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cumironi · 3 days ago

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BLACK AND BRUISE : RYOMEN SUKUNA

“feels like we had matching wounds, but mine’s still black and bruised and yours is perfectly fine.” you broke up with your boyfriend for four years and the day after you broke up you saw him already with another girl. you can’t stand the heartbreak so you choose to erase yourself from his life like you were never there, like you don’t exist, until a few years later.

warning. non-sorcerer au, angst no comfort, pregnant reader, yuuji is in his late 20

p.s i may or may not make this another part but from sumuna’s pov. ( previous part )

the gentle warmth of the sun poured into the room, its golden beams slipping past the half-drawn curtains and casting delicate patterns across the walls. the light crept over your face, its persistent glow teasing your lashes until they fluttered open. you groaned softly, shifting under the weight of sleep, when a firm nudge at your shoulder startled you awake. it wasn’t gentle, not in the least—it was rough, urgent, almost impatient.

“wake up.”

the words sliced through the haze of your slumber, low and commanding, like a distant thunderstorm rolling in. your eyes fluttered again, squinting against the blinding glow of the morning. a tall, shadowy figure loomed above you, its broad frame blotting out the sunlight. it was as if the room suddenly darkened, save for the faint illumination outlining his figure.

blinking rapidly, you tried to focus, your vision sharpening just enough to catch a glimpse of him. there he stood, Sukuna—towering, imposing, his body a canvas of intricate tattoos that seemed alive under the morning light. his crimson eyes bore into yours, their depths cold, unrelenting. the sharp lines of his face were cut from stone, handsome yet devoid of warmth, his expression as still as death itself.

a small smile tugged at your lips despite the unease blooming in your chest. your voice, rough and raspy from sleep, managed a soft, “good morning, baby.” your hand stretched toward him instinctively, seeking comfort in his familiar presence. but before your fingertips could graze his skin, he stepped back.

your smile faltered, replaced by a frown that deepened as the distance between you grew. the sheets crumpled around you as you sat up, your chest tightening at his rejection. the way his cold, crimson gaze lingered on you sent a chill down your spine, a feeling of vulnerability washing over you like ice water.

“baby?” you whispered, your voice laced with confusion, almost pleading. the light that once felt warm and comforting now seemed harsh and unforgiving, illuminating every crack in the fragile peace you thought you shared. your heart thudded heavily, the silence between you stretching unbearably.

what was wrong? why was he like this? the questions tumbled through your mind like an avalanche, threatening to suffocate you, but his expression revealed nothing. he remained stoic, a living fortress, impenetrable and unyielding. the golden morning light framed him like a phantom—beautiful, distant, and untouchable.

but he didn’t respond. his silence felt heavy, like a storm cloud looming overhead, ready to break at any moment. your chest tightened with unease, the warmth of the morning light now doing little to combat the cold sinking into your bones.

you sat up straighter, clutching the blanket to your chest with trembling hands. the soft fabric felt like a fragile shield, barely enough to protect you from the weight of his gaze. it wasn’t like this with him—never like this. the sukuna you knew could be sharp-tongued and cruel to others, but with you, there had always been something softer beneath the layers of his rough exterior. but now, as he stood there, unmoving and silent, it felt as if that part of him had vanished.

“baby…” your voice broke the stillness, trembling yet desperate. “what’s wrong?”

your eyes searched his face, hoping to find a trace of the man you loved, the one who held you close during your darkest nights and kissed your forehead like it was sacred ground. but his expression remained unreadable, carved from stone.

the light coming through the curtains illuminated the details of his tattoos, the dark, intricate patterns that wrapped around his arms and climbed his neck, a stark contrast to the vulnerability you felt in that moment. the tension in the air was suffocating, your pulse quickening as you awaited a response—any response.

his silence was deafening, and the distance between you felt more vast than the few steps he had taken away from the bed. your fingers gripped the blanket tighter, the soft material wrinkling under your grasp as you tried to steady yourself.

“please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, breaking under the weight of your emotions. “baby, talk to me.” still, he said nothing, his crimson eyes watching you with an intensity that made your stomach churn. the morning light, once gentle and golden, now felt harsh and accusing, casting stark shadows across the room and magnifying the growing chasm between you.

his silence was an abyss, a vortex that threatened to pull you in and devour you whole. fear prickled at the edge of your consciousness, making your heart race. the man who used to hold you close, who used to whisper reassurances into your ear, now stood there like a stranger, his gaze as cold and distant as the frozen tundra.

you took a deep breath, desperately trying to steady your voice. “d-did i do something?” you cursed the quiver in your voice, loathing the weakness it betrayed.

sukuna stayed silent, his gaze unwavering as he studied you. for a brief moment, you thought he might finally answer, but instead, he scoffed—a low, derisive sound that cut through the stillness like a blade. he rolled his eyes, the sharp motion as dismissive as the scoff had been, before turning his back on you. the weight of his retreat felt like a physical blow as he strode to the wardrobe across the room, his movements deliberate, almost cold.

“why are you asking?” he said, his voice carrying that familiar edge of irritation. “i thought you already knew what was going on.” his words hung in the air, dripping with accusation, and your heart sank further. his tone was indifferent, like he couldn’t believe you’d dare to ask. he flung the wardrobe doors open with a sharp pull, the sound of the hinges echoing in the quiet room.

you swallowed hard, clutching the blanket tighter around you as if it could shield you from the storm brewing within him. his broad back was turned to you now, the muscles in his shoulders shifting under the patterns of his tattoos as he rummaged through the clothes, seemingly more interested in the contents of the wardrobe than in giving you a real answer.

your mind raced, trying to piece together what he meant, what you could’ve done—or not done—to warrant this reaction. the way he spoke, like you should already know, only deepened the ache in your chest. “i… i don’t understand,” you murmured, your voice trembling as you tried to make sense of his words. “what are you talking about, ryo?”

your words were like a whisper in the face of his silent storm. sukuna continued to rummage through the wardrobe, unbothered by your plea. each movement was harsh, filled with a restrained anger that sent a shudder down your spine.

his silence spoke volumes. as he sifted through the hangers, each rustle of fabric seemed to punctuate his irritation. sukuna’s shoulders tensed at the sound of his name. the familiarity of it, the way it rolled off your tongue like it belonged there, grated on his nerves. he clenched his jaw, the muscles flexing as he continued to rummage through the wardrobe, his fingers yanking clothes off hangers with a bit more force than necessary.

“you don’t understand?” he echoed, his tone biting, “or you’re pretending not to understand?” he didn’t look back, his gaze fixed on the row of shirts in front of him, like they were the most fascinating thing in the room.

then, without warning, he stopped. his fingers stilled, gripping the edge of the wardrobe door. for a moment, you thought he might say nothing more. but then he turned, slow and deliberate, the weight of his gaze crashing into you like a tidal wave.

his crimson eyes burned with an intensity that made it hard to breathe, and yet his expression remained unsettlingly calm. “you asked for a breakup yesterday,” he said, his voice low but firm, steady as a heartbeat. the words hung between you, heavy and unrelenting, as his eyebrows arched slightly, as if daring you to deny it. “remember?”

your mind reeled, his words slamming into you like a punch to the gut. the memories of the previous night stirred, rushing in like a flood you weren’t ready to face. you had called him, your voice trembling with emotion as you told him you couldn’t do this anymore. you’d said it so clearly, so desperately—“i think we should break up.”

you could still hear his response, as clear as the ache in your chest now: “i don’t do breakups.”

and then, like the cruelest twist of fate, the two of you had ended up in the kitchen, the place you’d shared countless meals and stolen kisses over the years. the intimacy of that moment had been almost unbearable—his hands gripping your hips as though trying to anchor you in place, his lips trailing fire down your neck, as if to remind you of everything you were trying to leave behind.

but now, standing before him, hearing those words fall from his lips, you were dumbfounded. your chest constricted, and you clutched the blanket tighter against you, as if the fabric could hold you together when everything inside you felt like it was shattering.

“ryo…” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you searched his face for some kind of reprieve, some trace of the man who wouldn’t let you go last night. “but you said…” but the words faltered, dying in your throat, because a part of you didn’t know if that was true. sukuna watched you, his gaze unwavering, silently gauging your reaction to his words. a twisted satisfaction coiled in his chest seeing the dumbfounded look on your face, the way your body seemed to shrink away as the reality of last night’s conversation dawned on you.

he let you struggle for words, relishing the way your voice broke mid-thought. “but i said…?” he echoed your phrase, his tone laced with mockery. his lips curled into a cold smirk, the edge of his canine peeking out as he took a step towards the bed, closing the distance between you. “but i said…” he leaned down, his face now just inches from your own, his breath warm against your skin as he spoke, his voice a low, dangerous murmur. “you’re not going anywhere.”

the words were a stark contrast to the gentleness of his movements. he reached out, his fingers tracing the edges of the blanket you clutched to your chest, as if they were caressing the fabric rather than you. the small touch still sent a shiver down your spine.

he took another step forward, his body now towering over you, caging you in with his presence. “you’re a trembling mess,” he continued, his gaze moving over your face, taking in every small reaction, every flutter of your eyelashes, every shake of your breath. “it’s pathetic.” a hand shot out, gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him directly. his fingers pressed into your skin, not enough to hurt but with enough firmness to make you feel constrained, as if he owned every inch of you—heart, body, soul.

you looked at him, eyes wide and glassy, the tears that threatened to spill over gathering at the edges but refusing to fall—as though even they were terrified of him, too. your chest felt as though it were weighed down by an invisible stone, each breath shallow, a laborious effort, as you struggled to process the poison dripping from his words. his tone, sharp and unforgiving, sliced through the fragile shell of your composure, leaving jagged wounds in its wake.

his crimson eyes locked with yours, but they were not the same as they once were. gone was the warmth, the fire, the spark that once breathed life into them. in their place was an emptiness, a coldness so profound it seemed to swallow everything whole. they were no longer eyes, but hollow pits, mere remnants of what had once been, as if the embers of some long-dead flame flickered weakly before finally expiring, leaving only ash and the residue of something lost.

his smirk widened, distorting his once-beautiful features into something cruel and alien. the face you had known, the face that had once smiled with a warmth you thought was reserved just for you, was now unrecognizable, a mask of mockery and disdain. his hand tightened around your chin, forcing your gaze upward before it was shoved away, not violently, but with such casual cruelty that it made you feel as though you were nothing—small, insignificant, a mere afterthought in his world.

