#and when i say changed my life i mean rotted my brain and made a fictional man who will never love me the benchmark
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thefrogdalorian · 11 months ago
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Din Djarin + Chapter 15: The Believer
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your-highnessmarvel · 3 months ago
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Cantankerous
AN: So some of yall ( namely @jana-jaeynneee @delicateblues @blondegirlie )requested a part two to THIS and I mean, I must oblige the populace. So here's another brain rot of Billy Butcher.
This can be read as a sequel to THIS or as a oneshot either way. Y'all ready for some more madness?
WARNINGS: SMUT SMUT SMUT, breath play, kink size, age-gap if you squint.
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MINORS DNI BELOW THE CUT
The safehouse was so quiet you could've heard a mouse walk the entire length of the kitchen. But no one was here. It was just you and the silence and the loudly walking mouse that was meandering across the makeshift living room. Oh and Butcher - Billy - whatever. But he was snoring like a cow in heat on the couch, the tiny TV droning and casting a greyish blue glow onto his sleeping features.
When you'd found him there, you'd almost padded back to your little corner and called it a night. But a growl in your tummy made you ache for something to nibble on. And now that the team was basically under government watch and the FBI's Most Wanted list, it's not like Frenchie was stocking the fridge with nutrient dense foods.
It was mostly bread, peanut butter, bananas or avocados (depending on which ones came on special first), and a few cold cuts he could swipe.
But this time, as you pulled the mini fridge open, you wanted to smack Frenchie on the shaved side of his idiot head. There was nothing but one darkening banana and a Doctor Pepper in there.
"Stupid," you mumbled, grasping onto the banana.
"You should have your head checked out, hun."
You rolled your eyes, groaning inwardly as you turned to the man sitting up on the couch like a revenant. He turned his head, snuggled his chin onto the back of the couch, and pouted at you.
"Why?" you asked, closing the fridge door with a bang.
He lifted one dark brow. "Because you're over there calling a 'fridgerator stupid."
You leaned back against the counter and crossed your ankles. "Who says I called the fridge stupid?"
He shrugged. "Who knows why you women do them things that you do." And just as you were about to tell him where he could shove his opinion, he sighed and asked, "Fancy a midnight nibble, yeah?"
You recoiled, swallowing your retort before showing him the banana from across the room. "There's only one thing left to eat before God knows when."
He made a face, more like a grimace, somewhere between pain and resolution. "Have it," he said, waving you away.
Ever since that night at the Seducer's mansion, it's like everything had changed for you while not the slightest thing had shifted for Butcher - Billy.
It's like he hadn't culled two orgasms from you.
It's like he hadn't told you those things that were absolutely not lies.
He'd barely talked to you since, waltzing into the next month as if you were just a decoration hung on the wall that you caught him looking at once in a while, but otherwise, he resorted to silence with you.
He never asked you anything. He never answered your questions. Even when it was just the two of you at the safehouse, like tonight, he'd knock out on the couch after a few beers and lull you to sleep with the sound of his snoring.
This was the first time in 4 weeks he'd spoken a direct word at you.
"I could split it," you said, gesturing to the banana.
He shook his head, raked a hand over the left side of his face. "Did I ever tell you my series of fun facts?" he asked, looking at the TV so all you could see was the back of his head.
You'd heard him have a shower an hour ago, cursing at the cold water and the lack of proper space for his abnormally large body.
Whenever the boys took a shower, in that cramped, open space beside the kitchen, you made it your mission to count how many cracks there were in the wall. Aside from the safehouse having no proper bathroom utilities, the "shower" had no curtain. It was just a shower head off the wall with a handle to open it.
So when you'd heard the shower head squeal to life an hour ago, you'd turned in your little cot and pretended that you weren't jealous of that water. Of the droplets running between his pecks, gliding down his tummy, running along the small hairs on his arms. Of the water that caressed the planes of his face, that rushed into his hair, that tumbled along the hard ridges of his back.
It had been insanely hard not to get lost in those thoughts. You were trying to forget Billy Butcher, to classify him as your leader instead of as the recipient of your antiquated school-girl crush. You knew Billy didn't think that way of you, you were certain. All those things that he told you while he'd been two knuckles deep in your cunt, even if they weren't lies, had to have been in the heat of the moment.
You thought better of Billy Butcher--higher. There was no way a man of his age, his experience, would be as cliché as to want to fuck his twenty-something coworker.
"Your series of fun facts?" you asked back, throwing those thoughts back into your head, in a drawer so deep, locked away, so forgotten you'd never risk finding it again.
He snorted. "Sounds nerdy, I know, you'll love it." He patted the side of the couch next to him, a dull invitation.
Truth is, even if you had tried to ignore him as well, a part of you had missed being close to him. He was a genuinely nice and funny human being, when he wasn't chopping arms off or punching people in the head.
Sometimes, when it was just the two of you - well, before the whole Seducer incident - he could be wholeheartedly nice to you. He'd made you a sandwich once when a pad fell out of your toiletries bag and he so eloquently yelled to everyone in the room that you were on the rag. He'd cut your hair--surprisingly well--when you had the remains of the mailman's brains gathered in chunks in your hair.
So that pat on the couch was like an old reminder of the relationship you'd had with him before...well before everything.
You padded towards him, bare feet on the cold cement. He looked at you over his shoulder, taking in the long pajama pants, the long t-shirt.
When you sat dow beside him, sinking into the couch, you took a glance at him. He was still dressed in his black jeans but he'd switched his open blouse for a long-sleeve black sweater that hugged onto his shoulders like a glove.
"They say," he started, smiling, raising a finger as if he was in deep thought. "That the same bacteria found in yogurt can be found in a blue whale's vagina."
You glazed your eyes. "I don't know why I expected anything less," you groaned.
He chuckled. "Get this, right," he continued, shuffling on the couch to get more comfortable. "Crocodiles mate by like twisting 'round each other, like some sort of licorice, and then the male uncovers his hidden penis like a gun and shoots up the female."
You leaned your head back onto the couch and groaned again. "Are these fun facts going to serve me in real life?"
He leaned forward, as if to tell you a juicy secret, his weight dipping the couch so your shoulder slid an inch closer to him. "Sometimes, male elephants use their giant dicks as a fifth leg."
That made you smile and burst into giggles. "Why would that be of any service to them at all?" you chuckled, raising your head to meet his eyes.
He shrugged, grimaced at you. "Maybe they can run faster," he offered.
"Doubt it."
"Oi, maybe they use it as a weapon of some sorts."
"What, like a sword?"
"Dunno, I'm not the one with a giant fifth leg."
You started laughing, a real laugh that tore at your gut and made you throw your head back. Of everything Butcher was, he was a walking comedian. Sure, it enclosed a multitude of unhealed trauma, but the things he could pull out of his magic hat could be the difference between a dreadful nightmare or a peaceful sleep. And that's always something you'd appreciated from him.
"I wanna ask you somethin', little Truthteller," he asked, suddenly somber, as if the lights in his head had dimmed all at once.
The little nickname, the pet name, drew the breath from your lungs and swiped the smile off your face, bringing you back the that box beneath the floor. The enclosed space where it was just you and him, and you and his breathing, his kisses, his caresses.
The grip you had on the banana tightened.
"First of all," he sighed, cocking his head to look at you. "Are you going to eat that fucking banana or keep teasing me?"
"Here!" you said, smiling, handing him the fruit. "I said take it if you're hungry."
He swiped it from you, grazing his fingers against your knuckles. "Thanks," he mumbled, peeling it and wolfing it down in three bites.
Well, you thought. There goes my midnight snack.
"Are you..." he trailed off, swallowing the last of his banana before dumping the peel on the coffee table. "Are you angry with me or something or the other?"
You frowned, taken aback. If anything, you'd thought he was mad at you for something or the other.
"Don't tell me you're that boomer who assumes every woman is mad at something," you grumbled, crossing your arms.
His eyes dipped to your chest for a fraction of a second, so quickly that you'd have missed it had you blinked. The action of crossing your arms had pushed your breasts together, making it obvious that you weren't wearing a bra.
Something dark and slow, like molasses, stirred in your belly.
"First thing's first, young lady, I'm not a boomer," he corrected, grabbing your wrist, "and secondly, please don't push up those pretty tits in my face unless you're willing to suffer the consequences," and he dropped your arm.
You gulped, feeling heat spread deep in your belly, across your chest, and into your head.
Your heartbeat picked up, like a tiny little drummer boy was kicking to life inside you.
He leaned back, dropping your wrist like nothing happened, and you hated him for it.
"I'm not angry," you answered decidedly. "I'm just... I just don't know how to behave around you."
He huffed, then turned to you and waved you over, making his chest appear like the most comfortable pillow.
You swallowed.
"Come on," he guffawed, gesturing to you again. "I want to tell you somethin' and I'm afraid that cunt Frenchie bugged up this dump."
You blinked, feeling the heat crawl up your cheeks like slow melting butter. But then you found yourself moving forward, crawling and closing the small space between the both of you until you were kneeling beside him.
He laughed silently, the dimples in his cheeks creasing. From up close, you could see the lines beside his eyes, the deep green of his irises, the way his black hair curled at the tip slightly.
He watched you watching him, following your gaze. You'd never seen each other this close before. The last time you'd been close enough to feel his breath on your cheeks, it had been pitch black.
"If you're refferin' to the last time we went on a mission alone," he said, his voice a few octaves lower, graver, raspier--as if he was straining against himself. "I'm not angry."
You nodded, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. You felt his finger press under your chin, dragging your eyes back to his. They were kind, downturned as if he was concerned. "I didn't mean to force you into anythin'," he murmured, watching as you opened your mouth.
"You didn't," you answered quickly. "It was hurting so bad," you continued, pressing your hands together, held like a prayer against your thighs. "I think I would've died without you."
He smiled, pressing his thumb to your bottom lip, like he'd done under the floor.
"Come," he instructed, grabbing you by the biceps and hauling you over his lap, so your bum was pressed right on his crotch, your shoulder nuzzled against his chest. Even sitting, he was so much bigger and taller than you, that you felt like a tiny rock in his hand.
He was so warm, smelling of something woodsy, something smokey--a scent so unique to him it made the volley of butterflies in your tummy take flight across your chest.
He pressed a big, warm hand against one of your thighs and flattened your knees, his breath hitching over your head. Your heart hammered, a deep throb against your throat.
"Did you like it?" he asked slowly, pressing deep circles into the inside of your left thigh.
You pressed your lips together, feeling his other hand cradle you against his chest. "It was..." you swallowed thickly.
He pinched the sensitive skin that he was caressing, the ache swarming your head, even through the layer of your pajama pants. "Don't be embarrassed," he cooed, leaning his nose against your temple.
"Butcher, I-"
"Billy," he interrupted, grabbing your chin and lifting your head up to meet your gaze. You gasped, meeting his eyes with a sweet-sour feeling in your belly. "Love, it's always Billy for you." He looked at your mouth, trailing his finger down the column of your throat before lacing his fingers around your neck like a pretty little necklace.
"You look so tiny like this," he mumbled and you felt him then, hard and warm against your bum, before he leaned over and ravaged your mouth, kissing you like you were the imaginary oasis in a desert and he was a man parched dry.
He groaned against your mouth, grasping at your throat like a lifeline, pressing until air was taken from you and you keened against him, both of your hands reaching for his arm, digging into the chiseled skin.
"Billy," you said, breathless, your lips bruised from his kisses, his teeth nipping at your mouth like a predator.
"Yes, love?" he mumbled, out of his mind, his fingers closing around your neck like a noose until you choked against his mouth. He swallowed your sounds, groaning against you. "Can't breathe?" he mocked, loosening his fingers ever so slightly and giving you just a sliver of air to suck onto as you closed your eyes. The blood rushed out of your head and back into your body, pounding in your chest, sliding slowly down your tummy and settling into your cunt like a heavy, hard drum beat.
"Billy, I'm-"
He cut you off with a kiss, squeezing your neck, letting you choke against his mouth until he gave you a few licks of air. He enjoyed toying with you and you let him, sucking onto the air he gave you, kissing him, feeling as lightheaded as a balloon.
When your lips were red and swollen, your eyes glazed, and your breath hard and fast, he finally took his hands from your neck, kissing your cheeks and your eyelids. "You did so good f'me," he panted, lazily tracing circles on your neck, watching as you heaved in breath after breath.
Somewhere, you knew your panties were slick.
He kissed your temple. "Breathing when I allow you," he groaned, kissing your cheek. "And now look at ya, pretty head empty, eh?" You knew he was taunting you but all you could do was focus on your breathing, getting as much air in as to not pass out on his lap.
"I'm so...tired," you moaned, reaching up to kiss him, but he grabbed onto your face, dwarfing your head in his big hands, and smiled down at your sleepy little eyes.
"But I've got you right where I want you," he cooed, kissing your other cheek. "Get on your knees for me, yeah?" he whispered, and you would do anything for him in that moment, light-headed, dazed, panties wet, soaked as you fell to your knees before him.
You looked up at him from between his spread thighs. "God," he groaned, pressing his thumb to your fat bottom lip. "Look at you."
You swallowed hard when he unbuttoned his jeans, his eyes like magnets to your every movement. He took himself out of his pants, root and stem, groaning and leaning forward to caress your cheek, his eyes serious all of a sudden. "Take your time, little Truthteller, I want to see every second of this."
You looked up at him, brows upturned, nodding. As he leaned back, you got a good look at him; he was big, just like the rest of him, angry red tip leaking precum already.
Your empty little head just wanted to please him, like he'd done to you beneath the floorboards of the Seducer's mansion, but a nervousness kicked at your belly.
Hesitantly, you scooted closer, wrapping your hand around his length, the skin scorching hot, listening to him sigh and melt into the couch.
You leaned forward, giving his tip little kitten licks until you pressed the entire tip of him against your warm tongue, wrapping your lips around him.
"Fuck," he whispered, one hand gathering your hair, lifting it away from your face so he could see you. "I'm not going to last long, little Truthteller."
You wondered, somewhere where your mind wasn't so empty, if he'd been holding out for you, keeping himself from jerking off because he wanted to do it with you. If he'd been thinking of it for so long that just the warmth and wetness of your tongue was enough to rip him asunder.
You took him passed your lips, wetting him with your tongue, then bobbing back up to suckle on his tip until you'd wet him enough to start a slow rhythm.
He helped you speed things up to his desired rhythm by pulling and pushing slightly on your hair. You used one hand for the rest of him you couldn't take and the other on the inside of his jean-clad leg for support.
"God, you feel so fuckin' good, love," he slurred, his accent even thicker as you sucked him, wet him with your tongue, hollowing in your cheeks to treat him like your own little popsicle. "You can take a bit more love," he cooed, pulling on your hair, sliding himself out of your mouth with a wet pop.
You gasped, swallowing thickly, watching him watch you with hungry, deep eyes. At your slick red lips and your heaving chest and the way your eyes were still glazed over.
He leaned him, pressing a hard kiss to your mouth, his free hand caressing your warm cheek. "Yeah, a bit more?" he taunted, kissing and kissing and kissing you until you were drunk on his lips.
He leaned back and you leaned with him, taking him into your mouth again, feeling that sweet-sour wave wash in your belly when he groaned out your name.
You pressed him further in your throat, squeezing your eyes shut, bobbing him into your mouth further and further until your air supply was cut and you gagged on him slightly. Embarrassed, you slipped him out of your mouth, covering your lips as you breathed in much-needed air.
He smiled, leaned forward, and pressed a kiss on your cheek. "Too big for you, love?" he murmured, his voice laced with thick desire, watching your watery eyes widen. He was merciless. He was enjoying the taunt. He was enjoying the way you were so pliable to his demands. "Go slower, yeah, relax your throat." He mumbled those words against your cheek, inhaling you, before returning to his leaned-back position.
You swallowed determinedly, taking him into your mouth again, the hand in your hair squeezing as you started to bob your head again.
"Right there," he encouraged.
You did as he directed, slowly easing down on him, wetting him, sliding him against your tongue and relaxing your throat until the tip of his cock slid in there easily.
"Yes, right there, little Truthteller," he whispered.
Your eyes watered but you kept going, spurred by his praises until you had him almost all the way in your mouth. You kept sliding him in and out, as far as you could, feeling his tip slide down your throat further and further each time you slid your head back down.
"That's a good girl," he continued, breathless, voice lost. "Further, yeah, baby?" You knew he was spurred on by the moment so you tried, gulping him all down until your eyes blurred with tears and your throat spasmed around him. He squeezed your hair, groaning, holding you there until he was cumming inside your mouth, grunting, his hips spasming up, as if to fuck your mouth.
You slid him out slow, swallowing his release, breathing in deeply, wiping your lips with the back of your hand.
When you looked up, he was panting, head slanted back on the couch, chest heaving.
"Gods, little Truthteller," he groaned, leaning forward to wipe the tears from the corners of your eyes with his thumb. "You did so, so good for me, yeah?"
He kissed your numb lips, caressing your cheeks, pulling you back up on the couch. He tucked himself back into his jeans before bringing you close to him, snuggling your empty little dumb head against his chest.
You were cradled in his arms like a baby and when you looked up, you saw how sated he was, content and happy. He pet your hair, soothed the back of his knuckles on your cheek.
Then he smiled and leaned in, whispered in your ear, "Mine."
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hyukascampfire · 5 months ago
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𝒯𝑂: 𝑆𝑂𝑀𝐸𝑂𝑁𝐸 𝐹𝑅𝑂𝑀 𝐴 𝑊𝐴𝑅𝑀 𝐶𝐿𝐼𝑀𝐴𝑇𝐸 ༉
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𝓘N THIS STORY 〃 a life lived as a human among the fae is hard-earned. the folk are built of indescribable beauty, and of debauchery and mischief. for some, a life lived subservient to the folk is just fine; but to those who dream of something more, they would spend their lives clawing and biting to make it happen.
you, looking for a way to escape a life as a faerie’s human servant, put a new foot forward thinking that any life could be better than that. but, when your first assignment as a king’s spy is alongside a brooding, icy faerie man, you begin to wonder what your place in this foreign world really could be.
wc ➳ 7.5k
pairings faerie!taehyun x human!reader
warnings violence, blood is drawn, some heated kissing and groping, a magic spell is placed over a human character, fem reader, mentions of violence, animal death
playlists ⑊ yeonjun ˒ taehyun ˒ series
…🪶 ashlynn's note okay i am actually so obsessed with a icy and mean taehyun. like genuinely it is rotting my brain. lmaooo
⑊ →
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The stale reek of the ancient, crumbling palace walls makes it feel like they are closing in on you. You trail only a foot behind the odd goblin spy. He treats you with quiet. He’s relatively short in stature and quite grubby, worrying his hands while he walks. You have plenty of reasons to be scared of him; a royal spy, no doubt lethal in skill, who could probably spin around and end your life the second he decided he didn’t like you. But you aren’t scared of him—no, your brain is quintessentially human, and more worried about whether or not the rest of them would find you up to their standards when you arrive where he takes you.
Growing up among the folk was, in an understatement, challenging. They were of a different nature. They did not understand the rules of the human world, and could never understand your resentment for being spirited away. They would argue that it was a blessing, that you would one day grovel at the feet of the faerie that had stolen you here all those years ago. You grew to hate all things faerie, a potent seed nurtured in your mind the more Nut-hatch made you sew the gowns she couldn’t manage until your fingers were bleeding and sore. Who wouldn’t adore a life spent at the beck and call of the faerie that snatched you right from your cradle?
You trip over a loose, fractured stone, reaching out for a wall to catch yourself. You hiss, palm stinging. Re-steadying yourself, you spin the hand over to inspect the burning scrapes. Blood wells around shallow white trails where stone had bitten skin, but you kick your legs back into motion. The goblin does not bother to wait for you. You expect that he’d just continue walking if you don’t.
“And you expect to be a spy,” the goblin laughs, a throaty and irritating sound, “crying over a scuff.” He does not even turn around to address you, but you can’t say you expected him to. You had done nothing to earn his respect. You are going to change that.
Instead of defending yourself or making yourself sound pathetic, you just stop nursing the scrape and let the sound of footfalls fill the air. The walk is long, and you find your mind wandering off to agonize over the different ways that this could play out. Many of them do not end well. You squeeze your eyes shut, gulping down a swallow despite the tightness in your throat. When you feel your foot catching on flat ground again, nearly toppling forward, your eyes lurch open. Don’t close your eyes walking down the halls of decrepit old castles, genius. 
He makes a stop a few feet ahead of you, just before a towering, ornate, and no doubt heavy elmwood door. The metal handles are scuffed with well use to the point that they are utterly dull and reflect little light, and there are four long gashes that splinter the wood. Wild gashes like that could only have been carved by a beast of Faerie origin. 
“So, this is the entrance?” you ask, catching up to him. You gesture at the door ahead. 
He levels you a stare, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. A yellowed canine, so sharp it would pierce your jugular like a knife through sweet cream, peeks out. You squirm under his glare, those yellow eyes scrutinizing you for a moment. 
“More like this,” he says simply, looking pointedly to a slate tile at his feet.
You sigh. You suppose you should’ve inferred that the entrance of a royal spy den is not just a door with no visible locks or veiling. You watch as he dislodges the loose tile from the ground with practiced ease, a heavy hunk of stone that reveals beneath it a set of stairs leading down into the ground. The palace they had decided to conceal the den within is no doubt timeworn, but the staircase you look at now seems much newer. The stone is significantly less worn and eroded, save for the dirt that cakes the tops of each step. Wafts of earth and root greet your nose.
You frown at the prospect of heading down without even so much as a torch on the wall. It’s hollow and black down there, leaving you to only imagine where a root or pebble might steal your balance and send you down who even knows how far. “How deep is that staircase?” you ask. The goblin had already begun descending, pausing at the third step with visible impatience. 
“Oh, just get down here, won’t you?” he grumbles. “This damned stone is heavy.” You observe the utter pitch black of the stairwell for a moment, considering all the awful possibilities, before relenting and descending into it. Stone grinding and light weaning to nothingness tickle nerves up your spine as he slides the coverstone back over the entrance. 
“I can’t see,” you say, words falling out into the thick, muddy air. Perhaps obvious, but how are you supposed to walk? He curses you out under his breath before he grabs you by the meat of your arm with gnarled, calloused fingers, tugging you forward and down. You protest as you almost slip off the ledge of a step, stumbling down each descending one for a few moments until you come to another stop. The floor here is softer beneath your feet, no longer stone. You sit in waiting for whatever he is doing in the pitch black. You do not question him again. It’s better to not come off as any more incapable than you already had made yourself look, considering your goals. Your stomach is tied in such tangled up knots that you don’t know how to act right; how to act like the capable spy that you had painted yourself to be in order to even end up in this decaying palace. You wonder if he is second guessing his decision in even bringing you here. You hold your head up a little more, squaring your shoulders. If you act sure of yourself, you’ll appear that way.
A resounding pattern of knocks bounces off the dirt walls surrounding you two, and the sound of muffled words spoken follow. A soft yellow light luminates your surroundings as a peephole slides open. You blink your eyes to readjust, taking in your surroundings for the first time since that stone snuffed the light out. A rickety, rotting wood door stands before you, oddly shaped to fit the round, burrowed out dirt hollow. The light filtering in from behind the door disappears when somebody peeks through it. No words are even exchanged before a metal sliding bolt cues the unlocking of the round door, and it swings open. You squint your eyes in the light.
“This is her?” A reedy faerie stands holding the door open, her skin a pale green and with an iridescent sheen to it. The hood from the cloak around her shoulders is tugged over her head, but you can see the way she takes you in even through the shadow it casts. 
“Something wrong?” the goblin asks, shoving his way past the long-limbed sprite. You stay put, not sure whether or not they’d like you just barreling your way in behind him.
She scrutinizes you for a moment longer, shrugging. “No,” she answers, lips pursed, “just a bit…” The sprite hesitates on the wording before finishing,“Underwhelming?” She leaves the door to follow him in. You gnaw at your cheeks. You are used to being lackluster—You were raised from infancy here, in a world of creatures that are beauty incarnate. Humans could be beautiful, yeah. But it was not the beauty of starless nights for eyes, nor of flower-petal skin, and never hair of twinkling, gold-spun strands. Human beauty could only ever exist in the four-walled prison of facial symmetry and physical attraction. Even the most gritty of the folk had a certain air of ethereal about them, worted and twisted as they may be. You resent them for it; resent the way your skin and hair dull beside them, becoming something mundane and underwhelming.
