die, let the dude hop around, it’s fine. Jake just gave up the race and slowed himself down. Riya should not have won, Conner should not have left.

In Episode 20, the challenge was explicitly to reach the finish line with 10 gems. Riya didn’t have 10 before getting chased by scorpions, so when did she get them? It was never mentioned that she stole them, only that Ally lost some of hers. Also, how the hell did Riya throw a rock that hit the bottom of Ally’s backpack, ripped it, and then hit her face? Seriously? The bottom of the backpack and Ally’s face with one rock? How is that physically possible? Not only that, her tricking Ally in hating Jake again was both 1) unnecessary, but 2) another instance of Riya succeeding when realistically she shouldn’t. Ally didn’t trust Riya at the start of the conversation, why did she 1 minute in? That’s 3 plot holes in 1 episode. Riya shouldn’t have won, Ally shouldn’t have been eliminated.

So the whole message of “you won but at what cost?” really rings hollow. Riya shouldn’t have won, and she didn’t need to “sacrifice friends”, because she didn’t win via her own actions. Riya was handed victory by the plot. She wasn’t skilled, everybody else somehow sucked. The laws of physics had to bend to give her the victory, characters became idiots. She didn’t win by any realistic means, she escaped elimination 3 times in a row, based purely off bullshit. If she was going to win by plot armour anyway, she could have kept her friends and won regardless.

Her sacrificing friends for money is a moot point, she didn’t win because she sacrificed friends, she won by plot armour. Also Riya didn’t even have any friends. Rosa wasn’t in S3 AS. Did Riya interact with Lake once? She lost Conner, but finding another man 20 years older than her shouldn’t be too hard, she’s still a famous actress after all.

The entire ending of her regretting her actions and being lonely is flawed, because you could still do that without her winning 3 million. Riya could have been voted out instead of Grett, and still had the same ending. She could still have a successful acting career and no friends. She didn’t need the money to be a famous actress. You could have her lose the competition and “friends”, and still have the final scene of her looking sad through pictures. Overall, Grett should have won, Ellie/Gabby should have won for being her helpers, and then whoever else for helping in Ep 20.

[vindieselsfacebook-blog]

Meaning/references behind every Gilmore Girls episode title - Season 2, Part 1

A new note on my Season 1 post reminded me I never shared S2 here! I enjoy a neurotic deep-dive project and have been working on a clear, concise list of the meanings and references behind each episode title.

Some titles are quite obvious and literal, but many are clever references that emphasize themes and symbolism happening in the plot or character relationships. I like trying to figure them all out and wanted to share in case I have some wrong or people have caught references I've missed or didn't know writers may have spoken about, etc. ASP has such a deep well of pop culture knowledge, I enjoy mining it.

Masterlist: Season 1 Season 2, Part 1 Season 2, Part 2 Season 3, Part 1 Season 3, Part 2

My notes: - As always, please correct anything I've gotten wrong and share your own insight! - Many of these notes are pulled from and/or learned via annotatedgilmoregirls.com - an absolute icon! - Now in S2, we get many more references and more symbolism in the titles than we did in S1. I especially enjoy when there's a song reference and you can get all nerdy about how the lyrics tie into our characters' feelings. - I love the subtle symbolism of Lorelai trying to out-run her commitment issues and getting stopped at a red light (literally) in front of an open door at Luke's. - I knew the reference, but didn't realize how much Luke and Lorelai's dynamic directly related to Nick and Nora until researching.

Season 2, Part 1

Sadie, Sadie Sadie, Sadie is a song from the 1968 musical film Funny Girl, starring Barbra Streisand. The song is sung when Fanny Brice, the comedienne and Ziegfield Follies star, marries her husband Nick Arnstein (Omar Sharif), but the marriage is doomed: Nick is a gambler and criminal, and they separate after he’s sent to prison. The song references Sadie Strakosh, the married daughter of one of Fanny's mother's friends. She gets mentioned early in the show as a kind of success story to be jealous of because she's a nice young girl who landed a dentist. Throughout the film, Fanny deals with feeling unattractive and less than her peers and considers it a huge personal victory that she snagged a handsome man who wants to marry her. This is why she ignores all warning signs and happily and blindly celebrates the affair, echoing Lorelai’s own excited feelings about her doomed engagement to Max. It’s endearing and classic Sookie that she tells Lorelai “You’re gonna be a Sadie!” She’s wrapped up in the romance of it all without realizing how dooming an analogy that is. Although Sadie's dentist is good on paper the way Max is. Possibly an interesting fun fact: when Nick asks Fanny out backstage after her first show in the Ziegfield Follies, he brings her yellow roses.

Hammers and Veils “Hammers and veils” is a pun on “hammers and nails”. Rory uses the pink fluffy hammer from Lorelai to help build a house for charity, while Lorelai is concentrating on her upcoming wedding – including buying her wedding dress and veil.

Red Light on the Wedding Night A “red light” signifies a big signal to stop. Lorelai has received many symbolic “red lights” in her engagement and on her way out of town with Rory, she faces a literal one newly installed in Stars Hollow (ironically right in front of Luke’s Diner where the door is already open for the day - perhaps a metaphorical green light in the direction she should be going, but of course will continue to ignore for years to come). Technically this happens several days before the wedding, not the day-of as the title might imply.

The Road Trip to Harvard Lorelai’s impulsive road trip symbolizing her feelings of being lost, confused, and unable to commit ends up in a trip to visit Harvard for the first time, where she can take comfort in Rory’s more confident, safe, smart plan to make it to Harvard.

Nick & Nora, Sid & Nancy Nick and Nora Charles (William Powell and Myrna Loy) are the protagonists of the 1934 comedy-mystery film, The Thin Man, based on the 1934 novel of the same name by Dashiell Hammett. They’re a wealthy married couple who enjoy drinking and flirtatious banter, with plenty of free time to solve mysteries. It was the first time in a Hollywood film a married couple were shown still able to enjoy sex, romance, and adventure together. The film was such a success, it spawned five sequels, and in the 1950s was made into a television series starring Peter Lawford and Phyllis Kirk. Sid and Nancy is a 1986 British biographical film, starring Gary Oldman and Chloe Webb in the title roles. The film examines the destructive drug-fuelled relationship between Sid Vicious, the bassist for British punk band The Sex Pistols, and his American girlfriend, Nancy Spungen, which ended in tragedy when Sid stabbed Nancy, either accidentally or deliberately. Lorelai is saying that she and Luke weren’t just having their usual comic flirting, but actually fought with each other with a genuine intention to hurt each other emotionally.

Presenting Lorelai Gilmore Rory participates in a traditional debutante ball and “comes out” to society, therefore being “presented”. Using the full name she shares with her mother hammers home the way in which Emily often uses Rory to fulfill the dreams and expectations she had for Lorelai. This is especially clear when Emily tells Lorelai quite literally: “that should’ve been you up there.”

Like Mother, Like Daughter A common proverb claiming that a daughter will have traits similar to her mother upon reaching adulthood.

The Ins and Outs of Inns “The ins and outs” is a common way of mentioning the details about how something works or is done. This episode involves a lot of preliminary research, learning and planning for Lorelai and Sookie looking to start the process of running their own Inn.

Run Away, Little Boy “Run away, little boy” is a common taunt likely originating from the book Still - William (1925), the fifth in the Just William series by Richmal Crompton. The series chronicles the adventures of the unruly schoolboy William Brown. The series has spawned various television, film, theater and radio adaptations and a large fan following. This is appropriate as this episode marks the last appearance of unruly schoolboy Tristan Dugray.

The Bracebridge Dinner Wealthy clients pay the Independence Inn to recreate the Bracebridge Dinner for them at the Independence Inn. The Bracebridge Dinner is a unique Christmas tradition at The Ahwahnee Hotel in Yosemite National Park, California, on the floor of Yosemite Valley. Held annually since 1927, the event transforms The Ahwahnee into a 17th century English manor for a feast of food, song, and mirth with classic carols, Renaissance rituals, Middle Age music, and sumptuous food. Over 100 players create the roles of the Squire and his family, their servants, the Lord of Misrule, minstrels and other performers. The inspiration for this ceremony was Washington Irving's Sketch Book that described Squire Bracebridge and English Christmas traditions of that period.

[zerohallows]

Quiet Places || Zero

Synopsis: Not the usual ghost story.

Zero meets someone among the gravestones.

Sometimes what we want, truly, is to be haunted.

CW: ghosts, mentions of death and mourning practices, child ghosts, reference to animal death, insects

He wasn't, contrary to what people who didn't know him very well assumed, automatically drawn to hollow places, to resting spots, little corners hidden away where people went to, hopefully, not be misplaced.

He'd always mindfully sought them out rather than only being pulled along.

And of all of the places that he had learned people built their monuments and wrapped up their loss in flowers and silent moments, graveyards felt very much like the rest. Special, but only equally as much as the other ceremonies, practices and places the living found comfort over the dead.

Different forms of course, he had learned; there had been months where he had spent hours and hours tucked away in libraries, searching through pages about all the sorts of different ways that people mourned.

Not because he felt he needed to cultivate some familiar kinship with death, truth be told he'd felt more frustration with it in those days than anything else, but because he had a friend, once.

Illness had declared that the world, and himself, wouldn't be allowed to keep her very long. And it was unfathomable to leave her trying to make decisions that seemed incredibly cruel at sixteen, because there was no one else who would help make them for her. Immortality was not, he discovered, the right of youth, even though he still sometimes felt it should have been.

So Zero had learned a great deal about mourning before even experiencing his own for the first time, as an overwhelming effort to help her feel just a little bit better about the things after, the things left behind.

Although searching for a way to convince your best friend the ideas that fell to funerals and ceremonies would somehow be the sort of close to a chapter she wasn't finished writing for herself was awfully hard at sixteen yourself.

So he visited places, still, because he couldn't visit the one where Cece rested anymore since she didn't rest anywhere. She had wanted to be free, wanted to be part of everything, and thankfully humans had customs for that as well and he supposed, even if the notion was for his own comfort, her ashes were still out somewhere chasing sunsets in new places life had never granted her time to see.

It's where fairies go, he'd told her once, to everything, in the end. She wanted the same, to meet again, although he's still not sure if he told some lie, even a kind one, in agreeing perhaps they would.

He doesn't know, really, if humans are made of the sort of stuff that allows for it.

But he hoped then, still did.

It wasn't why he had come to the graveyard that evening though, he'd come because the month was special to him and nearly spent, he liked the quiet, he liked the names on stones he would never know them stories of.

Zero liked feeling connected to what was, sometimes more than he wanted to know what lay ahead. He coveted the somber stone crumbling with time and the mossy burst of life that carpeted them in a silent cry of victory.

Zero found a certain lovely awe in that, a bittersweet poetry.

A wordless shout, the most patient cry he liked to think he could hear, without hearing; I rest here but look, just look at how life grows from my very memory.

See how important my place in this world is while from my very self the leaves curl and the grasses grow and I, truly, am eternal.

If he could only ever learn once he wanted to learn enough.

If being everything is where it ends I would like, he'd thought often, to be just myself for now and look at those names as who they once were too.

Zero rarely felt alone, even drifting amid the stones, the bending branches above and the ground below that he could feel in the core of his being alive with the toss and turn of change in endless motion.

But he was surprised not to have been truly alone that evening as he wandered the graveyard, watching the creeping growth of vines and greenery merge with the headstones, and a flicker of motion among them as his fingertips brushed a few headstones in passing.

It was quite small, no more than a dart, a notion, something barely out of the corner of his eye because for all his connection to the way the world fell apart in time Zero couldn't see human ghosts. At least not the ones who didn't want to make themselves seen.

It that hardly mattered, didn't keep him from pausing and trying to decipher what he finally made out to be the faintest outline of a child standing watchful, as he guessed she may have stood for far longer than any restless soul should have.

"Hello," he had called out carefully, satisfied that the hint of a person didn't suddenly flicker away. Perhaps she, he wasn't certain why the sense of it was there when he could not see her but he felt it clearly enough, was lonely, or curious. He didn't always understand how he knew the things he knew.

Which led him to a comfortable spot to sink down to the welcoming earth where he felt the twisting, curling, timeless growth and fade of infinite tiny lives most never knew of; scurrying, tunneling insects and burrowing creatures who lived and then did not, giving birth to the soil that held tight the roots of the giant above them with its branches turned skyward. He always felt it, always welcomed it, a familiar comfort as he studied the evening's dying light for another glimpse.

Zero continued speaking as though she could answer, knowing she could not.