“but i say a lot of things,” he murmured, his voice dripping with mockery, the words slipping from his lips like poison. he savored each syllable, letting them hang in the air, thick with bitterness, each one designed to wound deeper than the last. “you should know by now that you can’t ever really trust me.”

he bit down on his lower lip, as if he found some faint amusement in the scene unfolding before him, though it was a cruel sort of amusement—half-hearted, a shadow of something darker. the smirk that had briefly faltered now returned with a force that made your heart tighten, twisting the knife already lodged deep in your chest.

“isn’t that something you should’ve learned by now?” he continued, his voice almost playful, as though he were talking to a child who had failed to learn even the simplest lesson. his head tilted slightly to the side, a subtle gesture that made the room feel even smaller, as though the walls were closing in on you, bearing down on you with the weight of everything he was. “years of dating me, and you haven’t figured out even one or two things about men?” he paused, letting the silence stretch painfully between you, before leaning in closer, his breath barely a whisper against your trembling lips. “especially me?”

his tone softened, but it wasn’t kindness that softened it. it was venom, deliberate and calculated, each word a subtle stroke against your unraveling spirit. his presence enveloped you, suffocating, like a fog that had settled in, thick and unyielding. his form loomed over you, an oppressive force that seemed to stretch beyond the room, beyond your ability to comprehend, leaving you trapped in his shadow.

you blinked, the tears in your eyes now a silent threat, trembling on the edge of release, but you refused to let them fall—not yet. not in front of him. the ache in your chest deepened, like a weight pressing harder against your lungs, each breath becoming more difficult, more fragile, as though your very existence was being drained away by the sheer presence of his cruelty.

“ryo…” your voice cracked, the sound little more than a fragile whisper, broken and torn between the desire to speak and the fear of being heard. but he only watched, his eyes cold and piercing, cataloging each nuance of your suffering, waiting for the precise moment when you would shatter completely, when the pieces of you would finally crumble under the unbearable weight of it all.

sukuna’s smirk widened, a grotesque expression of satisfaction at the fragile crack in your voice, the soft, desperate pleading that trembled from your lips. his eyes, once drawn to the warmth and depth in yours, now found only the shimmer of unshed tears, a mirror of the suffering he had inflicted. yet, within the storm of pain that had settled in your gaze, there remained a flicker—a stubborn, defiant glimmer that refused to yield to him, that would not grant him the pleasure of seeing you utterly undone.

he leaned forward, his presence overwhelming, his face hovering just beyond the point of contact, his breath a searing, suffocating force against your skin. “you’re even more pathetic than i thought,” he whispered, his voice a languid mockery, each syllable dipped in contempt, the venom in his words thickening the air around you.

a warmth surged inside you, not the softness of vulnerability, but the sharp, sudden burn of fury. anger, that strange and alien force, slithered its way through your chest, cutting through the dull ache of your own misery, its heat rising in knots that twisted tightly within you. it was fierce, a sharpness that stung with every beat of your heart, and it fueled the fire of defiance that now began to smolder beneath your skin. how dare he? how dare he stand there, that twisted smirk still clinging to his face, as though his cruelty could diminish you?

your thoughts spun in a haze, a flickering montage of last night’s events, each image more jarring than the last. if he truly wanted to leave, to sever the fragile thread between you, he could have done so with honesty, in the silence of an agreement. no games, no theatrics, no bitter proclamations that left you questioning your place in a relationship that had, until then, felt like the ground beneath your feet. no promises veiled in intimacy, no sweetness masking the brutality of his indifference, no gestures that now felt nothing but hollow.

and now this? now, in the sterile light of the morning, he discarded you as though you were a discarded object, leaving you trembling, reduced to a mere echo of yourself? the cruelty of it gnawed at you, an unbearable weight pressing down on your chest.

your fingers dug into the blanket, the fabric biting into your skin, your knuckles turning pale as you clung to the familiar sensation, the only thing in the world that felt solid, that didn’t dissolve like ash at his touch. the anger, now a fire burning hot and insistent, pushed against the fragile walls of your composure, demanding to be released. you gritted your teeth, the tension in your jaw nearly unbearable, and as your gaze met his, a flicker of something defiant rose up within you.

“you’re a fucking asshole,” you said, the words tumbling from your mouth like venom, raw and jagged, cutting through the suffocating silence that had enveloped the room. they were harsh, brutal in their simplicity, a fleeting relief against the weight of the moment. yet, even as they left your lips, you could feel the echo of their truth linger, not in the comfort of release, but in the strange, hollow emptiness they left behind.

sukuna’s smile stretched wider, his crimson eyes glinting with a sadistic amusement, as though he found a twisted pleasure in seeing you unravel. there was an unspoken satisfaction in the way you looked at him, your glare, laced with fury, only feeding the darkness in him, stoking the flames of his amusement as if your anger were an exquisite form of entertainment.

he drew closer, his presence overwhelming, and the space between you seemed to disappear, his face now so near that you could feel the heat of his breath, thick with the scent of musk and spice, an intoxication that tangled with the weight of your emotions, making everything feel unbearably heavy.

“so, you’re finally showing some spine, are you?” his voice was low, a mocking rumble that curled around the room, his words almost savoring the moment. “how amusing. it’s almost endearing to see you so riled up.”

his hand reached out, fingers tracing a delicate strand of your hair, the touch light, almost gentle, yet laced with a quiet malice that made your stomach churn. “but, you’re still the same. still fragile, still breakable,” he whispered, as though examining the very essence of your being, reducing it to something delicate and fleeting.

the anger surged within you, a wildfire now, fierce and uncontrollable, and for a split second, the thought of smashing that smirk off his face crossed your mind like a fleeting, violent impulse. yet, even in your fury, you were still trapped, his towering form pressing in on you, your fingers tangled in the folds of the blanket, as though the fabric itself were the only thing anchoring you to reality.

his chuckle rang out, deep and unsettling, a sound that slithered through the air, sending a tremor through your bones. he tilted his head, studying you with the careful gaze of someone who saw your every nuance, as if he were cataloging each flicker of emotion, each broken piece of you. “so much fire, so much defiance,” he mused, his eyes narrowing, “and yet… here you are. still here, clinging to the futile hope that things might somehow return to what they were.”

his words hung in the air, suffocating, as though they carried a truth you had no choice but to accept—an unspoken acknowledgment that the past had long since slipped away, lost beneath the weight of his cruelty.

sukuna’s gaze locked onto yours, his crimson eyes dark and inscrutable. he was watching you, reading you, but giving nothing in return. sukuna was a master of concealment, his emotions tucked away behind a mask of indifference. no flicker of regret, no sign of pain—nothing to betray what he truly felt. and that made it worse. you couldn’t read him, couldn’t find even the smallest crack in his armor. he was impenetrable, a fortress of cruelty and coldness.

he finally pulled away, stepping back, the distance between you growing with every measured movement. the space felt suffocating and freeing all at once. “i have class,” he said, his voice flat, almost bored. “so, i hope you’ll be gone. from my apartment, my life… before i come back.”

the finality in his words hit you like a punch to the chest, knocking the air from your lungs. you stared at him, your lips parted, trembling, but no words came out. disbelief washed over you, followed quickly by a wave of pain so deep it felt like it might drown you. and then the tears came. they spilled over, falling in heavy streams, as relentless as rain desperate to meet the earth, drowning everything in its path. your body shook with the force of it, but your voice was steady, low and sharp like a blade as you spoke.

“i hope you have everything,” you began, your teeth clenched, your words dripping with venom. “everything you could ever want in life. i hope you get it all. and i hope you never feel satisfied.” his expression didn’t change, but his eyes—those crimson eyes you had once loved so deeply—stared back at you with a hollowness you hadn’t noticed before. an emptiness that made your chest ache, even in the midst of your fury.

your voice cracked, but you pressed on, the weight of your pain propelling you forward. “i hope you grow up. i hope you have a wife, a job that pays well. i hope you have beautiful children who adore you.” you paused, your voice dropping to a whisper that was no less deadly. “but i hope there’s a hole inside you that never goes away. a hole that makes you suffer every single day.” you met his gaze, the fire in your eyes burning through your tears. “i hope you have everything, sukuna. everything. and i hope it’s never enough.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting, as sukuna stood there, silent and unmoving. for a moment, you thought you saw something flicker across his face, something like regret or sadness, but it was gone before you could be sure. and then he turned, walking away without another word, leaving you alone in the space that had once been yours together, now shattered and broken beyond repair.

sukuna clenched his jaw, his footsteps heavy as he walked away, the weight of your words clinging to him like an invisible chain. they echoed in his mind, taunting him with a cruel persistence—your curse, your wish for his endless dissatisfaction, for his perpetual hunger, struck him deeper than any physical blow ever could.

his hand rested on the doorknob, but he paused, his back turned to you, your sobs reverberating in the quiet space, each cry a sharp thrust to his chest. he longed to turn, to look upon your face, but he could not summon the will to face you again.

the following day, you found yourself standing outside his apartment, your heart heavy with the weight of everything that had unfolded. you didn’t want to be there—didn’t want to confront the aching void that seemed to consume you whenever you thought of him. you didn’t want to feel the raw sting in your chest deepen, yet you knew you had no choice. there were fragments of your life, scattered among the remnants of your shared past, and though you longed to leave them behind, you could not bring yourself to walk away entirely without reclaiming what was left.

your fingers hovered above the keypad, hesitant, the numbers embedded in your memory like scars. you pressed the code, half-expecting the door to reject you, to lock you out for good, sealing the end of everything. but it didn’t. the lock clicked open, as it always had.

for a fleeting moment, a thought brushed against your consciousness, a whisper of something you wished you could ignore. perhaps he had left it unlocked on purpose. perhaps, deep within him, he wanted you to return, hoped you might come back. but you dismissed the thought quickly. no. that was not him. not anymore.

you pushed the door open, and for a brief instant, the silence greeted you like an old, dissonant friend. the air was thick with the memories of laughter, arguments, love—each corner of the room steeped in the ghosts of your time together. everything was exactly as it had been, as if nothing had changed, the furniture, the faint scent of him still lingering in the stillness. it was a cruel trick, how the space could feel so familiar, yet so estranged at once.

then, a sound—soft at first, but unmistakable. moans, sighs, the low grunts of a voice you knew all too well, mingling with the sound of another. a woman’s voice. your breath caught, and in that moment, it was as though the ground had fallen away from beneath you. you didn’t need to see to know. the sounds painted a clear picture, a cruel and bitter one.

a hollow laugh rose from the depths of your chest, though it never made it past your lips. of course. of course he couldn’t wait. couldn’t even allow the ashes of what you had to settle before diving into someone else’s embrace. the realization struck you like a knife, sharp and unrelenting, twisting deeper as it sank in.