Their little hideout is humble. It smells of old wood, and furniture is minimal. The two of them sit down at a square table to the center of the room, leaving three other seats empty. You mull over whether or not simply taking a seat next to them would be offensive before just shoving your nerves down with a foot long stick and sitting. To convince them that you’re a needed part of their team, you’ve got to act the part. An indelible spy does not wonder whether or not a seat is for them, they know it is theirs. However you may try to play an act, though, you’re sure that they can see how the scars that decorate your fingertips are more from pricks of a sewing needle than they are of blades and combat. The sprite girl tugs her hood off her head, revealing a head of tousled white hair except for horizontal stripes of black that decorate some chunks. Her eyelashes are chunky, spidery, and curled, so long they tickle her brow with each blink, and they frame her grass-green eyes. She doesn’t look far off from the insect that she shares her name with. Regarding you, she sits nonchalant and kicked back in the chair, worn boots up and criss-crossed on the table. 
“This is the place where you’ll meet us,” she says, addressing you finally. She wiggles a foot as if this conversation is the last she’d like to be having.
You pause inwardly—you had thought this would be some sort of rugged test of skills, not an initiation.
She continues. “You’ll meet the others whenever they—”
You cut her off. “Aren’t you going to ask me about my qualifications?” 
She quirks a delicate brow, speaking for her just as well as words might.
 “Or, like, test me? Or something?” you continue. The two of them share a look, before breaking out into snorts and giggles. You shift in your seat, frowning. There was nothing funny about your questions.
“We would have never even brought you down here if we didn’t already decide on you,” the sprite girl says, and then gestures at the goblin, “We heard plenty of you from Gristle.” 
The goblin sputters to explain himself, embarrassed how the sprite had made it seem like he was raving. Gristle is his name, then. “We needed a human counterpart,” he says, pointing a clawed finger at the sprite girl. “Nobody else was doing the heavy lifting in recruiting. You try and see how it is, then,” he huffs, voice gravelly. “We needed one, and I brought you one.” 
“Yeah, yeah,” she says, voice softening to a tone reminiscent of soothing a tantruming toddler. “You sure did.” She flexes her booted foot to point in your direction, “But did you bring us a competent one?” 
You cross your arms across your chest, narrowing your eyes. “I’m plenty competent,” you say. Sure, you are the servant girl of a busy seamstress faerie, but you need to make something more of yourself in one way or another. You could learn anything, if it meant that. “You don’t have to worry about me running off and telling anybody anything.”
She barks a laugh, as if the notion was ridiculous. “Well, I should know that, because I assume you value your life well enough.” She lets her feet drop off the table, prowling toward you on legs a bit too long for her body, before sliding an ornate dagger from its sheath at her hip and brandishing it to you. “But could you even hold your own if someone engages you out in the field?” She then drives the blunt, thick pommel end of it into your chin. Your head snaps back with the force of the strike, and you can feel by the warm trickle of blood that it had busted your chin open. 
You look at her, wild-eyed and accusatory. Your jaw aches as you open your mouth to ask, “What was that?” A trail of thick blood runs down your neck, and she just scoffs.
“Figures.” The sprite sheaths the dagger, dropping back into her seat unceremoniously as if she did not just bash you in the chin. 
“I don’t know how to fight yet,” you say, wiping at your neck. You bring your hand up to check the damage, hissing through your teeth as you prod around the gash. You shake your shoulders as if it would shake off the searing pain running up and down your jaw before adding, “But I can learn. I will learn.” Gristle tosses you a rag he had retrieved silently from a drawer, his mouth pulled taut into a line. You wipe up the remnants of the blood, the metallic tang of it finally reaching your nose. You shudder as you press the rag to the wound and hold it there. 
“Now, that’s what I’m talking about,” Gristle cracks, his grin toothy. “We weren’t going to find humans who could already fight,” he says, a fur-tipped ear twitching, “but one willing to learn…” He looks at you, and then returns his gaze to the sprite. “We can work with that, Cricket.” When her face stays drawn, he repeats, “We can work with it.” His yellow saucer eyes are serious.
Cricket doesn’t say anything; her grassy eyes simply go distant with thought for a moment. It was true: humans are not brought to the world of Faerie to learn to fight. Or to be anything more than servants, at that. The luckiest ones, like you, are at the very least schooled on reading and faerie histories. Lucky would be an overstatement, though. Nobody stolen from their homes and then forced to accept a reality in a foreign world is genuinely lucky. Despite it, you no longer dream of the life you could’ve had in the human world. It is not your life. It will never be your life. And, considering the look that Cricket and Gristle share, your life is now to be the human counterpart of a royal band of spies. 
“Do you know how an oath works?” Cricket asks, pulling out that same embellished dagger and spinning it between two fingers. You hesitate before nodding. You don’t, and she seems to read right through you. She narrows her eyes at you. 
“First of all, don’t lie. Never lie. We have to be able to trust each other.” She says, still spinning that glittering dagger utterly nonchalant. “You’ll want our trust when you’re on the field and need your back covered. Not knowing how to officiate an oath is one thing,” she stops spinning the blade to point it at you, “lying to me is another.”
 You shake off the embarrassment that crawls up your throat. “I’m sorry. I want you guys to trust me.” 
“Trust is especially important with you,” she says. It’s true. Humans can lie blatantly with their mouths. The folk could twist truths to deceive, and bend over backwards to make one thing sound like another, but they could not just lie. In your schooling years, you were taught that a lie is simply against faerie nature. You had laughed at that—if anything seemed to be in faerie nature, it was lying.
 “We can start our trust”—she gestures with one finger between you and herself—“off on the right foot with a geas.” Taking your arm that does not hold the rag, she tugs it toward her.
You struggle with the word geas. A geas is a faerie ensorcellment the folk dearly love subjecting humans, who did not know any better, to. They sweet-talk them into it, and when the human was fully ensorcelled, the human becomes a living plaything to make dance unabashedly and kiss the dirt off their boots. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth. 
“An oath and a geas are not interchangeable,” you say, wary and preparing to take your arm back. “Which is it?”
 “An oath means nothing to a human.” She looks to Gristle for support, “Right or wrong?”
“Leave me out of it.” 
Cricket rolls her eyes. “We just have to get some type of way to ensure that I won’t have to tie up loose ends.”
A knock rings through the room, the same rhythmic knock that Gristle had performed on the door. Gristle clambers over to the door and slides the peephole open. 
“Decided to show up to do your work today?” Gristle says through the peephole, before sliding the hatch open. You look away from the door before seeing who enters as Cricket grows impatient, spinning your arm so that your palm is facing the roof. She takes her dagger and slides it across the delicate skin. You try to reclaim your hand, but she holds it steady and slides a slit across her own palm. 
“Are you guys trying to bleed me for every drop I have?” you protest. You could probably count the amount of wounds you’ve been inflicted with since stepping into the palace on two hands. She clasps your hands, mushing together the wounds still seeping blood. 
You had forgotten about the knock at the door until a new voice with a deep and silvery quality to it asks, “Trying to do it before I could get here, Cricket?” The voice travels from behind you to in front of you, and the man who owns it comes into view. He is relatively tall, towering over Gristle and quite a bit taller than Cricket. His hair is dark, hanging over a pair of sharp eyes that glare daggers at the sprite. You thank all things good that he is not leveling you with that icy smolder. You notice quickly that his ears are the distinct rounded form of a human’s ear. 
“This is Taehyun.” Cricket gestures with an exasperated arm. If the roundness of his ears is not already telling, the name is. He was human. You frown, retracting your hand.
“I thought you guys were looking for a human counterpart? That you had no human piece?” 
The quickness that Cricket is trying to get a geas over you is already unnerving, but now they are lying about the circumstances of your recruitment?
Cricket gives Taehyun a look that could match the heat of a thousand suns. His face is stony in response to it, utterly unmoved. Gristle does not make so much as a peep. 
“Taehyun,” she says while she takes your wounded hand into her own again, “is faerie.” 
“What about his ears, then?” You make a gesture around your own ear, one that drags along the round curve of it. Faeries were not born with rounded ears, not the goblins, nor the hobs, nor brownies, not even ones that are the most humanlike in nature. You have seen folk with knives for teeth, skin of boulders, hair from ear to clawed foot, but never rounded ears. It was another intrinsic piece of their nature; what set you apart from them. He was absolutely a human, and they were absolutely not telling you the truth. They had to have spoken their words in a way that made one thing seem like another, spun truths into lies. It was the faerie way. You would not be magically compelled by liars.
Taehyun’s face flashes with the first emotion you had seen since he arrived, but it is muddled and hard to read. 
Cricket scowls deeper, telling you, “He is not a human.” 
Taehyun gets in closer, his eyes venomous. “You know how I feel about that shit.”
 You try to decipher whether he meant being human, or the geas, but his next words solve it for you. “And you were going to try and do it before I could say anything.” When Cricket opens her mouth to say something, he cuts her off, “Don’t you say that’s not true.” 
Cricket turns to you, decidedly not responding to Taehyun. “I want the geas, because it will make us feel safer. I swear on the Mighty King’s life that I will not use it to control you in any way, other than to keep your mouth shut about our operations. You will not hear another thing of it from this day forward, anyway.” Her words are proof enough of her honesty, plain and so obvious in their wording that she could not be twisting her truths around a lie. She means what she says, or else she would not be able to say it. “Would it make you feel better if you were the one to make it, Taehyun? Would you just seal your lips and let us move on from this?” She asks. Gristle feels the tension as bad as you do, so thick in the air you could choke on it, making himself busy sliding a blade down a sharpening stone.
Taehyun does not respond, his black eyes conveying exactly how he feels about that. You attempt to ease the atmosphere while also catering to your own curiosities. “How is he a faerie, with rounded ears? That doesn’t… exist.”
Taehyun’s eyes flicker at the topic of his ears again. “Well, it seems you don’t know all that you think you do about Faerie then, huh?” he spits before spinning and disappearing down a hall that leads further into the spy den, long legs clad in black striding near silently beneath him. The words crawl under your skin successfully. You could spend your whole life here, and still the folk would see you as foreign. It makes you want to make that geas, to make something of yourself. To be a spy, and make them see that you are so much more than what Nut-hatch told you that you are destined to be; A servant to the superior beings. To make him chew his words, because you know plenty about this foul world, and how to live in it. If anything was true, it was true that you know more about it than him. 
You turn to Cricket, more determination in you now than you even had when you pledged your case to Gristle. “I’ll take the geas. I’ll do whatever it takes to become a competent piece of your team, I swear it. I know my words don’t carry much weight to you, but please, let me show you that I mean them.” Cricket grins, tightening her hand to yours, tilting her head to one side and batting her spiky lashes at you. 
“I knew you were a smart girl.” She taps you on the nose, before her expression drops to a more solemn one. The headiness of faerie enchantment tugs at the sides of your vision, turning it wavy and magnified about the edges. You feel it thread through the air, and then spread from your palm to your arm, and then all over, under your skin, like an itch, and in your head, like potent faerie wine. It lasts for a moment’s width longer, before you blink it away. She drops her hand from yours. 
“You will not speak of this team, nor its dealings, to anybody I do not authorize, and are, from this exact moment forward, unable to reveal the location of this den.” You shudder under the gravity of knowing that your autonomy is vulnerable and in her hands. Was it ever truly yours to have, though? Faerie glamour and enchantments on humans are unpunishable, and often seen as entertainments. Is a geas permanent? You shove back that worry; it’s too late now.
Gristle whistles a descending tone, finally making himself known again. “This place, we call Homebase. Or, The Hole. Whichever you prefer,” he gestures around, and you take in the shoddy ceiling, the make-shift kitchen, and the weapons strewn about every surface. Definitely a spy hideout. “There are a few others for you to meet. They come and go; but you’ll be staying here, I understand?”
 You nod. He knew about your situation with Nut-hatch already.
“Okay, then. Let’s get you a room.” He hobbles to that hallway Taehyun had stormed down, his gold-embroidered cloak dragging on the floor behind him. You follow, scoping out the scenery. 
“Do the others not stay here?” you ask. You two continue down that same hall, the smell of underground musk still heavy. That would take you some getting used to. 
He grunts in affirmation. “Whoever you met today, stay here. The others dwell elsewhere, for some reason or another.” He stops at a room, and opens the door. The room is ornate in contrast with the other rooms of The Hole, the bedding plush and made of fine threads. It was not anything overly extravagant, but perfectly fit for a spy of The King. It is better than sleeping in the sweltering-hot attic of Nut-hatch’s cottage, you decide, appreciating the cool and damp air. And here, they decide that you are worthy enough of your own room. That is more than enough for you.
 “But, you’ll meet them tomorrow, no doubt. Make this room your own, I’ll fetch some more fitting garments for you,” he gestures down to the simple linen frock you adorn. You feel the odd tickle of embarrassment at the back of your mind. The irony of your attire, while living under the roof of an esteemed seamstress, is hard to ignore. Nut-hatch had always liked to scold you up and down that there is no need to look frilly working a gown shop, while simultaneously being dressed in ribbons and lace. You take a deep breath of linen-scented air, and then release it. And then, you get to making the room your own. 
You do your best to plant your booted foot to the ground, to save yourself from anxiously toeing dirt or stone. The clothes they had brought for you were odd and foreign as someone who only wore the most efficient of dresses and leather slippers for the entirety of her life leading up to this moment. The hooded cloak bunches around your neck and shoulders, stifling. The boots at your feet are so heavy and chunky that they chastely kiss the ground when you step. The sensation of pant legs securing your thighs and shins is the most suffocating, and the weight of the weapons secured by straps are heavier than you’d ever expected them to be. And, to top it all off beautifully, your first assignment is with Taehyun. You’re supposed to be heading north, to the land of the Northern Queen, where the folk are Unseelie, and are said to be the most vicious. You’d already let that thought sink in, though. Now, all you can mull over is spending the trip with Taehyun; the contempt he had regarded you with before he left last night is still fresh in your mind.
Lightweight footsteps approach behind you, and you know it’s Taehyun. He plops a full pack on the ground wordlessly before tugging the hood of his mantle up and over his head. He is, like yesterday, fashioned in a black tunic and a matching doublet, embroidered with silver threads at the lapel and cuffs, a heavy bow strapped to his back. Maybe a bit flashy for days of traveling by foot, but maybe you also have no idea what flashy actually means. 
You cross your arms over your chest, before gesturing to the bag you had already packed for yourself. “I packed.” 
He sends you a vacant look. “Put that one back,” he tells you. The air is so tense that you consider just doing it, but his tone ruffles your feathers. 
“I have stuff that I want to bring in mine.”
He doesn’t respond, his face locked and static.
“Look,” you huff, “I know you don’t respect me yet, but I’m trying my best to become competent, you know?” 
“I respect you.” He picks up the pack he brought for you and dusts the bottom off. “You would freeze to the core in the north without the stuff packed in here. Competence is nothing to a corpse.” 
You blink at the bluntness of his words and press your mouth into a thin line, before dropping your original bag on the table and slinging the other over your shoulder. You gesture for him to lead the way with a restrained sigh, and he does so without falter.
The beginning of your mission starts off on a lovely foot.
There is plenty of time to mull over what you would be doing in the north as Taehyun leads you through the lushness of the forest. The hum of insects and nearby streams and the cloying scent of summer-warmed bush berries reign supreme. When your stomach begins to rumble for not having eaten all day, you stop by a bush with exceptionally heavy branches and begin picking. The juice of the berries is thick and golden like honey when they mush between your fingers, and it glitters in the odd way that all Faerie fruit does. 
“Are you dull?” Taehyun’s voice, thick with contempt, makes you jump and lose a few from your handful of berries. “That is a Goldhip bush,” he says, his brows pinched, “you would die without a sign; just drop dead to the grass.”
Blinking, you drop the rest to the floor, wiping the glazed juices off on your pant leg.
He scoffs, spinning and heading the same way he had been going before you decided to grab fistfuls of, apparently, intensely poisonous berries. You follow him, shaken. 
“I had no idea,” you say, mostly to yourself, but he stops, turning on you. 
“You can’t afford having no idea out here. Either you step up to your role, or you die.” He gives you a long look before turning back around and stepping over a felled log. 
You step over the log as well. “I didn’t really have any reasons to know your poisons in my old life,” you say. Nut-hatch had at least fed you well, and you were never set out scavenging off berries with an empty belly. You set your pace so that you are parallel to him instead of trailing him. “What are the ones I should know?” 
He doesn’t even pause to think for a moment. He knows them like the back of his own hand. “Goldhip berries are turned into a liquid extract, and dropped into drinks. It doesn’t have a smell, but has a notorious sweet taste. It doesn’t matter by the time you taste it, though; you’re as good as dead.” A chill burrows its way under your skin. You had been so close to death; had you just popped a berry into your mouth, you would be dead right now. 
“How would you even avoid being poisoned by that, then?” 
“You don’t,” he deadpans. “It’s why you have to stay always painfully aware of your surroundings. Always.” You nod.
“Silver and salt are poison to the folk. They singe the skin, and when ingested, they decay the insides. It’d be best if you use that to your advantage. A poison harmless to you, but deadly to another, is an asset.” You clasp your hands and thank the sky inwardly at that. It feels like an ah-hah moment, to have something over the folk. Small mercies. 
“Human poisons don’t work on the folk at all. So, whatever you remember from your old life won’t serve you here.”
Old life? You have no old life. “I was raised here,” you say, keeping the hurt that tugs at your features on a tight leash. “I was in Faerie before I could even walk.” 
You watch as his face falters, sunlight filtering through tree leaves dappling his features and highlighting his nose. He is beautiful, like all fae are. He only nods in acknowledgement, but you can tell he tucks the information away.
He presses forward. “Hunter’s Bane is a milled-up tree leaf that inebriates, and fizzes up the drink it is sprinkled into. Not deadly, but the state it leaves you in could be. Deadly Pinchweed is ground up as well, and leaves a green tint—and is deadly. Lachrymose is a faerie fruit. As I’m sure you know, it makes a human agreeable and fogs their mind. It’s usually not prepared in any special way, just fed to glamoured humans.” 
The name of the fruit brings back the memory of a boy, a bit older than you, who at a particularly wild revelry was fed faerie fruit, and buttered up by folk who thought it would be exceptionally humorous for the boy to make an audience with The King. Of course, the boy did, spewing nonsense at the foot of the dais, before going to wrap The King in a hug. A guard shot an arrow through his heart. He could not have been older than sixteen. Nut-hatch barred you from any form of revelry after that; she couldn’t spare her hard-raised shop worker over some faerie fruit. You fold the memory up neatly, compacting it so that you can keep it vibrant and alive in your mind. You solidify, in that memory, that Taehyun and every other wretched creature of his kind, would hardly blink twice to see you die such a death. 
Taehyun kindles a small but mighty fire with dry twigs and pine needles; they catch quickly and roar into blazing life. You settle onto the ground, propping your back against a gnarled trunk and try to breathe out the ache in your back. You miss the way the mattress back at home base had cradled your body into sleep, and abhor the dirt and foliage that sticks to your pants and palms where they meld with the ground. 
Taehyun’s voice, returning from his last round of searching for pine needles, startles you. “Get up.”
 You shoot him a look that, hopefully, channels all your exhaustion. “I just sat down,” you tell him, exasperated. 
“If you’re hungry, get up,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. He has ditched his mantle cloak and his doublet, and now is only in his simple black tunic, its sleeves rolled to his elbows. He’s serious, then. 
You huff and complain, but stand up and dust off your palms and pants from the needles that stick to them. The especially deep indents itch a bit, and you soothe them as you follow him promptly into the thicker part of the woods. 
“Lighten your feet,” Taehyun commands, his voice low, as a third twig snaps under your foot. You wince and try to replicate the lightness of his walk, but it makes no difference. If anything, your gait is more off than before now that you overthink it. Taehyun stops walking, pointing to his feet, before slowly demonstrating his footfalls. “Tense your legs, and keep your weight on your back foot until the other is fully on the ground.”
You oblige, and can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as it works. Your steps come lighter, and dodging crunching foliage easier. It reminds you of how a stalking beast might make itself light and airy while it watches and hunts.
The two of you continue through the shrubbery and low-hanging branches until Taehyun pauses, placing a finger over his lips. You see it now, too; a plump pheasant that pecks at the foliage, none-the-wiser. Taehyun reaches for his bow, and notches an arrow. He pulls the bowstring taut, centering his shot, and the arrow sings as he lets it fly. 
The thud of the arrow piercing the pheasant makes your stomach flip. The pheasant cries, the arrow having pinned its wing and pierced through its stomach, but not killed it instantly. You avert your eyes as the scene burrows under your skin. Your heart sinks heavy like stone in water. Taehyun bounds over to the still squawking bird with hurried steps, and the sound of metal unsheathing is followed by a loud final cry and then silence. You go rigid, nails biting your palm. You do not open your eyes, even as Taehyun announces in a whisper that he spots a second bird. The pheasant’s final cries bounce off the walls of your mind, reverberating and driving a stake into your hurting heart more with each echo.
Taehyun ended up catching two other pheasants on the way back to the temporary campsite. You watch as they roast over the fire, yellow flames licking at their lightly charring bodies. Taehyun takes one off, passing it to you on a stick whittled sharp at the end. You shake your head, queasy at the thought of eating it. 
He delivers you nothing but a cold resolve. “Respect its life.” He holds the stick there for you to take once more. 
“I’ll throw up,” you say, shaking your head again and wrapping your arms around your stomach. 
He barks a laugh. “This is ridiculous.” He lets the stick drop back over the fire, and you flinch as embers flurry up into the air and narrowly miss you. Attitude flares up in your chest and you go to say something smart-mouthed, but before you can, he continues, “Go back, if you’re just going to become a waste of my time. You think you’re a spy under The King? You’re a spoiled brat who believes life should be handed to her. If you wanted that, this was not the life to choose.”
You reel at the bite in his voice. His words cut right where it hurts. “You think so?” you say, willing back the hot tears that prickle your eyes. They would only prove his case. “You don’t know a thing about me.”
“I know that you don’t know shit about being a spy,” he says, standing up. “I know that you’re weak and for some reason think you’re ready for a world that is going to kill you, and that you should probably be on your way back to Homebase to tell them you were never cut out for this. Save us both the time and effort.” 
You’re up to your feet in an eye’s blink, closing the space between you two. “Humans don’t have the privilege of being spoiled brats in your world,” you hiss. The warm sensation of a tear rolling down your cheek has you hoping that he doesn’t notice, and you reach up to wipe it away quickly. You curse being an angry crier. “I’m doing what I can with what I have. Just teach me what I need to learn, and I’ll learn it.” 
“Eat the damn pheasant, then.” he urges, like a wild, roaring beast in a delicate bauble shop. 
You laugh an exhausted laugh. “I’ve never killed something, and then eaten it. It's… I think it’ll take me some time to get used to it. Just give me some time, yeah?” Your mind urges you to scream that the standards he is holding you to are unfair, that the two of you lived very different lives, and that you are going on this mission regardless of his haughty attitude, but you tidy those emotion-fueled words into something that he might like more.
He goes quiet. You sit for a moment, too, stewing in all your rehashed hurt. It isn’t just that he’s treating you like a burden, or the low-blows he seems to keep opting for. He’s unknowingly cutting down to your deepest worries, rubbing salt in the wound, that maybe you are never going to amount to anything more than a servant girl. 
He unsheathes the longsword at his back, getting into a solid stance. “Show me you can be strong, then.” You hesitate. You’ve never so much as swung a sword, and the weight of it is heavier than you’d expect as you unsheathe it. The metal hisses, and the handle of it is solid and plainly decorated in your palm. You replicate his stance, and shift the weight of the sword awkwardly in your hand, trying to find your grip
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you say, palms a bit sweaty against the cold metal, rocking in your stance. He swings hard, and the force of it colliding with your sword jolts you. It flies from your hands. You panic, frozen to the ground as he swings again. Your heart lurches as you realize he isn’t going to pull his swing. 
Wind whooshes as his sword stops just by your face. He leaves it there, pointed right at your nose. “Pick it up,” he cocks his head toward your sword. You stare at him, wide-eyed, as you oblige. You both reset your stance, him barking commands every time he finds your stance or swing to be flawed. You accept his criticism with open arms—it is better than disdain painting his features. 
You grit your teeth. You’re sheened in sweat, tugging for deep breaths, and your limbs are slow to recover from each blow he sends you. You’re twisting, dodging, and parrying how he tells you, but it's sloppy, and you have to summon your energy from already low reserves for each. His skin is irritatingly free of sweat and of a cold and pristine quality. It only comes to your attention now with your new proximity how much looks like frost twinkles just under his skin. 
Your back collides with a tree you had not noticed Taehyun was backing you into, air escaping your lungs in a big whoosh. He gains on you, pressing the long edge of his sword so that it sits mind-numbingly close to your neck. You pulse rushes frantically, heart beating from your chest in a nearly audible thudding. You continue to try and catch your breath. He swoops in so close that his breaths fan over your face. An emotion that you have a hard time reading flickers in his eyes, and then he’s slamming his mouth to yours. 