"I can't see you," and his tone was laced with a bit of regret over that, "but I know you're there. And if you don't mind me staying for a while I was going to spend some time here too."

The breeze was all that met his words but he thought, perhaps, he heard a tiny giggle hidden away in it.

And that was how it had gone, every few nights he returned, because he always felt a bit nostalgic in October and the small motions that gradually became echoing little footsteps and playful rolling of his pencils just out of reach while he drew reminded him of something he couldn't quite place but enjoyed immensely.

"You want to see?" He'd asked once, looking up from the sketchbook in his lap as a tiny twinge of cool air graced his arm and just at the very corner of his eye a figure hinted that someone was there.

She might have been peering over his shoulder, but he knew if he turned his gaze to her she'd disappear into that not quite a place where human ghosts lingered.

The edges of the paper fluttered up, he had come to understand was a gesture of her approval over his work. The image of one of the older gravestones and the flowers that had begun to grow up through the cracks and worn places to decorate its surface in a flourish lay scrawled in sketchy lines there; another marker the peaceful place held.

He wished he knew where she had been meant to rest, where she came from, where she was going.

But he didn't know those things. He didn't know who had remembered her, or if any were left to do so.

That was the only troubling part of mortality to Zero; in its fragile cradle it held so much memory.

He had always entertained a very certain opinion on that, a mantra of let me outlive all those I know.

Not because he was afraid of his own end.

Let me outlast them so I'm not the sadness they feel one day.

No goodbye, no matter how long or how short a time it took to arrive, ever felt as if it came exactly on time and always showed up too swiftly.

"My birthday is very soon," he had mentioned as much before during those one-sided conversations, each time he did the grass stirred and he saw the shift and sway of that almost-shadow of a very small person.

"I'm sorry I don't know when yours is, but you can share mine. I have a present to bring you next time I visit."

The rustle and sway of grass caught his attention, a quiet laugh reaching his lips with it and the excitement he could tell marked the flurry of unseen motion around him.

Children were children, after all, no matter what world they were a part of.

It was a few days more before he returned, the chill in the night air pleasant and his footsteps nearly soundless on the stones, knowing she would find him far sooner than he might have her. With the bending of tall grasses and a gentle sound that might have been a sing-song whisper.

Ghosts did not often forget things, he supposed.

The month had dipped late, drawing closer and closer to its end and that lovely, magical time when the restless souls could reach just a little further into the places they had once dwelt. Zero enjoyed it, the graveyards were inviting when he could feel that subtle hint of energy in the air.

He waited for the impatient little brush of cool air past himself, the stir of echo excitement that blurred around him.

What was it like to have a birthday again after having others forgotten? He wondered, he hoped it hadn't been too many. He wished there was a stone she could have led him to among the others, but she never had. She didn't seem to know herself, if he had to guess by the way the wind wove restlessly through the stones each evening.

So he made due with what he could.

"I promised you a present, didn't I?" He uttered, unclasping his bag to reach into it and remove an unassuming object, small enough to tuck into the palm of his hand as he made his way over to the place he often sat in the nestled spot at the base of the weathered old tree that stood guard over soft, lost souls.

Zero could not see human ghosts, but that didn't mean he was fully detached from the spectral side of things. The ghosts he saw were the lingering presence of other creatures, those bound to places by their remains, far too easily forgotten, too often cut short and unwilling to move on simply because they thought it made no difference if they carried on in flesh and blood or wisps of awareness.

He had a resounding sympathy for them, the Geist, the creatures who flew or crawled or roamed wild places and existed as nature did without connection anymore to the physical; the misplaced animal souls. Because he certainly couldn't imagine what had ever led people to believe that just because they lacked human souls meant any other being had no soul at all.

Fairies did not have human souls either, but he'd always assumed that a soul was only the tie one had to how they reached whatever lay next.

It didn't trouble him.

The breeze drifted, somewhere the not-being and the gray between a little girl lost watched him reach just high enough to work the fragment of bone into the trunk, his fingers urging a crack wider, then soothing it over again with a faint scar in heavy bark.

Watched the firefly flicker of what Zero could see for himself as that anchor settled itself.

The same way many others had when he'd come across them in lonely places they had met unfair or ends they didn't understand; he always searched for better places, more welcoming spots. An empty road was no place to spend your time, especially after the end; he knew this was better.

The curl of motion, thin as a breath of air on a foggy day, stretched and uncoiled itself, a tumble of silvery-gray light fashioned back into four legs and what once might have been the softest fur, when it had been something a person might be able to touch to tell. A pouncing roll and a swat at swaying grasses that dipped in play; but he only saw one side of the game, he could only see the kitten as it delighted in having a playmate again.

Nobody liked to be alone or forgotten.

"I'll still come to visit," he reassured before stepping back to sit on an upturned stone large enough to make a fitful perch. "But I can't always be here, and you both need some company."

He would be back many times, he supposed until the day she found one reason or another to move on, or his time ended; whichever happened to come first.

"Oh, there you are," he added softly, a sort of subtle and pleased reverence at being granted it when, for an instant, there in the overcast evening light from a lethargic moon above he saw a shimmer of a form. A small girl adorned with ribbons in her hair, teddy bear in hand and eyes wide upon him before she flickered away, a spectral kitten weaving against her leg with a soundless purr that made its faint light from within pulse brighter.

He might have missed if he had blinked, was glad he hadn't, although even if he had he would have smiled regardless.

Zero turned to retrieve his sketchbook, to rest his shoulders against the towering trunk of an ancient tree, and let the pencil scratch across the paper in make-believe images of a little girl he couldn't see with her new friend playing among the headstones on a particularly crisp October night.

And the wind still whispered as it filled the space but sounded, to him, a little more like laughter.

[kamiasolove]

(If possible: Admin Fiona) would it be possible to have a continuation of the one prompt where MC is evil and betrays the gods? I wasn't the og person who asked for it, but I felt physical pain reading that prompt that I would like to see the gods go on a roaring rampage of revenge and dish out divine retribution for some sense of catharsis

tw: death, mentions of violence

Sequel to this post.

Hey everyone! It’s been so long since my last post (nervous sweating) but I’m itching to do some writing exercises so here I am ^^ As a side note, I am slightly concerned with how much fun I have with these evil prompts. Insofar as catharsis and revenge goes, I don’t really know if it turned out that way. I did try, but I just couldn’t see these gods really going after revenge. It ended up turning into the gods trying to stop their former S/O's wicked schemes. I hope this is okay and that you enjoy~ I worked on these for a while ^^;;;;

Now without further ado - here you are!

– Admin Fiona

<< Norse Gods >>

Loki:

“You’re no god. You’re pathetic.”

Your betrayal had left Loki feeling bitter and helpless. All that time you had spent together as he teased you relentlessly, as you persisted in getting closer to him, as he let you in despite everything in him screaming not to, after he had relied on you, loved you… just to realise in the end that you didn’t care. It had meant nothing to you.

He wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of knowing just how much he was hurting, but he didn’t have to. You already knew. Your words might have seemed like they’d just hit an apathetic exterior but every syllable feels like the twist of a knife.

He wanted to lash out, he knew he could match your cruelty if he wished. But his time at the academy hadn’t been wasted on him as much as he liked to joke otherwise. It was too late for his heart to forgive and forget the wounds that afflicted him, but you didn’t just have ill intentions for him. Everything you had done to him had been for an ulterior motive.

His mistletoe blade was missing and he knew what your goal was.

There was no way you were about to take Baldr away from him too. You might have beaten him at his usual game of manipulation but he is still the far superior fighter.

After tracking you down, he was on you in seconds, wrestling you for the knife in your hand. You snarled and kicked but the victory was his. He studied you for a long time, in a daze as he focused on your scowling face.

This was the person he loved? He almost wanted to laugh at himself for being so stupid. Of all the people to let in - it was just his luck. It shouldn’t have surprised him that a scoundrel like himself had only attracted another scoundrel. Asides from Baldr and Thor, no one would ever love him. He knew that now.

He didn’t want to kill you; but scaring you wasn’t against the rules. Even with the blade at your throat you still spat curses at him.

“You don’t have the guts!” you snarled at him. “You’re a coward Loki! You’ve always been a coward.”

It’s just bravado on your part though, he could feel your pulse racing under his fingers and hear the tremble in your voice. He let you go and you sunk to your knees with a large exhale.

He laughed coldly at your sudden meekness. “Now who’s pathetic?” But he couldn’t bring himself to be smug about it. The victory was a hollow one, matching the feeling in his chest.

He vowed he would never be foolish enough to trust someone with his heart like that again.

Baldr:

The darkness had engulfed him. Faint images of you collapsing in pain… the despair he felt as he begged the world to save you… and the darkness that whispered sweetly to him; all the words he wished to hear. 

Then the destruction was unleashed, the Garden destroyed, all while you stood and watched triumphantly… you had said something… yes…

You said you didn’t love him.

Everything in the world was attracted to his light, but you alone could withstand it. Why? Why had you done this? If he could just see you again - this wasn’t right! You belonged with him! You did love him - those words had left your lips on many occasions and he knew they hadn’t been lies. You loved him! He loved you! That was the one thing in the world he knew to be true! 

His mind slipped back to your interactions with the other gods… if you didn’t love him, who had taken you away? Who had poisoned your mind with lies? Who had earned your affection? Who had betrayed him? If he couldn’t have you then no one could! 

You hadn’t left his side after your proclamation; someone needed to watch over him in his destructive form. When he woke up and his eyes met yours he was up and digging his fingers roughly into your shoulders, his harsh glare daring you to try and escape.

You just laughed at the childish display; he had already destroyed the Garden, and he was doomed to destroy other realms. It was inevitable. Soon the God of Destruction would fall into chaos once again and wreak havoc everywhere.

But you weren’t counting on the strength of Baldr’s willpower. He wasn’t completely lost; his love for you still tethered a part of his mind to his light counterpart.

He fought and struggled against the chaos that dragged him toward destruction and when his grip loosened and he stepped away from you, your eyes widened in disbelief. This wasn’t possible. He wasn’t supposed to be able to control his powers by himself after the emotional turmoil you had caused.

After regaining awareness, the darkness around you melted away and light shone upon you both, signalling Baldr’s victory. You slumped to the floor, defeated. There were no more tricks up your sleeve.

You had nothing else to lose. You flashed a tired smirk up at your former lover. “Did I ever tell you just how much I love you?” His eyes flashed with pain, but he covered it up in a heartbeat and smiled - but there was no warmth in the gesture.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I think I mistook you for a better person. Farewell then.”

He turned away, leaving you in the ruins. He was used to people loving him insincerely and he knew that with time his feelings for you would fade. Just maybe not today.

Baldr cast one last look back in your direction, but you were already gone.

<< Greek Gods >>

Apollon:

Apollon blamed himself for your sudden change. Like Cassandra, the power he had bestowed upon you had been too much for you to bear and he should have known better.

His top priority was making sure you were still alive - the last thing he wanted was for you to follow the same tragedy that had befallen his previous love. Until your safety was assured, he had to hold himself together through sheer will.

News of your betrayal had reached Zeus, and the almighty deity was not happy about another mortal being granted powers. You were not only running from Apollon, but also from the wrath of the lightning god as well. Apollon was desperate to find you before his father could.

Thankfully, the gift of prophecy he had given you was still nothing in comparison to his own abilities. You were able to evade him like a game of cat-and-mouse for a while but eventually, he was able to corner you.

When you are in front of him once again, for the first time since you spurned him and his feelings for you, he couldn’t help but pull you close. The feeling of your warm skin against his felt euphoric. The two of you belonged together; his heart glowed with the affection he held for you.

He had you in his arms for a long time, and after a while, you were clinging to him. When the embrace finally ended with you tearfully pulling away and falling to your knees, his heart sunk with the feeling of deja-vu.

“Please forgive me, my love,” you whispered, the words threatening to choke you. “You are my heart, my sun, my stars, my moon. I need you. I– I can’t breathe without you. Please forgive me for what I said… I’ve never regretted anything in my life more than the way I left… the way I hurt you… I love you, Apollon, I swear it! I want to change; please help me to change!”

Your words were so sweet and sincere that he wished he could believe them. But it hadn’t been the first time he had heard them and he knew what would come after if he succumbed to the ache in his heart.

Instead, he fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around you, burying his nose into your hair and inhaling the sweet scent of you one final time as you cried crocodile tears into his tunic.

He closed his eyes, his own tears falling as he heard your sharp inhale of breath as the blade pierced your heart.

“I’m so sorry,” his voice was barely a whisper as your strength gave out and he lowered you to the ground.