your feet felt frozen to the floor, as if the weight of the moment held you captive. the world spun around you, but you remained frozen in place. the pain was acute, raw, consuming. it wasn’t just the betrayal—it was the confirmation of what you had already known, but refused to acknowledge. sukuna was exactly who he had claimed to be, and you, in your foolishness, had convinced yourself you were the exception.

you swallowed, the burn of your throat making it difficult to breathe, the ache in your chest threatening to overwhelm you. your hands trembled as you stepped back, the door still ajar behind you, its silent invitation to leave hanging in the air.

you didn’t hesitate. you turned, your legs carrying you away from him with a sense of urgency, as though staying even a moment longer would suffocate you. the rest of your things, the remnants of a life you once shared, no longer mattered. you couldn’t bear to be in that space, couldn’t bear the thought of his voice—so familiar, so intimate—intertwined with hers. the love you had once shared, now belonging to someone else.

the door clicked shut behind you, and for a moment, the sound felt like the finality of a chapter ending. but it was not clean. it was not easy. the pain still clung to you, wrapping itself around your ribs, squeezing until each breath became a struggle.

as you walked away, your thoughts churned. it wasn’t fair. he was fine, wasn’t he? perfectly fine, moving on, living his life, while you carried the weight of this broken love. it felt as though you shared matching wounds—his had already healed, smooth and unblemished, as though it had never been. but yours… yours were still raw, still bleeding, black and bruised.

yet, you kept walking. one step after another, carrying yourself away from him, from the life you had once built together. it hurt more than you had thought possible, but beneath the pain, there was a quiet resolve. because this time, you were not just leaving the apartment. you were leaving him.

the sakura trees lined the streets like guardians of fleeting beauty, their delicate pink petals drifting down with the breeze, blanketing the ground in a quiet surrender. each petal lay still, crushed underfoot without complaint, their sacrifice unnoticed by the hurried world above. sukuna walked briskly through the scene, his long strides carrying him across the familiar paths of the park, his destination clear: the ice cream parlor.

his presence was as sharp and cold as ever, his crimson eyes glancing briefly at the cheerful chaos of the park. laughter and joy filled the air—children racing each other across the grass, couples walking hand in hand, families gathered beneath the blooming trees. it was all so ordinary, so unremarkable, and yet it gnawed at him.

the park hadn’t changed. not a single thing had shifted in all these years. the bench where you both used to sit still stood beneath the shade of a sprawling sakura tree. the open field where you used to spread out the red-and-white checkered blanket you’d picked out still invited picnics. he could almost see it—him sprawled on his back, you lying against him, your head on his stomach. the warmth of those quiet afternoons came rushing back, unbidden.

you had a way of making silence comfortable, he remembered. sometimes the two of you would just lay there, lost in your own thoughts, his fingers absently twirling a strand of your hair. other times, the quiet would give way to playful arguments, your voices rising in mock irritation before collapsing into laughter. this park was a haven for you both—a place where the weight of the world couldn’t quite reach.

but now? now it was just a park.

sukuna stepped into the ice cream parlor, his voice cool and detached as he ordered. “two ice creams.” he didn’t bother glancing at the menu. his eyes were elsewhere, scanning the park with a hunter’s precision, though he wasn’t sure what he was looking for. he was about to turn away when something—no, someone—caught his attention. his sharp eyes narrowed, his breath hitching ever so slightly.

pink hair. a bright smile.

his twin. yuuji.

sukuna’s brows lifted in faint amusement, his lips curving into a smirk. what’s that idiot doing here? he wondered, already imagining some clumsy attempt at flirting. his eyes followed yuuji, watching his every move with a predator’s patience. but then yuuji turned slightly, revealing the person beside him.

and sukuna’s world shifted.

it was you.

the air seemed to still around him, his smirk falling as if the weight of the moment had stolen it away. the color drained from his face, and for the first time in years, he felt truly unmoored. it was as if the ground beneath him had crumbled, leaving him suspended in disbelief.

you hadn’t changed. not in the ways that mattered. the curve of your back, the way you carried yourself, the softness in your expression—it all came rushing back to him, a flood of memories he hadn’t asked for.

he took a step forward, then another, each one slow and deliberate as if testing the solidity of the earth beneath his feet. but then he saw it—yuuji’s arm around you, the way his lips pressed to your cheek, the way you smiled up at him.

the world tilted further.

just as he was about to take another step, his eyes caught movement by the swings. a child—a boy, no more than a few years old. his pink hair shone in the sunlight, his laughter ringing out like a melody sukuna hadn’t realized he missed.

then the boy called you “mommy”, his voice bright and pure, as if it carried no shadows.

sukuna froze. his breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening as his mind raced. his gaze darted between you, the child, and yuuji, piecing together a puzzle he didn’t want to solve.

was he…? no. impossible.

the boy’s face was round, soft, bright—none of the sharp edges sukuna saw when he looked in the mirror. there was no darkness in his eyes, no coldness. just light.

“what the fuck?” sukuna muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his own heartbeat. you and yuuji both turned at the sound, your eyes locking with his for the first time in years.

and in that moment, everything—the sakura trees, the children’s laughter, the warmth of the spring sun—seemed to fade away. it was just you and him, standing on opposite sides of a chasm neither of you knew how to cross.

you sat side by side on the bench, close enough that the sakura petals falling around you landed in your hair, yet the distance between you felt infinite, an ocean of memories and regret stretching wide. your hands trembled, curling into fists on the fabric of your dress as if the pressure could hold your emotions in place. you didn’t look at him. maybe it was the pain, still raw and deep despite the years. or maybe it was because you had moved on, and seeing him no longer filled the hollow space inside you.

no, you didn’t starve for him anymore.

he sat rigid, his long limbs folded in a posture too controlled to be casual. his crimson eyes, those piercing eyes that once held you captive, were now fixed on the child playing in the distance. the boy laughed brightly, running to yuuji, who scooped him up with ease, their matching smiles lighting up the park.

sukuna’s chest ached, the unfamiliar weight of it catching him off guard. he didn’t expect this—didn’t expect to feel anything. but watching the boy—your boy—he felt something sharp, something he couldn’t name.

regret?

his gaze lingered, tracing every familiar feature: the pink hair catching the sunlight, the laugh that rang like a melody, the wide, innocent eyes. it was all so achingly familiar, yet so far removed from him. and the way yuuji looked at the boy, the ease in their interactions, the warmth of their bond—he has everything, sukuna thought bitterly.

and yet, somewhere deep down, a selfish part of him wished it was his. his throat tightened, the unspoken words clawing at him. he didn’t know what to say, didn’t even know why he had stopped here, why he hadn’t turned away the moment he saw you. but instead, he let out a breath, low and shaky, before speaking.

“how are you?” his voice was softer than he intended, a hesitant tremor running through the words. you stiffened, your fingers clenching tighter on your lap. for a moment, you didn’t respond, the silence stretching unbearably between you.

sukuna’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to the ground. you’re fucking lame, he cursed himself, the words echoing in his mind. of all the things he could have said, this was what came out? after everything he had done, after all the time that had passed, the best he could manage was a shallow pleasantry?

he felt your exhale, slow and measured, before you finally answered, your voice quiet but steady.

“i’m fine.”

the words were simple, but the weight behind them was heavy. they carried years of hurt, of healing, of learning to exist without him. you didn’t look at him as you spoke, your gaze fixed firmly on the boy in the distance, on the life you had built without him.

sukuna felt your words pierce him like a blade, deep and cruel. fine. just fine. nothing more, nothing less. after everything, after all the destruction, all the chaos he had unleashed upon you—this was all you could say. ‘fine.’ it was a slap to his face, a reminder of everything he had lost, and the bitter weight of it suffocated him.

his throat tightened. he didn’t know what he had expected from you, what he had hoped to hear after all this time, but ‘fine’—that word felt like a finality, an impenetrable wall of cold distance. the silence that followed stretched between you, suffocating and heavy. his gaze flickered to you, lingering on your face, yet seeing you as if for the first time. the years had marked you, yes, but the angles of your face, the way your eyes held a spark of something that was undeniably you—everything about you felt the same, and yet it was so utterly alien to him. his fingers clenched at his side, the muscles taut with the desire to reach out, to touch, to trace the lines of your face as he had done before. but he could not. there was too much hurt between you, too many wounds that he had carved deep into your soul.

the silence became unbearable. sukuna was a man of words—of sharpness, of mockery, of heated arguments. but here, beside you on this park bench, he was mute. there were no biting remarks, no cruel barbs. just an oppressive quiet, a world of things unsaid.

his gaze drifted to the child, laughing in the distance, as yuuji chased him with exaggerated panic. a part of sukuna's chest tightened painfully, and his words came out fractured, thinner than he had meant them to be, choked by something he couldn’t hide.

“kid, huh?” he said, the words thick with a bitterness that didn’t come from the sarcasm he had intended. “and yuuji’s?” they were meant to cut, to wound. but they fell flat, weak, crushed by the vulnerability he had tried so hard to bury. his voice cracked under the weight of something he couldn’t name, a storm of emotions tangled within him.

you turned to him, lips parting as if to respond, but the moment was stolen by the sound of small, hurried footsteps. your son came stumbling toward you, his legs unsteady with joy. his laughter, pure and untainted, filled the air, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. his eyes, shining with uncontainable happiness, locked onto you, and he collided with your legs, wrapping his tiny arms around you in a clumsy hug.

you chuckled softly, steadying him with gentle hands, your voice a whisper of tenderness as you murmured, “careful there.”

he grinned up at you, his little face lighting up with something he had to tell you. but then his gaze shifted, and he looked at sukuna, studying him with an intensity that seemed too thoughtful for someone so young. the child’s eyes widened. he blinked, his brows furrowing in a silent question. and then, for the briefest of moments, his gaze met sukuna’s—eyes of crimson red.

the same red that stared back at sukuna in the mirror every morning, that had stained his soul, that marked him in ways he could never escape. the breath left his lungs in a harsh, silent gasp. his body froze, a shiver running through him. it wasn’t possible. it couldn’t be. but there it was, undeniable and raw.

the boy blinked, confused, still staring at sukuna, but before he could speak, yuuji was there, scooping him up effortlessly, lifting him onto his back. “gotcha, kiddo,” yuuji said, his grin wide as he carried the child away toward the playground, the laughter spilling from the boy in a carefree squeal.

but sukuna remained frozen, his eyes wide in disbelief, his chest tight with something he couldn’t identify—something heavy, something ancient, something that churned and shifted deep within him.

you didn’t meet his gaze. your eyes remained trained on the ground, as though avoiding his stare could keep the truth from surfacing. “those eyes…” sukuna murmured, his voice barely a whisper, the words trembling as they left his lips. “those eyes are…” his breath caught, his chest tightening further as the truth settled around him like a cold fog.

he knew those eyes. he would know them anywhere. they were his.

your voice broke through the thick silence, soft yet heavy with the weight of what you were about to say. “i found out i was pregnant a month after… that day.” the words hung in the air between you like a thread ready to snap. you finally looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time since he had appeared in the park. the wind carried the faint scent of sakura, making your hair sway gently. strands danced across your face, brushing your cheeks, which had turned a delicate pink from the cool breeze. your eyes met his, unflinching yet filled with a raw vulnerability that made his chest ache.

sukuna froze, his crimson gaze locked onto yours. he couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to. this moment, this version of you—standing against the backdrop of falling petals, the soft pink tint to your skin, the weight of years etched into your expression—it was something he would never forget.

he had always been good at reading people, at seeing through their masks, but with you, it was different. even now, as you stood before him, there were layers he couldn’t unravel, emotions he couldn’t pin down. all he knew was the sudden tightness in his chest, the guilt clawing its way up his throat, and the realization that no matter how much time had passed, you still held a piece of him that he couldn’t reclaim.