It’s a desperate clashing of teeth and lips. He lets his sword drop from your neck and to the ground, and he takes your face in his callous-roughened hands. Your own find purchase at his shoulders, tugging him closer as if he could be any more so. The sound that escapes you as his hand tangles into the hair at the back of your head and tightens, tugging your head back and pressing in with more fervor, is like none you’ve ever made before. 
When he pulls back for air, your vision swims around the edges, and is dappled with stars. He studies your face, and you’re suddenly more conscious than ever of how your cheeks burn and your lips are smeared with his kiss. He takes in your debased state. His eyes have more fire in them than you ever thought you’d see—swirling and ravenous, an innate need clawing to reach the surface . It’s a dizzying mixture of pure headiness and I shouldn’t be doing this. He dives back in, and each nip and lick at your neck is blazing. They electrify your veins and send shockwaves buzzing from the column of your throat and through your chest, zipping up and down every one of your limbs. You’re not even sure that, if Taehyun were to stop holding you fast to the tree, you would be able to stand on your wobbly and unreliable legs. 
“Taehyun,” you gasp, your voice sounding not entirely your own. “Taehyun.” 
“You piss me off so fucking bad.” He keeps one hand fisted at the back of your head, exposing your neck to him, but the other travels down your body experimentally. “And I have no idea why.” 
Your mind wants to reel and dwell on that, but he doesn’t let you. He wanders a hand about the hem of your shirt, and then he dares to go underneath it, and then he trails that cold hand up the plane of your abdomen. Your stomach flips. “Have,”–you gasp���“have you considered that maybe you’re just an asshole?” 
He draws back from ravishing your neck to give you a look, his eyes wild and untrained. It feels, for some odd reason, good to break down his impenetrable exterior—to puncture it down to where he is in his basest desires. Maybe it’s because you just need him to see you as something other than useless; to need you so badly that he forgets his contempt for you. He maintains eye contact as his thumb traces the swell of your breast, watches you gasp as he finds your nipple and rolls it under his thumb. His eyes set you ablaze, and he delights in the way you burn. 
“What, you’ve got nothing to say to that?” you say, meeting all the intensity of his gaze the best you can. You try to goad him into something; even if anger, so that he’ll soothe the pounding between your thighs. He does not entertain you, just regarding you with that same blistering intensity. Your scalp begins to ache with the relentless tug of his fist, and you whimper, your hands leaving their place in his tunic to grab at his hand. 
“You’re every bit the whiny brat I’ve known you to be,” he says. His voice is gravelly, as if even those few words were hard for him to formulate. Just as your chest had adjusted to the chill of his palm, he drags his fingertips back down your abdomen. The pads of his fingers rake over you, your skin prickling and alight. 
“And you’ve got every bit of faerie entitlement in you,” you hiss. His hand pauses just above the waistline of your bottoms, and every bit of untamed need carved into his features is dust in the wind within a heartbeat. You reel at the loss of warmth as he pulls away. You try to reach out for him, to tug him back and wipe that awful indifferent look off his face again. But he’s already kicking out the fire and propping himself up against a thick pine tree. Your stomach churns wildly as you set up your own sleeping situation. The silence is worse than any you’ve sat through—it’s charged with words better left unspoken, and heavy with the weight of your hands all over each other seconds ago. 
Sleep does not come easy to you, but when it does, you sleep dreamless and weary.
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…🪶ashlynn's note how was thatttt? my first fanfic!! i've been looking forward to doing a high fantasy/faerie fanfic for sooo long. i'm sorry to leave you off like that but.. know that I am plotting, and planning. i'm already working on part 2, so stay tuned!!
﹙🏷️ ﹚ @lvrs-street2mmorrow if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!
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scarletwinterxx · 4 months ago
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I choose you and me religiously - joshua hong imagine
istg every love song i hear, he's the only one i can think of. i'm in my joshua brain rot era and i'm loving every second of it😭😭
for my other joshua fics, check them here
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All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.
(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)
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"This is so not fair"
"What?" your boyfriend blinks back at you with his doe eyes, knowing full well what this does to you
"You can't use that every time you're trying to win, Josh" you grumble, hitting him playfully with a pillow. He blocks it with his arm, laughing at your annoyed but cute expression, clearly he's having more fun than you.
There are so many things Joshua does that makes your knees go weak. The moment you met him you knew you were in deep deep trouble. It was hard not to get swayed while staring in his eyes when they say so much.
Even before, you can never keep eye contact with him because if you do you'd end up a blushing mess. His eyes confessed to you first, and you stared right back getting lost along side him.
Your relationship with him is like those cliche movies and cute scenes in books you only dreamt of happening to you, then along came him and made those into reality.
Like how can you not think he's the cutest human ever when he made a beaded bracelet with his number on it and gave it to you because he was too shy and too much of a gentleman to ask, how he held pinkies with you on your first date while walking around the park, or how he giggled (yes, this man straight up giggled) the first time you kissed.
Every thing he does is an arrow shot straight to your heart. He might not be aware of it but he got you on the palm of his hand. You can't even argue with him because the moment you see his sad eyes and pouty lips, you're already waiving the white flag.
You thought it would be scary for someone to have this much power over you, but not Joshua. He's honest, gentle and kind through and through. In a world of boys, he really is the gentleman.
He never did anything to make you feel uncomfortable or angry or upset, sure there are little arguments here and there but he will never let a day end without making sure you two are okay.
Most often you would say he's too kind for this world, all you get is a shake of his head and a smile. It's just who is he is. Not a single mean bone in his body. You would fight the world for him, always his number one defender and he loves that about you.
Why would he care if the world was mean to him when he got you on his side?
That's all that matters to him anyways.
"Do you ever get angry?" you ask
"Of course, I do" he answer with a chuckle, prompting you to raise your brow at him
"I've never seen you angry, is that a bad sign? They say you should see your partner angry to see that side of them or whatnot"
"I just never find any reason to be. I feel upset, I do. But then I resolve it. It takes too much energy to be angry, life's too short for that don't you think"
"Okay but like what if someone insults you?" you prod
"Do they know me?" he asks back "Just hypothetically"
"But like what's the scenario" "Oh come on, indulge me for a moment will you" you say, getting annoyed at your boyfriend but he just laughs. You always look cute when he annoys you, wishing he could keep you in his pocket all the time.
"Okay let's change it then, let's say we're walking out at night and someone says something about me-" "Well that's different, darling. They won't even finish the sentence, I'm already walking up to them" he cuts you off, even though it's just a made up scenario he already feels a bit mad at the thought of someone disrespecting you
"And what? Fight them?"
He doesn't say anything for a while, staring back at you like he's making you read his mind. Then he pulls you by the arm until you're cuddled against him.
"They can hurt me any way they want, I can handle that. But you, I'd lose my mind if anything happens to you. I can't even imagine it, it's making me mad"
Looking up at him, you see the change in his expression "Oh love, I didn't mean to upset you. Sorry" you mumble, smoothing the crease in between his brows
"No need to be sorry, it's the truth. I treat you with nothing but love and respect, I can't have some stranger treat you any less"
Your lips immediately form a pout when you hear his words. Your sweet sweet boy.
"You really love me huh" you whisper
He looks down at you, his expression quickly changes when he sees your cheeks squished against his chest and the cute pout on your lips. Like a little cute dumpling.
Leaning down to give your cheek a few pecks, "A little bit more than how much you love me"
You laugh at that, you never doubted your feelings about him. You know you love him so much, every single cell in your body knows that. "Sounds impossble"
"Oh you disagree? Lovely, we can sit here all day and talk about all the things I love about you. I can go on and on and on"
"Okay okay fine I get it, I thought you don't like arguing" you tease him
"I like arguing with you like this because I know I'll win"
"Okay Mr. Confident"
"I'm only telling the truth. Look me in the eyes and tell me I'm wrong" this time he's he one teasing, knowing full well you're weak for his stare
"Not fair, you can look at me and I'd say yes to anything"
"Anything?"
You pinch his side, earning a yelp and a laugh from your boyfriend. Then he hugs you again, holding your hand his time so you don't get any ideas.
"Want to know something? I feel the same, the moment you looked at me I knew I was going to be yours for the rest of this lifetime" he whispers
He tucks your hair behind your ears to see you eyes more, leaning down again to give your nose a peck "You had me the moment we met"
You smile at him before stretching your head to meet your lips with his, feeling him smile during the kiss. You don't say anything, you just let him feel all the emotions that are too big for any word in any language.
Exchanging I love you's through kisses.
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drewharrisonwriter · 2 months ago
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Life Well Loved
Status: One Shot, Complete
Summary: Dieter Bravo’s life proves that plans are overrated—and he’s never been more right about not having one.
Word Count: 12.9k words -- I KNOW! (In Monica Geller's voice)
A/N: Am I having a Dieter brain rot? Why yes, yes, I am. I know I should be writing the next chapter of Lifeline, but here we are. This story contains themes of pregnancy and navigating unexpected life changes, with emotionally intense scenes that touch on topics like potential pregnancy termination, personal doubts, and fears. Though it's mostly fluff, the narrative leans toward a hopeful and supportive direction but explores the complexities of relationships and personal growth. Because hey, it's Dieter!
Warnings: Allusion to abortion, brief mentions of substance use (past), discussions of anxiety and self-doubt, public scrutiny/social media negativity, mentions of past parental loss, minor family tensions, and emotional conversations around pregnancy. Please read with care if these subjects are sensitive for you.
P.S. My laptop, which served me well for 5 years, just gave out. With grad school, the recent loss of my stepdad, and ongoing medical bills, finances are tight. I’m currently managing writing commissions and my dissertation from my phone, which is okay but really challenging. If you can help with a donation or by commissioning some of my writing, it would mean the world to me. Just send me a message 💜 Thank you from the bottom of my heart for any support you can offer. 💜🙏🏻
Read this on AO3 | Check out my Masterlist
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Dieter Bravo never thought he’d end up married, let alone to his best friend. It wasn’t the kind of love story he had planned for himself, but then again, Dieter’s plans were usually an afterthought to his impulsive nature. He met her—his wife, the love of his life—years ago at a book signing. He’d been dragged there by a friend who swore her mystery novels were like something straight out of an Agatha Christie thriller, but with a modern, edgier twist.
“Come on, man. Just try something new,” his friend had nudged, practically shoving Dieter into the crowded bookstore. “She’s hot and her books are actually good. Not that you’d know.”
Dieter rolled his eyes but followed, pretending not to care. He didn’t read much beyond scripts, but when he saw her—standing there all wide-eyed and charming behind the signing table, chatting easily with fans—he was hooked. She had this warmth about her, a smile that reached her eyes, and a way of making everyone feel like they were the only person in the room.
When it was his turn in line, Dieter cleared his throat, a little unsure of what to say. “So, uh, is it true you based your killer on your ex?” he asked, flashing her his signature smirk.
She looked up, amused. “Only the charming parts. The murderous tendencies are purely fictional.”
Dieter chuckled, genuinely entertained. “Good to know. I’ll keep my charming side in check.”
She laughed, and Dieter swore he could listen to that sound all day. But the moment passed quickly, and they parted ways, the brief exchange lingering in Dieter’s mind longer than he’d like to admit.
They didn’t reconnect until months later when Dieter landed the role of a lifetime in the film adaptation of one of her books. He played the brooding lead, a role he was born to play, and she was on set every day, consulting on the story she knew better than anyone.
“Bravo!” she called out one afternoon, waving the script in the air as he finished a scene. “I think you missed a line, but you definitely nailed the smirk.”
“Missed the line? Nah, I made it better,” Dieter shot back, strutting over with that effortless confidence of his. “Besides, isn’t the lead supposed to be mysterious and broody? I’m just adding layers.”
She rolled her eyes, smiling. “Layers of bullshit, maybe.”
Their banter was easy, and soon, late nights spent in hotel bars became their thing. They’d laugh over terrible room service and even worse dialogue changes, often rewriting entire scenes together between drinks.
“Do you think the audience is gonna buy this twist?” Dieter asked one night, his brow furrowed as he scribbled on a napkin. “It’s a bit much, don’t you think?”
“It’s a mystery, Bravo. It’s supposed to be dramatic,” she said, playfully nudging his shoulder. “Besides, you’re the one bringing it to life. If anyone can sell it, it’s you.”
Over the years, their friendship grew deeper. Dieter adored her—not just for her talent, but for the way she saw right through him. She didn’t care about the Hollywood persona; she cared about the guy who struggled with his lines, laughed too loudly, and occasionally got lost in his own head. And it was clear to anyone who knew him that she was the only one who truly got him.
“Why do you even stick around?” Dieter asked one night, half-drunk and more vulnerable than he intended. They were sitting on the balcony of some hotel in Vancouver, the city lights flickering below them, empty glasses scattered between them.
She looked over at him, surprised at the question but not at the insecurity behind it. “You’re kidding, right? Who else is gonna put up with my obsessive rewriting of everything?”
Dieter smirked, but the self-deprecation was still there, hovering. “I’m serious, baby. You’ve seen me at my worst. Hell, you’ve probably seen me at my best, and let’s be real, there’s not a whole lot of difference.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was affection in the gesture. “Come on, Dee. You think I don’t know who you are? I’ve watched you screw up a million times and still pull it off somehow. You’re not as hopeless as you think.”
“Yeah, but it’s all smoke and mirrors,” he muttered, leaning back and staring at the city. “I’m just this mess pretending to be a movie star. And people buy it, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep up the act.”
She leaned closer, her smile gentle but knowing. “You’re not acting, Dee. This is you—chaotic, brilliant, all over the place. And somehow it works. That’s why people love you. It’s why I love you.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sure, but it’s not exactly the stuff that makes for a stable life. I can’t even commit to a weekly gym routine, let alone… you know, anything permanent.”
“Well, it’s good you know that about yourself,” she said, her tone more serious now. “But just because you’re not ready for all that doesn’t mean you’re a failure. You’ve built this crazy, messy, amazing life, and you’ve done it on your terms.”
Dieter glanced at her, the sincerity in her eyes almost too much to bear. “But it’s still just a mess, right? Like, I don’t know how to be the guy who settles down, who has the white picket fence and the kids. It’s not in me.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t make you any less,” she pointed out, nudging his knee with hers. “You’re the guy who shows up when it counts, who makes people laugh when they need it, who cares more than he lets on. And that’s enough, Dee. It really is.”
Dieter stared at her, his expression softening. “You make it sound like I’m not totally screwing everything up.”
“Because you’re not,” she said simply, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “You’re doing what works for you, and that’s more than most people can say. So don’t be so hard on yourself, okay?”
They sat in a comfortable silence, the kind that comes from knowing each other inside and out. Dieter wasn’t sure if he could ever really change, but with her by his side, he felt like maybe he didn’t need to.
The media loved to ask when Dieter Bravo, Hollywood’s lovable mess, was going to settle down. He always laughed it off, brushing it aside with jokes and his trademark self-deprecation. “Settle down?” he’d scoff to reporters, flashing that crooked grin. “Have kids? I can barely take care of myself. I mean, who’s gonna look after the baby when I’m off in Cabo or Amsterdam on a bender?”
He was always open about not wanting to be tied down, convinced that marriage and fatherhood were responsibilities he’d inevitably screw up just like everything else. Deep down, he didn’t think he was cut out for it. Not the commitment, not the kids—none of it. And yet, every time he thought about those nights spent talking with her, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, he could be more than the sum of his fears.
The truth was, Dieter loved being around kids, especially when visiting his favorite charities—arts programs, hospitals, anywhere that needed his presence to brighten the day. He had a soft spot for the kids who showed up at his movie premieres with homemade signs and for the shy ones who peeked out from behind their parents at hospital visits, their eyes lighting up at the sight of a real-life movie star. He’d spend hours signing autographs, posing for pictures, and handing out gifts. But wanting that momentary joy and having it every day were two entirely different things, and he didn’t think he was built for the kind of life that meant forever.
Then there was Vegas. It was one of those wild weekends that only Dieter and his friends could pull off, the kind that started with a simple plan and spiraled into chaos before anyone could catch their breath. They were there to celebrate a friend’s birthday—a milestone that felt more like a warning than a celebration to Dieter, who had spent the better part of the year dodging questions about settling down and growing up.
The night was a blur of neon lights, overpriced drinks, and the kind of reckless energy that only Vegas could inspire. Dieter and his best friend were deep into their third round of shots at some tacky but charming casino bar, laughing so hard their sides hurt. The conversation was easy, like it always was, jumping from half-remembered movie quotes to bad relationship stories that only got funnier with every shot.
“Remember when you two were drunk off margaritas and swore you’d get married if you were still single at 35?” one of their friends blurted out, pointing at Dieter and her with a tipsy grin. “Well, look at that—clock’s ticking, you two.”
“Oh please, they’d kill each other in a week,” another friend chimed in, rolling their eyes dramatically. “But hey, at least the headlines would be great.”
Dieter leaned back, smirking. “You think she’d kill me? I’m charming as hell.”
She snorted, leaning in closer to Dieter. “Charming? Sure, Dee, if charming means spilling three drinks and forgetting your lines.”
“Oh, you love it, don’t lie,” Dieter shot back, nudging her shoulder playfully.
Their friends egged them on, throwing out half-baked marriage advice between sips of whatever was in their glasses. “Just make sure you don’t pull a Ross and say the wrong name at the altar,” one joked, and they all burst into laughter, doubling over as the drinks kept flowing.
“Hey, I can pronounce her name just fine,” Dieter retorted, raising his glass to her. “What do you say, baby? You and me, Vegas style.”
“Wel…we’re way past 35 now…” she said, still smiling but now with a hint of mischief, “technically, we missed our window… so might as well make good on that old pact, right?”
Dieter stared at her, the room spinning slightly as he tried to read between the lines. They were supposed to be just friends, right? But it didn’t feel like a joke anymore, not when she looked at him like that. And for once, he didn’t want to think it through. He didn’t want to second-guess it or talk himself out of it like he usually did.
“Fuck it,” Dieter said, grinning wider than he had in months. “Let’s do it. You and me, baby. Let’s get hitched.”
Their friends erupted in cheers, half-shocked, half-encouraging, but it didn’t matter. They were drunk on cheap tequila and the reckless abandon of the Vegas Strip, where anything seemed possible. Before Dieter knew it, they were stumbling into a tacky little chapel off the main drag, the kind with neon hearts and an Elvis impersonator in the back who’d seen one too many late-night weddings.
The ceremony was a blur. Dieter remembered laughing so hard that he nearly dropped the ring—some gaudy, oversized thing they’d bought from a souvenir shop on the way over—and the way she squeezed his hand so tightly he could feel her nerves mixing with his own. There were no big speeches or dramatic declarations of love, just a lot of giggling, whispered jokes, and the kind of easy joy that felt like it belonged to them and them alone.
“Do you, Dieter Bravo, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the Elvis officiant drawled, barely keeping it together.
Dieter glanced at her, still half-expecting her to back out at the last second. But she was looking at him, eyes full of that familiar mix of sarcasm and something deeper that he’d never quite put a name to. “I do,” he said, and for once, it didn’t feel like a lie.
“And do you, sweetheart, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Elvis asked, already cracking a grin.
She squeezed Dieter’s hand, barely containing her laughter. “Hell yeah, I do.”
Elvis squinted, pausing dramatically. “Are you sure? Divorces are expensive. Trust me, I’ve had three.”
Their friends howled from the pews, tossing out quips. “Yeah, blink twice if you need an escape plan!” one of them shouted, while another chimed in, “You’re stuck with him now, good luck!”
Dieter threw his arm around her, laughing so hard his sides hurt. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m the best terrible decision you’ll ever make.”
She leaned in, grinning. “Guess we’re both screwed then.”
They kissed, and it was messy and off-center, but it felt right. It was the kind of kiss that was more about the laughter and less about the perfection of the moment, which was exactly how Dieter liked it. When they pulled apart, he was breathless, and she was glowing in a way that made the whole crazy, impulsive thing feel like the best decision he’d ever made.
They walked out of that chapel with matching rings and a new reality that neither of them fully understood but were more than willing to figure out together. And in true Dieter fashion, they celebrated the only way they knew how—by grabbing greasy burgers at an all-night diner and gambling away the rest of the night like newlyweds who couldn’t care less about what tomorrow would bring.
For once in his life, Dieter didn’t feel like he was running from anything. He was running toward something—toward her—and it felt like the only thing that made sense.
The first few months of marriage were an unpredictable whirlwind, much like the wedding itself. There were no grand changes, no dramatic shifts—just more of the same easy companionship they’d always had, now with the added humor of “Mrs. Bravo” peppered into their banter. They spent mornings in Dieter’s cluttered kitchen, arguing over the best way to make coffee while stumbling over each other in pajamas that never quite matched. Evenings were spent curled up on the couch, watching bad movies and stealing kisses during the credits like lovesick teenagers.
Their friends couldn’t get enough of it, either. The tabloids had gone wild over the news—Dieter Bravo, Hollywood’s most notorious bachelor, suddenly married to his long-time friend in a drunken Vegas escapade. Headlines like “Bravo’s Big Gamble” and “Hollywood’s Wildest Newlyweds” splashed across every gossip rag in the country. But Dieter and his wife took it in stride, shrugging off the noise and focusing on what actually mattered: them.
His family had been just as surprised but in the best way. They had welcomed her with open arms from the very first time she and Dieter had visited together. His mom had pulled her into a tight hug at the door, immediately peppering her with questions about her books and telling her how she had a shelf dedicated to them in the living room. Dieter’s siblings loved her, too—his sister often roping her into baking sessions in the kitchen, laughing over old stories about Dieter’s childhood antics that usually ended with him covered in mud or glitter or some combination of both.
It wasn’t long before she became a staple in their family gatherings, fitting in as if she’d always been there. Sunday dinners at the Bravo house turned into her favorite ritual. She’d help Dieter’s mom in the kitchen, rolling out dough for pies while swapping recipes and stories. Dieter’s nieces and nephews adored her, crowding around to hear tales of mystery and adventure, eyes wide as she brought her characters to life with every word.
“Can you tell us the one about the detective who finds the secret tunnel again?” one of his nephews had asked during Thanksgiving, tugging at her sleeve.
She smiled, glancing at Dieter, who was sitting at the head of the table, grinning like an idiot. “Only if you promise to help me figure out what’s at the end of it,” she teased, ruffling his hair.
His father, a retired fertility expert who had always been the more reserved member of the family, quickly warmed up to her, too. They’d sit on the porch during long afternoons, sipping coffee and talking about life, books, and the occasional scientific trivia that she found endlessly fascinating. He appreciated her wit, her genuine interest in everyone around her, and the way she always seemed to make his son smile.
As the year rolled by, the Bravo family embraced her more and more, and she felt a sense of belonging she hadn’t expected. She was no longer just Dieter’s wife; she was a daughter-in-law, a sister, and an aunt. She was family.
So when Christmas rolled around again, she was eager to be back at the Bravo household, despite feeling under the weather. She’d been sick for nearly two weeks, and Dieter had been worried. She barely ate, surviving mostly on pesto chicken paninis and iced coffee—the only things she could keep down. Still, she was excited to see his family, to bask in the warmth of his mother’s home-cooked meals and his sister-in-law’s desserts. She was looking forward to being surrounded by people who loved her as much as she loved them.
The moment they stepped through the front door, Dieter’s mom engulfed her in a hug, commenting on how thin she looked, and his sister immediately dragged her into the kitchen, insisting on making her favorite cookies. Dieter watched from the doorway, leaning against the frame with a smile. She fit here—so naturally, so effortlessly—that it almost made him forget how odd it all still felt to be someone’s husband. But then she’d look at him across the room, with that same smile she’d had since the bar in Vegas, and it felt right.
But as they settled into the cozy familiarity of his childhood home, Dieter’s father began to notice something. It wasn’t just that she looked tired—there was something else. A subtle glow to her skin, the way her eyes would soften when she looked at Dieter, the quiet but unmistakable aversions to certain foods she normally loved. When she grimaced at the sight of his wife’s famous lasagna and instead picked at a simple salad, he raised an eyebrow. He had seen it before, four times with his own wife, and the theory formed in his mind almost instantly.
It was the little things: how she leaned into Dieter when she thought no one was looking, resting her head on his shoulder like she couldn’t quite keep herself upright; the way her laughter was softer, tinged with something almost nervous. She hadn’t touched a drop of wine the entire evening, claiming she wasn’t in the mood, which was unlike her—especially when Dieter’s mom brought out her favorite bottle from the cellar.
Dieter’s dad observed quietly, piecing together the signs with a mix of curiosity and growing certainty. He knew better than to jump to conclusions, but every instinct told him that there was more to her recent sickness than a simple bug.
Later that evening, after dinner, Dieter and his father found themselves outside on the patio. The chill in the air was biting, and Dieter’s breath formed little puffs of smoke as he lit a cigarette, the faint glow of the ember flickering in the dark. He offered one to his dad, who simply shook his head, declining as usual. They settled into an easy silence, the kind that came from years of shared moments like these, watching the yard stretch out before them, dotted with twinkling Christmas lights that cast a warm, festive glow over the familiar landscape.