He held you in his arms as the life faded from your eyes, caressing your cheeks and smoothing your hair with blurred vision. He furiously blinked the tears away; wanting to engrave your face on his heart forever.

“I love you,” he murmured as your eyes glossed over. “Even if you never wanted it, my heart belongs to you forever.”

Hades:

You were too good to be true. Hades knew that from the start.

“I could never love a soul as ugly as yours.” You had declared that day, after absorbing power from lost souls of the Underworld. It was his duty to reclaim those souls despite his personal feelings. So he pursued you with the intent of reaping what you had stolen.

He listened to every insult you hurled at him and sighed tiredly when your efforts refused to cease. You were determined to get a reaction from him, but for him it was pointless.

What was the point in sharing his hurt with an apathetic party? You had already told him you didn’t care, and he was wise enough to have no interest in revenge. The best thing he could do was repair the damage you had done to the Underworld and then disappear back to where he had come from. 

With that resolution, he pushed away the memories of stargazing with you during those first dates, or the times you’d made him ichigo daifuku on the days he felt down. With a flick of his wrist, his power ensnared you, and a moment later he had wrenched the soul you had stolen from your body.

That should have been the end of the encounter, but Hades was a Bearer of Misfortune. The soul wriggled from his grasp and plunged back into you. Your body tensed and fell to the ground. When you woke, your eyes were not your own and there was a familiar darkness permeating from you. 

“Thank you for giving me such a lovely body,” the soul purred. “I never expected to be given such a wonderful second chance like this.”

Hades froze as he realised you had been possessed. Ordinarily, an evil soul would not be able to possess any body for long if they were pure of heart. But, he knew now that you were anything but. There would only be one way he could separate the soul from your body, and it would be fatal to both of you.

The decision did not come to him easily; even then he wished there was another way. He still loved you - it did not matter to him if you hadn’t shared those feelings; the happiness he felt in the memories you shared was still the same. How could someone like him expect any better when he brought misfortune everywhere he went?

But he could not let the soul escape in your body; the stench of evil hung from it, betraying its intentions once it had left. He had no choice but to vanquish it from the world forever.

“I told you to stay away,” he muttered, his heart heavy. “I told you I would bring misfortune upon you.”

When the blinding light faded away, he was left in the familiar darkness of the Underworld once again; his Grudge mark felt the heaviest it had ever been. Your death was just another burden he would need to carry for the rest of his existence.  

<< Japanese Gods >>

Takeru:

Takeru was the embodiment of fury. He had given you his entire heart, and on the morning after he had lain with you for the first time you had cast it away and stomped on it.

He stewed in his anger for many days before he ultimately resolved to hunt you down and give you a piece of his mind. When he did manage to find you - oh boy.

“How could you do that to me?” he demanded. “After everything we went through - how could you do that to me?”

He hated the way you just rolled your eyes, like his pain was the most inconvenient thing in the world. Takeru kept yelling, his voice growing hoarse as he let his hurt fly free at the one who had caused it all.

“I loved you!” his hands clenched into fists and the tension made his whole body shake with emotion. “I loved you and you betrayed me!”

Then something happened. Your eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry!” you sobbed, “I didn’t mean the things I said, I swear! I just– I can’t–!” You kept blubbering and the sight of you as a wreck let some of his rage fizzle away. “I was scared,” you said through tears, “I was scared you didn’t love me. I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry…”

He stood there watching your shoulders quiver for a long time before he stepped forward; his love for you winning out.

“You should have told me,” he murmured, gathering you up into his arms and pulling you close. “I’ll find a thousand different ways a day to express my love for you.”

“I’ll do better next time,” you whispered into his chest, adjusting your position slightly in his arms so you could hug him back. “Will you forgive me?”

It was only thanks to his good hearing that he heard the rustle of a blade being unsheathed. It was enough of a heads-up for him to push you to the floor, and you hissed in frustration at it all.

The hurt washed over him for the second time, and he knew from the vicious glare you directed at him that you had no interest in redemption. A swift strike to your temple rendered you unconscious and he heaved you over his shoulder. First, he would find a way to reclaim your power, and then you would be sent back to Earth where he would have nothing more to do with you.

He had learned enough about humanity to last him a lifetime.

Tsukito:

Being a friend of the moon had never made Tsukito feel lonely before.

As he sat in his usual place with his eyes focused on the shimmering glow in the sky above, his heart ached for his companions. He was used to having his rabbit familiar in his arms as he gazed at the moon; and for the past few months, there had been another person who would regularly join him.

Both were gone now, because he had protected the secrets of the moon. The same moon that now stared back at him. Did it understand what he had lost?

His brother had encouraged him to get angry, to feel his pain, to ‘let it all out’. Tsukito supposed that would be a normal reaction. It was a commonality in many mangas he had read that featured major betrayals. But for him, the anger wouldn’t come.

He just felt… empty.

His small world had just become a little bit smaller. There were other familiars. He didn’t need a significant other. He swivelled the ring on his finger, wondering what had become of its match. Were you still wearing it? 

“Even after all that happened, you really didn’t change, did you?” He flinched when a hand snapped him out of his thoughts. “You still zone out entirely no matter who it is that calls out to you.” He had once yearned to hear that voice every day, but now it just made his heart sink further into his chest as he turned to meet your gaze.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes. “Tell me how to harness the power of the moon.”

“I’ve already told you that.”

“Yeah, yeah - be pure of heart and all that crap,” you snorted. “Now tell me how I can do it.”

He didn’t respond. There was no response he could form that would appease you. The moon’s energy simply would not welcome someone like you. That was the absolute truth. When it became clear that he would not help you further, you switched to taunting him instead.

“Still upset that your pet died?” you sneered. Tsukito ignored you and the hurt blooming in his chest, resuming his focus back on the moon, but with your presence next to him he was distracted, on edge.

There was nothing else you could do. He was still a god, and you were a mortal. The only power you’d had over him was through deception and manipulation. 

You shrugged. “I’ll find a way - eventually.”

Tsukito stood and faced you, his expression unreadable. “I will not allow you to abuse the moon like that.”

“Oh~ Abuse the moon~ Aren’t you such a hero?” you said, rolling your eyes. “It’s just a little energy. You don’t need to get so worked up.”

“It’s my mission,” he said. “You should leave now.”

“I was leaving anyway,” you retorted, striding away with a huff. He watched you disappear with a heavy heart. You would never be successful, he would make sure of that.

Once, his mission had been to love you. Now it was what it had always been: to watch the moon. It had been a nice diversion, while it had lasted.

[a-lil-bi-furious]

Bear with me, I’ve got some freeform introspective thoughts about Sang-woo and Gi-hun in that final game:

At the start of the game Gi-hun is talking about when they used to play as kids, Sang-woo trying to make him stop. Gi-hun seems so intent on dragging up their past, reviving those long lost children—brandishing innocence instead of blades.

It doesn’t matter anymore, what they did then.

There’s dirt in his eyes, sudden and blinding. Temporary.

He’s never seen Gi-hun like this—cold as ice, hard as stone. Filled with calm, collected rage that bubbles over once he mentions Sae-byeok.

“You will never leave here with that money.”

He’s never felt so ignited before, fury rushing through him. This isn’t like when they were children. He isn’t going to lose this game.

They fight. It’s brutal. It’s raining.

Sang-woo has already stabbed Gi-hun twice, is preparing for the final, killing strike. He’s talking about the game they’d played in that very room. 456 people and only Sang-woo and Gi-hun are alive. 454 people dead. Several tied directly to them. The 10 men on their opposing team, tugged right off the ledge. Ali and the old man, marble-less. Shot dead. Player 69, a few harsh words from ending it all. The glassmaker, just a shove from being splattered all over the floor.

Sae-byeok, one slice away from bleeding out in her bed.

Her blood still stains his clothes.

Now, Gi-hun’s blood coats his hands.

“We’ve come too far to go back.”

And he doesn’t just mean leaving the game, going back to their lives. He means they’ve come too far to go back to who they were. He has come too far, done too much, to go back. Not without that pile of money to bury the guilt. Not without a way to prove to himself he had to kill those people.

The struggle is reversed, and Gi-hun is preparing to kill Sang-woo, crying “You killed them. You’re the one who killed them!”

And he doesn’t just mean Sang-woo, he means himself. Because 454 people are dead and they’re the ones left standing. Ali and Il-nam, tricked and betrayed. Sae-byeok wrapped up in a box. He’s watched so many people die in only five days’ time.

He won’t be the one to add Sang-woo to that list.

Clothes rumpled and dirty and every bit soaked, blood flowing from his wounds and head swimming, he stumbles toward the squid’s head. He’ll finish the game like when they were kids.

It’s not until he’s staring down at the triangle before him, one step away from hollow victory, that what he’s about to do really sets in. What “winning” this sick game means.

“I’m done.”

He remembers the agreement they signed that first day, the one Sang-woo was so afraid Gi-hun would use to save Sae-byeok.

“I quit.”

Sang-woo doesn’t have to die, and Gi-hun doesn’t want him to. Not really.

No. No more playing the game. They can beat this together. Leave together. As a team.

Gi-hun is suggesting they both stop, decide to end the game.

But Sang-woo’s not thinking about this game anymore. He’s stuck in their past, reminiscing about days long forgotten, just as Gi-hun had been before. Sang-woo is ready to play along, now. Willing to remember.

“When we were kids, we would play just like this, and our moms would call us in for dinner.”

He’s thinking about how simple it had been, then. How life was filled with games and sweets and the safety of home. The promise of new beginning each time they had to say goodbye, knowing tomorrow they’d be back rough-housing in the dirt. No worries about money, no jobs working them ragged, no masked men holding guns to their heads and calling it play. No “me” or “them” just “us.”

“But no one calls us anymore.”

They aren’t children anymore. There is no shelter from the cruelty of the world. No hiding from the pain he’s caused. No way to start again.

There’s no use in going home, no way to be the Sang-woo everyone thinks—thought—he was. The Sang-woo who wasn’t a murderer.

There’s nothing left—no one left.

But Gi-hun pleads softly, “Let’s go. Let’s go home.”

Despite everything, he’s extending his hand, with a sorrowful look, familiar and foreign all at once. He’s calling Sang-woo home one last time.

He doesn’t deserve it.

He doesn’t know how to live with himself. No, he can never go home.

Maybe Gi-hun still can.

“Gi-hun…I’m sorry.”

He figures, what’s one more person’s blood on his hands? He can’t ever wash them clean.

Just one more and it’s over.

One more person’s blood on his hands.

His own.

[snelbz]

I'll Be Seeing You {2}

Nesta x Cassian, 1940′s AU

Collaboration with @tacmc​

Summary: After Cassian gets injured in the war, he’s taken to a war camp to be cared for until he gains enough strength to return to his battalion. While he’s there, he falls for a nurse that couldn’t care less about his title and doesn’t put up with his bullshit. Once he’s healed and the years pass by, he finds that there’s only one thing he wants to remember from the war, and she’s only a letter away.

Trigger Warnings: war

A/N: Enjoy a surprise chapter a couple days early, we’re just too excited for y’all to read this story.

Chapters will be posted every Monday.

Word Count: 2336

IBSY Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist 

Nesta was making her rounds as the sun set outside of their desolate war camp.

It had been a long day, one filled with losses. After the ambush two days prior, their tent had become full. Now, there were far too many empty beds.

It never became easier.

With every soul that she attempted to heal that passed from this world to the next, she felt like a failure, even though it was impossible to save every soldier that had been injured in the heart of battle.

There were victories, though.

Those who were left in the tent were improving.

The ambush had brought in nearly fifty injured soldiers, and just over twenty of them remained.

Including Corporal Cassian Nazari, who she was walking up to now, a glass of water in hand.

He blinked a few times against the light of the guttering candle on the table, but after a moment his eyes settled on her. Settled, but still glazed with pain.

“Nurse Nesta,” he said, voice rasping from sleep, attempting to resituate himself in the uncomfortable bed, with one good arm. “Is it time for my sponge bath already?”

She sighed through her nose and closed her eyes, resisting the urge to rub her temples.

Most men in the infirmary were polite, respectful, grateful to be taken care of, especially knowing what befell their fellow soldiers who hadn’t been quite as lucky as they were. The first day she’d attended to the corporal, she’d assumed his inappropriate comment about foreplay had been some sort of unintended joke, something he hadn’t been able to control as he awoke.

But as Cassian slowly healed, Nesta learned those little comments were quite regular for him. And when he learned that they made her blush, or even snap at him occasionally, it only made him say them more frequently.