“and you didn’t tell me,” he said finally, his voice quieter than he intended. there was no malice, no sharp edge—just a quiet bewilderment, a pain he didn’t know how to mask. your gaze didn’t waver, but your lips pressed into a thin line as if holding back a flood of words. “what would it have changed?” you asked, the question soft yet pointed. “you told me to leave. to be gone. i just… listened.”

those words hit him harder than any curse ever had. he wanted to argue, to demand why you hadn’t fought back, but deep down, he knew. he had made you feel like you had no choice. he had driven you away, and now, years later, he was standing in front of you, realizing the depth of the consequences he hadn’t dared to imagine.

his gaze flickered to the playground, where your son—his son—was laughing with yuuji. sukuna’s hands clenched at his sides as he turned back to you, searching for the right words and finding none.

“he’s mine, isn’t he?” he asked, though the answer was already written all over the boy’s face. you nodded, the smallest of movements, but it was enough to shatter the fragile barrier he had been holding up. “why didn’t you—” he stopped himself, exhaling sharply. “why didn’t you tell me back then?”

“because you didn’t want me,” you said simply, your voice steady though your eyes glistened. “and if you didn’t want me, why would you want him?” the wind carried your words away, but they left a hollow ache in sukuna’s chest.

sukuna’s heart pounded against his ribs, the sound deafening in the silence that followed. how could he explain what was going on in his head, when he wasn’t even sure himself? all he knew was that finding out he was a father, suddenly, out of nowhere, was throwing his whole world off-kilter, turning his reality on its head. and the fact that you hadn’t told him, kept his own flesh and blood away from him—it was infuriating and yet, in a twisted way, made sense.

sukuna was silent, the park suddenly feeling too crowded, too noisy, yet incredibly empty all at once. his heart pounded in his chest like a drum, each beat a reminder of how much time he had lost, how much he had missed. he swallowed, the lump in his throat thicker than he had anticipated. he had been ready for a lot of reactions from you—anger, perhaps even indifference. but seeing you so calm, so unbothered, stung more than he ever thought it would.

sukuna’s eyes never left yours, studying your face, the small tics and twitches that spoke volumes. but behind the veneer of calm, there was something different—an undercurrent he couldn’t quite place. he could feel it, sense it in the air between you, in the tension that had settled in your shoulders.

“all those years,” he began, his voice a low rumble. “i had a son, and i never knew.” his eyes flicked back to the playground, where yuuji was now pushing the boy on a swing. the kid was laughing again, his little legs kicking up dust with each push forward.

sukuna watched him for a moment, taking in every detail. his hair, the same shade as his own. his eyes, those wide, innocent crimson pools that mirrored his own. the sound of his laughter, a sound he’d never heard before but recognized as his all the same. you smiled softly, your gaze drifting to your son as he soared higher on the swing, his laughter cutting through the hum of the park like music. for a moment, your expression softened in a way that made sukuna’s chest ache, a bittersweet mix of warmth and loss. when your eyes returned to him, they held no resentment, no anger��only a calm acceptance that he wasn’t sure he deserved.

“he’ll be four this december,” you said quietly, the corners of your lips lifting just slightly. “yuuji and i are planning a party for him. something simple, with his friends from kindergarten.”

your voice was steady, each word so matter-of-fact that it twisted like a knife in his gut. sukuna studied your face, searching for something—anything—that hinted at lingering bitterness or regret. but there was nothing. you looked… content. beautiful in a way that felt distant, like a piece of art behind glass.

his eyes flicked back to the playground. the boy—his son—was shouting something to yuuji, his tiny hands gripping the swing’s chains as he kicked his legs. the sight made sukuna’s throat tighten. he had missed so much. “kindergarten,” he murmured, almost to himself, the word foreign on his tongue. “he’s already in kindergarten.”

you nodded, your hands folding neatly in your lap. “he loves it there. he’s made so many friends. and the teachers… they always tell me how bright he is, how full of life.” sukuna could only watch, listening to your words as you spoke about your son. a part of him was proud—proud that his son inherited his own intelligence, his own vitality. but most of him was just lost, drowning in a sea of emotions he couldn’t fully comprehend.

he had missed all of it. the first words, the first steps, the first laugh—all because he had been so stupid, so blind to what was right in front of him. his hands clenching into fists. he didn’t want to hear about how the kid was thriving in kindergarten. how he had friends. how he was happy without him.

yet he could hear the pride in your voice, the undeniable love and adoration you had for your son. it was clear in the way your eyes sparkled when you spoke of him, the protective, motherly instinct that emanated from you like a force field. it was so foreign, yet undeniably human. “he never... asked about his father?” he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop himself.

you shook your head, your expression calm, yet tinged with a bittersweet sadness that sukuna couldn’t quite place. “no,” you said softly, your eyes drifting back to the playground where your son was now tumbling in the grass with laughter, yuuji playfully chasing after him. “he’s never asked. maybe it’s because he sees how much he and yuuji look alike… the hair, the face. he doesn’t question it.”

your voice was steady, but there was an undertone that lingered, a quiet weight beneath your words. sukuna stared at you, his crimson eyes narrowing as his mind reeled. of course, the kid wouldn’t question it—not when yuuji was always there, stepping in, filling the void sukuna hadn’t even realized he had left behind.

his hands twitched at his sides, his jaw tightening. “so that’s it?” he asked, his voice low, almost a growl. “he just assumes yuuji is his father?”

you looked back at him then, your gaze unwavering. “he doesn’t assume anything, sukuna. he’s just a kid. he doesn’t need the weight of complicated answers right now.”

the words hit harder than he expected, the implication slicing through him. you were protecting him—shielding him from the chaos sukuna’s presence could bring. and deep down, he couldn’t blame you.

but it still burned.

sukuna swallowed, the lump in his throat feeling like sandpaper. the fact that his own son didn't even know who he was, the fact that yuuji was taking over the role he should have had… all of it stung like a thousand knives.

he didn’t know what to say. didn’t know how to process the emotions swirling inside him. he could feel a storm brewing within, but for once, he didn't want to unleash it. not on you, not in the middle of the park where his son—his son—was playing gleefully.

sukuna’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he watched his son’s joyful antics. the kid was climbing on a jungle gym now, his small hands grasping the metal bars with determination. yuuji stood below, ready to catch him if he fell, a small smile on his face.

the sight should have been endearing—the carefree boy playing with his surrogate father. but all sukuna felt was a bitter mixture of anger, regret, and envy. he should be the one standing there, spotting his son, ready to catch him if he fell.

sukuna’s fists clenched at his sides, the desire to march over and rip yuuji away from his child overpowering. but he held himself back, a bitter taste in his mouth. that wasn't his place, not anymore. he had made sure of that. instead, he turned to you, his eyes locking with yours. “how can you just sit there?” he spat, his voice low and laced with anger. “how can you let yuuji play father to my own son?”

you held his gaze, unruffled by the sharpness in his words, your expression calm yet firm. you had always known how to stand your ground with sukuna, how to weather the storm of his anger without losing yourself. “and what would be the point?” you replied steadily, your voice soft yet unyielding. “to stir up confusion? to fill his head with questions he’s too young to understand? he’s happy, sukuna. he’s safe. isn’t that what matters most?”

your words were deliberate, cutting through his anger with a quiet precision. sukuna’s jaw tightened, his crimson eyes flickering with a mix of emotions—rage, guilt, and something far more vulnerable. “he’s my son,” he bit out, his voice low, almost trembling. “he should know who i am.”

“and he will,” you answered, your tone unwavering. “when the time is right. when he’s old enough to understand what it means. i’m not keeping him from you, sukuna. i’m protecting him—from the pain, the confusion, the chaos. i’m protecting him the way a parent should.”

your words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and sukuna found himself at a loss for a reply. he wanted to argue, to fight back, but deep down, he knew you were right. it didn’t make the bitterness in his chest any easier to swallow, but it made him pause, his anger faltering.

you glanced back at the playground, your gaze softening as you watched your son laugh, his small body swinging from the jungle gym with unrestrained joy. “he’s all that matters now,” you added quietly, more to yourself than to him. “and i won’t let anything—or anyone—take that away from him.”

sukuna remained silent, the weight of your words settling over him like a heavy blanket. for the first time, he truly saw the depth of your love for your son, the lengths you would go to keep him safe. and it left him reeling, his emotions a tangled mess he couldn’t begin to unravel.

sukuna swallowed, the lump in his throat feeling like a stone. all the anger, the rage that had been brewing inside of him—it all evaporated in an instant, replaced by a bitter sense of realization.

you were right. as much as he hated to admit it, your words were true. you weren’t keeping his son from him. you were protecting him, shielding him from the chaos that sukuna’s presence could bring. the kid was happy, thriving, blissfully unaware of thecomplicated web of emotions surrounding his existence.

he gazed at you, truly seeing you for the first time in years, and in that moment, he recognized something in you he had never expected to find: the quiet strength in your eyes, the resolute determination etched into the curve of your shoulders. you had changed, morphed into something he couldn’t fully comprehend. you were no longer just the person he once knew—you were a mother now, shaped by a fierce love that had carved new paths in your soul. there was a wildness in you now, a power, a willingness to move mountains to protect the child you had brought into this world. and in some dark, twisted corner of his being, it made him love you more than he ever had before.