Dieter took a long drag, savoring the brief buzz of nicotine, and leaned back in his chair. It was quiet, the kind of quiet that always made him think too much, but tonight he welcomed it. He glanced sideways at his dad, whose face was half-lit by the soft glow of the porch light, lost in thought as he nursed his coffee.
“You know, son,” his father said finally, breaking the silence, “I couldn’t help but notice something about her tonight.”
Dieter raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Yeah? Like what?”
His father hesitated, his expression thoughtful as he swirled the coffee in his mug. “She’s been feeling under the weather, hasn’t she? Seems a bit off.”
Dieter nodded, taking another drag and blowing out the smoke in a slow stream. “Yeah, she’s been sick for a couple of weeks. Picky about food, which isn’t like her. She’s basically living on those pesto chicken paninis. She can’t keep much else down.”
His father chuckled softly, the sound low and knowing, like he was recalling something long ago. “Huh. That’s interesting. Reminds me of your mom back in the day.”
Dieter frowned, glancing over at him. “What do you mean?”
There was a pause, and his father’s eyes stayed fixed on the yard, lost in a memory that Dieter couldn’t quite place. Finally, he spoke, his tone careful, almost gentle. “Have you considered she might be pregnant?”
Dieter’s reaction was instant—he snorted, nearly choking on his cigarette smoke as he laughed it off, but the sound was more nervous than amused. “Pregnant? Nah, no way. She’s got an IUD. Besides, we’ve been careful.”
His father smiled, but it wasn’t condescending. It was the kind of smile that spoke of experience, of having lived through more than one surprise in his lifetime. “IUDs aren’t foolproof, son. Nothing is. And I’ve seen those signs before. Aversions, fatigue, the way she looked at food tonight… I saw it with your mother every time she was pregnant.”
Dieter’s laugh faded, replaced by an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly at the ends as his mind raced. “You’re serious?”
“Look, I’m not saying she is,” his father said, raising his hands in a small gesture of surrender. “But I’ve been around this long enough to know the signs when I see them. I’m just saying, it’s possible.”
Dieter stared out at the yard, the once comforting sight now blurred by the thoughts colliding in his mind. He tried to dismiss it, to chalk it up to his dad’s habit of overanalyzing things. But suddenly, every little moment from the past few weeks replayed in his head like a reel he couldn’t pause: the way she’d cried over soup earlier that evening, overwhelmed by finally finding something she could eat; the quiet, tired smiles; the sudden need to rest her head on his shoulder whenever she got the chance. Dieter had brushed it off as just a rough patch—nothing serious, nothing that couldn’t be fixed with rest and time.
But now, hearing his father say it out loud, it all started to click. The missed meals, the strange cravings, her emotional reactions to things that normally wouldn’t faze her. It was like putting together a puzzle he didn’t even know he was working on.
“What do I do if you’re right?” Dieter finally asked, his voice low, tinged with a mix of fear and something else he couldn’t quite name.
His father took another sip of his coffee, considering his son carefully. “You talk to her. Find out for sure. And whatever the outcome, you handle it together. That’s what this is, Dieter. Marriage, family—it's not about knowing every answer. It’s about facing it together, no matter how unexpected it is.”
Dieter nodded, though his mind was still reeling. He didn’t know if he was ready for what his father was suggesting, but one thing was clear: he needed to talk to her. His dad’s words hung heavy in the cold night air, and suddenly, the easygoing world Dieter had grown comfortable in felt a little less certain. 
That night, back in their room at Dieter’s parents’ house, the tension lingered like a thick fog. They were staying for the weekend, and though the familiarity of the guest room usually felt comforting, tonight it felt like the walls were closing in. Dieter sprawled out on the bed, flipping through channels on the TV without really watching. His mind was a mess of half-formed thoughts, circling back to the conversation with his father, and he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling gnawing at him.
She was curled up next to him, absorbed in her Kindle, but every so often, Dieter noticed her shifting slightly, like she couldn’t quite get comfortable. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, trying to figure out how to bring up what was weighing on him without sounding like he’d lost his mind.
“So, funny story,” Dieter started, forcing a lightness into his tone that he didn’t feel. “My dad has this theory. He thinks you might be pregnant.”
She looked up from her Kindle, her brow furrowing as she processed his words. “What? Where’d that come from?”
“Yeah, I know,” Dieter laughed, though it sounded more nervous than amused. He fidgeted with the remote, clicking through channels too fast to see what was on. “He’s been watching you tonight, noticing stuff. You know, the food aversions and all that. He said something about it reminding him of when my mom was pregnant.”
She blinked, staring at him like she wasn’t sure if he was joking or serious. “That’s… random. I mean, it’s just paninis and iced coffee. And I’ve been stressed, that’s all. I mean, I have an IUD.”
“Yeah, that’s what I told him,” Dieter said, shrugging. “I told him it’s not possible, right? But he kept going on about how those things aren’t foolproof and—”
She cut him off, her laugh sharp and a little shaky. “No, yeah, of course. It’s just… I mean, we’ve been careful. I thought…”
Dieter raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk crossing his lips. “Careful? Are we really?” He gave her a knowing look, recalling their many reckless moments. “I mean, I lost count of the times we said, ‘eh, what’s the worst that could happen?’”
She groaned, burying her face in her hands, but she couldn’t hide the grin peeking through. “Oh God, don’t remind me. You said it’d be fine because ‘science, baby!’”
“Yeah, classic me,” Dieter laughed, feeling the tension break just a little. “Maybe our ‘science’ needs some workshopping.”
They chuckled, genuinely amused by their own recklessness. For a moment, it felt like any other night, just the two of them joking around like they always did. But then the laughter faded, and the unspoken possibility lingered, nudging at the back of their minds.
Dieter hesitated, then set the remote down, his voice dropping to a softer, more vulnerable tone. “IUDs aren’t a hundred percent, you know.”
She didn’t say anything right away, her eyes locked on him as if searching for some reassurance he couldn’t quite give. Finally, she set her Kindle aside, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Do you think… do you think he’s right?”
The question hung in the air, too big to ignore, and neither of them moved. Dieter rubbed the back of his neck, his mind racing. “I don’t know, baby. But we could… find out.”
She nodded, her breath hitching slightly, and they didn’t wait to talk themselves out of it. The drive to the pharmacy was tense and quiet, but the nervous energy turned into something almost comical when they got inside. Dieter, trying to look inconspicuous in his cap and mask, accidentally grabbed a COVID test from the shelf and tossed it in the basket without looking.
She glanced at it, biting back a laugh. “Dee, unless you’re worried I’ve got a pandemic brewing, I think you grabbed the wrong kind of test.”
“What?” He squinted at the box, his eyes widening. “Oh, shit. I just saw ‘test’ and panicked. Could you imagine? ‘Congratulations, you’re… COVID positive!’”
They both snorted, trying to suppress their laughter as they swapped it out for a pile of pregnancy tests. “At least we’re wearing masks,” she quipped, trying to hide her nerves behind the humor.
Dieter nodded, their masks pulling at their grins as they paid quickly and slipped back out into the night. Back in their room, she took the tests into Dieter’s private bathroom, thankful she didn’t have to make the awkward walk down the hallway past his nephews, who were still glued to the PlayStation. Dieter paced the room, his anxiety growing with every passing second. He could hear the faint sounds of her moving in the bathroom—running water, the crinkle of plastic, the sound of her soft sighs—and each noise sent a jolt of unease through him.
He ran his hands through his hair, messing it up even more, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. What if his dad was right? What if they were really about to become parents? He didn’t know how to do this—any of it. He wasn’t cut out to be a dad. Hell, he could barely take care of himself most days. But then he thought about her, about the way she used to talk about wanting a family, back in the early days of their friendship, years before they got married. She’d share those dreams in the quiet moments when they were lying in bed, late at night, her voice soft and wistful as she painted a picture of a life she wanted someday—one with kids, a messy house full of love, and mornings that started with chaos and ended with bedtime stories.
He hadn’t heard her talk about it in a long time, not since they’d crossed the line from best friends to whatever it was they’d become now. They hadn’t really discussed it after they got married, like the possibility had just been a footnote in their drunken Vegas vows, not something real. But Dieter knew she probably still wanted it, that deep down, those dreams hadn’t gone away, just tucked themselves into a quieter part of her heart.
And now, for the first time, Dieter let himself admit what he’d been denying all along—he wanted it, too. He tried to fight it, tried to tell himself he was still the same guy who didn’t want to be tied down, but the truth was, he’d settled down the moment he said “I do.” And now… he’s sure he’s ready to dream of that life, too. The one where they weren’t just figuring things out as they went but actually working towards something together, as husband and wife, as mom and dad.
Finally, the bathroom door creaked open, and she stepped out, her face pale and her hands trembling slightly. She didn’t have to say anything; Dieter could see the truth in her eyes. Without a word, he followed her into the bathroom, and there they were, lined up on the counter: five pregnancy tests, each one showing two clear lines.
Positive. All of them.
Dieter stared at the tests, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find something, anything, to say. He could hear her breathing beside him, shallow and uneven, and he knew her heart was pounding just as hard as his. She swallowed, her eyes fixed on the tests as if they might change if she stared long enough.
She finally broke the silence, her voice small but steady. “It’s okay, Dieter. You don’t have to worry about it. I’ll… I’ll take care of it.”
Her words snapped Dieter back to reality, his brows furrowing as he tried to grasp what she meant. He watched her walk past him out of the bathroom, her movements brisk and determined, but there was a tremble in her step that made his stomach drop. She went straight to the dresser, grabbing her phone with a familiar sense of purpose. Dieter followed, his confusion mounting as she dialed a number with shaky hands.
“What are you doing?” Dieter asked, his voice edged with growing alarm. “Who are you calling in the middle of the night?”
She glanced at him but didn’t answer directly. “It’s fine, Dee. I’m going to take care of it.”
The line clicked, and a familiar voice filled the silence—one of her friends, an OB-GYN Dieter had met several times at dinner parties and gatherings. “Hey, I’m sorry to call so late,” she said into the phone, her voice tight but controlled. “I need another favor.”
Dieter’s heart sank as he heard the gasp on the other end. The doctor’s voice wavered, filled with concern. “Are you sure? I mean… are you really sure about this?”
Dieter watched her, still trying to catch up, but he could hear the tension in the doctor’s voice and the weight of what was being asked. She glanced at him, her eyes meeting his, and in that moment, Dieter felt like the ground was slipping out from under him. “I’m sure,” she said quietly. “I’ll wait for the prescription in the morning.”
She ended the call and set the phone down, her hand trembling. Dieter felt his shock morphing into a hot, simmering anger, his chest tightening as he tried to make sense of what he’d just heard. “What?” he asked, his voice rising, desperate to believe he’d misheard. “What prescription? Prenatal vitamins?” He was trying to hold onto some hope, clinging to the possibility that this wasn’t what it seemed, that she wasn’t about to make a decision without him. But deep down, he knew.
She sighed, biting her lower lip, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words seemed to catch in her throat. Dieter could see her knees wobble, and before he could process it, she was leaning against the side table, her legs barely holding her up. He rushed to her, guiding her gently to the bed and kneeling before her, his anger wavering as he saw the look in her eyes.
Tears streamed down her face, silent and relentless, and Dieter realized it was the first time he’d seen her cry in years. Not since her father had passed, not even when she’d broken up with someone he knew she had loved deeply. She was always so strong, so composed, but now she was trembling, and all she could manage were soft, broken apologies. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she repeated it over and over. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Dieter’s anger melted away, replaced by a sharp pain that pierced his chest. He reached up, cupping her face gently, wiping away the tears that continued to fall. “Hey, hey, calm down, okay? Just… baby, please… can you tell me what that was all about?”
She nodded, her breath hitching as she tried to collect herself. The silence between them was tense, heavy with unspoken fears and the weight of what was happening. Finally, she spoke, her voice small and wavering. “I know you don’t want kids, Dieter. I’ve known that from the start, and I respect that. I love you so much, and I know I don’t say it often, but I do. I love the life we have together. And I didn’t… I didn’t want to ruin that.”
Dieter listened, the words sinking in, but every syllable felt like a sting. “You’re not ruining anything, baby,” he said, his voice softer now but still edged with confusion and hurt. “But you didn’t even… I mean, we didn’t even talk about it.”
She looked down, her tears falling faster now. “I was afraid to. You’ve always been so clear, and I didn’t want to make you feel trapped. I know kids were never part of the plan. I didn’t want to put that on you.”
Dieter took a deep breath, his mind still reeling, but he tried to keep his voice steady. “You’re not–Jesus…I understand why you feel this way baby…” he said gently, squeezing her hands. “And I’m sorry we never talked about it before, not even once. I know I said I didn’t want kids, and I thought that was it. But… then…” He sighed deeply… “W-we should at least talk about it before you go and get that prescription in the morning.”
She looked up at him, her eyes wide and glistening with tears, clearly caught between fear and guilt. “Dieter, I—”
“No, listen,” he interrupted softly, his tone calm but firm. “I want you to know that whatever you decide, I’ll support you. I’ll stand by you no matter what. But I need to know that if you go through with this, it’s because you want to, not because you think it’s what I want. I respect you, and I love you. And yeah, maybe I’ve always been afraid of having kids, but I also know you’ve wanted this. I’ve known for years, and I’m sorry we’ve never talked about it since getting married. But maybe… maybe now’s the time we should.”
She shook her head, biting her lip to keep it from trembling. “I don’t want to pop our bubble, Dieter. I’ve spent so long thinking that if I brought this up, it would be too much for you. You’ve said it before—kids are overwhelming, right? And I get it. Hell, the thought of it overwhelms me, too. But it’s different for you. I didn’t want to lose you. I love you so much, Dee. I love what we have. And I was scared that… that if I bring it up, it would drive you away.”
Dieter’s heart ached as he watched her, the weight of her words sinking in. “Baby, I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “But you can’t just… handle this alone. Not for me.”
She took a shaky breath, the truth finally spilling out in the soft, halting words she’d kept buried. “That’s why I got the IUD. A few months after we got married… after I found out I was pregnant. You were away in London for that shoot, and I was alone. And I—” She paused, choking back a sob as she struggled to get the words out. “I panicked. I was terrified of what it would mean for us, for you, for everything. So, I… I took care of it. I didn’t want to burden you with it, and I thought I was doing the right thing.”
Dieter’s face went pale, his expression shifting from shock to something more profound—hurt, confusion, and an aching sadness that he didn’t quite know how to process. His hold on her hands went slack. He hadn’t been there. He hadn’t known. While he was away, filming scenes and living the life he thought he wanted, she had been here, facing a reality that should have been theirs to share.
“You—” Dieter started, standing up, trying to say something but the words caught in his throat. “You did that… without telling me?”
She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I didn’t know how to tell you, Dee. You were gone, and I was scared. I didn’t want you to feel trapped or forced into something you never wanted. I thought it was better that way.”
Dieter’s mind raced as he tried to grasp what she was saying. He ran a hand down his face, cupping his mouth as he took in a long drag of air. The anger he’d felt earlier had melted into something more painful, something that cut deeper than he expected. He’d never wanted this, but now, faced with the reality that they’d lost something before it had even begun, Dieter felt a profound sense of grief for what could have been—and for what he still had a chance to fight for.
He swallowed hard, his voice breaking as he spoke. “I wish you’d told me. I wish you hadn’t gone through all that alone. I know I’m not perfect, and I know I’ve said a lot of shit about not wanting kids, but… I want you. And if you want this—if you want us to have this—then I want it, too. But you have to be sure. This isn’t just about me. It’s us, and we can’t keep pretending it’s not.”
She looked at him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of hesitation, but all she saw was the man who had always been there, even when they hadn’t known what the hell they were doing. Dieter knelt before her, his hands steady on her knees, offering her the quiet reassurance she’d been afraid to ask for. They were scared, both of them, but for the first time, it felt like they were scared together.
A heavy silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. She stared down at her trembling hands, struggling to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. Finally, she broke the quiet, her voice small and cracking under the strain. “I understand if you want a divorce, Dieter.” Tears began to roll down her cheeks again, and she looked up at him, and he could feel and see the pain and resignation in them. “I’d give it to you, you know. If that’s what it takes for you to live your truth. If it means you get to live the life you always wanted—not something complicated by a kid and a wife.”
Dieter’s breath caught in his throat, and he shook his head, trying to grasp the gravity of what she was saying. “What? No… what are you talking about? Divorce? That’s not—”
“I don’t want to trap you, Dee,” she interrupted, her voice quivering. “I never wanted you to feel stuck. At least if we divorce, I get to keep my baby, and you get to live your life. We both get what we want.” She said it with a heartbreaking kind of finality, her gaze dropping as though she couldn’t bear to look at him.
Hearing her say “her baby” like that shattered something inside Dieter. He could feel his chest tighten as his emotions boiled over, hot tears streaming down his face. “You think that’s what I want?” he whispered, his voice breaking as he tried to keep it down. They were still in his parents’ house, and he didn’t want anyone hearing this, but he couldn’t keep the hurt out of his words. “You think I want to live some half-assed life without you? Without… our baby?”
She flinched at his words, torn between the guilt and the love she still felt for him. “Dieter, you’ve always said—”
“I know what I’ve said!” Dieter snapped, his voice rising before he caught himself. He pressed a fist to his mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that threatened to break free. “God, I’ve been so fucked up. So caught up in what I thought I wanted, what I told everyone I didn’t want. I never… I never told you how much I love you. How much I need you. And now you’re willing to sacrifice everything because of me? Because I’m too much of a mess to communicate? That’s not fair, baby. That’s on me.”
She looked away, blinking back tears as she tried to keep her voice steady. “It’s not about blame, Dieter. I can’t live with the guilt of not giving you the chance to have the life you deserve. I’d rather… I’d rather set you free than see you stuck in something you don’t want. I love you too much for that.”
Dieter shook his head, his shoulders slumping as the enormity of her words hit him. He didn’t know how to make her understand. “But I don’t want to be free,” he said, almost pleading. “I don’t want any of this without you. I’ve spent my whole life running from everything—commitment, responsibility, you name it. But not you. Not us. You… you made me realize I could be more than that.”
She listened, her heart breaking with every word. “I don’t want to be unfair, Dee. I’ve spent so long dreaming about this—about being a mom. And I know kids were never part of your dream, and I just… I don’t want to take that from you.”
Dieter wiped his eyes, his voice hoarse and desperate. “You’re not taking anything from me. Please, don’t do this. Don’t make decisions for me. You’ve always been my partner, my equal… baby, you make me want to be a better person… whatever the hell that looks like…”
She let out a shaky laugh through her tears, reaching up to cup his face. “I just… I didn’t want to pop our bubble. It’s been so perfect, even with all the chaos. And the thought of losing that, of losing you in such a way… it scares me more than anything.”
Dieter’s sobs turned to quiet laughter, a broken sound that mirrored the bittersweetness of the moment. “You think I’m not scared? I’ve been scared of fucking everything my whole life, and you were the one person who made me think I didn’t have to be. You’re my team, baby. We’re a damn good one. And I know that if we have this kid… our kid… we’d be amazing parents, too.”
She looked at him, her tears finally slowing, replaced by a fragile smile that made Dieter’s heartache. “I just don’t want to be unfair,” she whispered, her voice soft but sincere.
“You’re not being unfair,” Dieter said, his tone tender but firm. “Please, just… reconsider. Our relationship, our marriage… our baby. Let’s figure it out together. No more guessing what the other person wants.”
She nodded, her eyes locking with his, and for the first time since the night had started, she felt a glimmer of hope. They were both terrified, still reeling from everything that had come to light, but at least now, they were facing it together, no more secrets, no more hiding. Just the two of them and the uncertain but hopeful future with a baby they were ready to build.
The next morning was Christmas, and despite the whirlwind of emotions that had unfolded the night before, Dieter and his wife had decided to keep their news to themselves for now. It was too early—too new, too precious, and far too complicated to try to explain just yet. They put on their best smiles, exchanged gifts with his family, and managed to get through the morning without giving anything away.
As soon as they left his parents’ house, they headed straight to her OB-GYN’s office. Dieter squeezed her hand in the waiting room, both of them tense but trying to stay calm. When the doctor finally confirmed the news—they were eight weeks along—it felt both real and surreal at the same time. They were both relieved and overwhelmed, knowing it was still too early to tell anyone, too early for announcements, but their hearts were already full of the possibility.
Back at their house, Dieter immediately started making little changes, moving things around and insisting on turning one of the guest rooms into a nursery. “This room gets the best light,” he said, gesturing animatedly as they stood in the empty space, still filled with random furniture and boxes they hadn’t sorted through. “We can do a crib over here, maybe a rocking chair by the window… Oh, and I saw this thing on Pinterest—don’t laugh—about these little wall decals, like stars and moons. We could do a whole sky theme.”
She watched him, leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “I didn’t even know you had a Pinterest account.”
Dieter turned, shrugging sheepishly. “What? I like my aesthetics.”
She laughed, her heart swelling at the sight of him so invested. It was like watching a kid with a new project, and she couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. “You’re really into this, huh?”
He looked at her, eyes sparkling with an excitement that was infectious. “Yeah, I am. What’s so funny?”
She shook her head, still smiling. “Nothing, it’s just… I never thought I’d see the day when Dieter Bravo is this excited about becoming a dad.”
Dieter’s expression softened, and he crossed the room, wrapping his arms around her. “Well, get used to it, baby. I’m all in.”
As the days passed, they began to settle into this new phase of their life together, their once spontaneous and free-spirited existence slowly evolving without them even realizing it. They had always been people of the moment, living day to day with little thought of what came next. Before, their conversations rarely drifted beyond the present—they were about last-minute weekend trips, late-night takeout, or whatever wild idea Dieter would come up with next. The future was never really on the table, not in a serious way. They thrived on spontaneity, on the freedom of not being tied down by plans or expectations.
But now, there was a subtle but undeniable shift in the air between them. It wasn’t something they talked about directly, but rather something that quietly settled in, like a warm, comforting blanket. Their conversations began to naturally drift into what was coming, not just what was happening now. They found themselves talking about baby names over breakfast, Dieter suggesting offbeat, quirky names that made her laugh while she countered with more classic choices that she’d always dreamed of, being the writer that she is and her love for literature.
Dieter would randomly pull out his phone to show her baby gear he’d found online, everything from the practical to the absurdly adorable. “Look at this stroller, baby. It’s got all-terrain wheels! Imagine us taking the kid hiking. Okay, maybe not hiking, but, you know… walking down a slightly uneven sidewalk.”
She’d laugh, watching him with a kind of fondness that was new, soft, and overwhelming. She’d catch him in the nursery sometimes, hunched over with a tape measure, making notes and sketches of where things should go. He was planning—actually planning—and it warmed her in a way she couldn’t quite describe.
One afternoon, she found him kneeling on the floor, surrounded by paint samples and wallpaper swatches, muttering to himself about whether to go with the pale blue or the pastel purple. “I don’t know, do you think clouds are too cliché? What if we did something more abstract? Like a sky, but, like, artsy. You know, like, dreamland stuff.”
She leaned against the doorframe, a smile playing at her lips. “Dieter Bravo, debating interior design for a nursery. Who would’ve thought?”
He looked up, his grin boyish and bright. “I know, right? Next, I’ll be on HGTV. ‘Bravo’s Baby Rooms.’ It’ll be a hit.”
She rolled her eyes, but her heart swelled with something deeper. They were still them, still the same pair who’d decided to get married on a whim in Vegas, who’d spent years living in the moment and rarely looking ahead. But now, the future wasn’t something scary or overwhelming. It was something they were building together, brick by brick, conversation by conversation.
Sometimes, in the quiet moments, she would find herself lying awake at night, her hand resting on the small swell of her belly, feeling the gentle flutters of life within her. Dieter would be next to her, snoring softly, and she’d just listen, soaking in the warmth of their home. She realized then how much had changed between them—how they’d gone from two people floating through life, clinging to the present, to a couple that was starting to dream together. 
It wasn’t just about the baby, though that was the catalyst. It was the way their whole world had shifted, gently guiding them toward a future that felt bright and full of possibility.
Their once spontaneous, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants relationship was evolving into something richer, something that made space for plans and hopes. She’d catch Dieter browsing parenting books or obsessively researching the best baby monitors, and each time, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of love she hadn’t quite known before.
It wasn’t forced or awkward; it was the most natural thing in the world, like breathing. They were still the same Dieter and his wife, the quirky mystery novel writer—impulsive, playful, unorthodox in every way—but now, their lives together carried an undercurrent of something… warmer, softer, and a little more planned than usual. 