“I’ll give you a bucket and a sponge and you may help yourself,” she quipped. “Does that interest you?”

He laughed, quietly, but winced as it seemed the simple shaking of his shoulders brought a bout of pain. “You’re in a good mood today.”

“Why do you think that?” she asked.

“You joke with me,” Cassian said, shrugging a shoulder. “You joke when you’re in a good mood.”

“I don’t joke,” she replied. “I only give back what is given to me, even though I do it in a far more appropriate way.”

“There are worse things than being inappropriate,” Cassian promised her.

Nesta simply shook her head. “Here.”

He took the pill from her palm and took it, swallowing it with the glass of water she gave him. For a moment, his eyes closed and he sighed, deeply.

“How are you feeling today?” She asked, sitting down in the chair next to the table. He opened his eyes and she reached out to feel his head. He had been feverish the night before, and she was worried about infection setting in.

He was just as clammy as he’d been, if not more so. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his brow, but before she said anything, she wanted to hear it from him. Even if she was fairly sure it would be a lie laced with male bravado.

“Fine,” he replied, though he attempted to sit up with one arm again and winced. “Like I could get back on the battlefields right now.”

Rolling her eyes, she stood. “Too bad that won’t be happening yet.”

She strode for the medicine cabinet in the center of the tent, aiming for an antibiotic strong enough to stave off the infection. His own inability to keep still had led she and Madja to band his fractured arm to his side, but this kept the bullet wounds on his back from airing out. It was about choosing the lesser of two evils with this man it seemed.

Last night, they’d elected to set his arm. Tonight, it seemed he’d go back in the sling and she’d see what needed tending to on his back.

“Are you allergic to penicillin, Corporal?” Nesta asked, coming back to his cot.

“Not that I’m aware of, but I have a feeling that we’re about to find out for certain,” he noted, chuckling, then breaking into a cough fit.

“Alright,” she sighed, and pulled him fully into sitting position. “It seems you still have a fever. I’m going to give you this penicillin. Then, I’m going to take off your bandages and clean your wounds.”

“And then?” he asked.

Nesta blinked, hesitating as she a needle with the drug. “Pardon?”

“After you clean my wounds, what will you do?” Cassian asked, that sly smile remaining. “Because I have a few ideas-.”

“Corporal,” Nesta interrupted. “I am here to heal you, and nothing more.”

Cassian lifted a brow. “First of all, it’s Major, actually. It’s been years since I was a corporal. Secondly, I thought we could play a card game. What was it you were thinking?” Nesta’s cheeks heated and she ignored his pointed question. “My apologies, but Private Hale said—.”

“He knows nothing, which is why he’s only a private.”

She cleared her throat and held out her hand, letting him take the two pills in her palm. He did so, without any commentary, which Nesta took as a blessed relief.

She retrieved the sling his arm had previously been in, as well as fresh bandages, an ewer of fresh water and a bottle of antiseptic.

And a bit to put between his teeth in case the pin became too unbearable.

With a few tugs on the knots tying them together, Nesta unwrapped his arm from his body, not taking a full look at his back yet.

Almost immediately, Cassian tried to stretch out his arm, which earned him a chastising look from Nesta. “It’s tight,” he defended.

“If you move it too much before it’s had time to set and heal, tight will be the least of your worries, Major,” she replied, carefully tying the two ends of the fabric sling around his neck. “Not to mention your shoulder is still too weak as well. Do you want to dislocate it again?”

He grumbled something that sounded similar to No, ma’am, and sat still while Nesta settled his arm into place.

Once she tended to his arm, she prepared herself to examine his back again.

“This isn’t going to feel good,” she warned, taking in the angry, red skin puckering the edges of the wounds. They’d been able to retrieve the bullets while he was unconscious, but they weren’t in the most ideal and clean conditions for a healing to take place. Gently pressing her fingers around the mildest looking one earned a hiss and sudden jerk from Cassian. As well as puss, far more puss than Nesta was expecting. “I’m going to have to clean these out.”

“Can’t you give me more of that stuff that put me under and do what you need to do?”

His words weren’t unkind, but the tone… Nesta knew he was in pain.

She could, of course, but the powdered pain killer was much stronger than what she’d already administered. Not to mention is much, much shorter supply. It was reserved for surgeries, mostly, or life-threatening injuries.

An injury like the major had been brought in with at the time.

Not for a standard, but nasty, infection, unfortunately.

War was unfair, Nesta decided then. She’d known it for quite a while, watching good men die for their lands, but it was evident in that moment as she looked at the man’s ravaged back before her.

“Unfortunately, no,” she said, at last. “But I promise to work quickly.”

He gave her a curt nod and braced himself.

The alcohol burned, she knew that, she knew that it had to feel like fire was being lit to the surface of the skin, but as she poured the alcohol over the wound and began to clean it, the only sense of pain that Cassian showed was his rigid posture.

“Bear with me,” Nesta muttered, beginning to rebandage the wound.

“Got any whiskey?” he asked.

Despite herself, Nesta snorted. “No, I don’t. Is that your drink of choice, major?”

She was trying to distract him, trying to make the time go by just a little bit quicker as she worked.

“Usually,” he said, and huffed. “Every now and then I like to order a simple lager.”

“Lager,” she repeated. “What a luxury.”

“It has been a while,” he agreed.

She worked in silence for a few minutes, having to go so far as to scrape out the bits of skin that were too far gone and only likely to slow down the healing process. But when his breathing became ragged as she started on the worst of the wounds, the one right near his spine, she asked, “What’s the first meal you’re going to have when you get home? What have you been dreaming of since you enlisted?”

Mindless chatter, she reminded herself, was just as effective as a painkiller.

He was quiet for a moment, only hissing as she pressed the alcohol-soaked rag to his back. She had accepted he wasn’t going to answer when he softly asked, “Don’t you mean if?”

She was suddenly very thankful that she was working on his back and was unable to see his face. Playing dumb, she kept him talking. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Don’t you mean if I get home?” He asked. His voice was hollow, lacking the warmth it usually did when he spoke. It was unlike what she’d started to grow accustomed to. “This is a war we’re in the middle of, ma’am.”

She cleared her throat, continuing to work. “I think you ought to change your manner of speech, major, or you’ll be more likely to conscribe yourself to believe the worst.” Pressing a clean bandage to his skin to staunch the bleeding, she asked, “Now about that meal, sir?”

Surprising her, he laughed, quietly. “I guess I haven’t thought about it too much. My mother used to make a mean pork roast. With carrots and potatoes. That would hit the spot right about now.”

Nesta couldn’t help but lick her lips at the thought of a nice, hot, homemade dinner. “How about dinner rolls?”

Cassian hummed. “My mom used to make the fluffiest dinner rolls. She used to make me roll the dough. I hated it, until it was time to eat them.”

She smiled to herself. “My sister Elain loves to bake. She makes this pear crumble…” Shaking her head, she sighed. “It’s the best. Especially when she whips cream to put on top.”

“I don’t remember the last time I had a warm dessert,” he admitted, wincing as she applied antibacterial cream to the wounds. Turning to glance at her, he amended, “Actually, I don’t remember the last time I had a hot meal.”

The words hurt Nesta’s heart. The food they had in the med camps weren’t great, but she was sure they were better than rations the soldiers were issued.

“Tell me more about your sister,” he breathed, clearly needing the distraction while she worked.

Nesta sighed. “Which one?”

“How many do you have?” he asked.

“Two,” Nesta said. “Couldn’t be more opposite of one another. Feyre, the youngest, would rather spend her time painting, or outdoors in the woods behind our house, while Elain prefers to spend her time baking, or in her garden.”

Cassian nodded, thoughtfully. “And you?”

“What of me?” she asked, beginning to rebandage his wounds.

“What do you prefer to do with your time?” he pushed.

Nesta’s hands slowed. She wished she had more time to fill as of late. “I enjoy reading, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” he asked, then chuckled.

“What’s so funny about that?” Nesta asked, eyes narrowed at the back of his head.

“You either do or you don’t,” he said, shrugging, and wincing from the simple motion. “But, you suppose.”

Nesta scoffed. “Fine. I enjoy reading.”

“What manner of books?”

She hesitated for a moment. “Romance.”

He snorted. “Of course. Let me guess, a knight in shining armor, coming to rescue a damsel in distress?”

Nesta’s cheeks heated as his guess was nearly spot on of the plot of one of the tattered, well-loved books she kept in the small bag she brought with her from home. “And what’s so wrong with a knight saving a lady who needs help?”

“Nothing,” he replied, trying to shift his hurt arm. She adjusted the sling to hold him tighter. “I just think it’s a silly ideal to hold. Not everyone is going to have someone come save them.”

She was suddenly very aware of the fact that they were in a med camp in the middle of war.

“I guess you’re right,” she mused. “But I don’t see why that should stop anyone from dreaming.”

Cassian huffed and said nothing more.

When Nesta was finished, she asked, “How does that feel?”

“As good as it can,” he answered, in grumpy sincerity. “Although, I still wouldn’t mind that sponge bath.”

“Has anyone ever told you how ridiculously impossible you are?” she asked, the words flying out of her mouth before she could think better of it.

Cassian’s smile only grew. “If only you knew.”

Nesta’s chin rose as she tried to make sense of his remark, but she asked, “Can I get you anything else for the time being?” Cassian opened his mouth, but Nesta interrupted with, “Nothing that has to do with sponges.”

He laughed, quietly. “A cure for boredom?”

Just as Nesta was getting ready to reply, a cry came from just outside the tent, and her body was tensing, preparing itself. Madja’s eyes connected with hers, and Nesta’s feet were immediately in motion.

Another body coming in, caught in warfare.

It seemed he would have to entertain himself, as Nesta was once again vividly reminded that no one may ever come to save her.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t save someone else.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

🎦 - Does the Disc Finale being staged make the Dream SMP's story more or less engaging?

Honestly, I think it worsens the story of every character involved in it, but it most badly affects c!Dreams.

c!Punz betraying c!Dream added an interesting bit of depth to his character. He's normally amoral when it comes to receiving money, but the idea he'd take a lesser payment to help someone he has a soft spot for, that there’s crimes so heinous even he wouldn’t do them for any amount of money. Now, he gained nothing, character wise, from the stream. We just got more of the same, as opposed to some hidden depths.

Destroying the one victory c!Tommy had over his abuser and making it playing completely into his hand makes the story feel a whole lot more hopeless and cynical. The only reason c!Tommy has any sort of freedom is because his abuser allowed him to. The only peace he can get is imaginary. It also makes it much harder to believe c!Tommy will ever be free of c!Dream. If c!Dream would willingly put himself through absolute hell and such extremes as part of his plans, and c!Tommy seems to be important in them, how can we believe he'll ever give up on controlling him?

It also leaves the message of the Final Disc Confrontation hollow. The message was that bonds and attachment are strengths, not weaknesses. c!Clingyduo's kindness and friendship saved their lives. c!Dream's attempts at cutting off his weaknesses only removed the only strength he really had. Now, we know c!Clingy only lived because c!Dream wanted them to. c!Dreams self destructive and miserable ideology where loving anything is wrong is shown as in the right.

But that’s all ignorable. Losing out on potential character depth isn’t the worst thing, and the others are more subtextual than anything. What isn’t is that this makes c!Dream out to be a complete idiot. It doesn’t raise questions on his motives, it makes me wonder how he even got that far if he ever took such insanely high risk and low reward options that make no sense.

For one, c!Punz wasn’t even the one to suggest the prison, if I remember correctly. He was put in the prison at the suggestion of c!Sam, who we know wasn’t involved in the plan at all. The only reason c!Dream is alive is because of that. He gave a prison that he himself rightly owned over to someone who both wasn’t in on the plan and was very protective of c!Tommy. There was nothing stopping him from making c!Punz the warden! If you hinge your entire plan by giving up your freedom to someone you have no control over you're insanely naïve at best. c!Dream could have easily been killed. He's honestly lucky he didn’t, considering what he went through, and if the only reason his plan didn’t end in his own humiliating death is luck, it’s a bad plan.

And, like, why did he need to go to jail? Why did he need to give up his power, his freedom, his ability to do anything else to advance his agenda? That feels like the most insanely extreme option and it has a comical amount of risk to it. Why couldn’t he have gone into hiding or something? The server is massive, and he easily could have laid low until the heat on him died down, without putting himself in danger and limiting his influence.

Was it to turn the server against him? Then why did he specifically avoid mentioning Exile? Did he want the server to be united over something? Because if so, having them go up against a threat for ten minutes and then having them believe it was completely neutralised is the dumbest, most ineffective method of doing so. Was he trying to make himself seem less of a threat? Laying low could do that at way less of a risk. Trying to get the server to pity him for the prison conditions? Then trying to kill innocent children in front of them seems massively counterproductive. Just fucking with c!Tommy more? Then why would he make him think he won?