“i…” he began, the words choking in his throat, as if the very sound of them was foreign to him. he faltered, unsure, because nothing he could say could ever match the storm inside of him, the chaos that had long since swallowed him whole. he had no words for the depth of the feelings that tore at him, no way to untangle the mess of love, regret, and longing that knotted in his chest.

you offered him a smile, and for an instant, it was the same smile he had once known, so long ago—genuine, warm, and familiar. it was like the briefest glimpse of light breaking through the oppressive clouds that had settled over both of you, soft and fleeting, yet undeniable.

“i’m sorry,” you spoke, your voice unexpectedly tender, carrying a weight that caught him off guard. “for the things i said that day. wishing you everything in life but never being satisfied—it was cruel. it’s the worst thing i could ever wish on anyone. i wouldn’t want anyone to curse me like that, so i shouldn’t have done it to you.”

your gaze held his then, steady and unwavering, but gone was the venom and resentment that had once filled it. now, there was only warmth, a soft tenderness he had long forgotten. “i just… i just want you to have the life you deserve,” you added, your voice unwavering, as if the words were not born of this moment, but of something far deeper, something more enduring.

he opened his mouth, the words dancing on the tip of his tongue, but they faltered, suffocated by a weight he couldn’t name. for once, sukuna—the man who had always prided himself on his sharp tongue, his biting words—was rendered speechless.

before he could collect himself, you rose, brushing the coat from your shoulders as you called for yuuji. he turned at the sound of your voice, his eyes catching yours, and with a silent understanding, he scooped up your son and began walking toward you.

your son’s delighted giggles filled the air, his tiny arms wrapped around yuuji’s neck in pure joy. when they reached you, you glanced back at sukuna for the briefest of moments, your eyes meeting his. but there was no anger, no regret. only something unspoken, something that neither of you could articulate.

the image of you, with yuuji and the child in tow—so perfectly entwined, so whole—was a blade lodged deep in sukuna’s chest. he wanted to rise, to speak, to confront the weight of this impossible truth, but his body remained frozen, bound by the gravity of what had not been said.

you did not look back. without a word, you turned away, your son’s laughter echoing through the cold, empty air as yuuji carried him toward the car. sukuna could only watch, his gaze locked on the fading figures, as you disappeared down the path. and in that moment, he was utterly alone, left to drown in the silence he had created, swallowed whole by the dimming light of the day.

sukuna remained frozen, his crimson eyes fixed on the space where you had just stood, the weight of the silence settling over him like a crushing blanket. the world seemed to shrink around him, the laughter of the child, the warmth of the moment fading into a hollow echo that only deepened the emptiness inside him. the weight of his own solitude was unbearable, a crushing, gnawing feeling that clung to his bones and choked the very air from his lungs.

it was a solitude he had always known, yet never truly felt—until now. it was as if the universe had conspired to bring him to this very moment, to this precipice, and now that he stood at the edge, he realized how terribly alone he truly was.

his heart, which he had long since buried beneath layers of indifference, thudded painfully in his chest, each beat like a slow, agonizing reminder of his own failures, his own incomprehensible loneliness. he had spent years in a fortress of his own making, convinced that he could bear the isolation, that he could find solace in his own darkness. but now, as the light of your departure seemed to wash over him, he realized how false that belief had been.

it was as though the very ground beneath him had crumbled, leaving him suspended in a void that threatened to consume him. the void was cold, oppressive, and suffocating. he opened his mouth to speak, to call out, to demand something, anything—but no words came. they were swallowed by the silence, absorbed into the air that was thick with the weight of what had been lost.

he wanted to scream, to tear at the sky, to shatter the world around him until there was nothing left but the raw, bleeding truth of his own desolation. but he remained still, paralyzed by the overwhelming realization of how utterly empty his life had become without you.

the laughter of the child, now distant, reverberated in his ears like the sound of mocking, bitter fate. how had it come to this? how had he, who had once held so much power, so much control, been reduced to this broken thing, left behind in the fading light of a world that no longer included him?

his chest tightened with a suffocating ache, his hands curling into fists, nails digging into his palms, as though the pain might anchor him to something, anything, other than the suffocating void that stretched before him. yet, nothing could fill the emptiness, nothing could undo the damage he had done to himself, to you, to everything he had ever touched.

he had been a fool. a fool to believe that time would erase the wounds, that power would shield him from the consequences of his own choices. but now, with nothing left but the hollow echo of his own regret, he understood—the price had been far higher than he could ever have imagined.

and as you disappeared from his sight, so did the last vestiges of hope, the last thread that had held him to any semblance of meaning. he was alone. utterly alone. and the weight of that truth felt like an insurmountable mountain pressing down on his chest, each breath a labor, each moment a torment.

in that unbearable silence, he felt it: the deep, gnawing ache of his own heart, the loneliness that had been there all along, waiting for this moment to unravel him.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk x reader #sukuna angst #ryomen sukuna #jjk angst #jjk #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujustu kaisen x reader #anime angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #ryomen sukuna angst #ryomen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction

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superkooku · 3 days ago

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Have you listened/watched epic? And if you have what’s your thoughts?

Personally I think it’s a good thing to show to a friend new to Greek mythology. I just finished watching the last saga and I have to say I loved it, beautiful. Sad it ended tho :(

It might not be very accurate but I love the hardwork the cast put into it and so I love it very much

My thoughts on Epic the musical

So yes, I know about Epic. I even participated in the secret santa thing and am what we may call 'a winion'.

I just finished watching the livestream too ! I especially loved seeing the cast members were reacting to the sagas (Luke Holt was so funny in this 🤣. Also, Jorge carrying Mico like a baby in 'Just a man' and Mason being extra the whole time... so many gems in that livestream)

Since Epic is finished AND I have animatics of the Ithaca saga, I'll use this opportunity to make a more in-depth review of the musical. Instead of separating it in "good" or "bad", I'm reviewing it criteria per criteria.

The cast

Like I previously said, I LOVE the cast chemistry. They're all so fun and lively. I follow some of them separately, like Janani or Troy Doherty, and they're just delightful. Especially Troy as Hermes, he always manages to make me laugh. Every single time 😂.

Also, he gives me a bit of Mettaton vibes since he's extravagant, always over the top and a bit self-absorbed (the Hermes persona, I mean, not Troy Doherty himself). Maybe that's why I like him so much :3

And of course, there's Jorge, mr. Jalapeño, the man with the plan. I love how both passionate and humble he is, how he takes the time to thank everyone and just how much of a bundle of positive energy he is. I know it's an internet persona, but what I can see from him is some hopefully really nice guy in real life too.

Anyways, awesome cast chemistry, everyone made me laugh and they're all having a good time.

The music

This music is so beautiful 🥰. All the motifs, the emotions, the instruments, the voices ! If I had to rate Epic from the music alone, it would be 5 stars. I'm not saying this in a professional angle or anything, it's my personal feeling.

Seriously, I don't really have that much to say about the music because, to me, it's just that good. I love the variety, how different instruments synch themselves and, yeah.

The characters

Annnnd that's where the blind positive praise stops, unfortunately 😂.

Don't get me wrong, it's not awful either and there are good points. My favorite Epic characters are Hermes and Athena.

The rest ? It's mixed. In order not to make this too long, I'll focus on only some of them.

The story is very character-driven so I won't really delve into it in detail.

Odysseus : he's a good protagonist, especially in the first act. His dilemma is interesting, he has a strong personality and I like that he is just a broken man and not some mighty overlord... except in the Thunder and Vengeance sagas. I feel Jorge exaggerated the monster message a bit too much, imo. Odysseus is supposed to be a witty liar, a warrior of the mind. Not someone like Achilles who solves problems by fighting or fights gods like Heracles, much less freaking Poseidon.

Poseidon : okay ! I liked him in the first act, because FINALLY Poseidon isn't a surfer dude. He's a terrifying force of nature that was angered by mortal hubris (though the hubris thing isn't explained by Epic). In Get in the water, he kept his intimidating side. Because he's, yk, the king of the oceans, one of the most powerful Olympian gods. But his defeat partially ruined him for me 😂. It just doesn't make sense. Why is Odysseus afraid of Scylla and even tip-toes around Hermes, who is friendly, when he can stabby-stab Poseidon ? Why didn't Poseidon counterattack? So many questions.

Zeus : my problem with Zeus is easier to explain. Again, he was awesome in the first act, less so in the second. What I loved initially is how regal he was. Powerful, intimidating, kingly, but not evil either. He warns Odysseus of the gods' will and of fate, which always realizes itself in mythology. In Thunder Bringer, he's fine. His lustful and flighty side is shown, but we could interpret his intervention as avenging Helios and punishing the ones who ate the cows, instead of "Zeus is evil". But in God Games ? He's so pettyyyyy and childish. Where is the kingly attitude ? This "Beast Zeus" should come against Kronos or Typhon, or maybe when Athena and the others threatened his position. Not after a freaking game ! He just strikes Athena with thunder because she won fair and square. At LEAST Luke Holt absolutely killed it, so it's cool to listen to.

Penelope : she's underdeveloped :( . Okay, her bond with Odysseus was respected, they're adorable together. On her own ? Eh, she's fine. Which is a shame because she simply didn't have enough room to exist outside of Odysseus. Also, the fact that she doesn't interact once with her son is criminal imo.

I do have some other issues with characters like Circe and Calypso (basically they're declawed compared to the Odyssey), whereas I'm completely fine with others like Eurylochus, Telemachus or every god except Zeus and Poseidon. Though they're not perfectly accurate either but I don't have problems with them.

The crew in general is also underdeveloped, so I didn't feel much for them (until discovering the scrapped Elpenor and Perimedes songs/lh). They played their roles correctly.

I hated the suitors (that's a positive in Epic) and laughed when Antinous died. Though I wished they were more pathetic and less threatening. Musically it'd be worse but story-wise more fitting.

The story

Overall, it's fine. Most of the best points come from the Odyssey itself, the one change I liked the most was having Odysseus and Poseidon meet (not the way it ended though).

Also, story-wise, I prefer act 1 over act 2, because it's less over the place and more grounded.

But emotion-wise and music-wise, forgetting about the Odyssey, act 2 wins the cake.

Those were my thoughts on Epic :3

I tried not to judge it too much according to the Odyssey and some of my friends are more demanding on that plan (for perfectly legitimate reasons btw). But it's hard to separate Epic from the wonderful work of Homer and it's lacking in some areas.