One evening, she was curled up on the couch, cozy under a thick, soft blanket, her Kindle in one hand and the other resting gently on the small but noticeable bump of her belly. She’d grown accustomed to the comforting weight of her growing child. Dieter strolled in from the kitchen, carrying a bowl of popcorn, and dropped onto the couch beside her with a contented sigh.
“You look way too comfortable,” she teased, nudging him playfully with her foot, a smile tugging at her lips as she watched him sink into the cushions like he belonged there.
“I am,” Dieter said, settling in beside her and resting his head against her shoulder. He let out a contented sigh, his eyes drifting down to her bump, and his hand found hers, resting warmly over the swell of her belly. “I love this. I love everything about this.”
She chuckled, her fingers absentmindedly tracing soft circles on her belly, feeling the little flutters of movement beneath her skin. “You always loved kids, Dee. I know that. I just… I never thought I’d live to see the day when you’d actually be a dad.”
Dieter’s smile softened, and tears welled in his eyes as he scooted closer, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his face into her chest. She could feel the quiet, vulnerable sobs shaking his shoulders, and it melted her heart. “You’re making my deepest, darkest dreams come true, baby,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by her warmth, words spilling out with raw sincerity.
She laughed, tilting her head back as she ruffled his hair affectionately. “I thought your deepest, darkest dreams that I made come true involved a strap-on, Bravo.”
Dieter snorted, lifting his head just enough to flash her a cheeky grin. Without missing a beat, he buried his face into her chest, playfully motorboating her. She squealed, swatting at his head as they both dissolved into laughter, tangled together on the couch.
“God, you’re such a perv,” she giggled, half-heartedly pushing him away even though she was laughing too hard to mean it.
He finally pulled back, grinning unapologetically as he reached up and cupped one of her breasts, squeezing playfully. “Honk honk,” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief.
She rolled her eyes, shaking her head but unable to keep a straight face. “Dieter, you’re ridiculous.”
“I know,” he said, still chuckling as he leaned in to kiss her softly. 
“I love you, mama.” He whispered against her mouth. 
As days turned into weeks, they found themselves back at the doctor’s office for the 20-week scan. The drive there was tense, filled with nervous silence and half-hearted attempts at small talk that did little to mask their growing anxiety. Dieter’s usually easygoing demeanor was replaced with restless energy, and she could feel it radiating off him as they sat in the waiting room, both of them on edge.
She sat nervously beside him, her leg bouncing up and down as she stared at the outdated magazines scattered on the table in front of them. Dieter glanced over, noticing the jittery movement. He nudged her lightly with his elbow, offering a crooked smile. “Babe, you’re bouncing your leg like you’re tweaking. Seriously, I’ve been around a lot of meth heads, and you’re giving me flashbacks.”
She snorted, covering her mouth as a burst of laughter escaped, her nerves momentarily easing. “I can’t help it, okay? This is… I’m freaking out.”
Dieter reached over, his fingers lacing through hers as he squeezed gently. “I get it, but you gotta chill. You’re acting like you’re on something, and trust me, I know that vibe.” He gave her hand another reassuring squeeze. “You’ve gotta stop reading all those Reddit posts. They’re nothing but horror stories.”
She nodded, though she still looked pale, her eyes flicking around the room as if searching for something to distract herself. “I know, I just… I can’t help it. I’ve read too many stories about 20-week scans going wrong. What if something’s wrong, Dieter? I don’t think I can handle it.”
Dieter leaned in closer, brushing a kiss against her temple. “Hey, nothing’s wrong. Our kid’s strong. Just like you. Baby’s gonna be fine, okay? Let’s just breathe.”
They were finally called into the scan room, and the doctor greeted them with a warm smile, chatting casually as she prepared the machine. “How are we feeling today? Ready to see this little one?” she asked, her voice calm and reassuring as she applied the cool gel to her belly. Dieter stood by her side, holding her hand tightly, both of them staring at the monitor with bated breath.
The doctor moved the wand over her stomach, her brows knitting slightly as she searched the screen, waiting for a heartbeat. At first, there was nothing—just static silence, the absence of that familiar, rhythmic thump that they both so desperately wanted to hear. The doctor adjusted the wand, repositioning and angling it slightly, her expression remaining neutral but focused.
Dieter could feel his wife’s grip tighten, her fingers digging into his, and he squeezed back, his own heart pounding. “Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with fear.
The doctor glanced at them, her smile reassuring but a little strained. “Sometimes the baby’s in a tricky position so it’s hard to get the heartbeat. Let’s just give it a moment.” She moved the wand again, her eyes flicking between the screen and her belly as she pressed a bit harder, trying to get a better view.
But the silence lingered, and the tension in the room grew thicker. Dieter could feel his pulse racing, his mind going a mile a minute. He tried to keep calm, tried to joke, but his voice came out strained. 
“Kid’s already messing with us, huh? Definitely takes after me.”
It falls flat, and he frowns deeper. 
The doctor’s brows furrowed as she moved the wand slowly, deliberately, the silence stretching on until it was almost unbearable. “Come on, little one,” she murmured under her breath, adjusting the machine again.
She glanced at Dieter and his wife, reading the fear on their faces. “I know it’s nerve-wracking, but try not to panic. This happens sometimes.” The words were meant to soothe, but each passing second felt like an eternity, and Dieter felt like the walls were closing in.
Suddenly, the doctor paused, her eyes widening slightly. “Oh—hold on. I think I forgot to turn on the sound.” She reached over and pressed a button on the machine, and instantly, the room filled with the steady, reassuring thump of their baby’s heartbeat, clear and strong.
Dieter and his wife both let out a collective sigh of relief, laughing shakily as the tension broke. “Oh my god,” she breathed, her head falling back against the table as she squeezed Dieter’s hand. “You just shaved ten years off my life.”
The doctor chuckled, her face apologetic. “I’m so sorry about that. It happens more often than you’d think.” She moved the wand slightly, showing them their baby on the screen. “There we go. Heartbeat is strong, and baby looks perfect.”
Dieter let out a shaky laugh, wiping at his eyes as he glanced at his wife. “Kid’s already got us on edge. I guess that’s just payback for all the years I’ve been a handful.”
They all shared a brief, much-needed laugh, the tension slowly melting away. But the doctor’s expression turned a bit more serious as she continued to move the wand, examining the screen with careful precision. She began marking key areas on the screen, capturing images and making notes as she went. “Now, remember, this is your 20-week scan,” she said, her tone gentle but factual. “This is an important one because it’s when we check for congenital anomalies. We’ll be looking closely at your baby’s organs and development to make sure everything is on track.”
Dieter and his wife nodded, their earlier relief tempered by the weight of what the doctor was saying. This wasn’t just about hearing the heartbeat; it was about seeing if their baby was healthy, if everything was developing the way it should. The room fell quiet again, the soft whir of the machine the only sound as the doctor carefully scanned each part of their baby’s tiny body, capturing and saving images to review.
“We’re looking at the brain and skull,” the doctor explained, pointing to the image on the screen as she took a snapshot. “The structures look well-formed, and everything is measuring normally.” She moved the wand again, pausing over the baby’s chest and marking the image. “And here’s the heart. We’re checking for proper function, looking at the chambers and blood flow. So far, everything looks great.”
Dieter squeezed his wife’s hand, the feeling of both awe and anxiety filling the cavity of his chest. Every tiny movement on the screen felt monumental, every word from the doctor a lifeline. The doctor continued, showing them the spine, the kidneys, the limbs—every detail scrutinized with care and captured for documentation.
“And here’s the stomach and the diaphragm. We’re looking for normal positioning and function,” she said, moving methodically, her voice steady and calm. “All good signs here.” She took another image, marking it on the screen with a series of measurements.
Dieter’s wife squeezed his hand, her eyes locked on the screen, watching their baby’s tiny fingers flex and curl. “Is that… is that the baby’s hand?” she asked, her voice soft, filled with wonder.
“Yes, it is,” the doctor smiled, zooming in on the tiny hand and capturing the image. “Five fingers, all accounted for.”
They watched in silence, their emotions swinging from relief to fear and back again with every scan of the baby’s developing organs. The doctor’s voice was steady, reassuring them as she checked for any signs of congenital anomalies. Each confirmation that everything was normal felt like a small victory, a breath they didn’t realize they were holding.
“Everything looks normal and healthy,” the doctor finally said, pulling back and saving the last image. “Your baby is developing beautifully.”
Dieter and his wife both let out breaths they hadn’t realized they were holding, their hands still clasped tightly together. It wasn’t just relief—it was gratitude, to the doctor and the universe, for keeping their little bun healthy. 
They thanked the doctor, their voices filled with a concoction of relief, exhaustion, and overwhelming joy. As they left the office, they felt lighter, buoyed by the knowledge that their baby was safe and thriving. There’s only one thing for them to do now: start telling their family and friends. 
“You okay?” Dieter asked, his voice gentle as they pulled into his parents’ driveway. The house looked warm and welcoming, draped in fairy lights that twinkled against the evening sky, but she couldn’t quite shake the tightness in her chest.
She nodded, but it was automatic, her mind racing with thoughts she hadn’t fully processed, and her tears just started spilling like clockwork. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just… it’s a lot, you know? Your parents are going to be so happy, and I—I don’t have that anymore. I don’t have anyone to tell.” She tried to laugh it off, her voice catching slightly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “God, listen to me. I’m such a mess. It’s probably just hormones.”
Dieter squeezed her hand, his expression softening. He knew how much she missed her dad, how his absence lingered in moments like these. “It’s not just hormones, baby,” he said gently, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “You’re allowed to feel this. I wish your dad was here, too. I think about it all the time—how proud he’d be, how he’d probably be spoiling you right now.”
She let out a shaky breath, “It’s stupid, but it just hit me today, you know? Like, he was the only family I had, and now… I guess I thought I was past all this. But it’s different now. This is so big, and I feel like I’m missing that piece.”
Dieter pulled her hand up, kissing her knuckles softly. “It’s not stupid. And you’re not without parents completely. My parents love you—hell, they might love you more than they love me. They text you more than they text me, anyway.”
She let out a laugh, and it felt good, a brief moment of lightness breaking through the weight in her chest. “They do, don’t they? They’re always sending me recipes, cute cat and dog vides, and asking for book recommendations. Meanwhile, you get the ‘how’s your liver?’ texts.”
Dieter grinned, happy to see her smile even through tears. “Exactly. Trust me, they’re going to be over the moon about this. You’re their family, too. And yeah, it’s big—it’s bigger than anything we’ve done—but you don’t have to carry that alone. My parents, they’re gonna be here, every annoying, loving step of the way.”
She squeezed his hand, feeling a little more grounded. “Thanks, babe. I needed that.”
Dieter nodded, his own emotions bubbling under the surface. He knew how hard this was for her, and he wanted to make sure she never felt like she was alone in this. “Hey, we’re in this together. And we’re about to make their year, so let’s go in there and give them something to celebrate.”
They stepped out of the car, hand in hand, and walked up to the front door. She adjusted her coat, feeling the weight of the moment settle in her chest, but Dieter squeezed her hand reassuringly. They’d been parked for a while, gathering themselves, and now it was time. Dieter knocked, and within seconds, the door swung open.
Dieter’s mother stood there, her expression a mix of concern and relief. “Oh, there you are! We were starting to get worried—you’ve been sitting out there for ages. I thought maybe something was wrong.”
“Everything’s fine,” Dieter assured her, giving her a quick hug. “We were just… talking.”
His mom nodded, though she kept glancing between them, still a little uncertain. “It’s so good to see you two! Come in, come in.”
Dieter’s father was in the living room, setting out coffee and cookies on the table. He looked up, grinning in his usual dry way. “Hey, you two. What’s this? I thought you’d be busy writing another bestseller or maybe dragging Dieter around to get some culture.”
Dieter laughed, shaking his head. “Well, it’s not that, but it’s something just as good.”
His wife exchanged a quick look with him, her nerves sparking up again. Dieter, sensing her hesitation, gave her an encouraging smile and gently reached up to help her with her coat. As he slipped it off her shoulders, he draped it neatly over the back of the couch, revealing the gentle curve of her growing bump.
His parents’ eyes widened, and for a second, they both just stared, taking it in. Dieter’s mom’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes brimming with tears. “Oh my gosh… are you…?”
Dieter’s wife nodded, her voice trembling with a mix of nerves and joy. “We’re having a baby. I’m pregnant.”
For a moment, there was only stunned silence, and then his mom let out a joyous cry, rushing forward to hug her. “Oh, sweetheart! This is the most wonderful news! Look at you—how far along are you? I can’t believe it!”
Dieter’s dad, who usually kept his emotions under wraps, pulled Dieter into a hug, his voice thick with pride. “Son, this is incredible. I can’t tell you how happy I am for you. I’m not sure if you remember this, but there was a time when I wasn’t sure you’d ever get your life together, let alone settle down.”
Dieter blinked, caught off guard by his dad’s words. “Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.” He hesitated, swallowing hard before speaking again. “I know I’ve been a mess, but… I’m really excited about this. I want to do it right.”
His father clapped him on the shoulder, his expression warm. “You’ve already done right by me. You’ve grown up, Dieter, more than I ever thought possible. And now you’re going to be a dad. I couldn’t be prouder.”
They all settled into the living room, Dieter’s mom already buzzing with plans. “Okay, so tell me everything! When’s the due date? How are you feeling? Have you thought about names yet? We have to start planning—oh, and the nursery! We’ll need to paint, get a crib—”
Dieter held up his hands, laughing. “Mom, slow down. You’re going to choke yourself on your own saliva with how fast you’re going. One thing at a time.”
She laughed, waving him off but nodding. “Okay, okay. But this is just… it’s all so exciting. I’ve been waiting for this day for so long, and now it’s finally happening.”
Dieter’s wife smiled, feeling the warmth of Dieter’s mom’s excitement wash over her. “Thank you. Really, I’m so glad we get to share this with you. It’s been a lot to take in, but having you both here means the world.”
Dieter’s mom squeezed her hand, her eyes filled with emotion. “You’re not without parents completely, you know that, right? You’ve got us now. We’re going to be right here with you, every crazy, wonderful moment.”
She nodded, fighting back tears. “I’m so grateful for that. You have no idea.”
Dieter’s dad leaned in, his voice quieter but no less heartfelt. “And I mean it, Dieter. I see the way you are with her, how much you’ve grown. You’ve got this, both of you. And I know you’re going to be amazing parents.”
As they continued to talk, laugh, and make plans, one thing stood out among them– they knew there was so much ahead—so many unknowns, so many firsts—but for now, it was enough to just be together and celebrate this beautiful news.
After spending a few hours basking in the joy and warmth of Dieter’s parents, they knew the next step was sharing the news with the rest of the world. It felt like another hurdle, one they were both eager and anxious to jump. They drove back home, feeling the weight of their secret beginning to lift. 
Once they were settled on their couch, they knew it was time to tell Dieter’s manager. Dieter pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts, glancing over at his wife. “Ready?”
She nodded, though a nervous flutter still twisted in her stomach. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
Dieter hit the call button, putting it on speaker. His manager picked up on the second ring, his voice chipper and businesslike. “Dieter, my man! What’s up? You ready to talk about the next big project? We’ve got offers coming in like crazy.”
Dieter laughed, exchanging a look with his wife. “Hey, uh, about that… we’ve got something to tell you. It’s kind of a big deal.”
There was a brief pause on the other end, and then his manager’s voice dropped, curious and cautious. “Oh God, are you in trouble again? Do I need to get a lawyer on the line?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” Dieter said quickly, his grin wide. “Actually, it’s the opposite of trouble.”
His wife jumped in, smiling as she spoke. “We’re having a baby.”
The line went quiet for a beat, and then his manager erupted in a cheer. “What? Oh my God! Are you serious? This is amazing! Bravo’s having a baby! You two, this is incredible.”
They laughed, feeling the enthusiasm radiating through the phone. “Yeah, we’re serious,” Dieter said. “We’re excited, and we wanted to let you know before it goes public.”
His manager was still buzzing, the excitement palpable. “You’re going to break the internet with this. But listen, you’ve got to be prepared. This is going to be huge news—your fans, the media, everyone’s going to go nuts. Some good, some bad, you know how it is. But honestly, this is the best news I’ve heard all year.”
They chatted for a few more minutes, exchanging congratulations and discussing the logistics of managing the media frenzy that would inevitably follow. Once they hung up, Dieter turned to her, his eyes bright. “You ready to tell the world?”
She nodded, and together, they crafted a simple but heartfelt post for social media. They chose a candid photo taken that morning, with Dieter’s hand resting protectively over her small bump, both of them smiling with unfiltered joy. The caption read: Our greatest adventure yet. Baby Bravo coming soon.
They hit ‘share,’ and within moments, the post began to explode. Likes, comments, and shares flooded in at a speed that was almost overwhelming. Messages of congratulations poured in from friends, fans, and fellow celebrities. The overwhelming support was heartwarming, and they found themselves caught up in the happiness of it all.
But as the notifications kept coming, there were, of course, some that stung. Dieter scrolled through, his brow furrowing at the inevitable wave of negativity from the corners of his fanbase that couldn’t handle change.
“She’s probably just using him for fame. Classic.”
“Guess Dieter’s fun days are officially over.”
“He doesn’t deserve this. What about all the times he said he didn’t want kids?”
Dieter sighed, shaking his head as he turned off the screen. “I knew there’d be some backlash, but damn. People can be ruthless.”
She took a deep breath, trying to keep her own emotions in check. “I mean, I expected some of it, but it still hurts. I just thought… I don’t know, that people would be happy for us.”
Dieter pulled her into his side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Hey, don’t let them get to you. They don’t know us. They don’t know what we’ve been through to get here. This is our moment, not theirs.”
She nodded, leaning into his comfort. “I know, it’s just… I guess I didn’t expect people to be so… mean. I thought this would be different.”
Dieter kissed her temple, his touch gentle. “Some people will never be happy, babe. But look at all the love we’ve got here.” He pulled up the comments from their closest friends, the ones who knew them beyond the headlines. Messages of support, love, and shared joy filled the screen, reminding them of the people who truly mattered.
“Look at this one,” Dieter said, reading aloud. “‘I always knew you’d be the best parents. Baby Bravo is lucky to have you both.’” He smiled, scrolling down. “And this one—‘I’m so proud of you guys. Can’t wait to meet the little one.’”
She smiled, letting the warmth of those messages push away the sting of the negativity. “I guess we have to focus on that, huh?”
“Exactly,” Dieter said, squeezing her close. “This is our family. Our life. And no one gets to take that away from us.”
They spent the rest of the evening curled up together, ignoring the noise of the outside world and focusing on the love that poured in from those who truly understood. Their phones continued to buzz, and the news spread quickly, but for now, it was just the two of them, dreaming about their future with the baby they were already so deeply in love with.
A few weeks had passed since their announcement, and life had begun to settle into a new kind of normal. 
They were still receiving messages of congratulations, along with the occasional snarky comment, but the love outweighed the negativity by miles. 
Dieter and his wife had embraced this next phase with open hearts, pouring over baby books, setting up the nursery, and spending quiet moments together, dreaming about the future.
One night, as they sat in the nursery—still half-finished, with paint samples and swatches scattered everywhere—Dieter was busy assembling a crib, grumbling softly as he fumbled with the instructions. His wife sat cross-legged on the floor, watching him with a soft smile, one hand resting on her belly.
“Are you sure you don’t want to wait for your dad to help with that?” she teased, noting his intense focus and the stray bolts lying around.
Dieter looked up, smirking. “Nah, I’ve got it. Besides, I’ve got to prove I can put something together that’s not going to collapse on us. I mean, it’s literally a crib. If I can do this, I can do anything.”
She laughed, watching as he finally managed to fit the pieces together, looking far too proud of himself. He stood back, admiring his handiwork before turning to her, his smile broad and genuine. “See? Told you I’d figure it out.”
She patted the spot beside her on the floor, and he sat down, pulling her into his side. They sat there quietly for a moment, both gazing at the crib—the first tangible piece of their new life together.
“Can you believe this is happening?” she murmured, her voice soft with wonder. “Sometimes it still feels like a dream.”
Dieter nodded, his hand drifting to rest over her bump. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been in a lot of weird dreams, but this… this is the best one. And it’s real.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat against her cheek. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?”
He turned to kiss her forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “We already are, baby. And it’s only going to get better.”
They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in the promise of what was to come—messy, beautiful, and entirely theirs.
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glikeriya-narkevich · 2 months ago
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I apologize in advance for possible grammatical errors. My native language is not English. My text is very very long. I will be glad to like-minded people, because I am so much disappointed with the DLC and I needed to speak out here on my personal blog.
I really wanted to see Bi-Han's redemption arc, but instead I got an aggravation of Bi-Han's gloomy state. I saw Bi-Han accept his new identity in the form of Noob Saibot. There was no change in Bi-Han's mind after what he forcibly experienced (the transformation into Noob Saibot). Everything I saw was a huge disappointment for me, because I adore Bi-Han as a character, and I never wanted to see him as a stupid, clichéd villain, as the writers made him in the DLC. Bi-Han has always been a neutral character with a penchant for atoning for sins, so to speak, if we turn to the MK classics. But I'm still hoping that in future story additions, Liu Kang will still be able to return Bi-Han to his former state by healing him from chaos magic. I haven't given up hope of seeing Bi-Han as Sub-Zero, even if this hope is small and naive. I hope to see Bi-Han's change of mind, his reflection on the past, and credible motivations for his actions.
Now I'd like to write why I don't like Sektor so much.
The shortest answer is: because she's acting stupid. Taking Bi-Han out of the Temple of Elements is like taking a person with a severe traumatic brain injury out of the hospital, thus depriving him of the necessary life-saving treatment. Sektor says to Noob Saibot in one of the Intro Dialogues, „I couldn't leave you locked away in the Temple.“ This sounds just like saying to a sick person, „I couldn't let the doctors treat you, so I took you home, but I have no idea how to cure you myself“. Sektor's ego is enormous!
To me, it all sounds like a dialogue between two people:
She: I'm looking for a cure for your terrible disease, dear.
He: No, honey, I'm not going to be treated. My terrible disease gives me advantages.
She: But the doctor says your terrible disease will kill you!
He: I don't want the doctor to treat me.
She: All right, darling, let it be your way.
And if Sektor thought that Liu Kang had left Bi-Han to rot in the Temple of elements after she personally saw that Liu Kang had healed Bi-Han's mind and said that he would look for a way to heal Bi-Han's body as well, then Sekctor is doubly stupid because she can't assimilate simple information and think logically. Liu Kang himself doesn't know exactly how to heal Bi-Han and how long it will take, so how would Sektor know this in that case? Bi-Han's responses to her words are my main disappointment. He wants to be Noob Saibot when he says in one of the Intro Dialogues, „I do not want Liu Kang to cure me“. Noob Saibot also approved of Sektor's act when she kidnapped him from the Temple of Elements, „You were right to be impatient“.
I don't see any love for Bi-Han in Sektor. I see a blind passion for him. She tells Noob Saibot in one of the Intro Dialogues, „Is it best for you to remain this way?“ These are the words of an obsessed fanatic, not a loving woman. Asking such a question is like asking an alcoholic, „Is it a good thing if you stay an alcoholic?“. Sektor doesn't see the black abyss into which Bi-Han is slowly sinking. She does not save him, but supports the evil in him, thus cultivating the blackness in Bi-Han's soul. After all, Liu Kang tells Noob Saibot, „Continue, Bi-Han, and it will not end well for you“. In this case, Liu Kang is showing concern for Bi-Han's soul, but Sektor is not. Liu Kang continues to believe in Bi-Han and warns him. And Sektor doesn't see the problem because she is blind, she herself is threatened by darkness.
The way Bi-Han doesn't listen to Sektor and roughly rips his hand out of her grasp when she tries to stop him from attacking Liu Kang suggests that her passion for Bi-Han means little to him, because he's not ready to listen to her in moments of intense emotional upheaval. He's not ready to stop and give up on some "feverish" action. I think Bi-Han is obsessed with Lin Kuei first and foremost, and Sektor is more of a tool for him to achieve his personal goals than his lover. The only, I emphasize, the only scene that shows some kind of mutual warmth between them, ended up going nowhere. Bi-Han wants to be Noob Saibot, he thinks of his goals first, and Sektor is always ready to support any of Bi-Han's ideas. What gives us this moment of warmth when they touched foreheads for a couple of seconds? Absolutely nothing.
I really dislike Sektor because she helps Bi-Han perish, and doesn't slow down his fall into darkness. I don't see why I can sympathize with her. But Sektor is not a good character either, it was not worth waiting for noble deeds from her. From the Intro Dialogues between Scorpion and Geras, as well as between Smoke and Geras, there is a hint that Tomas will die in the future and will be forcibly turned into a cyborg. Who's going to do this to him? I have no doubt that Sektor will do it. How can such a person help Bi-Han see any light? It's impossible. They are mutually corrupting each other.