And that raises the question of why he did anything in Season 2, since he commissioned the prison at the start of it. Why blow up L'Manburg? To get people to hate him more? Seems like a vastly disproportionate amount of effort considering what he already had plans. To get it out of the way? Why would that matter after he was in prison? And it reduces his complexity in Exile. There would be zero reason for him to do any of that except pointless cruelty and evil, as opposed to definitely being a good amount of pointless cruelty but also being to condition c!Tommy into obedience so he could use him as a tool in his plans. What point would there be into deliberately inducing trauma bonding if his plan wasn’t to exploit that?

A good plotter is risky, but there’s a difference between risk and suicidal overconfidence, and the Staged Finale crosses that line so far I can only believe c!Dream managed to do as much as he could was sheer luck, since he seems to have no ability to actually plan anything.

[booksweet]

hiiii, I hope you're having a nice day hun<3

can I pls request a gojo hc with a sorcerer bunny s/o (kinda like miruko from bnha)

Gojo Satoru x sorcerer bunny s/o

starring: satoru gojo x fem!reader

contents/warnings: grammar issues, cursing, slightly suggestive by the end, Gojo and reader hate each other but lowkey they're in love (enemies to lovers nation, rise!), them both are 18+

A/N: anon, istg your request explored parts of my brain I didnt even know I could use, thanks for requesting that!! It got bigger than I expected. Hope you like it, enjoy! 💛

tagging: @noritoshiikamo

[ UPADATE ] NSFW version (click here) MINORS DNI

main navi | masterlist

First of all I think the technique you mentioned could be summon some "bunny powers" and the animals themselves;

Like you can surely summon your powers and use cursed energy to make your body stronger than ever — jumping higher than average humans do, you can be super strong, you're faster than most jujutsu sorcerers your grade:

Have I mentioned you're a special grade sorcerer? No? So yes, Y/N you're a special grade;

And there's only one you compete when it comes about being the strongest your grade;

Gojo Satoru, that annoying ass;

You sure are cute and strong so everytime you go on a mission you do everything to show off yourself of how many cursed spirits you exorcised;

Yet Gojo still beats you up because of course he's the strongest and he's so annoying it's frustrating and irritating;

And because of this everyone knows that you guys can't get along, everytime you're around each other is full of fights, mocking, teasing and sarcastic speech;

So it's surprising when you're called to solve a top secret mission and Gojo Satoru is there waiting for you — not really waiting for you, but waiting for the elders since they called you there;

"What the actual fuck?" You start saying as you catch a sight of him. "They told me I was going to do it alone."

"Oh, bunny girl" He says mockingly "They told me the same, but as you can see, we're both wrong."

You grit your teeth painfully in anger, but you don't mind answering. "Such a jerk" you mutter;

After the elder's meeting, without speaking a word, you both depart to the place you're about to find a special grade cursed spirit and maybe one of sukuna's fingers;

When you arrive at an abandoned hospital, you can feel and see cursed energy arising from there ominously, it sent shivers down your spine and you smiled in excitement;

"You're weird" Satoru mumbles as he took off his blindfold and starts smiling teasingly "Wanna make a bet, Y/N? Or the bunny is afraid of the wolf?"

Feeling cursed energy running through your veins giving strength to your body, you say sarcastically "Who's the wolf? YOU? You look more like a mouse with blue eyes, you know?"

He grunts in frustation as he says "If I find the finger, you'll have to admit I'm the strongest."

"Or?" You say and starts smiling devilish as excitement feels your body. "If I pick it first, you'll have to admit I'm stronger than you."

"Yeah, yeah, that's what I said." Rolling his eyes in annoyance, but when he looks at you, his eyes are shining like theres fire inside his irises. "You know who's gonna win, don't you?"

"Of course, Satoru." You answer smiling at him back in defiance. "You better be humble," you prepared yourself to jump higher and higher "The die is cast" and then you leave him behind laughing out loud.

Now, after hours of fighting, you see yourself trapped in between a wall and the ominous cursed spirit in front of you;

Were you afraid? Of course. Would admit it? Hell, no.

"Oh so you like trapping girls against walls?" You yell at the cursed spirit roaming above you. "I'll teach you the worse way why you shouldn't do that you-"

But suddenly the spirit burst into ashes and Gojo is flying above your head with that damn smile of his;

"How funny is it the bunny being saved by the wolf?" He says laughing at you and you're so angry you jump higher to yell at his face;

"You bastard! I had everything under control" when you're falling back to the ground Gojo keeps up with you flying and with a amused smile on his lips;

"That's not what seemed for me..." He muffles and then he picks up something on his pocket. "Doesn't matter I have something to you, Y/N, looks like," He shows a morbid finger to you "someone lost the-"

When the monstrous curse appears you just jump to Gojo to push him aside and protect him;

You both were surprised by your actions and you knew Gojo's blue eyes were probably widened, because... You just "saved" him, you put yourself in front of danger because of him even though he has infinity to protect him;

Since you are fast as hell, you managed to escape each one of the curse's attack and, by a brief moment, you summoned your rabbits to bait it and find some way to exorcise them;

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." You mutter as your muscles starts trembling, it's been hours since you activated your cursed technique and now there's a payment to settle.

"Y/N!" You hear Satoru's voice above all the chaos and stare at him. "Get away from there, NOW"

"Damn, I'm TRYING" You say when you finally find an open space to jump from there, the cursed spirit still distracted by the little bunnies.

"You-" Satoru starts to say, but he stops when you're at a same place nearly him. "Stay there, okay?"

"Why?" You question him, but he prefers to wear a cocky smile and show off his powers to you.

Of course the bastard would exorcise the damn cursed spirit using Hollow Purple.

When you're done he's by your side all sure of his victory, yet you smile innocently at him. "So, Y/N, looks like someone has to... Wait, why are you smiling like this?"

Your chin up to him in defiance as you show sukuna's finger on your right hand. "Looks like you're the one who lost our bet here" you smile proudly, lips arching and eyes shinning bright with scoff. "Go on, I wan hear it."

He shruggles as he says in low-voice, almost whispering. "You're stronger..."

"WHAT?" You say louder as you come closer to him, shoulders almost hitting his chest. "I CAN'T HEAR YOU"

"Fuck, OKAY!" He says louder, and suddenly his hands on your shoulder and you're face-to-face. "You're stronger, Y/N. Happy now?"

You can't barely process what he said, you both are so close and he's so... Is his breathing faster? He's holding you so tight. You feel your face warming.

What the fuck...? You think and Satoru seems to know what's going on your mind

"Cat got your tongue, bunny?" He says on your ears, his breath sending shivers down your spine and other places... "or should I say the wolf?"

"Shut up, Satoru!" You say placing your hands on his chest, you feel your breath mixing with his. "You're still the mouse around here, since I'm stronger"

All at once his hands are on your waist even tighter, his lips ghosting over yours. "Then let me show you who's the hunter and who's the prey."

[whenyouhearthedoorcreak]

Fuck it, I wrote the goddamn essay

I'm far too invested in this series so heres my far overthought essay on Merlin as a Shakespearean Tragedy

Okay this is just a rough outline of what I want to talk about, but the basic premise is that merlinBBC lines up to be a perfect Shakespearean tragedy (ST)

The nine points of a ST ~

The Tragic Hero ~ Arthur is The tragic hero but Merlin also fits into it on a more personal level. Arthur is a man of great presence and station he fights all the monsters and dies in the end, He has this great destiny that lays heavy on his shoulders and he unknowingly drives the plot for most of the show (I just realised how much of this show Arthur just doesn’t know about? Like the entire plot is happening behind him and he’s just having a sword fight (sub thought, that is exactly how I would frame this if I directed a play of Merlin))

Good Vs Evil ~ Morgana sort of handles this all on her own? She is presented as the moral compass of the show and is then slowly manipulated into a position of villain although there is a more complex look at this being represented by merlin gwen and morgause but that would take an awfully long time to explain

Fatal Flaw ~ typically this is given to the Tragic Hero™ but because Merlin and Arthur sort of split the spotlight this is applied mainly to Merlin. Merlin is deeply and unshakingly loyal to Arthur and while this is initially and somewhat veiled as loyalty to his destiny and the future he’s fighting for, it’s easily evident from his actions in “the sins of a father” that he is quickly becoming more loyal to Arthur than magic and chooses Arthurs well being over the fate of magic kind.

Tragic Waste ~ this is the idea that the hero will die before completing all he could do, and if that doesn’t sound like Arthur then we didn’ watch the same show.

Conflict ~ the corruption of merlins and morgana from morgause and Killgarah is the real core conflict of this show, if those two characters had never been there none of this would ever have happened. While i would agree that they could have done it better the main theme of this shows conflicts in manipulation,

Dichotomy of villainy ~ we are left by the end of this show unable to really take a side because everything felt preventable, for this reason morgana’s death and Merlins victory still feels mostly hollow

Supernatural element ~ I feel like this is fairly self evident

Ambiguity of poetic justice ~ “good will always triumph and evil will always suffer” is the simple moral code that most writing goes by, however a ST subverts this, often having its good characters commit acts of moral ambiguity and the hero inevitably fails or dies in the process. This is doen in MerlinBBC with Merlin never fulfilling his destiny and Arthur never repealing the ban on magic. We can suppose given Gwen's scene during the battle of camlann that she will most likely repeal the ban on magic and raise merlin to the title of Court Sorcerer as is vaguely hinted towards given his position in her coronation scene.

Comic relief ~ STs aren’t all sorrow and hannes acts, they have their fair share of jokes and funny moments. We can see that in some of the more joky episodes, but also in things like That tavern scene.

The last piece of this tragic puzzle is the most obvious, the five seasons of Merlin are the five acts of a Shakespeare play. I've made a handy chart to understand what I mean. Because it's a t because its a tv show and therefore worried about viewers returning the act structures isn’t broken up perfectly, but it still fits fairly well. The thing that leaves people bitter about the end of this show, I think, is because they expected the show to settle, to find a rest in its ending, what we got instead was a camelot that (while still having a trusted monarch) was still in turmoil, and a shot of merli alone and sad 1500 years in the future still waiting for arthur.

What happened with merlin is that we never got the finally, “everything will be okay” moment and so we are left wanting

The themes of Merlin are a dichotomy of Peace and Equality Vs corruption and manipulation, this is displayed through the main characters of Merlin, Arthur, and Morgana, with each being manipulated and corrupted by Killgarrah, Uther, and Morgause respectively. This is shown best through the use of Forked Path. (which I weirdly can’t find any articles or anything for? Which is odd given how popular it is but anyway) the Forked Path happens anytime the characters are presented with two strict choices without much wiggle room, both of which could end badly in the long run but must nonetheless be chosen between. This is very clear with season two's story arc between merlin and morgana, in which merlin must either kill his friend to prevent a possible future, or let her win and risk the demise of albion. Merlin attempts to avoid this, temporarily disabling Morgana from enacting her plans and the like, but in the end he is forced to choose. Arthur is continuously presented with the problem of whether to trust and show mercy to magic. Morgana is presented with either killing Uther and freeing magic, or running from camelot and lending to the further persecution of the druids. The thing you might notice is that these are all linching on Merlin and whether or not he tells the truth, his silence provides false dichotomies for the other characters. This is the manipulation I mentioned earlier. Merlin is led to believe again and again that he Must commit acts against his morals to save Arthur and therefore Albion. But as no fan will hesitate to point out, he never really had to. This is a show of the trope of Self Fulfilling Destiny that's found in all tragedies since ancient greece. Merlin’s attempts to stop morgana directly lead to their conflict, his keeping his magic a secret to protect arthur ultimately leads to arthur's death (having only met “evil” sorcerers arthur never repealed the ban and so mordred sides with morgana). If Merlin had followed his own heart then all would have worked out well, but instead we see Killgarrahs manipulation stop merlin from acting in camelots best interest.

[cathedreal]

𝔽𝕠𝕣𝕓𝕚𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕟 𝔽𝕣𝕦𝕚𝕥 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟙 ℂ.ℍ

ೄྀ࿐Corpse x Female Reader ೄྀ࿐Genre: Dark Academia ೄྀ࿐Warnings: Mention of: blood, knife + small wounds inflicted, alcohol, smoking/cigarettes, a toxic relationship (not with Corpse) ೄྀ࿐Word count: 3.1K+  ೄྀ࿐Summary: Willow Creek Academy is full of mysteries, or so you find out when you are unwillingly iniated into a secret society with none other than your boyfriend’s best friend, Corpse. Secrets are kept, tensions rise high, and you are in the middle of it all. Together with Corpse, you have to find a way to leave the society and make it out alive while staying under the radar when you find yourselves the primary suspects in a murder case.