Still, this journey was very fun, I love all the passion Jorge, the singers and the animatic artists put in, there are a lot of good things about it (I can't mention everything). I don't want to rate it because it's too rigid of a system. I listen to the songs on loop and, ultimately, I'm thankful Epic exists :)

I may come back to this post and reblog stuff if I have new relevant thoughts to add. I'll probably rank the sagas in another post.

#epic the musical #ask #not a reblog #epic odysseus #reminder to my fellow winions : my opinions ≠ undeniable facts #jorge rivera herrans

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imorynn · 9 hours ago

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ᯓ★ ─── Through A Black & White Lens : A Bond Captured ( p.lupone )

ᯓ★ pairings : patti lupone • fem!reader ( what could’ve been but never occurred )

ᯓ★ summary : ⸺ IN WHICH you and she were deeply in love back in the 70s when you were both starring in something rather big together, but it never happened. Always something brewing beneath the surface. Constantly being around one another. Have insane chemistry and ease with one another. She fell in love with a woman; you. As did you, yet of course, nothing came out of it besides heartbreak and ache and yearning, and no one in the public knew about it — there are pictures from back then between you and her hugging, holding hands, being close to one another, and a bit of social media— this generation now thinks or teases 'surely they must've been something during these times, I mean look at them!', though some conformed with the idea of two women simply being platonic soulmates. Then in 1988, LuPone married, and that was that.

You've seen each other in award shows, and brief gatherings, and even spoke about one another during interviews if they brought up the well-known Broadway hit you both starred in. There was always positivity in one another's words. A warmth, a melancholy, a softness no one quite can put a finger on. You never really reached out to her, and neither did she — but you did send her flowers — her favorite ones after every single performance, giving her the notion that you were out there, somewhere in the crowd, but not exactly ready to see her face to face. Here and there sure, probably somewhere along the 2010s you went out for a drink with her, but never something occasional.

And that saddened her. Saddened you. You both had a very special, warm, and deep bond. The what if’s, but’s, could’ve’s, should’ve’s.

Who would have thought that you BOTH would be starring in the 2024 Marvel series, Agatha All Along: Coven of Chaos? Your character is as significant as Death. How due to this, the press tour, the interviews the pictures, the series, and palpable chemistry, images resurface — moments captured when you and Patti were younger — created a buzz during the press tour ( I also have one coming out between Aubrey plaza and Kathryn Hahn — capturing their mannerisms is so amazing 😭 ).

It’s not only another door opening to new Marvel characters, but a door reopening between two stars who shared an immense relationship back then. The photos, showing shared laughter, choreography sessions, and close, intimate interactions. This particular interview is set apart from Marvel. Something just for you two.

ᯓ★ things that should be mentioned : Patti LuPone is MARRIED, there’s no such thing as her cheating on her husband or anything — it’s FICTION ( inspired by intuition that I’m damn certain Ms. LuPone at some point was in love with a woman — ). I know it’s a rather different territory when it comes to real life, but there’s no inappropriate themes within here — just fiction, fun and something for you to fill in the lines with your own delusions :,>

ᯓ★ a/n : So — was it wrong for me to write a tiny something something for Patti LuPone instead of one of the characters SHE PORTRAYED? :,)) DO NOT SUE ME — I’m just a girl who’s in the sheer depths of being delusional. I’m enamored with this — I hope you all enjoy, comment what you think <33

The interviewer starts with routine questions about the project — its themes, the process, your experiences, your characters, the joys and challenges of working together again after all these years. But there’s a flicker of anticipation within the room, waiting to be ignited. You sense it, and you’re certain Patti does too. The energy transforms when the interviewer leans forward with a knowing smile, setting their notes aside and brings out a few grainy, black-and-white shots that’s the two of you, young and beautiful, captured in a moment of unguarded affection.

A candid of Patti, young and dark-haired, with one arm draped over your shoulders while both of yours loosely rested around her waist — you both putting close attention to something one of the members of the cast or the crew was uttering.

Y/N squinting : That must’ve been during a rehearsal break. We were always like that — always gravitating toward each other somehow.

Or another, the two of you mid-dance rehearsal, Patti laughing as you attempted a complicated move, clearly not quite nailing it yet.

Y/N huffs out a groan : That choreography was hell for me. I could never get that turn right.

Patti smirks and loosely raises a finger : I remember that day. You were so frustrated, but when you finally got it, you did it better than anyone else. *turns to the camera and raises brows with a scoff* She’s underselling herself — she was brilliant.

Then there was another image; a black-and-white shot of you and Patti during a cast party. Your head was tipped back in laughter, your smile vibrant and unguarded, while Patti leaned close, watching you with a grin that could only be described as adoring. Staring at you as if you hung the moon.

Y/N, smiling softly : I forgot about that night.

Patti hums and crosses her legs : We had one too many drinks. If it weren’t for the photography back in the day, you’d be able to see how flushed your cheeks were. All cheeky smiles and giggles you were.

Y/N, leans in closer with a wider grin : Well I was with you that night wasn’t I?

Patti, mid-rehearsal, practicing choreography with the dance captain while you stood off from a distance. She’s mid-motion, arms outstretched as he demonstrates a movement next to her. The hem of her black dress flutters faintly as she shifts, her focus razor-sharp, brows quirked in concentration.

Off to the side, almost out of frame, there’s you. Your posture is laid back but composed, script in your loosened grip, your lips slightly ajar as if caught mid-discussion with someone who is barely even visible in the shot. Yet, it’s unmistakable — your focus is not on the script, or the person you were speaking to. They’re on her.

Expression soft and without a doubt fond. Smitten were your features, but you always claimed you were simply focused. Patti more than anyone knew that you gained that look when you believed no one was watching, especially when it came to her.

Patti tilts her head, brow hitching as she takes it in: Oh, God, *a mix of exasperation and amusement in her voice* Look at me. I’m practically sweating focus.

Y/N chuckled softly : You were always like that. Completely immersed. Nothing could distract you when you were working.

Patti turns, smiling slyly with a chuckle bubbling up her throat : Except you, apparently. Caught in the act, huh? Staring at me while pretending to care about your lines.

Y/N laughs, shaking head : I wasn’t pretending. I was… multitasking. You were impossible to ignore, Patti. You still are.

Patti rolls her eyes but smiles nonetheless : Well, you weren’t exactly inconspicuous, were you? I can feel you staring, even in this photo. *motions to photo*

Interviewer : It’s fascinating to see how much this image captures without meaning to. A lot of fans speculated them. There’s a kind of… unspoken connection between you, even in the way the shot is composed.

Patti leans back, arm rested on the back of her chair while crossing her legs : That’s the thing, isn’t it? We weren’t just colleagues. There was always this… awareness. Of each other. Of what the other was doing, how they were feeling. It’s in the work, but it’s also in moments like this.

Y/N nods and adjusts posture : It��s like the work gave us permission to be connected. Even when we weren’t speaking, even when we were on opposite sides of the stage — or the room, apparently — it was there.

Patti glances at you : Well, for what it’s worth, *tilts chin up with a small smirk* you were decent at multitasking. Those lines? You nailed them.

Y/N laughs, smile widening : And you nailed the choreography, and pretty much everything. As always.

Yet there was one particular image, one said “lost” like fragments of an untold story. Snapshots of a connection so vivid and raw it feels almost tangible. The most famous of these — the one that resurfaces like wildfire following your candid admission — is electric in its intimacy. It’s not staged, not posed or polished; it’s messy, unfiltered, and so very human.

Your younger self, all sharp angles and mischief, leaning into a young, breathtaking as always, Patti. Your hand, adorned with the bold, unmistakable rings you always wore back then, cradles her face, chin nestled within the dip connecting your thumb and pointer finger. The metal of your jewelry caught the faintest glint of light even in the monochrome image, contrasting the softness of the moment. The pads of your digits press into her cheek, mushing her features with a teasing gentleness that’s somehow deeply tender as if to mold her into some jesting version of herself. Your lips are curled, caught mid-action, pearly whites lightly nipping at the high structure of her cheekbone. It’s a gesture both absurdly affectionate and completely disarming.

Patti is caught laughing, her mouth wide, the pretty rows of teeth glistening in the grayscale. One of her hands clasps loosely to your wrist as if anchoring herself to the moment, while the other disappears into the strands of your hair, disheveling them slightly. Her touch looks both instinctive and possessive like she can’t help but claim you in that fraction of a second.

Yet it’s the details that transition the photograph into a lively experience, a memory. The faintest bloom of her scarlet lipstick can be seen on the quirk of your mouth and on the collar of your shirt, a telltale mark of a kiss shared seconds before or perhaps purloined in between wisps and bubbles of giggles. The bridge of your nose is scrunched in laughter, your lashes shadowing beneath your eyes as they’re half-closed, caught somewhere between puckish and endearment. Hers, however, are open and round and alive, beaming with that unguarded, boisterous joy that Patti was known to express when in your presence. Wild, untamed, intimate.

The photo feels impossibly near, as though the photographer captured it from mere centimeters away. And yet, there’s no artifice to it. It’s candid in every sense of the word — a glimpse into something private and unspoken, a moment that wasn’t meant for anyone but the two of you.

Your head bows back with laugh while Patti’s eyes narrow slightly as if in faux irritation, but a grin tugs at the corners of her red lips. She leans forward, resting her elbow on the arm of her chair, her gaze flicking from the image to you.

Y/N, holding the print of the image with a small smile, playfully wiping the corner of your mouth as if the lipstick smudge was still there : Goodness. I didn’t even know this one was out there. Was wondering when it would pop out.

Interviewer : And ? What’s the story behind it ?

Patti, seated beside you, leans over to catch a glimpse. She laughs almost immediately — a sharp, unfiltered sound that’s so unmistakably hers, cutting through the room like a blade.

Patti : Oh for crying out loud. *takes the picture from your hold, stares at it for a moment before looking back up at you with an eye roll* Was this after rehearsal? Curtain call? Or one of those cast parties where everyone got far too comfortable? Don’t remember but someone had a camera, snapping photos while we were all blowing off steam.

Y/N leans forward, propping elbows on knees : Blowing off steam is one way to put it. She was yelling at me about something. I can’t remember what — it was probably something ridiculous.

Patti : Ridiculous ? *turning to face you fully* You kept singing my lines under your breath, trying to trip me up!

Y/N grins : And it worked. She got so mad, I had to go and force her to look at me. *glances at her* She can’t stay mad at me forever. The more I grabbed her face, the more it led her to kiss me right here. *gestures to the spot*

You nor her go into the details or exactness of it all however, nor point out the print mark of her lips on the fabric of your shirt. That was only for you both to know.

Interviewer with raised brow and teasing smile : And the bite ?