From the Intro Dialogues we already know that she has made mechanical monsters and is eager to try them out. And the cybernetic armor is just the beginning, and most likely we're in for a classic violent cybernization ahead. How can Sektor help Bi-Han if she's blinded by her own ego? Sektor is not Harumi. My deep conviction is that Bi-Han should have a woman who truly loves him and is wise, such as Harumi, but not the obsessed Sektor, whose love for Bi-Han blinds her, as Cyrax correctly pointed out. Sektor doesn't confront the darkness within Bi-Han because Sektor is blind in her fanaticism towards Bi-Han. She doesn't see this darkness because she is most likely filled with the exact same darkness herself.
Love is not only support, sometimes it is a strong confrontation in the name of saving a life.
I believe that Bi-Han needs a woman with a light within. He needs someone who is the opposite of darkness, then his eyes might be able to see at least some path that could be called different than the one he's already on. Yes, at first Sektor is obsessed with healing Bi-Han, but at the same time, she doesn't want to give Noob Saibot to Liu Kang. She ended up agreeing completely that Noob Saibot himself didn't want healing for himself. Sektor, girl, is there anything you can say against him? For his own good! His soul and life in a normal body and in a normal state is at stake. Metaphorically speaking, Sektor can't sober up Bi-Han because she's drunk herself. 
And all of this is because neither Bi-Han nor Sektor see Noob Saibot's condition as something bad. Yes, I'd like to see a woman save Bi-Han from the darkness, rather than going crazy with him, sinking deeper and deeper into that darkness. Bi-Han could have been a neutral character who could be understood, condemned and justified at the same time, but in the end he became a clichéd villain with boring motivation. A villain without a ray of light within him is dull, boring and uninteresting. A hero without islands of inner darkness is just as boring and uninteresting. But that's exactly what they made Bi-Han in the DLC — a boring and uninteresting villain. At least some hope is given to me by dialogues between Noob Saibot and Bi-Han, in which Bi-Han clearly doesn't accept Noob and is hostile to him.
The second bitter disappointment that befell me was in regards to Kuai Liang. He is shown to be a disgusting person, he is shown to be a hypocrite in this DLC. All the things that Kuai Liang condemned his brother for, now he does himself, such as reveling in power over another, weaker one (poor Cyrax). It is already known from the Intro Dialogue between Cyrax and Noob Saibot that Kuai Liang had a romantic past with Cyrax. Kuai Liang did a doubly despicable thing when he silently disappeared from Lin Kuei and then married another woman. How could he silently disappear without saying anything to his former lover, whom he knows Bi-Han will definitely deceive? And after that, he dares to condemn Cyrax and is even ready to behead her with a katana? Kuai Liang doesn't notice his own sins, but is sure to denounce others. Yes, he had every right to be angry, but still he is the second rightful heir in Lin Kuei, and he didn't do anything when he could have influenced the situation in Lin Kuei, at the very least he could have told everyone about what happened between him and Bi-Han, thus denying Bi-Han the opportunity to lie to his warriors in the future.
Cyrax is too submissive to Kuai Liang. She has every moral right to throw all of Kuai Liang's grievances in his face. She tried to do that, but she gave up very quickly, I'd say she shut up in front of Kuai Liang. I don't understand how she could ask to join his clan after treating her like that? She saved his life, that alone should have been enough to make Kuai Liang turn on his brain. Cyrax had fully redeemed herself from him! But he was being terribly ungrateful and arrogant. Watching Cyrax's self-deprecation in front of a man who wasn't worthy of such submission was very unpleasant to me. Kuai Liang is not a counterbalance to Bi-Han, he is the other side of the same grim coin. Bi-Han and Kuai Liang are worthy of each other.
But in the Kuai Liang/Harumi pair, there is a voice of reason in the person of Harumi, and Kuai Liang is still able to listen to both Liu Kang and Harumi. And there is no voice of reason in the Bi-Han/Sektor pair. Bi-Han doesn't listen to Sektor in critical situations, for the most part she's his tool and fanatical assistant, perhaps a loyal and constant servant. I don't see a strong mutual affection on Bi-Han's part for Sektor. It seems to me that he's more of someone who feels good about being loved and he allows her to love him. Sektor is willing to accept anything from Bi-Han and she can't confront his inner darkness, because Sektor doesn't see a problem with Bi-Han's soul. So spiritually they will both die sooner or later if they don't listen to Liu Kang. A confrontation between them after what Bi-Han went through would have seemed more logical and interesting.
Bi-Han in this DLC turned out to be an absolutely empty character, in which I saw nothing but a thirst for power, fame, strength, dominance and control. And all these things are defamation of the character by the writers, because we have the original Bi-Han, who has never been so empty and one-sided. Even in the first part of Mortal Kombat 1, Bi-Han was an interesting and deep character, despite the widespread hatred against him. There are plenty of awesome and well-reasoned analyses of his personality here on Tumblr that just prove it. In the "Khaos Reigns", Bi-Han is simply buried as a character. There is simply no conflict in the story of the fall of his personality.
Dude, you've been turned into a black monster against your will. Your mind is being healed, you wake up in this new body, and what? No shock? I'd understand if Bi-Han had asked Havik himself to make him Noob Saibot, but the transformation was done through torture and violence. How could Bi-Han end up being okay with who he has become? I just don't believe it.
P.S. I still adore Bi-Han. Even this DLC won't make me stop loving him. Almost 30 years of my life in the fandom can't be crossed out by this terrible DLC and imposing romance on players, for which Cyrax and Sektor changed their gender. I wish Liu Kang had somehow miraculously gotten his Kitana back if the writers wanted to add romance so badly. I felt like I was reading a bad fanfic rather than watching the official DLC. That's how this DLC will remain for me — a bad fanfic about my favorite characters. I can't and won't accept this DLC as canon. Thank God, no one can take that right away from me.
P.P.S. The screen time of Tomas, who I also love dearly, was criminally small, and after all, he's one of the three brothers, not some NPC...
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candlewaxandp0lar0ids · 1 year ago
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this is halloween || felix x reader
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Summary: Felix's world is filled with nightmarish, energy-stealing creatures that others cannot see. In this cold, dark world that's made him who he is, you're the only thing that's warm and bright.
Word count: 4k
Genres: and they were roommates, urban fantasy
Warnings & Tags: angst, bad boy!felix (ish), non-descriptive sex scene (rated M), hurt/comfort (i think?), horror themes though nothing gets too explicit, potentially disturbing descriptions of monsters
A/N: Third installment in my Halloween mini-series, or: the author has whump!felix brain-rot and insists on making it everyone else's problem
I.N. · Seungmin
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Felix walks like he has nowhere to go and no one to come home to. Hands in his pockets, shoulders lax, leaning back, lollipop stick between his lips, leisurely pace, eyes straight ahead. He looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world, not in a light-hearted, innocent, naïve way, but in a nonchalant, bored, cynical approach. Truth be told though, you would be closer in saying that the world does not care for him. Of that he’s well-aware.
He sees it in the looks he get by the well-meaning, law-abiding citizens that naturally make way for him, scared away by his long, bleached blonde hair, his ripped jeans or his leather jacket. He heard it in the whispers about the ‘problem child’, his mother’s crying, all of his teachers’ stern tone as they told him he needed to stop causing issues. He felt it in the way people tense around him, in how they changed their attitude once the atmosphere he brought with him everywhere he went settled on them and started eating at them the same way it cannibalized on him.
More than anything, he knows the world does not care because, as the tentacles of the creature that latched on to him earlier today tighten on his shoulders, as he crosses path with a disembodied, rotting ghoul that leaves a trail of mold behind it, as he notices from the corner of his eyes the nightmarish swirl high up in the sky of bat-like hope-eaters, if the world did care, he would not have been cursed with the ability to see all of these things when no one else did.
He rolls one of his shoulders, trying to make the grip looser. It works, barely, but all he can do is hope that it didn’t spark the creature’s interest. If there’s one thing he’s learned, in his years of life with this this accursed talent, it is that it is never a good idea to catch their interest. It’s not like there are no ways of getting rid of them once you do, but the ones he’s found have always been long and painful and he’s not in the mood for fighting tonight.
He picks up the pace to make it to the other side of the street, and gets a rush of fresh air when, for a second, the entity lets go of him. It doesn’t last. It gets its hold back on him, and he grits his teeth to make it less obvious how aware he is of it. Other people don’t realize it when those things happen, not as acutely. They get tired, they get depressed, they might get sick, but they don’t know. He does.
It’s no trouble for him to get into the building he was headed towards. The crowd of people in disguises doesn’t resist him any more than that of the commuters. Behind him, the entity shrinks itself to follow him inside. He doesn’t look up at it, doesn’t want to. The disgusting mass of tentacles that part only to reveal a wide mouth filled with too many teeth aren’t any worse than the shit he deals with every day, but it’s not a sight you get used to. Not fully.
He climbs the stairs that are filled with drunk college students, chatting college students, laughing college students. Some of them have gone heavy on the make-up, but none of them, not even the ones that tried their hardest to paint gaping wounds on their faces, get close to his  reality. It’s probably better off that way.
Finally, he gets to the apartment for the party you’ve asked him to come to. Well, that’s not exactly how it went — you said ‘I’d love it if you were here’, ‘You don’t have to’, and when you’d last seen him ‘I’ll see you tonight?’ in a hopeful tone that had gone right to his heart. He gets some looks as he gets in. Some of them are interested ones. He’s well-aware that people find him attractive, that the energy that surrounds him works as a magnet on some. He also knows that it doesn’t do people any good to be around him. It’s not long before the creatures start wearing them down, digging black circles under their eyes, hollowing their cheeks. Turns out, Felix is shockingly resistant to all that shit, insistent on surviving it. Ha. What a fucking joke.
He finds you on the edge of a room, chatting with a few people. You’re dressed as a witch, long black dress, hoops earrings, a black, pointy hat on your head. Your signature big, round glasses, are perched on your nose.
When you spot him, you wave him over, and he comes without giving it a second thought.
“You made it!” you chirp. You wrap one of your hands around his arm to pull him in the small circle, and he almost shivers at your touch. You’re warm. Felix’s world is cold, energy sucked out of it by more monstrous beings that he’ll ever meet. Other people are always warmer than he is. The difference is, you don’t get drained around him. “That’s Felix,” you introduce him to the others. “My roommate.”
Felix sees their faces light up in recognition. Obviously, they've heard about him before. There’s a short round of introduction from their side before they resume to their previous conversation.
“I’m getting something to drink,” he tells you, leaning in to speak in your ear, both because he likes the way you react and because the music’s so loud. “You want some?”
A smile, you shake your head. Your hand brushes against his back as he leaves and fuck, it’s embarrassing that he knows that this is what will keep him going. He glances in your direction as he walks away, checking that nothing that was following him has attached itself to you. It hasn’t. There’s an entity curled lazily against the ceiling, dipping long, skinny tentacles around the room, feeding on the energy, but you and your group seem to be mostly left alone. It makes him feel more relieved than it should, and he hates that he knows it’s less because you’re safe and more because he thinks it would kill him if he lost your warmth and the safety you provide him.
You’d come in his life as a blessing with no warning. He had recently been evicted and was couch-surfing in other people’s apartments when Wooyoung had first mentioned your name to him. You had a free room, he’d said. You were looking for a new person to fill it, he’d said. You were ‘a bit shy, but sweet’, he’d said. Felix had not thought for a second that it would work out. It never did. He’d be lucky if he found a one-bedroom apartment with no heating in the shittiest area of the city.
Then he’d met you and had immediately distrusted your soft, distant attitude, the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes and how you shrunk yourself around him. You wouldn’t last, he thought, but since you didn’t oppose his presence, he had accepted the offer. Even if you threw him out two weeks later, that was two weeks of security that he usually wasn’t afforded.
That had been a year ago now.
As he grabs himself a beer — he’s learned the hard way that it’s better to stay sharp when you’re affected by his, ah, condition — he finds it hard not to find you in the room. No matter how much he tries, his eyes always land back on you. The only way to escape you is to move to another room, so he does, because he finds it fucking embarrassing, how affected he is by you, and because he never loses the nagging fear that the things that follow him around will latch on to you.
When he lands on the couch, he feels the creature tightening his grip on his arms. He grits his teeth as the cold bites him harder, as everything feels a little darker around him. Shit, that thing isn’t letting up. He takes a sip of beer, ignores the gargoyle perched on a girl’s shoulder, the imp lying on a dude’s head. He’s been long forced into indifference about these things. He can’t make a difference anyway, he’d know, he’s tried it before, so why bother? He doesn’t know them, and they’d leave him to die in the gutter if they were given the chance. He won’t dedicate a second of the energy he could use on saving himself on them.
There’s a blur of time and movement, before, eventually, you fall on the couch next to him, and his world takes colors again.
“Long day?” you ask with a sympathetic frown.
He scoffs. He only ever has long days.
“Yeah,” he just says. “You?”
A shrug.
“It was fine, actually. I’m just… not a huge Halloween fan.”
The mundane of the conversation is such a hard punch to the gut. He’d talk about how his day’s gone and how you feel about things all the goddamn time if he could.
“Why not?”
You lean closer against him, your shoulder brushing against his. He shifts so the creature doesn’t touch you. He should move away completely, he knows, that’d be the safe thing to do. He just doesn’t have the strength for it.
“It feels a bit like a circus,” you say, sounding pensive. “I get that people want to enjoy a party though, it’s not that deep, just— my family’s pretty big on traditions, it’s a big symbolic date for them. It’s weird to see other people treat it so differently, but it’s just my hang-up, you know. I don’t want to make it anyone else’s problem.”
It’s one of those things you keep bringing up, this nebulous part of your life, the ‘family’ that he’s never seen around. You’re not on speaking terms, as far as he knows, but you never bring them up, and he doesn’t ask. It’s funny, how you’re the one who visibly walks on egg-shells at all times yet he’s sure he’s more afraid of losing you than you him.
Then his phone vibrates in his pocket. He wishes he could ignore it, but it’s not a luxury he has these days. One glance at the screen, and he feels his heart freeze over. He looks up, and on the other side of the room, there’s Hyesung, staring and with a tight, forced smile on his lips. He would look perfectly inconspicuous, a young man in a sea of young people, if not for the winged demon hovering above him, its tentacles reaching out towards different members of the crowd. Unlike the entities Felix has seen around on his way here, this one is more defined, closer to representations of demons you find in human art. He knows that these things are far more of a threat than the abominations like the one feeding off of him right now.
Shit. Shit. Felix wasn't supposed to run into anyone from that group tonight. He was supposed to be around you, and normal people, and get to fucking breathe. But now, not only has Hyesung seen him, but he's looking at you with intrigued eyes, and that's about the worst thing that could happen.
Felix stands up, grabbing your hand to pull you with him.
“Let's go home,” he throws to you over his shoulder as he starts pushing his way through people without paying much attention to them.
“Already?” you ask, confused, though you don't resist him. “But you just got here.”
It wouldn't be a lie if he told you that as far as he's concerned, he saw you, which was all he cared about, but he doesn't say that.
“Not a huge fan of this crowd,” he says instead, which isn't a lie either, considering Hyesung is part of it.
“Oh,” is your answer, right as you reach the door to the apartment. Just a few more steps and you'll both be out of here, and able to find a better place to be.
If fucking Hyesung didn't appear in front of it with that superior, fake smile again.
“Long time no see, Felix,” is the first thing that make it past his lips, and Felix hears the jab for what it is. It's true that he hasn't showed up at the Headquarters in a while, true, too, that he hasn't participated much in Venom's activities as of late. Hasn't wanted to, nor felt the need to do it. When he'd joined, he had been enticed by the promise of a place free of the monsters. Knowing that he'd have to do some unsavory stuff to get it had seemed a low, low price to pay then.
A price that hadn't stopped growing since. He'd taken the wrong bargain, and now he couldn't back out. It'd be fine; he'd pay it again, he'd pay twice the price later on. He had no illusions on his ability to escape punishment. Others might have that kind of luck, but he didn't, he never had.
He just had to make sure that you wouldn't be around when he paid for it.
When Hyesung tilts his head to get a better look at you and his lips stretch out into a wider smile, one that is unsettlingly cheerful.
“Hi, I don't think we've met, I'm—”
“Yeah,” Felix interrupts him, taking a threatening step towards him without letting go of you. “You haven't met.”
Hyesung's expression shifts. Above him, the demon gives a lazy flap of wings. Felix doesn't have long.
He feels you squeeze his hand, and your silent support allows him to breathe in again. He hasn't even explained anything to you, yet you're giving him your trust, and that makes him feel like he can fly. Which is more or less the kind of miracle he's going to need if he wants to make it out of here.
Demons, like the kind hanging above Hyesung's head, are somewhat able to interact with the physical world. The others are here, but they can't do anything, can't move objects, definitely can't make humans do things. Demons... might. It's not true of all of them, but Felix suspects that Hyesung's climbed the hierarchy within Venom high enough that his companion is one of the powerful ones. It makes him dangerous. It also makes him easier to outrun.
He tightens his grip on you. He can only hope you're ready.
“I'm just trying to make a new friend!” Hyesung says with dishonest warmth. “You know, we're always looking for people to join—”
When Felix's fist catches him in the jaw, he really, really should have seen it coming. After pulling that kind of shit, it's 100% on him if it caught him by surprise. It seems to, since he stumbles back as conversations around you quiet down and all eyes focus on the three of you — the three of you others can see, that is. Felix has no intention of sticking around to entertain though, and next thing he knows, he's running.
He feels the brush of the demon, feels the mouthy abomination's tentacle push him off as if to say 'hey that one's mine', which, ha, isn't that ironic. He doesn't doubt that the demon could kill the other thing in a fight, but it slows him down enough that, when Felix flies down the stairs with you in tow, it's not right behind him, and that's all he needs. It's not his first rodeo.
You certainly keep up surprisingly well, considering this isn't a daily occurrence for you. You also don't seem to hesitate as Felix darts into an alley way and presses you against a door. He doesn't have long, the abomination makes him too easy to spot, but that doesn't mean he's going to drag you with him.
“Go back to the apartment,” he orders, urgency in his voice. “Don't go back in there, okay? I'll meet you there.”
“But what about—”
“I've got this,” he promises, and no matter how tired he gets, it's still the truth. He's always made it out okay. There's no reason for this to be any different.
“Be careful,” you whisper. He wishes you hadn't, because, fuck, how he's supposed to not give in now?
He kisses you, hard and rough, tries to get everything he can out of that stolen moment. You're soft and warm against him. He wants to melt into you and never have to step foot into his life again. Instead, he tears himself from you as you gasp for air.
“Go home,” he tells you again, and then he takes off. The demon takes the bait, passes by you without even seeing you, and Hyesung isn't far behind.
As Felix runs for his life, the thought that in doing that, he's keeping you safe, gives him, for the first time in forever, someone to run home to.
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It's late when he makes it back to the apartment. His legs carry him more out of habit than through conscious thought — of that, he doesn't have much left. A fresh burn, left by the demon, runs over his forearm. Over him, the abomination's worse for the wear, but it's refused to let go of him through the entirety of the run, and it fought like hell to keep him to himself, when the demon briefly caught up.
Eventually, Felix managed to lose him by barreling through one of these tight alleys filled with shops. The obstacles both on the floor and in the air had allowed him to effectively get rid of both the demon and the human and as far he knows, they don't know where he lives. Not yet anyway. He didn't know how long he still had for that. He knows that he can't let that aspect of his life catch up with you but, fuck, he thinks it just might kill him. To know that he had you and to now lose you again— he doesn't know how he's supposed to ever get over it.
His feet slowly take him up the stairs, dragging more and more until finally he grabs the doorknob. Almost immediately, the door's pulled open, and you're there, standing in front of him, taking him in, eyes searching his face first, then the rest of his body. Finally relief overtakes you and you pull him inside.
Behind him, the tentacles snap one by one as he walks through the door. The last few ones still holding on break off when the door closes. That is another one of the miracle, one he cannot explain. Going to sleep used to be the worst part of his day, the one when he knew he'd have to close his eyes despite the fact that the monsters were all around him, feeding off of him. He'd have to feel his energy being slowly depleted as he laid there, desperate for sleep to take him so he could wake up without feeling rested.
The monsters never come in here. He doesn't know why. It's not quite the first time he's seen it; clearly some people are less targeted than others. As far as he's concerned, you are the one that keeps the monsters at bay, and that's why, as your hands reach up for his face like you want to check that he really is there, that he's safe, whispering quiet 'thank you's under your breath he, once more, cannot hold back.
His fingers wrap around your wrists, because he'll crumble if you keep touching him like that, and he kisses you again. He's got less adrenaline in his system, so it's not as harsh as the previous one, and you meet all of his desperation with softness. You intertwine your fingers with his, let him take the lead. You whimper when one of his cold hands sneaks under your shirt, brushing against the hot skin of your stomach.
“Sorry,” he mumbles into your lips, without taking his hand off, and then he kisses you again.
You both stumbles through the hallway before your back hits the door to your room. That is always where the two of you end up on nights like these. Not that he gets chased home that often, but on the nights when he just can't resist the thought of having you, it's on your bed that the two of you come crashing down. Neither of you ever speaks of these nights. He makes sure he's gone by the time you wake up, and he's not in a situation where he can be the person you deserve. You have nothing to do in his world anyway, you're an anomaly, a miracle that a God who took pity on him must have wanted to send his way.
He always wonders if you know how badly he cares, if you know you're the only one for him. He wonders if he should tell you he loves you, or if it would be unfair to you, when he knows he won't stay around in your world for long.
So as he strips you of your clothes with feverish hands, presses biting kisses against your neck while you arch into him, whines and whimpers falling from your lips, he does his best to let you know. 'I love you', his careful movements say as he kneels between your legs. 'I love you', his eyes when he takes in your panting silhouette. 'I love you', his open-mouthed kisses trailing down all over your body.
He revels in the way your body trembles under his tongue, and when he finally pushes into you with a grunt, no matter how much he tries to keep himself from falling deeper into you, he can't help it anymore. You push yourself on your elbows, fingers tracing his jaw, and you pull him in for a kiss, and Felix is just gone. You're too soft, too caring, too good for him.
Later, with his arm wrapped around you, while you're lying on his chest and he's letting his fingers run over your back, he hears his own voice rise up in your room.
“You're not going to ask? About earlier?”
There's a long silence. He wonders if you've fallen asleep.
“Do you want me to?” you ask after long seconds have passed by, your voice quiet.
He— He's not sure, if he's being honest. He, selfishly, wants you to care. He wants you to want to know. But if you do, if you find out about everything that crawls and flies and walks in this world by your side without you being able to see them, if you're pulled in his world in worse ways, it will only ever hurt you. No good can come out of it.
He's mulling over it when you look up at him.
“If you tell me, you'll regret it when you wake up.”
There's such sadness in your voice that he feels like he's just been kicked in the chest. He's sure that you're talking about how he flees in the morning, how he never talks about these late nights, how distant he can be. He doesn't want you to feel that way. He doesn't want you to think, even for a second, that it's your fault.
Because it's all too much, because he can't tell you all that, because he knows the words will come out all wrong if he tries, he kisses you again, and he can only pray that you can tell from the strength of it, from how he cradles your face. You let yourself sink into his kiss and into his arms.
“I never regret it,” he tells the room much, much later, in the dead of night, when your breathing is even. And his voice cracks when he tests the way other words sound said aloud for the very first time.
“I love you.”
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so this felix is very similar to my jealousy, jealousy felix but this is a story that i've had in mind for an eternity. i absolutely loved writing it, felt fun going for something outside of my comfort zone. i don't know yet if i'll write more for this universe. would love to know your thoughts on it since this story was very precious to me, and if you don't feel like leaving a comment, please consider reblogging to help the story circulate <3
permanent taglist: @lethallyprotected @jisuperboard
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grapejuicestyless · 6 months ago
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No One Wants To Die In The End.
Harry Styles x fem!reader
Summery: United through grief, Harry and Y/n have to navigate the same fates they witnessed as young children as understanding adults. After all, no one wants to die in the end, we can only hope death comes easy for us.
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“Has anyone ever survived beyond the death rattle breathing?”
I hear my mother ask in a hushed tone, the nurse who came to send my grandma away giving her a tight lipped smile.
I sit on the bed pretending not to be able to hear them, pretending the sound of my grandma choking on her own saliva is normal and the staggering of her breathing between heavy wheezes isn’t concerning while I tell her all about what I learned in fourth grade.
She doesn’t remember me, not much anyway. Ever since the illness started taking pieces of her brain, I’ve been stuck in time. She only knows my name now, and my mom warned me on the way here today not to cry if she couldn’t even remember that. It was her illness forgetting, not my beloved grandma.