Introduction and Masterlist | Playlist | Pinterest Board Request a fic/hc | Join my Discord server | Buy me a Ko-Fi

AUTUMN, SEMESTER 1

 “Where the fuck am I?” you mumble, your voice loud in the silence of the room. Warm skin brushes against your own. It makes you shiver. A blindfold is tightly wound around your eyes and your arms are restrained in front of you, trying to move doesn’t help so you stay seated on your knees. 

 The air is stifling and you wonder if it’s because of your panicked state or because of the dustiness of the room itself. It smells like spilled wine, cigarette smoke, books collecting dust on the shelves. You wonder if you’re in the academy’s library but you doubt it. The librarian would have never agreed to holding hostages in there, the books were too precious to risk ruination.

 Your boyfriend, James, had invited you to meet him under the big oak tree on the campus’ edge in the late evening. You often study there, a red pen between your teeth for taking notes, the grass pricking into your thighs familiarly. James rarely sits with you there to study; he finds the grass stains not worth the peacefulness of the rustling of the wind through the leaves, the birds happily chirping in the background to keep you company. He rather studies elsewhere and you wonder if this was the place he frequents.

 You should have realised that when James asked you to meet him there, it was suspicious behaviour. But you had trusted him wholly and now you’re here, on your knees, another person next to you in probably the same position. You wonder if James had something to do with this. You don’t have to wonder for long. The blindfold is ripped away from your eyes and you blink rapidly to get rid of the spots that float in front of them. You don’t see much but hooded figures looming over you dangerously, objects in hand that you can’t quite make out. You glance to the side then and make out curly hair, a collared shirt with a chain dangling against the brown sweater layered above. It glints in the light of the candles surrounding you. 

 “Sol Omnia Regit.”

 “What is happening?” you ask, thrashing around a little in your restraints. A hooded figure suddenly leans close and shushes you. There is a split second where you think you recognise the figure’s eyes but then the person is moving away again, leaving you with a pounding heart.

 Someone leans forward again, sticking out a hand behind themselves to signal something. An object is pressed into their hand and then held out to you. For second, you think it’s a knife or a gun, something to kill you with. There was no other explanation for why you were here but some crazy ritual that you fell victim to. But then...

 "Drink," the person tells you and a crystal glass filled with a dark liquid is pressed to your lips. Blood? you think but when it’s finally pushed past your lips and tilted so you can’t do anything but drink, it proves to be wine. The bitter taste doesn’t leave your mouth even though the glass does.

Another figure crouches down in front of you then, something long glinting in the candlelight. It takes you a few seconds to recognise the object but it’s unmistakably a knife and it’s inching closer to your bound hands. You look up to the hooded figure in panic and the familiar eyes are back, this time they’re closer than before and you can place them easily. “James?” you whisper, your voice hoarse and shaking. James would never hurt you, right? He is your boyfriend, he loves you… 

 Does he? 

 Did he ever? 

 Your mind races as your hands are tugged up so your wrists can rest in the familiar hand which you hold daily. It usually doesn’t feel quite as malicious, sometimes it does, never with other people around.

The person next to you, Corpse, you’re guessing, is holding his breath when you hold it. He can probably see the knife too, twisting expertly in James’ hand. Without deigning you with a response, James cuts into the palm of your hand and you hiss at the sting, You want to say that it is stupid to cut someone there, the palm of a hand has too many nerve endings and you could do a lot of damage but the deed has already been done. 

 Your palm is pressed against a sheet of paper with writing that you can’t quite make out and you realise that it is a contract. It’s unethical, you try to protest, you can’t make someone sign something they haven’t read, but you’re pushed back again and Corpse sucks in his breath next to you.

 "Welcome to Sol Regnum, Y/N and Corpse. You have completed your initiation."

 The lights are turned on and you squint against the sudden brightness blinding you. It takes you a few moments before you can finally look around again, the figures clad fully in black with golden threads running through the mantels they’re wearing finally take off their hoods and James is smirking down at you both.

 “My girlfriend and best friend, finally initiated,” he says, opening his arms as if he has just won the greatest victory. It feels nothing like that. 

 You exchange a look with Corpse, one filled with confusion and worry, before you let your eyes wander around the room. Heavy curtains hang in front of the tall windows, blocking out every possible source of light from the outside. Even the moon can’t shine through. The room is cast in shadows from the now dulled lighting. Your eyes are used to the light again and it is not as bright as it was when someone had snapped them on. The lights have a yellow cast over them, making everyone look just a little bit sick. There are books strewn around the room, the bookcases, which run along one big wall, are all stuffed full so the makeshift piles of books in the corners are there not for aesthetic purposes, but for necessity. Broken busts sit on the floor sadly, some missing a nose, other half of their head. You wonder if it’s a metaphor for something, if the busts represent the brokenness of the secret society you were now initiated in. 

 Everything is starting to make sense now. How James had often disappeared at night, leaving you alone in his bed, wondering if he was with another girl. How there were whispers in the hallway wherever you went as of late, something you had blamed on your own insecurities haunting you rather than real people doing so. How James had looked at you in a way that sent shivers down your spine and not in a good way. It had felt malicious, like there was something waiting for you that you didn’t know anything about. But he did, he probably planned the whole thing.

 Corpse is back up on his feet before you are and he rounds up on James, pulling him into a corner of the room with a firm hand. You blindly follow, avoiding the glances that the other members of this society throw you. It feels like they’re evaluating you even past your initiation. You want to scream at them that you never asked for this, that you didn’t even want to be initiated in a society that you know nothing about. You were forced here but you doubt they would care.

 “No warning, nothing,” you hear from the corner. Corpse’s hand is still pressing into James’ shoulder, his other hand drumming restlessly on his thigh. There is a lone cigarette sticking out from Corpse’s curly hair, balancing dangerously on his ear. You step closer, take your place next to Corpse where it usually was next to James. You’re on Corpse’s side in this matter, though, and James can know that, no matter what the repercussions were.

 You shake your head at James as he laughs good-naturedly. He is the star of the university, the golden boy, the popular guy everyone wants to either have or be friends with. After a year or so of being in a relationship with him, however, you know better than to trust his charismatic laugh, the crinkle in the skin next to his eyes that solidifies his position as the good guy. There was danger in his smile, a certain sense of disingenuousness in the sound of his laughter. 

 You step closer to Corpse.

 “I agree, James. What were you thinking? You never even ask-”

 “Why would I?” James asks and steps closer to you, the shadows casting over his face are making him look like he is the villain of a big play, ready to kill the main character.

 Corpse, cast as the hero, places himself in front of you, half-shielding you with his body. Corpse’s hands are shaking next to his sides but he’s still there, back straight, shoulders down, his head raised which gives him the advantage of a few inches over James.

 “She’s right, you should have asked if we even wanted this.”

 “It’s the opportunity of a life-time! This society will ensure that you will have a good future, something to pass down to your children.”

 You let a hollow laugh escape and the both of them turn to you. “We’re rich, James. All of us are. There was no need for a fucking society, we’re ensured a good future whether we even graduate or not.”

 James shrugs and your hands clench into fists at his nonchalance. You gasp softly when you feel the wound in the palm of your hand. When you open it again, blood rolls from your fingers and drips onto the carpet, just barely missing your shoes. “I’m going back to the dorms,” you say, desperate to get away from the claustrophobic feeling this room gives you. James shakes his head, though, and you stay in place, waiting for him to come up with one good reason for you to stay.

“The party is just getting started,” he says and music begins playing. It sounds as if it is played from an old record, the scratchiness that you would appreciate in other situations doing nothing but grating your ears. James pushes past you and Corpse both and returns with three glasses of the same wine you were forced to drink just minutes ago. It’s pushed into your hands before you can protest. The other members raise their glasses, their eyes on you and Corpse who twitches uncomfortably next to you. It’s a toast but it feels more like a warning of what is to come.

 “Come on, Y/N,” James says and wraps an arm around your waist. You shy away from the touch a little but his grip is hard, his fingertips possibly pressing bruises into your skin. “Corpse?” he adds, waiting for Corpse to hesitantly fall in line next to him. You briefly wish he was on your side instead of James’ but shake it off again. There were more important things to focus on.

 James insists that they meet the others but every person you meet is not the type of person you would want to be friends with. Arrogance and coldness roll off of them in waves, sending you the clear message that you’re not wanted here. From the way Corpse barely answers the few questions they have for you both, you realise that he feels the same. 

 You met Corpse when you started dating James. He is James’ best friend after all, or was, depending on how Corpse feels about this all. He was a little shy when you met him, didn’t say a lot but when he opened up a little, he was charming, funny. Most notably, his voice is low, something that is whispered about in the hallways of Willow Creek Academy. Despite what others say about his voice, to you it’s not weird or unusual, it’s soothing, like melted chocolate. A balm for the soul.

 Minutes pass by and as the alcohol flows freely, the inhibitions of people are lowered. There is a couple making out on the couch next to you, hands roaming each other’s body in a way that seems too private to be doing in front of a room full of people but nobody even bats an eye.

 Corpse is nowhere to be found for a little while but eventually comes back to the loveseat you’re sitting on, pointedly taking James’s place next to you. “When can we leave?” he asks, sipping his wine. You wonder how many he had but you can’t fault him for drinking. You wish you could stomach it yourself.

 “I don’t know, soon, I hope,” you answer and look around. There are people dancing to imaginary music that doesn’t match the one playing, people laughing in corners, hands pulling others behind furniture so they are just barely out of sight.

 You hear Corpse curse and when your eyes meet his again, they look slightly panicked. There are manicured hands roaming down his chest for a second before Corpse is standing again, holding out his hand to you in a clear message that you happily read correctly.

 Corpse helps you up and let’s go right away, something you unconsciously mourn. You would have liked to have Corpse’s hand in your own for a little bit longer. The touch of someone semi-familiar in a room filled with strange people would keep you from freaking out as you wade through the partying people.

 Something in this all reminds you of a bacchanal; wine, freedom, ecstasy. It seems to live in the various people here, even James isn’t untouched as his tie is halfway down his chest when you find him, his body moving close with someone else. 

 You rarely get jealous but something about this leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

 “We’re going,” Corpse announces and tries to pull away when James reaches out to catch his arm, he’s too slow. James whispers something to Corpse and you watch as his expression changes. You don’t dare to ask when you are led back outside. Corpse’s expression is thunderous and it only relaxes when he pulls out his cigarette from behind his ear with shaky fingers and lits it.

 You watch as the smoke bellows and floats up to the sky in figures you try to form recognisable shapes out of. Corpse passes his cigarette to you and you happily take it, feeling the pressure of an impending migraine disappear a little.

 “That was… Something,” you say for a lack of better words. Corpse nods but doesn’t say more. He doesn’t need to. You both know that it was insane what happened, you’re both scared for what this secret society will bring in the future, you both worry about the contract you couldn’t read in the privacy of your own minds.

 Corpse passes the house which holds the male dorms and keeps walking next to you to the other end of the campus. You thank him softly, he nods in recognition. No place is safe for a woman to walk alone and with Corpse you feel strangely safe.

 The early autumn leaves crunch under your shoes when you walk, your footsteps loud in the quiet of the evening. Your pace matches Corpse’s, though you feel like he’s letting you set the pace so you can keep up with each other.

 The building of the women’s dorm is becoming more and more visible the further you walk down the path. It’s sitting stately behind a lush garden you often tend to in your free time, as do the other girls in the building. It brings liveliness into the place which is made solely out of brick outside of it. It’s an old building, you don’t know for sure what it was before it became a campus but you think it must have been a guest house on the castle grounds. 

 Corpse walks you to the door and takes a step back when you retrieve your key. You almost invite him up to take care of his hand. Instead you make him promise to take care of it himself.

 “What do we do about the society thing?” you ask, stalling a little. You’re scared to be left alone with your thoughts right now. Corpse seems to guess it and leans against the pillar that holds up the front of the house, making no movement to leave.

 He shrugs a little and looks off into the distance. You follow his gaze but there is nothing there. “Not much we can do. The contract, though… We need to know what was on there. Maybe we can get out of it.” “I doubt it,” you laugh humourlessly but you nod anyways. “I’d rather see it first than give up immediately. I’m just not sure how to get to it.”