Patti, laughs loosely and snorts : This one bites with ‘cuteness overload anxiety’. Someone just snapped the shot without us even noticing it.

Patti holds the image up to the light, her gaze narrowing slightly, like if she’s inspecting every detail : Look at that, *her tone blunt as she glares* You mauled me.

Y/N, voice low and teasing : You didn’t seem to mind that day. Besides, it was worth having you smile again

Patti waves a hand, grinning widely : Was it not normal for women to kiss even then? God forbid we enjoy ourselves. *pauses, her tone dipping into something light, more reflective* But look at us. So happy and young.

Interviewer, senses an opportunity : Was there something more between you two?

Patti cuts them off with a sharp laugh, her head tilting back : Oh, they always ask, don’t they? *turns to you, eyebrows raised* Should we give them the answer they’ve been waiting for? Or let them keep wondering?

Y/N is quiet for a beat, letting the weight of the moment settle.

Y/N smiles lightly : I think the picture says more than we ever could.

Patti, amused but satisfied, is about to hand the photograph back to the interviewer : Well, there ya have it. Two women, enjoying life and each other’s company. Nothing wrong with that.

Patti pauses halfway, glances at you then at the photo, then at the interviewer with a raised brow before withdrawing her hand, the very hand that holds the photograph : For the record, I’m damn keeping this.

Y/N — you laugh softly, and for a second or so, it feels like no time has passed at all. The photograph might belong to the past, but the nostalgia, the melancholy, the warmth it stirs ? That is timeless.

─── ᯓ★

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #patti lupone #Patti LuPone x fem!reader #lilia calderu #marvel #patti lupone x reader #𝐢𝐫𝐲𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 ── 🎐ᝰ.#Avis Amberg #fem!reader #idk how to tag this #lilia calderu x fem!reader #avis amberg x reader #Patti LuPone lovers —

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vulpenthefox · 2 days ago

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Thanks for the tag!

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

I consider myself alterhuman. I'm not a massive fan on labels too specific and don't fully understand all of them, so I tend to use the broadest label of "alterhuman" for myself.

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

Ah yes. Take wild guess on my first.

As for the second, I like to say "Abyssal Siren"; It's a darker scaled siren, still with wings, but more adapted to the depths. Small, beady eyes, biolumenescence, wings like a mix of a normal siren's and a manta's.

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

Mostly just phantom shifts, but I am always shifted some parts.

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

See above, plus daily dysphoria in the first hour I wake up at least.

5/ What do you think of the community?

Ohhhhhhhhhhh boy. It's very polar. I love the community I've found online here, and my in person pack, but the ticktok and youtube shorts therians... I don't like the reputation they give us. And I despise that those platforms reward them for it.

The biggest benefit is the masks, which I am unsure if we had before but definetly not to the same extend. However, not as a gear perspective, but as an identity protection measure.

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

Gear and diet. I always start my day with an egg and a smoothie and that helps my dysphoria a lot. I also sleep like a fox and make my bed like a fox den.

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

Yes. Every day.

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

You do not need to out yourself to everyone. Or even anyone. I use the fake name of Vulpen eveywhere, not many people actually know my real name and that I'm alterhuman.

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

I have a few pieces of subdle gear, a tail, and a few masks and I love them <3

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

Honestly? No, but it's not important to me. I am who/what I am, so why should origin matter?

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!

Open Tags everyone!

If you are a alterhuman, reblog and answer these questions!

(don't be afraid to write a lot, do what you want ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

5/ What do you think of the community?

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈

#alterhumanity

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it-happened-one-fic · 18 hours ago

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Bridal Visions: Photoshoot #5 - Fontaine Bridal - Your Groom

Summary: Chiori teasing you when your stand-in groom for the modeling photoshoot of her Fontaine inspired bridal line was Wriothesley was to be expected. And she wasn’t being entirely subtle either. But you also couldn’t deny that Wriothesley did make a charming groom and that today was going to be a memory you treasured for years to come.

Type: Female reader/ 800 Followers Event/ series/ sfw/ fluff/ teasing/Chiori is shipping again/

Bridal Visions Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1906

I stared at myself in the mirror, my gaze sweeping over the pristine white dress that was accented with delicate lace. But I had genuinely wondered what sort of gown I’d be wearing when I’d agreed to be a model for Chiori’s new wedding line. I really didn’t think I could have been wholly prepared for what greeted me, though, and I stared at my reflection with slightly widened eyes.

“Like it?” I blinked and turned, immediately making eye contact with Chiori before I felt a smile cross over my face.

“It’s beautiful, Chiori,” She smiled at my words. Nodding her head like she’d already known that was what I was going to say as she walked over and casually began adjusting little things that I hadn’t even noticed about the dress.

Smoothing wrinkles that were in the lace that coated both my arms and shoulders, tweaking folds in the wrists of the sleeves where they flared as she spoke, “I made some adjustments when the Traveler told me you were going to be the model.”

I blinked, feeling myself smile amusedly as my eyes followed her, “Oh?”

I couldn’t keep the humor out of my tone, and her gaze flickered over to meet mine, a slight sparkle of amusement in the red depths of her eyes as she spoke, “That’s why it’s backless. It’ll be fun seeing how your groom reacts.”

I snorted at her words, dry even despite their teasing nature, and I shook my head even as I chuckled, “Wriothesley isn’t going to react.”

“Don’t all grooms look forward to seeing how their bride looks?” Her tone was perfectly blasé in a way that could only be described as very Chiori, and I rolled my eyes.

“Maybe, but Wriothesley’s not my groom. He’s just modeling the clothes alongside me,” Chiori stepped back as I spoke, her gaze meeting mine.

Her eyebrows arched slightly before she lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, “Well, we’ll see. And you look marvelous anyway.”

I laughed but followed her out, lightly lifting the fitted, lacy skirt of the dress as I went and ignoring the way it dragged behind me in a short train that only added to its rather grandiose look.

I blinked into the sunlight as we emerged from the dressing area and watched as Wriothesley turned to look back at me with a ready smile on his face that automatically had me smiling back at him.

His outfit wasn’t that drastically different from what he usually wore. It was a suit in his usual shades of grey with flashes of maroon. But his choker, gloves, and fluffy coat were gone so that he looked a bit more cleaned up, and his boots were replaced with dress shoes.

And I honestly figured Chiori might be the one woman on earth that could force Wriothesley to actually clean up his appearance, even if it was just for some photos.

But then, who knows. Perhaps he would look exactly this way if it were his wedding day.

Chiori shifted so that she was no longer blocking his view of me, and I got to watch as his pale eyes widened in surprise before he schooled his expression back to a more easygoing smile. Though I didn’t miss the knowing look Chiori gave me as she walked over to the photographer that almost had me making a face at her before I joined Wriothesley.

“What was that look about? Some sort of girl talk that I’m not allowed to know about?” He was grinning at me as I stopped in front of him, and I shook my head fondly.

“No, Chiori’s just been teasing me,” I waved away his question with a smile, but it did little to dim the glimmer in his eyes.

“Ah, about what a lovely bride you make, I’m assuming,” It was almost impressive how quickly he caught onto at least a portion of what Chiori had just been picking on me about as he crossed his arms.

I rolled my eyes slightly at his words before nodding, smiling all the while. But there was no way I was about to let him know the specifics of her teasing or that fact that it was genuinely nice to be complimented. Even if I weren’t a real bride.

But I also wasn’t going to take his teasing lying down, and I grinned at him, “Shouldn’t you worry about yourself? Many folks see you looking like that, and you might just become the most sought-after man in Fontaine.”

He snorted at my words, nodding his head with a devil-may-care grin as he responded with characteristic sarcasm, “Oh yeah, that’s totally me. Wanted dead or alive.”

I shook my head at his words, crossing my arms as I eyed him, “While I’m sure you’d make a very cute zombie, I imagine most would prefer for their groom to be alive for the wedding.”

He gave a noncommittal shrug before grinning at me once more, “Eh, details.”

“Alright, lovebirds,” At Chiori’s voice, we both turned to see her walking over. And it was beyond obvious that she’d long since abandoned her teasing in favor of a more businesslike position. Even if she was still picking on both of us lightly with her choice of words.

She pointed at Wriothesley, and I watched as he straightened like he was at attention, doing my best not to laugh at him as Chiori spoke, “You’re a big boy, so here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to scoop up Y/n bridal style, and we’ll go from there.”

I blinked at her words, briefly surprised, before I glanced over at Wriothesley, who merely shrugged, apparently unbothered by the plan, “I suppose bridal style is fitting.”

Chiori ignored him as she continued, turning to face me, “Here, this’ll be your bouquet.”

I accepted the flowers hastily, a small arrangement of rainbow roses, before I glanced back over at her in time to see her turn on her heel and start walking off. Her exit from the space our signal to get into position.

I glanced over at Wriothesley, who was eyeing me expectantly, before I stepped closer and shifted my bouquet to one hand as I reached up to rest a hand lightly on his broad shoulder.

He hesitated only briefly, glancing with slightly raised eyebrows at my exposed back that he could now see before he shook his head with an amused smile. Almost like he somehow knew about Chiori’s plot.

But then, as quickly and easily as could be, he scooped me up like I weighed nothing at all. One of his arms wrapping around my back while the other hooked itself under my knees so that I was cradled against him as he straightened.

I felt my eyes widen as I hastily wrapped my arm around his shoulders so that my hand rested against his neck while my other arm flailed slightly with the bouquet. And I could feel him chuckling at my startled reaction.

I frowned at him slightly as he adjusted his hold, bouncing me slightly in a move that I was positive was intended to get yet another reaction from me.

“I didn’t expect to go up that fast,” Even as I scolded him while simultaneously defending my reaction, I could feel myself steadily relaxing and trusting him to hold me up as he grinned at me.

“Apologies,” Despite his words, I was almost certain that he didn’t feel bad in the slightest. His tone certainly didn’t make him sound that way, and the mischievous glimmer to his eyes wasn’t convincing either.

I frowned at him for just a moment longer before I looked towards where Chiori stood beside the camera, her expression thoughtful as I called out to her, “What now?”

Silence stretched as she frowned at us thoughtfully, and the photographer leaned around her camera to look at the two of us after briefly glancing at the designer, “How about you two improvise something? Anything romantic should do.”

“Improvise…” I trailed off and looked over at Wriothesley, whose eyebrows had arched at our instructions.

He shook his head slightly, half-glancing my way. And I could almost see the cogs in his head turning as he muttered to himself, “Something romantic, huh?”