Mom says she loved me with all my heart, and that once the illness passes through her, she’ll remember me again fondly. I’ll get to tell her all about my life and growing up and she’ll understand what I’m talking about. She won’t give me the blank stare she does now while I hold her hand, and her skin won’t be so frail.
“We usually recommend getting everything in place by the end of the day. Gather her papers and say your goodbyes. We can’t guarantee anything with how much longer she’ll hold out for.” The nurse says, and though my mom doesn’t cry, I can see her skin hugging her throat constricting it and the soft fluttering of her wet eyelashes.
My mom pulled me away soon after, telling me to say goodbye. This time felt different though, even at age nine I knew that. So I told my grandma I’d be back, even if I wasn’t sure just because it always made her smile, and I promised to keep dancing around in my pajamas before breakfast like she loved.
That day at school, the one after I left my grandma with hundreds of promises to live freely and trust with my heart, I found my mother sat out on the front steps by our old white porch with her head in my hands.
“Hi mama. Can I go to Megans?” I had asked her cheerfully, excited about seeing my best friend, my neighbor and my sister.
Mom had this sad look in her eyes, one that told me to come close without her having to say it. And as I stood between her bent knees and felt her hands on my hips, I saw her shake her head.
“Y/n/n, grandma didn’t make it, baby.” She declared softly, and at the time I didn’t know how to process it, the idea of someone being gone forever. As mom told me how she had only left for a minute to go home and shower and came back to my grandma unresponsive in her sleep, I didn’t think about the fact that my grandma’s laugh would fade with the years, but rather how sad it was that she had to go alone. I prayed selfishly under my breath that I would have someone’s hand to hold when I went, that my rotting body would mean more than any shower ever could.
I didn’t tell mom this, my feelings on the death of grandma, the death of her mom, so I did what I knew how to do best, and I ran, begging softer this time to be able to go across the street just until dinner.
When I got there, I was greeted by Megan, and she looked sad. That’s how most people in my life seemed to look these past few hours, ever since the way my grandma breathed changed.
She pulled me into a hug and cried on my shoulder, promising to be there for me always, that it would get better. At the time I didn’t get it, why my best friend as a child would feel so much grief for a woman she barely knew, how she could feel so much more than I did, but grief hits differently in every person, I wished that someday I’d be able to process it openly instead of suppressing it somewhere I’d never find it. I wished that someday I’d learn how to cry.
Grandma didn’t get a funeral, they stuffed her ashes into a pretty vase with golden birds and her favorite flowers and held the wake early in the morning. Most of her friends I’d never met. It was a small service, a slow one. I spent most of my time playing hide and seek with my cousins and stealing the mints the funeral home left out for guests while my mother cried shaking each guests hand.
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“How should we send out the letters?” My mom whispered to my father quietly, like it was something she didn’t want her children to know about.
“What’s the difference? Word spreads fast about people like him.”
People like him, that’s how my dad worded it. People like him, veterans who fought in a war they couldn’t even remember by the end of their lives and refused to replace the old wood paneling on their living room walls from the eighties.
My grandpa was the definition of people like him, he had lived enough lives to grow in white hairs by fourteen years old. Fighting alongside Elvis in the war and dancing with his dying wife in the afternoon.
I never met grandma, my dad said cancer took her before I was born, he says that’s why my name is the way it is, she picked it. But, I did meet grandpa.
He had white hair and a soft stomach from all the Swedish meatballs he made in his spare time. War does funny things like that to a man, make someone so against cooking love the simplicity of it, the safety of food consuming him.
I never really liked his Swedish meatballs, I didn’t like how he made them without sauce, when I was ten my world revolved around marinara sauce.
When I was twelve years old, I remember missing the softness of my grandpas stomach when he hugged me and the lingering smell of Swedish meatballs in his kitchen at dinner time. Which was weird because I never liked it before, but maybe my nose had changed while grandpa was changing in his own ways.
Cancer seemed to run in the family, something that was so small nobody ever suspected it was invading their bodies until the doctors became frantic to get it out.
My grandpa has bright white hair before his treatment, and small silver glasses perches on his swollen nose while he sat in his old brown chair and watched his grandkids school plays through the CD’s my parents would send him.
What a lonely life to live as he got older. The death of his wife and the absence of his grandchildren as they became less and less interested in family time and more focused on running outside freely with their friends.
I was so sidetracked I didn’t even know when grandpa died right away. Not until my father sat down on the coffee table in front of the couch where I laid with my mother rubbing his back slowly, a heavy look on his wrinkled face.
“Grandpa passed last night, Harry. He loved you very much.”
I didn’t cry as my father spoke, simply nodding before walking to my room to toy with my baseball cards and gameboy. I didn’t cry thinking about his passing, which confused me because I was twelve. I understood what death meant and how there was no one who had the power to reverse it, but I felt incapable of crying.
I went to school the next morning like my parents hadn’t told me the news, and my history teacher pulled me out into the hall during second period. He looked sad for me, his hands on my shoulders as he told me he would give me all the time I needed, not to try snd jump back into normalcy during such a tough time.
It made me feel embarrassed, which felt weird considering the context. I felt fine, completely indifferent to something I should have been breaking down over. But I guess grief is weird like that, and I wish I had the strength to be weak.
Grandpa had a big funeral, open casket with formal attire. He didn’t look like grandpa with all that makeup on him. I wanted to open his eyelids to see the colors in his eyes one last time. But that’s unacceptable to do, so I simply kneeled by the casket and prayed for him.
A big black limo took us from the boiling hot church to the graveyard where uniformed men loaded their guns and fired at the sky in honor of my grandpa. The smoke smelled like the low tide at the beach, and some people I’d never seen before sobbed a few rows behind me.
A lot of people showed up for grandpa, veterans from around the country and school friends from when he still had all his youth. Looking around at the crowd, I hoped I too would be able to make such a big impact on so many people. I selfishly prayed under my breath that one day I’d too have a large funeral. That people would care enough to come and cry for me because I would matter that much.
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“When did you find out?” Harry asked softly, his large hand capturing mine in a paw-like grip over my knuckles.
I swallowed, wondering when I suspected it in comparison to when I finally got the guts to ask someone for help.
“I’ve known for a while, probably since I was nine. It runs in the family, you know? All these health issues that eat away at our brains?” I laughed, but neither of us found it funny, not when I ran my fingers through my hair to calm down and chunks cane out between my knuckles.
“I just thought I’d be gifted more time, thought biology would be kinder to my bones.”
Harry looks at me with a broken stare, one that hits me in the heart. We both tear up, but neither of us cry. We are our parents, we are the spitting image of them sitting us down to break the news. But at least they went peacefully, right? I know no peace, but still I don’t cry for myself, I feel too pathetic to even try.
“Did I do something wrong?” I ask, looking bitterly at the youthful green eyes in front of me, how his curly hair seems even more vibrant than nearly a decade ago. He ages backwards and I am already one foot out of the door.
Harry shakes his head.
“You did everything right.” He tells me, fingers pulling the hair from my hands to hide it behind his back.
“Then why do I feel like I have?”
“Nobody wants to die in the end, Y/n/n. It’s a game of chance, each day we live we gamble on how long we have left. Some people search for that end and others stumble on it accidentally, it’s just the chances.”
When he puts it like that, it makes me feel even worse, knowing how quickly I’ll be gone. How I’ve failed my future children I’ll never get to have, my husband who would have loved me I’m sure, and my poor old dog who waits by the food bowl only to find it empty each day I’m gone.
“I don’t like these chances.” I laugh with tears in my eyes, hands holding onto his as our forehead touch, my best friend holding me like no one ever has, not even Megan, who had long grownup into a woman I barely knew, a friend who drifted from me when we were thirteen and cried to her mother about how she missed me when she was sixteen.
Megan held me when my grandma died that day when I was nine, and I was confused as to why she was so sad, but with Harry holding me now, I understand it all better.
“I’m only twenty nine, Harry. At least my grandmothers dementia took away the intense pain of remembering what she was leaving behind.”
“And she lived not knowing who her daughter was for the rest of her life. She must have been so alone.”
I look down at my lap, my palms still pressed against his.
“I’d never forget you, even if my memory starts to go. I’ll never forget you because you’re too important to forget.” Harry smiles when I say that, pulling his hands away from mine to tap his chest quietly.
“And I’d never forget you, even when I’m old and crazy. I’ll keep photos of us on my walls and talk to them when I get bored.” He promised me, the dull light from the sun making the once lavish room feel less like a clean living room and more like a cold hospital.
As the months pass, my hair has been traded for one of Harry’s favorite hats. My shirts switched out for backless gowns with blue dots on the paper like material. My arms are not decorated with the same ink as Harry, but wires and tubes that come from the table beside my hospital bed.
I am twenty nine, but I must look about sixty now with how tired I am from simply trying to steal back the life that was ripped from me unfairly.
And as I fight to keep up with the beeping of the monitors hooked up beside me, I feel my throat rejecting my saliva and my sick coughs stuck behind my teeth.
I heat the same cracking sounds that my grandmother made when I was nine, and I feel relaxed knowing now that it doesn’t hurt to breathe this way, not right now anyway.
And in the silence I can hear an echo of my mother’s words from outside my door, her feminine voice exchanged for the deep one I’d grown rather fond of.
“Has anyone ever survived beyond the death rattle breathing?”
Harry asks in a hushed tone, the nurse different but her answer just the same.
“We usually recommend getting everything in place by the end of the day. Gather her papers and say your goodbyes. We can’t guarantee anything with how much longer she’ll hold out for.”
It’s happening again, the spirit leaving my bones to join everyone I’ve ever loved before, my father and my grandma. My mother and my old cousins. I only wished I didn’t have to leave Harry behind, I wished I could dance with him in our college dorms just one more time like we used to, and set fire to the box mac and cheese just one last time.
I remember everything about Harry, the nurse warning that my image of him might waver as my blood begins to slow under the skin. She tells him not to worry when my skin gets cold, it’s natural for people to cool down as their heart gives out.
Harry comes in and holds my hand, pretending the sound of my breathing doesn’t bother him and the sound of me choking on my own saliva is normal and the staggering of my breathing between heavy wheezes isn’t concerning while he swears to every single higher power he can think of that I’ll be okay.
And I believe him.
Because while he holds my hand in death, he’s fulfilled the one wish I prayed so hard for a a kid. The one selfish wish I made for myself in a time of need.
When I was nine, standing between my mothers legs with my nails between my teeth I prayed selfishly under my breath that I would have someone’s hand to hold when I went, that my rotting body would mean more than any shower ever could.
And here Harry was nearly two decades later, holding my hand and promising serenity in the afterlife.
What he doesn’t know is that I am one of the lucky ones. Even after my heart has stopped, I am given one last gift as an apology for such a short life. I am given an extra second of my brain living on, the soft cries of “I love you’s” from Harry the last thing I hear as my dying gasp is cut short from my death rattle breathing.
I have a small service, Harry and some college friends standing in line shaking the hands of the few guests who walk by to look at my body. My nephews and nieces play hide and seek with each other until the ceremony was over, mints stuffed deep in their pockets as they filed out of the funeral home like nothing had happened.
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Being famous is weird, especially after a loved one has passed.
We send out prayers to the families of those affected, the media says, but how has the death of this person affected Harry? How has Y/n’s slipping away crushed him beyond belief? Will he dedicate his next album to her?
They don’t care about Y/n, they only care about how she makes a good headline for their companies, and it makes me sick to think about. How they profit off of my grief while I try to stop memorizing the sound of her broken sigh as she went.
I wonder if I was enough for her during her final days. If my touch was enough to cure her for just a brief second.
It’s no wonder I turned to move-on pills. Ones that lift me up and break me down further until I am face up on the bathroom floor we once shared, my eyes wide as I choke on my breathing and count how many times the lights multiply as I look up to the sky.
It’s not a shock that the headlines are out by the end of the day, the sirens enough to alert all of Hollywood of my dying dreams and my perfect execution.
My family stands in a line while they put my casket into the hearse, makeup on my face like they put on my grandpa, I can barely recognize myself as I watch the funeral service from another space.
And as they bury me under the ground, the media announces their grief and well wishes to all that attended and the millions watching from their televisions.
As a kid, I hoped I too would be able to make such a big impact on so many people. I selfishly prayed under my breath that one day I’d too have a large funeral. That people would care enough to come and cry for me because I would matter that much.
But now that it’s happening, I only care for one thing, I only asked for one thing in the letter I left behind. Lay me beside my best friend, so I can keep holding her hand through death, and we can laugh in the afterlife like we did when we were healthy, happy, and together.
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firstfirerebel · 3 months ago
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𝓗𝓸𝓶𝓮
Sumary: Prt. 2 of 'Traitor', when Kenny died his last wish was for you to join the Survey Squad, to join the guy who betrayed you...
Pairing: Levi x fem! Reader
Warnings: many traumas, death, mention of abuse/betrayal, hurt/comfort, mentioned self hate, outcasting/bullying, fluff at the end
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"He won't let me help him...", was all you said when Levi joined you at standing before Kennys dying body. You still hated that guy and never wanted to talk to him again, but you wouldn't let him think that you'd just let someone die without trying to help. That wasn't you.
You wanted to inject him the serum, but he refused and just looked at it, while you were out of ideas. You couldn't just force it into him...
"(Y/n)?" Kenny tried to speak while coughing up more and more blood. You looked at the man who, at some point, raised you.
"Join the Survey Squad. I don't want you to be alone when I...",
The anger inside you was not describable. You told Kenny about your feelings when Levi left you. When Levi left you in the underground to rot! Now he asks you to join him?! As his 'last wish'?!
Automatically, you zoomed out and didn't even hear what he and Levi were talking about now. Kenny knew you felt gulity when he took you back in. He who left you as a child with Levi took you back in after you were left by your so-called friend. Levi was the one who broke the promises HE made. HE was the reason you were hurt in the first place, and now you shall join him?!
Your gulit for Kenny was bigger than your hate. He was the one who picked up the pieces Levi broke, he was there when you had problems, he was the one who gave you a will to live again, so you made a decision.
"I'm not meant to be someone's father. I regret many of my decisions, but (Y/n), you aren't one of the....."were Kennys' last words. You took the box with the injection, closed the dead mans eyes, and threw the box at the black haired shorty.
"I'm doing this because of Kenny. Not because of you. I have nothing left anyway,"
You felt him stare at you from behind. As if he wanted to say something, but that must have been your imagination...
"Fine, then let's go...",
☬ ☬ ☬
Your life didn't change much, to be honest. Most of the time, you were training alone, so you didn't even notice that you were at the Survey Squad now. The other soldiers ignored you, and you couldn't care less. If they hated you, you at least had one thing in common....
But you weren't dumb. You noticed how they looked at you with those judging eyes, the way they stopped talking when you walked past them or entered a room. You weren't welcome here, and you felt it very clearly, most likely cause you fought against them a few weeks prior.
If they only knew what their so prescious commander Levi did to you. You had to fight the urge to yell it at their face when they started to whisper to each other when you passed them, as if you didn't hear them...
The only comfort you had was your horse and your diary. But the horses were property of the government, so you didn't want to bond with it too much, just in case it would be taken away from you. But your thoughts and your diary couldn't be taken from you. You hid it under your clothes and wrote into it every night as soon as the other soldiers were asleep.
The only comfort you had in this place.
You did your chores and trained, not causing any problems, that's what you thought at least. Some of your 'colleuges' thought you were arrogant, that you thought you were better than them or whatever their brain thought.
Their at first distant behavior turned into mean comments here and there. Some mean 'pranks' which they insisted were just for fun.
Pulling on your hair, tickle you even though you yelled that you hated it, making jokes about how the horses were your only friends, calling you mean nicknames and other stuff.
Nicknames reminded you of him, back in time, where it was you two against the world. Even though he liked your name, he shortened it just to see your smile or huff at it. And you were the queen of nicknames. Everyone you knew already had three, even if you only knew their full name.
You really should be used to it by now. Your life has always been like this! So why do you still think about him?! Why is your chest always so heavy while remembering?! And why do their comments still hurt?
The man that was the closest thing to a father figure died, shouldn't you be sad about that! Shouldn't you just forget about Levi like he told you months ago?!
Before your attack on the Survey Squad, Kenny talked with you about the whole situation...
"I don't think this is ok. Look, I get what you're feeling, but throwing a damn necklace at him won't erase your pain, dear, "
The fact that you could still hear him saying that...
"I know, Kenny! I just want to do it, to show him I managed to survive without him! I didn't need him to get to this point! The necklaces always showed our connection, so I don't and never need it, and I want him to know that!",
"I- Y'know what? Fuck it! Let's forget this nonsense! Let's forget about Levi and everything around him! We don't need him, right? So why don't we proof this to ourselves? We could start a new life somewhere safe. Just me and you. Levi doesn't deserve having such a power over us!" The whole time he looked at you. You could swear, you saw his cheeks blush.
He was right...
But this was what you've been fighting for the past years, and by his tone, you could hear he meant it seriously. He wanted a new life. Not because of him but because of you...
This wasn't because he was selfish, Kenny wanted you to have a better life, so you could let go of all the pain.
"Guys! It's time!"
As you wanted to go to your troup, he held you back.
"W-we need to go, Kenny", you walked away and didn't look back.
What if you would have said yes? He'd most likely be still here...
Kenny didn't have to die!
Couldn't you just do one damn thing right?!
You really messed everything up. Your chance of a better life, your mission, just everything. Everyone here didn't want you around...
And he definitely didn't care...
If he ever did. Most likely, you were like a stuffed animal to him, good for comfort and letting all the bad things out, but as soon as he was bored/grew up, you were thrown out. Nothing.
It was dark outside, and beside you were the other cadets fast asleep. Some snored like freaking thunder, so sleeping was impossible either way.
As silent as possible, you walked out of the dorm and towards the stables. Actually, it was forbidden to be around the stables at night unless it was required for a mission since the horses needed their sleep. But you couldn't care less.
The heavy feeling in your chest was unbearable! Like your heart was crashed under a titan. Luckily, the moon gave enough light, so you didn't have to switch on the lights and risk getting caught.
Your horse was eating some of their hay, but as you entered, their whole attention was on you.
Suddenly, you felt a cold liquid running down your cheeks. As if ice was on your face. But you knew it were tears. Usually, you never cried. It didn't seem to be in you, but now? Now you felt like a kid again. Helpless without protection.
When your horse noticed their ears turned towards you, which meant you had their full attention. They stepped closer to you, and with their soft nostrils, they tried to wipe away your tears, which made you giggle at their cute action.
"You're not supposed to be around here. Tomorrow is a mission. You and the horses need rest. " That damn voice. The question why he was around was unimportant, you knew that he never really needed sleep.
"As if you care..."
You heard and felt him leaning onto the door behind/next to you. His eyes were only on you, as if he was watching prey to hunt.
"What makes you think that I don't?" He sounded interested...?
You had to laugh ,,Was I the one who left you behind?! Did I just abandon the person I grew up with?! Levi, you left! You didn't even say goodbye, nor took me with you! You just acted and made me feel like nothing! So don't you dare say that you care about me when you left me without second thoughts!"
You heard him enter the box to your horse. He knelt in front of you and softly (?!) took your hands into his.
"(Y/n) look at me,"
As you did, you saw his eyes now soft and caring... you expected him to yell at you!
"I didn't do all of that. The Survey Squad let you get away on purpose. I was forced to join them and didn't want you to get imprisoned into this life like I was. And when I was allowed outside alone, you were nowhere in the undergrounds!"
"But you knew me! I would have chosen death with you guys over being left alone! Why did you do it"
"Because I love you! And NOT in a relative or platonic way! I have since my mother died, and you chose to leave everything behind to be with me! I wanted to tell you when the mission would be over, but it nev-"
He couldn't finish his sentence cause you pulled him into a kiss by his shirt. Hearing him confess made you realize why you couldn't go with Kenny all those months ago. You were in love with Levi, and the hate you believed to feel was the heartbreak you tried to ignore...
That's why you felt weird when Isabel called Levi her brother. You were scared of getting replaced.
You two broke the kiss when your horse started to try to push Levi away from you.
"Hey! Get yourself a girlfriend and stop stealing mine", Levi laughed as he playfully pushed the horses head away. They gave him a glare but started to eat some hay again.
You giggled and closed your eyes while snuggling into Levis chest, finally feeling home again.
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ghostofskywalker · 1 year ago
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Where You're Meant to Be - 1
Will Turner/Fem!Reader
Words: 1,928
Summary: After being taken prisoner aboard the Flying Dutchman, you resent the men who have accepted your soul as repayment of another's debt, especially the Captain. It doesn't matter one bit that he's the most attractive man you've ever seen, not at all.
Flower and Meaning: frangipani || the strength to withstand tough challenges
Chapters: one || two || three || four
Note: my august work for the @yearofcreation2023 :) pirates of the caribbean have completely taken over my brain at present so this was so much fun to write!!
Year of Flowers Masterlist • Will Turner Masterlist
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The ship was an ugly thing, if you did say so yourself. Now of course anyone would be critical of a ship they were currently being tied to the central mast of, but this one was especially unappealing. The sails looked to be made of woven seaweed, rotting as it hung limply from barnacle-encrusted masts, and the dreariness of the boat was only surpassed by the terrifying nature of its crew. There was an emptiness to the men’s eyes that you couldn’t describe, and although your captors were no longer part of the sea by their appearance, you could feel the strength of their rage with every rock of the boat. 
You had heard the stories, you knew what this vessel did and who its previous master was, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hold too much sympathy for the men who were tying you to the mast of their ship. They may also be trapped here, but at least they were able to move freely around the deck, while you were essentially nothing but a decoration against the wood.
You also held a special contempt for the crew because they were the reason you were here. While your life was nothing special and you worked in a nearby saloon serving beer and rum to all the questionable men the traversed through the doors, you enjoyed the fact that you resided on dry land. Now, your latest whirlwind romance had been nothing but a trick, and you were traded away to settle a debt with the devil that kept this ship moving. You hadn’t even met the current captain, and you had quite the barrage of insults planned for when you did. What kind of lowly piece of scum accepts another’s soul in place of the one that made the deal in the first place?
You could feel the ropes around your wrists tighten as you heard the sound of heavy footsteps echo across the floor, and the mysterious captain of the Flying Dutchman was revealed. Unfortunately for you, words of battle had already left your mouth before you got a chance to see how attractive he was. “I demand you free me this instant, you arrogant swine!” 
And by heavens was he attractive. With long hair that was kept out of his face by a gray piece of fabric, a single gold earring that shimmered in the moonlight and the bone structure that could only be described as beautiful, you suddenly weren’t feeling as combative as you were before. How dare he not be the grizzled, old, and decaying figure you were imagining from the moment you set foot on this boat? How dare the man who makes all the decisions around here, the one who had very clearly ruined your life, be so attractive? This just simply wasn’t fair. 
The captain let out a short laugh, and your eyes searched his face, taking in the way his hair fell across his shoulders and trying not to let that change your opinion of him. “And why the hell would I do that?” 
“Because you took an deceitful deal, and I was caught in the crossfires,” you responded sharply, refusing to let him intimidate you. “If there was any heart left in your chest, you would be searching for the man who tricked you into wiping his debt clean, not lashing me to this post and moving on with your life!” 
Another laugh, and this time the crew members on board joined in. “You see dearie, Will Turner ain’t got no heart,” one of the men said as he stepped up closer to you, and the pungent smell of his breath was enough to make you gag. “Not anymore at least.”
The captain, whose name you now knew, spoke before you had a chance to respond to the crewman’s strange comment. “It doesn’t matter,” he said sharply. “The deal’s been done, and that’s it.”
The conversation was done after that, it was clear that this man did not have any patience for you, and he moved along the ship. You however, did not take the affront lying down, and you continued to spit insults at every passing sailor, including the (unfairly) handsome captain. They all ignored you, and you were starting to wonder how on earth you were going to get out of this, because you had no intention of spending the rest of your life in what could only be described as hell. 
After a while, your anger morphed into a refusal to speak to anyone. When the captain offered you food, you took the bare minimum, the entire time wondering where exactly you stood in the cycle of life. If the stories were to be believed, all of these men were dead, condemned to crew the decaying corpse of the Flying Dutchman as she sailed the seas for eternity, but you weren’t dead (well, as far as you were aware). And yet you seemed to be protected, and when the boat fell beneath the waves, you could breathe. You refused to believe that it could be anything else but the heart of the ship itself, because there was no love lost between you and the Captain. 
Will Turner may be devastatingly handsome, but the two of you traded insults every time you spoke. You didn’t expect him to try to be your friend, but you would prefer it if you were allowed to walk free on the ship for more than just a few moments each day. The ship was nowhere near land, where were you going to go? Even if you did manage to make an escape without anyone realizing, you would only be dooming yourself, and then you would end up tethered here for real, the very thing you wanted to avoid at all costs. 