 “We could ditch class,” Corpse suggests, a smirk now growing on his face. You know already that Corpse didn’t attend half of the classes that he should but you laugh a little anyways, this time it’s genuine.

 “You’re an idiot,” you mumble and Corpse’s smirk grows wider, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “A smart one, though. I don’t think any of them will skip classes, even after a party like tonight.”

 “What can I say? I’m a mastermind,” Corpse jokes and pulls out his phone, handing it to you demonstratively. You put in your number on automatic pilot. “Text me when you wake up, we’ll decide on a class together then.”

 You accidentally leave a smear of blood behind on Corpse’s phone but he either hasn’t seen it or doesn’t care enough to mention it. “I’ll text you,” you promise and open the door fully now.

 There is still laughter in the hallways, soft voices that make you relax a little. You suddenly feel bone tired now that you’re in a place that signifies comfort and rest. Corpse notices and waves you inside.

 “Goodnight, Y/N. Take care of your wound.”

 You watch Corpse walk away and become one with the darkness before you finally step inside. You sluggishly climb the stairs and make your way to your dorm room, an action that takes longer than it should have. You shrug off your coat and drop it somewhere, you’d care about the crinkles you put in it in the morning. You find your first aid kit in the bathroom and pour some alcohol on the wound. It makes tears spring in your eyes but it’s necessary so you get through it on pure willpower alone. After bandaging the wound, you shed most of your clothes and finally climb into bed. You don’t even have the energy to put out the light before you fall asleep, nightmares dragging you down with them.

𝕋𝔸𝔾𝕃𝕀𝕊𝕋  𝕆ℙ𝔼ℕ: 

@headcannonsforlife @katyasrussianaccent @boiled-onionrings @satanhauntedourcats​ @ravennightingaleandavatempus​

[kouomi]

Home

Summary: Atsumu looks back on your relationship and finds himself longing for the person he called home (Miya Atsumu x f!reader)

Warnings: lil bit of fluff, heavy angst, mentions of death, fighting

Word count: 2,708

A/N: italicized parts are in the past! lil heads up this is not edited!! Someone please hug Tsumu cause I made myself sad writing this

My Masterlist

Posted: March 14th 2021, 8:30 AM EST

“‘Tsumu!” You gasp as your flung onto the couch, a chorus of laughter following your cry. The two of you tumbled around for a few moments before Atsumu pins your hands to your side, a leg on either side of your hips as he grins at his victory.

“Don’t you dare.” You warn, knowing all too well what the mischievous glint in his eye meant. Your warning is too late, however, as his hands move to attack your sides sending you into a flurry of laughter. Tears pricked at your eyes as he mercilessly continued to tickle you, his own laughs of amusement being heard over yours.

“What was that? I don’t think I heard ya.”

“You win! Stop!”

Seemingly satisfied with your call of forfeit Atsumu draws his hands away from your sides, only to fall on top of you making a squeal pass your lips. His arms loop around your waist as you tried to shove

-

Atsumus eyes nervously scanned the large crowd as he stepped out on to the court, the loud cheers and blaring band falling upon deaf ears as all he could hear was his thoughts whizzed by faster than he could focus on one. It was his first game of high school and while he was able to hide it well, below the surface of his facade he was swelling with nerves and worries. What if he messed up his serve? What if he did something to lose the game for the third years? What if something he did this game made the entire team turn on him like they did in middle school?

Before he could fully process what was happening the referee passed him the ball, hundreds of eyes following its course into his hands. Taking a deep breath, Atsumu spun the ball in his hands.

Don’t mess up.

How many steps do I take?

Is this too far?

What if I throw it up wrong?

Don’t. Mess. Up.

“Go Atsumu!”

The sudden call of his name pulls him out of his thoughts, his attention being drawn back towards the crowd. After a few moments of searching his eyes meet yours, a sense of calm washing over him as you smile back at him. She came, he thought to himself, his own smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. With you there, surely everything would be

-

“Y/n, can ya please let me in?”

“Go away!”

Atsumu sighs as he leans his head on the bathroom door, his hand once again trying the handle though the lock prevents it from turning.

It was a stupid fight, one that’d been building up over time that suddenly boiled over causing you both to explode at each other. Both of you had said things you didn’t mean, harsh words being thrown at each other since you arrived home. Your throats had gone raw from trying to speak over each other but you both refused to back down, tunnel vision preventing you from hearing one another out as you pressed to prove you were right.

Looking on what you’d said now having been sitting outside the bathroom for about an hour he understood why you’d been upset and, while he didn’t quite want to admit it, you were in the right.

While he knew this now, it didn’t help what had gotten him in this situation in the first place. At the peak of your screaming match he found himself blinded by anger and words he’d never thought he’d ever say to you passed his lips, rolling off his tongue before he realized what he was saying.

“All I’m saying is I want to spend some more time with you! Is that really too much to ask?” You asked, exasperated.

“Ya knew when we started dating how busy I am!” Atsumu exclaimed, “Why are ya suddenly so mad about it?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s because you spend more time with your fan girls than with your actual girlfriend!”

“Really? Yer pulling that? It’s not my fault yer so needy Y/n, I’m not gonna drop my practices just to make ya happy all the time!”

“If you think I’m needy why don’t you go date one of the girls who keep throwing themselves at you?”

“Maybe I should! They’d probably be less annoying than ya!”

“‘Tsumu, wait-“

“What? Finally realizing how easily I could replace ya? Yer the one who suggested it, remember?” He scoffs, ignoring how you’d shrunken, “Ya should be thankful for the time ya get with me, cause if not there’s other girls who could take yer place. I don’t need ya.”

As soon as he said it he froze, almost not believing that those words had actually come out of his mouth. The look on your face unfortunately proved it to be true, however, as he could see the way it seemed as if all of the fight and anger had been drained out of you leaving you with a hollow expression. You but your lip as you shook your head and shoved your way past him, ignoring all attempts he made at stopping you as you slammed the bathroom door in his face.

“Baby, I’m sorry okay? Can ya unlock the door so we can talk?”

“Leave me alone, Atsumu.”

He felt a pull at his heart at the slight crack in your voice followed by quiet sniffling, guilt threatening to swallow him whole as he realized you were crying because of him.

Unable to put up with you locking yourself away any longer, Atsumu grabbed a bobby-pin from your room and got to work unlocking the door with it, successfully doing so after a few minutes. Almost as soon as the door swung open he’s kneeling on the ground beside where you were curled into a ball, frantically scanning his mind for something to do.

“Y/n...” He says, reaching a hand out to brush your hair away from your face.

He cringes when you flinch, temporarily drawing back before reaching out again this time wrapping his arms around your shuttering frame. Though you temporarily resisted, ultimately you found yourself melting into his embrace as you adjusted to wrap your arms around his torso. Atsumu pulls you into his lap, one of his hands cradling the back of your head as you cried into his shirt while the other ran up and down your back. The two of you sat there until your tears slowed to a stop, Atsumu not daring to move a muscle in fear of scaring you off.

“You really are an asshole, Atsumu.” You mumble, your grip on the fabric of his tshirt tightening.

“I know.” He sighs, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “I’m so so sorry. I didn’t mean any of that. Yer the best girlfriend I could ever ask for, no one else even begins to compare. And yer right, I’m not spending enough time with ya but I’ll try to, okay? I love ya so much.”

“I

-

The two of you lay on the couch in your living room, the only sound being that of the TV you’d turned on for background noise when your boyfriend had appeared at your front door. You’d anticipated his arrival, having watched the game against Karasuno on your phone the day before and such expected the defeated and angry atmosphere that surrounded him.

Atsumu lay on top of you with his arms wrapped firmly around your waist, holding himself in place against you. One of your hands rested on the back of his head that rested on your chest as the other ran up and down his back, paying attention to rub in the patterns you knew he liked. He hadn’t said a word since he arrived other than a short “missed ya”, having passed all welcomes in favor of clinging to you, his body melting into yours. After the loss at nationals he had wanted nothing more than to curl up in your arms, the long trip home seeming to go slower as he counted down the seconds until he could finally be here.

“You did really good.” You whisper, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he tensed slightly. “I’m proud of you.”

“It wasn’t good enough.” Atsumu says, voice weak compared to its usual light hearted tone. “I lost the game for everyone.”

“You weren’t the only one playing, ‘Tsum. It isn’t all one person’s fault. But you are one of the reasons you guys were even able to get that far, yeah? Don’t beat yourself up over one play.”

It’s quiet for a moment as he processes your words, as if trying to decide if he’ll believe you or not. He moves his head upwards so he can nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, the feeling of a tear falling onto your skin pulling at your heart as you give him a small squeeze.

“It’s just- it was-“ He stutters, his words shaky and ultimately cut off by a sharp intake of breath as he tries to hold back his tears.

“I know.” You murmur, “But you’re still the best setter there is, y’know? And the best boyfriend, best teammate, best looking; you’re so much more than that one game.”

“...Best looking twin?” He asks quietly.

You laugh, “Yes.”

The sound fills his ears, providing him with a sense of comfort no words or actions had been able to. You always knew the right things to say, to do, to comfort him and make him feel better when he was at his lowest and felt ready to give up. Something about you warded off all of the negatives and filled the air around you with warmth. Something about you felt like home. Something about you made him sure that one day, he was going to m

that’s how things between the two of you went, always being cut off too soon. All of his memories with you, each I love you, each kiss, each quiet afternoon spent cuddling on the couch watching movies, everything was ended before it was supposed to. Even your relationship went that way, being cut off, suddenly forced to a stop before it could even really begin. Each memory was halted right in the middle, part of each story missing making them feel impartial and almost fake with holes in their plots and the endings missing. Everything was so vivid, yet so vividly fading at the same time it terrified him that he was losing what little left he had of you. Details faded away so all he was left was glimpses of a memory that didn’t even feel like his anymore; left looking through a foggy window on to a life he wished he still had.

Every day without you felt bland. No longer did he have your soft voice scratchy with sleep whispering in his ear in the mornings; your fingers lacing with his as you wandered around the shops; your body searching for his warmth during the night. The apartment that had once belonged to the both of you was now void of your glowing presence, the air stiff and too quiet without you. His happy, care-free smile had faded from his face and become less frequent as he found himself wondering what he was supposed to do without the one person he could call home.

“I got invited to play for the Olympics next year.” Atsumu says, not quite as enthusiastic as it should be, “Ya always said I’d get there one day.”

No response comes.

“It really sucks without ya here, Y/n.” He continues, feeling his throat start to constrict, “I miss ya. A lot.

It’s already been a year, can ya believe that? I don’t want to believe it. A whole year with ya gone. It’s just... not right.

Sometimes I forget for a few minutes, and I think yer gonna be there when I open the door just like ya always were. It scares me, cause I can’t remember everything, even yer voice is a little gone without the videos. I could never forget yer smile though, even with all the pictures. I think that’s my favorite thing about ya.

I really took everything for granted. I wish I could go back and just hold ya, one more time. One more kiss. One more time hearing ya say I love you. Just something to hold onto. It’s not right, nothings right without ya here. Ya were the reason I was always so happy, ya made everything seem so much brighter, but now it’s just... bland. It’s like I can’t be happy without ya, I don’t wanna be happy without ya.” He stops to wipe his face of the tears that’d begun to fall, though new ones quickly slip into the tracks of the old.

“I wish you’d just come back. Sometimes I get mad at ya, for leaving me here alone, but ya know I can’t stay made atcha for long. It just hurts, knowing yer not coming back... Yer not coming back.”

He hits his lip, the air in his lungs feeling to heavy as if it’s trying to suffocate him from the inside. Everything falls on him at once, like a thick sheet of snow covering everything in sight and leaving him cold and numb yet burning and screaming at the same time. You’re gone. His Y/n, his beautiful wonderful, amazing Y/n, was gone. Everything hurt, every breath, every small movement of his body as it shook with sobs, every nerve; everything hurt as he longed for something that was so painfully taken away.

“Please Y/n/n... I don’t know what to do without ya.” He cries, eyes squeezing shut, “I miss ya, just please... come back to me.”

Still no response. The only sound being Atsumus cries muffled by the snow he sat buried in.

Atsumu barely notices the hand placed on his shoulder, only acknowledging the other person when they call his name.

“Hey.” Osamu starts, glancing down at his brother with eyes heavy with concern before flickering back up. “Do ya wanna minute?”

He doesn’t respond, another cry being answer enough as he feels his body collapsing in on itself. Risking his legs giving out beneath him, Atsumu stands and throws his arms around his twin, desperately clinging to him as if trying to find an anchor to the world. Osamu didn’t say anything as he held the blonde, feeling his own tears prick at the corners of his eyes at seeing his brother so torn and distraught.

He’d known this was going to happen today, that no amount of words would even begin to fill the void within him and every attempt at comfort would fall upon deaf ears so he didn’t try. Instead, he sat there. For a time unbeknownst to the pair they sat on a bench Osamu was able to coax Atsumu towards, no words daring break the silent agreement they’d made to not speak. They sat there until Atsumus heavy sobs eventually eased to a dull crying and he pulled away, eyes meeting his brothers for a moment as if to thank him before he let his head fall back on to the bench to face the sky.

“Come on.” Osamu said quietly, standing and waiting for the other to follow. He does after a moments pause, eyes lingering on the grave he’d sat beside and tracing over your name before he lets out a heavy, shaky sigh and started walking away, ignoring his mind that screamed at him to stay.

“Let’s get ya home.”

Atsumu obliged but he knew that part of him lay within you, that where ever you went, no matter how far was where his home was; that, without you, away from you, he’d never truly be home again. So he left, leaving with you the pieces of himself he’d given away and the memories that failed to fully reanimate with hopes that maybe, if he couldn’t be with you now at least you could find your way back to him, waiting for you to fall into his arms and bring him wherever you had settled; the place he so desperately longed for: home.

[galaxy98]

With the recent confirmation that we'll get to see more of Yunan and Olivia in season 3, I thought it would be nice to give a little rundown of a certain idea I had for a story prior to the trailer. Will I ever go through it, maybe not. For one thing, I have so many ideas that I want to do on AO3 so some things may have to be sacrificed. Not only that, but despite the episodes having a limited runtime, thus having less depth, it's likely going to turn out better than what I put out. That and it would be less convoluted. So here's a bullet list of the idea:

The working title for the fanfic is called Lady and the Newt. I wanted to go with Lady and the Merc or Lady and the General, though the former didn't made sense since Yunan is not a Mercenary. Also since it's a Disney show, I thought it would be funny to make the title a tongue-and-cheek reference to Lady and the Tramp.

The best way to describe this story is 2 lesbians on the run. There's also a butch and her daughter but we're not there yet.

Obviously, this would take place after True Colors, but based on the clips I've seen, it would've been drastically different.

For starters, it would begin with Olivia and Yunan trying to find a way to escape Newtopia. While Yunan is more concerned about finding a way out, Olivia didn't want to leave Marcy behind. At the same time, Yunan is also reluctant, albeit in denial, of wanting to go back there since she felt betrayed by both Andrias and Marcy, despite the latter being a child who was just being manipulated.

However, Olivia feels like she's complacent in letting this all happened, so she wanted to back there for the sake of ridding herself of that guilt. In other words, the both are still shooken up about the whole revelation.

They would eventually escape, but it will be a hollow victory.

This would be the first time we get to see Yunan without her armor. She took most of it off when trying to save an unconscious Olivia from drowning. By the time they set up camp, she will chuck her medals into the river in anger. She does keep the claws since they might come in handy, but other than that, she's completely vulnerable.

The fanfic would explore on the aspect about the expectations and pressure that Newtopia places on its society and how Yunan and Olivia were both affected by this mentality. Yunan ran away from home when she was in her teens because of her strained relationship with her family (Something that I will get into later on) and how due to being found by Andrias was she able to show off her skills that would work her way up to the ranks and then eventually the youngest general in the army, Scourge of the Sand Wars, Defeater of Ragnar the Wretched, yada yada yada. However, you would see why her family relationship was dysfunctional due to the infighting with her sister and mother who just happened to be a famous artisan (hint hint). Prior to becoming general, she felt like she had nothing to show for and that being a part of the court made her felt like she was special. But the problem is that she feels like she's nothing without the rank. So while Yunan constantly introduces herself because it's effective, it's also because that's all she has.

Olivia, on the other hand, didn't want to be a part of the court. The only reason she has that title in the first place was because her family already had connections to Andrias's so she was basically forced into the role. Royalty never particularly interest her but because she was so ingrained into the role, she ended up living a very isolated life. It's why she has a very stoic demeanor. Only when there's nothing else to do does she masks off the whole facade after keeping appearances for a whole day. During the night after they escape, she would lament about where it all went wrong.

There would be a retcon where Olivia originally planned on running away from Newtopia and she wanted Yunan to come with her. But with the combination of Yunan's commitment to the general rank, taking care of Marcy Wu, and then the events that soon follow, it never came to be. Olivia wondered if going through with that decision would've only make things worse.

There would be flashback chapters where we get to see the dynamics between the newts and the 13 year old girl. Any one of them involving Yunan would be an explanation as to why she initially felt betrayed by Marcy's actions. It's only later on in the story did she reconcile with those feelings.

Most of the story consist of them trying to get far away from Newtopia as possible, all while the fear of Marcy's fate lingers. In tale of dramatic irony, they assume that she may have escaped along with the others. But once they found refuge at Wartwood, they notice that Sasha was the only that's still here. That's when they figured the out news. Again, dramatic irony.

So that thing I mention about how there's also a butch and her daughter in this story, well here's what I mean. Priscilla and Pearl are the additional characters in this journey. The reason for their inclusion is because I had a particular subplot in mind. I loved the headcanon of Priscilla being Yunan's older sister because the potential dynamic makes so much sense. During their childhood, they were both competing for their mother's love, despite the fact that she didn't want them to fight. So due to jealously and the strained sibling relationship, it prompted Yunan to run away.

On an unrelated note, you can check out my poem fanfic on AO3 called O' Sister Of Mine. It explores the dynamic between Priscilla and Yunan as siblings.

The entire subplot would be about Yunan and Priscilla trying to repair their sibling relationship after years of fighting and not seeing each other. When her and Olivia cross paths with the two of them, Priscilla initially rejected their offer of going together. Because of Yunan and Olivia's status, she was worried that it was not only going to put a target on her back, but also her daughter's, which is the last thing she wants. But since they can't stay in one spot, they have no choice but to go together.

I think by looking at the pattern of where this story is going, the entire lesson is about not taking things for granted and being the change you want to be. The three girls may be the main focus of the show, but this fanfic explores on the side characters who were affected by the events.

Well there you have it. This is mostly just a rough draft of ideas but it does get the main gist across. Like I said before, this likely isn't going to see the light of day, especially when Matt Braly's crew is going to come up with something better than I can. This is one of those big AO3 projects that I'll have to keep on the shelf, at least temporarily when I don't have a lot on my plate right now.

But if you want to express any interest in me doing this in the future, feel free to reblog or leave a comment in the notes.

[agent-cupcake]

i’m interested to know your take on non-AM felix. ever since i read “epitaph,” it’s kind of made me fall down a rabbit hole of reading his character analyses from different routes, and i find it quite scary that i didn’t really consider how much of his characterization changes in such a negative way (to quote something i saw on reddit, he “failed to become a better person,” “was swallowed up by his own demons,” and “literally becomes a boar, mirroring dimitri” THAT AND i haven’t played anything besides azure moon LOL). also? it’s kind of even inspired me to possibly brainstorm something for a CF!felix/reader where the reader is with him every step of the way when byleth recruits both felix and you, and it turns into some “i can save him” type shit as you watch him spiral downwards because i’m still a sucker for cliche stuff like that!!!! thx

Non-Azure Moon Felix is a tragedy. The comment, “literally becomes a boar, mirroring Dimitri” is absolutely the sum of my opinion on what happens to him.

Hot take: Felix has a primary character personality and arc and should be integrated into the Azure Moon story but cannot be by the nature of the game which is a huge and tragic missed opportunity. Felix’s character and story importance to Azure Moon is not insignificant. He is the one who sets the tension about Dimitri initially and acts as the constant “moral” rebuff to Dimitri’s actions, the only one willing to call Dimitri out for his behavior. I’d say that his story role is far more worthwhile than Gustave’s in many ways. It’s a shame that he and Dimitri didn’t interact more after Rodrigue’s death. In general, I feel the story dropped off significantly at that point, and Felix clearly suffers for it. However, what is clear is that Dimitri’s recovery is similarly a turning point for Felix getting closure. Not because of Dimitri himself, not exclusively, but what his recovery represents for the team, for Faerghus, and the ideals that Felix has violently rejected for so long. Dimitri shaking off the ghosts, reclaiming the throne, and leading the team to victory is the validation of Felix’s actions and the patriotism he’s doubted so much. It allows him to come to terms with the dead himself. Not through rejection, but by accepting Glenn and Rodrigue’s legacy as his own. When he does that, he’s able to forge a path to a brighter future, find his own family, and, more importantly, something to live for other than the pursuit of strength. He accepts that people are more important than strength and that it’s okay to care. In Azure Moon, all of Felix’s endings have him staying with his paired partner and keeping a close and loving relationship with them.

In Azure Moon, we see the Felix who overcame his internal demons and accepted himself as he is, a caring and emotional person with an awful lot of baggage. This is a Felix who decided it was okay to love and be loved, who respects the sacrifices of the dead rather than scorning them for their foolishness. This is a Felix who is shown that he matters as an individual in his entirety. This is the Felix who no longer views ideals as inherently wrong, but is able to form a middle ground in order to understand the people he loves. He even accepts some of them, notably seen in how he stays and serves Dimitri while repairing Fraldarius territory in most of his endings, proving his loyalty. Not empty loyalty to the crown, but to a man he’s worked to understand. In summation, this is a Felix who overcame his trauma.  

If Felix chooses to leave the Kingdom, he is submitting himself to the painful path he put himself on after Glenn’s death. A path of rejecting his family, friends, and country. In short, rejecting himself as he is in favor of the man he believes he should be, a man who is strong and unyielding and does not compromise for the sake of ideals or allow himself to be unnecessarily sentimental. Felix abandoning the Kingdom is the ultimate showcase of his destructive dogma: strength above all. By taking part in the war against the Kingdom, Felix is proving to himself that unwavering and absolute might is more valuable than relationships, loyalty, and family. Not only is it more valuable, but it is also the only thing that is actually effective. By switching sides and figuratively killing the sensitive, childish side of himself, Felix is brought to understand that it’s all meaningless. Hopes and dreams and ideals and everything else is impotent in the face of military might, to feel those things in the first place was a display of weakness. Glenn truly died for nothing, there is no such thing as a true knight, no reason to waste your life for a cause which surely won’t reward you. Rodrigue believed in such foolish values, chivalry and loyalty, and he dies like the old fool Felix accused him of being. Everything Dimitri felt and thought and believed meant nothing because he died, too. As a beast, no less, validating everything Felix ever hated and was terrified of about a person he once adored. He never gets closure with Dimitri, never is able to come to terms with what happened to him.

And through all of this rejection of self, Felix proves to himself that he is not valuable as an individual. The only aspect of himself that is worth anything is his strength, that is his singular point of individuality. There is no reason to form strong emotional relationships, no reason to serve anybody or anything. He roams around without purpose, killing because that’s all he really knows. Some of his endings seem to portray him as happier, or at least give a more hopeful outlook about his life, but I think that’s more of a broken man making the most out of his life. Not because he’s actually moved on or dealt with his trauma, but because he’s got nothing else. Although, I have to point out that it’s also obviously because we have to have nice ship bait in the endings because God forbid a mostly serious game about war forgets to pander and not give the drooling masses a happy ending. Not to say that I’d prefer he suffer his entire life, but it definitely cheapens the experience when his potential happiness has no context other than a single line. That said, his non-Azure Moon solo ending as well as the ones with Dorothea and Sylvain are the ones I feel work the best.

To tie this all up, let’s jump back to something I mentioned above as well as an aspect of “Epitaph” I really tried to highlight, Felix’s lack of closure with Dimitri is what ultimately ruins him. Dimitri is the most important turning point of his recovery in Azure Moon, so it makes sense that his death would have the opposite effect by changing him into an isolated, bitter person who kills without remorse and represses his emotions, even running from them. Felix becomes haunted by his actions and betrayal and by the constant question of why it wound up like this, all the while hating himself for feeling this way because he knows such questions are pointless. It’s a feedback loop of self hatred and violence because he knows nothing else, because he has nothing else. No place to go, nowhere to belong. The fear he expressed about what would become of him when there were no longer any battles to be fought is validated and he’s left hollow.

So, those are my thoughts on Felix. With that fic… Are you proposing an angst-ridden tragedy of trying to save Felix from himself only to realize it’s like blowing into a hurricane and falling further and further into the despair of watching sweet, beloved Felix succumb to his worst self? Because… yum…. I’m on board.