***
It felt like weeks had passed since you were first brought aboard, but the reality of the situation was that it had barely been three days. The sharp claws of final judgment had not yet sunk into your flesh, even though you felt like you should be dead by now. Each day you watched as the creaking ship supervised the movement of departed souls between the realms of the living and the dead, looking empty and lost as they boarded small boats of their own and joined the procession alongside those who died on land. 
At night, the ship traveled the seas, and sometimes you were able to make yourself believe that this voyage was normal, and that you weren’t trapped here, serving as collateral on a ship of the damned in the place of a man who did nothing but lie to you from the moment he first said hello. The stars that twinkled above you were a reminder of the good and beauty in the world, and even though you knew little of the constellations an d their meanings, you picked out shapes yourself, assigning them whatever significances happened to catch your mind at the time. 
It was during one of your heavenly searches that you were surprised to hear footsteps coming towards you. It seemed that the Dutchman never needed a crew member to keep watch at night, because in all the time you spent here, you had never seen another vessel (even the vessel that had brought you here was a crewman’s lifeboat). There must have been someone at the wheel, but you were facing away from that area of the ship, and had no way to know whether or not anyone was there. 
Annoyed that someone was interrupting your time alone, you looked down from the skies and glared right at the Captain. “What are you doing here?” you asked, a biting tone to your voice that he must have known all too well by now. 
But instead of the usual retort, Will Turner smiled. “I couldn’t sleep. What about you?” 
“Very funny,” you deadpanned, nodding down to your tied wrists. “I think you already know the answer.” 
“I could untie you,” he said, seemingly out of nowhere. 
You almost burst out laughing. “Wow, I didn’t know you had a sense of humor, I almost believe you.” 
“Do you really think so little of me?” Now his voice had a tinge of sadness to it, and you genuinely wondered if something was wrong, because this did not seem like the same man who had traded insults with you every time he passed, that had allowed for another man’s debt to be paid with your soul. 
“Do you really expect anything more?” you asked. “Or have you forgotten the entire reason I am here?”
There was a stretch of silence before he responded. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “But I would like to make it clear that it wasn’t I who chose to accept the deal, but a member of the crew in my place.” 
“But surely you could have sent me back.” 
The ropes holding you to the mast of the ship fell away as he untied them, and then he responded. “That’s what I had every intention of doing,” he said. “Until you yelled at me the first time we met.” 
“So?” 
“Clearly you’re not a pirate, because then you would know that no self-respecting captain would allow his reputation to be called into question the way you did to me.” 
“You’re right, I am not a pirate,” you huffed, sitting down on top of a crate. “And I would like to return to land, Captain.”
“Very well,” he said. “But please, call me Will.” 
Deep down, you expected more of a fight, and it seemed almost too good to be true. “Why the change of heart?” 
“What do you mean?” 
“I’ve been stuck on this ship for days, we’ve been nothing but rude to each other, and all the sudden you’re untying me and telling me I can leave? It seems odd, that’s all.”
He sat down on a crate across from you, and you were able to look at him again. “I know what it’s like to be trapped on this ship, and I never intended for that to be your fate. No debt has been paid, and eventually I will claim the soul of the man who thought he could cheat death by sending another in his place.” 
There was a genuine emotion to his voice, and you actually believed in what he was saying. “Thank you,” you said, a smile crossing your face.
The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes before Will got up. “Why don’t you go get some sleep? I have a room separate from the others.” You stared at him with a confused look on your face, and he laughed. “I feel bad enough for trapping you here, the least I can do is offer you a bed to rest in. I don’t use it all too much anyway.”
He didn’t take no for an answer, and soon you were stepping into a small room below the deck of the ship. You could hear the cacophony of snores that signaled where the rest of the crew slept, but this room was completely empty, except for a decent sized cot, a small desk, and a couple bottles of rum in the corner. Compared to rough wood the ship was made of, the slightly scratchy bedding felt as if you were falling asleep on a cloud, and soon you had drifted off to dreamland, wondering whether or not this was all a dream. 
If it was, you didn’t really want to wake up.
- end of part one -
Series Taglist: N/A
if you want to know when i post a new fic, follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library!
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kentokrazy · 1 year ago
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a/n: 🙈 this is terrible but my mind is rotting
ex-sorcerer!nanami kento x gn!reader
warnings: death, grief, could be considered toxic but not in my opinion
nanami kento's red flag
* i saw a tiktok edit so now i'm thinking about this
* but dating nanami kento, he's the perfect man
* brings you flowers
* walks closest to the street
* listens to you, like actually listens when you say things
* he always keeps a level head, during arguments, during stressful moments and even when he's upset
* when he dated in you he invested in you
* that means there are no big life changes made without talking about it
* his finances are even stricter than before, he's going to save every penny he can
* his eyes are on the housing market every other day, checking houses in malaysia and nicer neighborhoods
* if you so mention the idea of kids, he's got schools bookmarked, scribbles of life long plans
* he remembers anniversaries, holidays, birthdays
* but there's one thing
* one, small, tiny thing
* the littlest of red flags
* and if you didn't know him, it could've sent you running
* because nanami trusts you completely, he loves you deeply and wouldn't make this much of a change in his life if he didn't
* but if he could lock you away from all harm he would
* you can feel it when he holds your hand, when he doesn't stray from your side for more than a minute in public
* when he requested you share your location
* if you don't answer your phone when he calls, his heart seizes and his palms get sweaty
* when he doesn't get a single text from you, he can feel the rippling of an anxiety attack
* sometimes, if you sleep too stiffly, his fingers on your neck can stir you.
* he doesn't mean to be overbearing, not really, but can you blame him?
* at the ripe age of 17, he carried his best friends dead body back to his school
* and sometimes the nightmares reminding him of the fact aren't always haibara, sometimes they're of you
* those are the days he seems to be incredibly nervous, driving you to work with a hand on your thigh, picking you up, walking so close he might as well be a backpack when you go to the grocery store
* he doesn't trust others to get close on those days
* he was banned from the convenience store down the block
* nanami's left the sorcerer world for good this time, he has a good reason to do so
* but sometimes he can't help it if he notices a curse getting too close to you (or anyone he deems worth saving)
* sometimes he finds it hard to breathe, thoughts of what could happen to you when he's not around drown him, in those times all he can do is close his eyes, try to remember that those days are behind him
* and when that doesn't work, he calls you, leaves work early, finds you and just needs to feel you
* there are few days he cracks under the pressure, and those come months after shoving those feelings away but you can always see it coming
* he forgets things when those days come, not important things- no, but little things like drinking, eating, sleeping
* he lays down next to you, sure, his hand is somewhere on you but he just stares at the wall, the back of your head or the window
* his bags are deep, his hands are shaky and he becomes the husk you first met, where the only thing on his mind was money and forgetting
* but when he breaks it's bloody and red skin, his nails are bitten and fingers with hangnails
* his hair is tussled and his clothes are disorderly, tie discarded and sweat soaking the fabric of his shirt
* his eyes are watery and your phone is filled with missed calls and panicked messages
* a cool cloth and silent holding is the beginnings of piecing him together, brushing his hair out of his face and whispered assurances bring him back from the fog in his brain
* nanami is well spoken, polite and god forbid he use the wrong honorifics around you, but here he's choking, spitting up and crying, his hands are clutching you like he's not sure you're really there
* that's he's not sure he's real
* propping him up in the bathroom, washing his red skin and sitting with him ground him
* trying to remind him of his change, his growth and his safety
* nanami is a foodie, he prides himself on cooking the best food and buying the freshest vegetables he can find
* but his dirty secret is that on days when he can't stomach anything, can't do much but cry and worry and sometimes call an old student that reminds him of a friend to make sure they're okay, he likes one thing
* a cup of noodles that a friend used to buy is the one of the only things that he can digest, as much as he wishes it wasn't true
* there's a shelf full of them, tucked away from the rest of the world, and each time one gets used another takes it's place
* noodles with the side of a particular soda and a childhood candy stitches together the bleeding part of his heart
* and when that meal is over and his mental fight has exhausted him, nanami sleeps like a rock, for hours (once he slept for two days) he keeps his arms wound around you so tightly
* because his red flag is in the shape of his bleeding heart
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thatmahblog · 2 months ago
Text
The 3rd gender was legalized 2 years ago where I live and the government has been trying to avoid the decision of the court and postpone its application ever since. They made a commity to think about what the right thing to do is and it includes 0 trans or non-binary person. We got "sex" change certificates and new birth certificates, but what they refused this whole time was to update any IDs, rendering that "X" completely useless.
Anyways, the news came out and the law that passed 1131 days ago will finally be (fully) applied on October 10 (we get to have IDs that correspond to our legal identities!) People, like me, have been without a valid ID or valid (obligatory)(government) health insurance, this whole time, because they refused to give us IDs.
Huzzah!
I'm still angry.
First of all, that atrocious commity has not been called off, somehow. But let me paint you a picture, if you will listen to my story. I am so angry and wounded and nobody around me seems to give a shit.
The year is 2022, I am rejoiced that the X has been legalized and painstakingly fillout forms, back and forth, by (physical) mail. I have already burnt out and screamed in agony before from the absolute bullshit™ that changing my name was. I am sick and tired of seeing my chosen name next to an "F" and being called "mam'" everywhere I go, regardless of if they've seen my face or heard my voice yet.
After a long wait I get my papers and go to the health center to fill the paperwork to get my new ID. It's recent, their paperworks are not up to date, no surprise there, my standards are below the ground. I get lucky and this extremely nice employee does everything he can to figure this out for me. He writes out X on the form and we attach a copy of my certificate. Now I wait again.
My new card arrives in the mail! I can feel it through the envelop, I am buzzing with glee.
There's an "F" on the card.
I collapse on the floor of my appartment, scream and cry and call off work because I am having a mental breakdown.
Small independent online news cover the story of non-binary folks being deprived of an ID. Months of silence. Major news network finally publish something (nobody talks about it). The gorvernment says they'll put up a commity to make a wise decision about what is best to do with IDs (even if the law has already passed). Months and months and months pass.
The year is 2024, I have made a lot of advocacy and shared my strife about this whole shitshow two years ago. People who are close to me know, because I fucking care about my human rights being respected, being treated like a human being with dignity and the law being respected where it fucking should. I share the news that this great injustice who has caused undue pain to thousands is finally to be rectified.
Nobody.
Nobody fucking says anything or react to my post in any way at all.
And I remember all the way back when I got my name on my ID and I happily boasted it to others as a great news and as I was met with indifference, felt a pang in my chest.
Nobody cares.
It matters so much, it is life changing, I have done everything I could to properly express and explain this. There is so much pain and injustice and where there should finally be joy and celebration I am met with a void.
It's grim, but with the growing transphobia internationally, I fret and wonder : how much of this silence, of this show of indifference, is hatred, disgust, or rejection? Does my life mean so little to you? Do you not see trans rights as human rights? Do you not see trans people as human?
I don't know, I'm just really tired. I fought so hard for this, and it hurt a lot. I got treated like shit and saw my rights denied. I dealt with dysphoria and gritted my teeth, trying to forget about that damn X, 'lest it rot my brain with anger and grief. And finally, though I don't want to believe it till I see it, it truly seems like what I wanted and waited for this whole time is finally within reach...
I'm angry. I'm sad.
I'm hurt
I wish I wasn't.
I shouldn't have to be.
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rulerzreachf4n7 · 1 month ago
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Hi there! I would like to take a moment to point out a few flaws in your post. ^-^
1. No one is "normalizing" adult and minor relationships. The point of darkfiction is to explore problematic tropes safely without actually normalizing or hurting anyone!
2. You seem to misunderstand what "fiction" means. No one is implying minors should date adults in real life. Claiming that is false.
3. Trauma obviously doesn't excuse bad actions, everyone knows that! But there's nothing inherently bad about safely exploring niche kinks and themes isn't actually hurting anyone !
4. Implying people don't shower or are chronically online when you are yk, an avid social media user is a big hypocritical.
5. The girls in the slenderman stabbing with both later diagnosed with disorders on the schizo spectrum.. Yk the disorders that make it difficult to distinguish between fiction and reality. They were also young teens who should not have had access to that kind of media to begin with.
6. Going along with my last point, proshippers (at least those who aren't children) don't want minors in a space primarily made for NSFW and scary topics. We are not advocating for that. + most proshippers do generally say something along the lines of "view with discretion" because we're aware that yk.. this media could negatively effect people!
7. Just in general because I stopped properly reading the slop you posted. Pixels don't have feelings, real people do. So yk telling people to die is kinda mean LOL. You can't care to claim about the integrity of people and their feelings if you act like an entire group of ppl is subhuman
I'm giving you the benefit of a doubt that you're a kid. If so, do yourself a favor and get off the internet because its rotting your brain. And if you are an adult, you really need to act your age LOL. Very immature behavior.
Are you like...defending proshippers? First of all fucking disgusting as shit so who cares I'll share my opinions as well
Number one
Proshippers are normalizing adult x child relationships dumbass, they do it through fictional characters so they have the excuse to say "b-but the characters aren't real 😭🥺" as if that changes anything fucking dumb bitch, and as for darkship most proshippers aren't dark shippers as far as I've seen but that still doesn't mean that MAJORITY normalize abusive relationships, adult x child, and incest with siblings or parents
Number two
Like I said previously, proshippers do it through fiction so they can use the excuse that because fictional characters aren't real meanings it can't harm anyone which IS EXTREMELY JUST FALSE AND UNTRUE, I guess an example I can't use is porn comics using cartoons, sure they're using characters who are fictional characters and are ocs and sure they're not real but THAT DOESN'T GET RID OF THE FACT that they're SEXUALIZING characters which for most of the time from whatever cartoon they're getting it from ARE FUCKING MINORS, THAT IS LITERALLY CHILD FUCKING PORN and are making the adult and minor character for majority of the time NOT SFW THINGS
And if someone views it they have the idea from them and other dumbass proshippers that adults and kids ARE OKAY TO BE IN A RELATIONSHIP EVEN THOUGH IT'S NOT THAT'S LITERALLY PEDOPHILIA
Number three
Exploring kinks at a young age IS FUCKING TRAUMATIZING FOR A MINOR, watching INAPPROPRIATE AND NSFW THINGS AT A YOUNG AGE LIKE PORN OR THINGS THAT INVOLVE KINKS IS SURE TO LEAD UP TO HYPERSEXUALITY, hypersexuality is when someone extensively has watched NSFW things and has had a LONG AND LASTING impact on their mind and has traumatized them so now they've basically turned to sexualizing themselves and becoming next time a porn addict, under NO FUCKING CIRCUMSTANCES should a MINOR EVER be exploring kinks EVEN IF ITS SAFE
Number four
Ima keep this one short and sweet since in assuming your a ugly ass proshippers, but the stereotype that "they don't shower" is based off proshipper beliefs and they're disgusting devotion to make everyone believe shipping minors and adults and literally every single bad and illegal thing is A OKAY, and people used the "proshippers don't shower" to symbolize that someone so focused on spreading borderline illegal and toxic beliefs dont take care of themselves
Also someone bekng avidly online doesn't mean they're stinky there's a difference between someone posting a lot and someone who posts to the point of neglecting their body's need to showering and brushing teeth ect
Number five
I'm not really sure how to go about this given I don't know very IN DEPTH about the case but just because someone has a mental illness doesn't excuse that those two girls literally killed someone...them having a mental illness doesn't change my view on how I perceive them, sure it gives me some what of a clearer understanding but at the end I don't really think we should just forgive in excuse of saying "b-but they have schizophrenia 🥺🥺🥺", and at the time when creepypasta was very popular kids their age, 12-13 presumably were very into it so yeah it wouldn't be weird that they liked things like slenderman or Jeff the killer
Number six
Out of everything that didn't happen that hasn't happened the most, although never being a proshipper I've been in some proshipping places unintentionally while scrolling the internet, proshippers don't give a fuck if you're triggered AT ALL, no warnings, no triggers, if you wanna be a proshipper then do it in fucking private and have some fucking self awareness, I do understand that most proshippers are around 12+ but at that age I've literally never been more self conscious and self aware than I am now? What's they're excuse? Just because they're "kids 🥺🥺" and they "dont know better 🥺🥺" isnt very valid in my eyes, they go on to spread they're problematic beliefs and get confused when they start receiving death threats and harassment as if they don't know the whole internet as they're asses out on banning them all
Number seven
Fiction can have an impact on reality, an example I'm gonna use is representation, I'm Hispanic and as a kid I've barely seen any character that looked like me, one of my favorite shows, the owl house, has a female lead that's Hispanic, her being that has an impact on reality meaning that, yes, there are cartoon characters that can look like you and are the same race as you, same gods for characters who or black or Asian and are mixed, same goes for character who are bisexual or lesbian/gay, are pansexual or on the asexual spectrum, was it hard to understand you basement dwelling bitch?
Number eight
If you're a proshipper please do it in fucking private, youre rotting your brain by believing these probelmatic and illegal beliefs over potential pedophiles and incest supporters on the internet, and yes I'll be cross tagging this as well cause I like seeing all these brain dead basement dwellers upset cause it's kinda funny but sad cause they have nothing to do with their lives other than spread hate and negativity to younger generations and groom them to be terrible people in the future
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vsagis · 3 months ago
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ya bitch is feeling soft today so hey lets have a shoutout to my beloved rp partners 💚
first and foremost my dear friend bee, @rigelig! we clicked so quickly, and i am so happy that i followed you and messaged you, because i cant imagine what it would be like if you werent my friend. youre such a kind-hearted person, and i can never thank you enough for always being by my side and helping me through the low points and celebrating the highs. and of course our muses! god, how much i love ibuki and izuku, theyve grown so much together, and i cherish their every interaction, and every thread we have with your other muses! wouldnt change it for anything. thank you for being in my life, because it got so much better when you appeared in it.
then of course caitlin, @spungolden. if someone were to ask me, how long do we know each other? i would say, havent we forever? joking around and talking with you never fails to brighten my day, and i am immensely grateful for having met you. i can always count on you if i need advice because of your logical mind, but also because of your big heart. when it comes to izuku and blake, we created so much together, angst and fluff and drama and funny moments, the same with dio, and with blake and shouto. we have our own lil shared universe (and then all of the aus!, and i love it so much!
last but not the least it's time to talk about raine, @huntershowl. we havent known each other for a long time, and while i do get attached to people easily, i know this friendships not going to fizz out. youre stuck with me youre always a pleasure to be around and throw ideas at each other, and the shit(tm) we went through together showed me whos my real friend (thats you). it was hard and painful, but i wouldnt go back and change anything about it, because it all lead to a healthier place. (doesnt mean we cant be a lil mean in our little group of two and have a shittalking session!) then comes our timeline of izuku and seph and boy! you know how much i enjoy these two, i keep talking your ear off about them all the time, but thats my love speaking. theyre rotting my brain, but in a good way.
theres many more people who made my experience on tumblr a happy place, but you guys are just. top notch. chefs kiss. never let anyone make you feel low, because youre all amazing. 💚
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jymwahuwu · 1 year ago
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Don't worry I got plenty of rest, my days and nights are just flipped
I had a sudden brain rot and wanted to share a concept of a reader that's very go with the flow kinda person (loosely based around a rather humorous comic where mc just agrees with his Yan, the name of it escapes me but yeah)
Like we all know Jing Yuan is definitely lucid as a yandere but acts like he isn't, very clever of him.
Can you imagine how funny it would be for him to break into reader's home and is like "you can't lock the door, I made a spare key"
Reader's like "oh, sorry about that. I forgot to make a copy for you, do you want tea?"
Him coyly bringing up the idea of marriage but then reader agrees and the next thing he knows they're getting married (a lovely ceremony and celebration), the whiplash of it throws him off so bad but he hides it well.
Comes home with a baby Yanqing and reader just says that she's was actually going to bring up the topic of kids when he got back from war but this works out fine.
Maybe he wants to give Yanqing siblings, reader just nods before mentioning today would be a good time to try for a baby.
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TW: yandere, non-con
Glad you noticed!! Yan! Jing Yuan is absolutely lucid and pretends he's delusional so he can play the chessboard naturally. Like, you really are his lover. This is definitely more convenient than using violence and threats, and it is gentler, which suits you. Does Jing Yuan know that his behavior is actually harassment? Yes. Does he care about this? No. Does he know the real reason for your crying? Yes. Does he still want to fuck you even though you're sobbing? Yes.
This scenario LMAO This will be a yandere comedy. You're at home drinking tea, but Jing Yuan breaks into your house and says naturally "Hey you can't lock the door. Your boyfriend just couldn't get in.", and shows you how many spare keys there are. You calmly apologize and tell him to sit down and make him some tea.
He's not going to assume the wedding can't be held, and here are only two options for you:
(1) You accept and hold a romantic wedding (means that a lovely ceremony. mimi will appear in your wedding photos, and many people from xianzhou come to congratulate you.)
(2) You don't accept but have a sweet wedding ^^ (means that he will force you to change into wedding uniform and jewelry, and non con you)
And the baby part. It's really good that you agree to everything here, just like people always agree to those privacy terms. General is satisfied with your cooperation. Jing Yuan doesn't have to add some darker parts to your life in this case.
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dranna · 6 months ago
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Be Careful what you Wish for - a Wish rewrite
~ Prologue ~
Chapter 1
summary:
King Magnifico created his kingdom to protect his people because he knows what tragedies one single wish can cause, however when one entitled 17-year-old girl decided that the way he is dealing with the population's wishes is 'unacceptable', he must step in to protect the inhabitants of his kingdom, even if it means he has to use the book, he swore to never touch again...
Who is the villain and who is the hero?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ contents: noting clear yet but there will be graphic descriptions of violence and death later on, Asha is the villain of the story, there is NO goat. I’ll add the warnings at the beginning of every chapter <3
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a/n: I started writing during sleepless nights. I didn't watch the whole movie bc I didn't find it enjoyable from the start, so there will be a lot of things from my imagination. I would say I stopped watching it around the 30 minutes mark ^^’
I've never written anything longer then a one shot, so it will be an interesting journey for me. Thank you for stopping by and reading it:)
- English is not my first language -
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Once upon a time, there was a young and passionate man, serving a rotted and jealous king. The king had everything he wanted: immense wealth where gold grew like grass everywhere he stepped, a huge kingdom where peace bloomed in every corner, loyal men, women, happy children but  the most important of all: Power. 
However he wanted more . 
Since he walked on this earth, he had everything his heart wished for. So now, as he was sitting on his icy gold throne made by busy hands for a spoiled child, he commended the youthful man to create something for him. An object that will turn into something terrible, evil and full of hate, masked with the promise of unlimited knowledge. 
“Magnifico” - he once called the hopeful lad - “ you are the greatest apprentice I could ask for, loyal to my crown and your homeland..” - the king started his poisonous honey speech, whispering harmless sounding lies into his ear.  Besides being young and full of hope, Magnifico was also a naive and trusting soul. He listened to his king’s lies, never doubting the intent behind his tongue.  “ I have a great wish I need you to fulfill. I want you to design a book, which contains all knowledge of sorcery. A book! If someone reads from it, they magically become the most powerful in the world!” 
What wrong can one wish do?  Hung the question above the sorcerer's head, as he excited the throne room. 
Magnifico was so excited to create this book. He imagined true things being done with his creation: helping people? Putting a stop to the gut wrenching illnesses of humanity? Stopping wars , and — oh! Spawn food out of thin air?  In his mind the possibilities were endless.  However, never in his wildest nightmares could he think about the events which were born from his work. 
His loving wife warned him many times, asked, weeped and begged to not do something so terrific yet marvelous for a man like the king, but Magnifico didn’t listen. It was the first of his lists of mistakes, which will burden him until the rest of his life.
  He worked all day and all night, warm ideas filling his brain and heart, not letting him sleep during nights. A productive fire ate through his muscles and bones, illuminating the twinkling of his azure- blue eyes. 
After months of hard work, he presented the book to the king. 
Upon opening the elegant cover, cosy, silver light-strokes were omitted from the beautifully crafted pages. They gently covered the book opener, always willing to be changed, used and shared. 
To Magnifico’s horror, as months went by, his pure creation started to transform into something vile, painful and barbaric under the hands of his once beloved king. The silver light slowly darkened and lost its welcoming glow, just to make place to dark green, seaweed and tentacle-like forms. They snaked around the sorcerer who opened the earthly cell, bounding and chaining him in both physique and soul, never letting him go. 
The book consumed the king more and more, and with him wasted away his kingdom and its inhabitants. 
Magnifico couldn’t bear to see his creation causing more devastation, he stole the book from the half-dead king leaving him and his wealth to rot. 
With the knowledge he learned about magic and wishes, he created a kingdom with his wife on his side. Promising himself, that he never let any wish to destroy the happiness of his people.  And the book? He locked it deep in his castle, displaying it in his study room as a trophy of shame and deep regret, laughing and creeping its freezing fingers in blood, which he will never be able to wash clean. 
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