I tilted my head, adjusting my grip on him slightly so that I wasn’t quite so stiff as I felt a teasing smile slip onto my face, “I guess you could always sing or do something equally cheesy like they do in the movies?”

He snorted, automatically shaking his head as he shot down my playful suggestion, “Yeah, no.”

He paused, looking over at me with a grin that was steadily spreading across his face and had my eyebrows arching at him, “I might have an idea, though.”

“Oh?” I questioned him before nodding slightly, because at least he had an idea. I couldn’t say the same for myself, “Well, what do you need me to do then?”

He was grinning fully now in a way that promised that either a snarky line or some form of shenanigans was coming. But he only said one word, with amusement already coating his tone: “Relax.”

Barely even had time to frown at him in confusion before he spun, causing my eyes to widen before I abruptly started laughing in surprise at his antics as my skirt swung out in response to his motions.

I curled forward and towards him as laughter bubbled out of me, and I could feel both my skirt and veil fanning out around us as we spun with him holding me tightly to him.

Distantly, I could hear the camera snapping pictures at the speed of light, catching every moment of our interaction until he slowed to a stop. Laughing along with me, now with our foreheads pressed together from where he’d leaned down slightly.

And after a brief moment he let out a sigh as our laughter trailed off, and he set me down, still grinning from ear to ear, “Alright. Down you go.”

I was only briefly wobbly as I found my footing while I leaned against Wriothesley, and Chiori walked over with a slight smile on her face as she watched the two of us with crossed arms and a far too smug expression, “That should be perfect.”

She paused, glancing at Wriothesley thoughtfully as she gestured towards me, “What did you think of the exposed back?”

I whirled to look at her, her name slipping from my mouth in a shocked, half-betrayed exhale as he nodded. And, calm as could be, he gave a shrug paired with a slight, “I thought it was a nice touch.”

She looked at me with a smug smile, her eyes glimmering, “See? I told you.”

I all but scowled at her as she turned to walk away, abandoning me as Wriothesley turned to look at me with arched brows. Leaning forward slightly as if he were sharing a secret as he half-whispered his question, “Is that what the girl talk was about?”

I glanced his way, briefly meeting his gaze before looking away again as I thought of Chiori’s teasing. Because I knew exactly what she was getting at with all of her remarks about me being his bride and him being my groom, but I wasn’t about to mention all of that to him as I trailed off, “Amongst other things……”

If you would like to read more:

Next: Coming Soon!

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gfanlocalcryptid · 2 days ago

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JIST FINISHED MALEVOLENT SEASON 4

I really loved this season, from Scratch to Oscar, from Marie to Daniel. All these new characters added a new depth to the story and new entertaining dynamics between them.

Kayne absolutely terrorizes me. And what unsettled me the most is that... He's like us. At first I thought that Arthur was like the listeners, blind and only aware of certain things, but we all really are Kayne. We have our obsessions, the characters we don't like and our favorites.

We, like him, are here just for entertainment. We too feel powerful over the characters (think about the episode polls) and we only care about the story. We are Kayne. And it's terrifying.

The Butcher really went from being my favorite character to being fucking dead in the span of 40 minutes. I love him, when we found out he was with Noel and started singing and fighting side by side with him I started giggling and kicking my feet. He was written amazingly and I hope he comes back. Some could suggest that his story is over, but I love him so much!

And poor Noel 😭 I went from not caring for him at all to being devastated by his fate. I really hope he's in Spain.

Another genial thing tied with Kayne being some sort of omnipotent editor is that he decides everybody's fate based on what he finds funnier, and I guess that's the reason why Wallace and Yellow are bound together and stuck in the Dreamlands. I'm 100% sure they will come back.

I'm also Yellow's #1 defender, I hope we see more of him, while Wallace... I was with Arthur about that one.

Finally we know what John's deal with Kayne was (it was worse than I imagined) and I know this will probably worsen John and Arthur's relationship, but I hope that Arthur will understand. I'm honestly not that angry with John, just a little hurt, and I believe now more than ever that he really cares about Arthur.

He was not lying, his love for Arthur saved him.

Some questions still remain: who is the black haired woman who is probably an ancient one as well, how was John bound to that book, why did The KiY's cult have those prophecies about Arthur, will The Order of the Falling Star still have an important role or is that solved, and last but not least, will Anna Stanczyk still manage to elude the narrative?

PS: and what did Oscar write in that letter? This and more questions will be answered later, because I finished listening to the last episode at 3 am, it's now 3:30 and I need to wake up at 7!

#what a podcast! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️#angsty edits are on their way #malevolent #arthur lester #john malevolent #john doe malevolent #the butcher #detective noel #wallace larson #yellow malevolent #the king in yellow #oscar malevolent #kayne malevolent #malevolent part 40

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aishangotome · 2 days ago

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Azel Radwan: Chapter 1

Chapter 0

♡———♡

I still don't know what love is.

But someday I want to fall in love and know love.

A passionate love like a blazing rose, a fierce love that remains forever like a story someone spun.

???: I see, I see...

???: How amusing.

(...Who?)

The change came to the recurring dream I always had, on the night it was decided I would travel to a foreign country.

In an immature space, a rose garden where many flowers are tightly closed as buds, an unknown person is reading an unfinished story placed on an oak table.

They had a mystical appearance that didn't seem human.

Hair that shimmered with the light of the giant moon rising in the sky, and strange eyes that seemed to hold the starry sky in their depths.

The sacred and beautiful being, blending into the dream space, scoffs at me as I approach.

Emma: What...is it?

???: I have some unfortunate news for you, who yearns for love and thirsts for knowledge of it.

???: Love is not such a good thing.

???: There are times when it is happier to end your life as an innocent you who knows nothing.

I don't know what words they read from the unfinished book.

But the "something" that is not human directly denies what lies at the root of my heart.

Emma: How can you say that so definitively?

???: Because I am a God.

(...God?)

???: I have seen the "love" of many people. Not stories, but the many raw loves that exist in reality...

???: Many of them are people who think they can do anything with "love" as an excuse.

???: It's a miserable thing, a human being driven mad by love.

???: No matter how rational a person is, once they are mad with love, they can no longer live without it.

???: Like a curse.

Emma: ..............

???: You, the fact that the dream world is wrapped in thorns means you are the daughter of Rhodolite, right?

???: Rhodolite also had it. The story of His Majesty the King who lost his love and fell into becoming a beast.

Emma: ...The love story of the previous Belle and His Majesty the King may indeed have been a tragedy.

Emma: But that doesn't mean that all love ends in tragedy.

???: You are quite right. But it also doesn't mean that all love ends in comedy.

???: Why do you crave love?

At the God's question, words catch in my throat.

There was no particular reason.

There is no particular motive.

It doesn't go beyond pure yearning, and I don't have any deep thoughts on love.

Only when I am told do I realize that my longing has no substance.

???: At the very least, I would like to be excused from such a thing as love.

???: --Because I am a god who does not love people.

(...Nn...)

Drawn by the gentle sunlight peeking through the window, I opened my eyes to find the familiar ceiling of my room in the city filling my vision.

The immature roses, the God who denied love, all vanished like an illusion.

As soon as I woke up, the memories of the dream crumbled, gradually being repainted with reality.

But there was one fragment of the dream that fell into my heart without disappearing.

("Love is a curse"... huh?)

???: Emma, are you awake?

The door knocker announcing a visitor pushed aside my sleepiness.

(This voice... Rio?)

Emma: Sorry, wait a moment!

???: Ah, it's fine. I'm a gentleman, so I'll wait for you as long as it takes.

(...Wait, I think I heard a voice other than Rio's...)

With a touch of anxiety, I quickly changed clothes, washed my face, and got ready before opening the door.

Standing at the entrance was the dazzling smile of my friend, who had quit being a butler and returned to the city with me.

Rio: Good morning! You look absolutely adorable today too!

Emma: Yes, yes, thank you as always.

Emma: ...What brings you here so early?

Rio: I just came to see you because I wanted to see your face.

Rio: I brought some bread. Would you like to eat together?

Emma: Thank you, I'd love to. Mmm, it smells good...

Rio: It's from your favorite bakery. They have the new divination bread too.

Emma: Divination bread? Sounds interesting!

Clavis: Wait, wait, Emma. There's something more important than bread, isn't there?

A figure forcibly wedging himself between Rio and me snatched the bag of bread.

(So it wasn't a hallucination after all.)

Giving up my self-defense escapism, I faced the prince, this country's number one problem child, with a dubious smile plastered on his face.

Emma: It's been a while, Prince Clavis.

Clavis: I'm glad you jumped into my arms honestly from the start.

Emma: Thank you for your concern. Why are you here?

Clavis: Now, why do you think?

???: Don't be so coy, just say it already.

(Huh...?)

I couldn't help but widen my eyes at the large figure sitting on a wooden box some distance away.

Emma: Prince Luke was here too!?

Luke: Oh. Sorry for barging in so early in the morning.

Rio: I just happened to run into Prince Clavis and Prince Luke a while ago.

Rio: I haven't heard what they're here for either, but...

(I thought it was unusual for Rio to come this early in the morning... Maybe he was worried about me.)

Luke stood up from the wooden box and lightly lifted the paper bag he was holding.

Luke: Let us join your breakfast party too.

A commoner's house, occupied by two princes and a former butler friend... In this space, oppressive both physically and mentally, it was Clavis who broke the silence first.

Clavis: Emma, you're going to Tanzanite soon, aren't you?

Rio: Ugh...

The freshly baked bread lined up on the small table and the sweets Luke brought as a souvenir lightly bounced as Rio bumped his head against the corner.

Clavis: What's wrong?

Rio: ...I have a seizure every time I hear that.

Rio: To think that I won't be able to see my angel, goddess, and fairy, Emma, for a while...

Luke: You're so dramatic.

(The first time I told Rio, he looked like he was about to combust, so this is much better.)

*flashback*

Rio: --Emma is going... to Tanzanite...?

Emma: Rio, are you okay!? You just slammed your head into the bookshelf...

Rio: I'm okay... But, why...?

Emma: The owner told me a lot about foreign countries, and I was especially interested in the God in Tanzanite who can perform divination with 100% accuracy.

Emma: If Gods really exist in reality, I thought I'd like to meet one.

Emma: Besides, you know, Tanzanite is famous for tourism, right?

Emma: It's a desert, but I thought it would be a good place for my first trip.

*back to present*

(I felt bad for almost making Rio faint...)

(But I've been excited every day since it was decided I was going to Tanzanite.)

Luke: It's surprising you're not going with her.

Rio: The owner asked me to look after the shop while he's away.

Rio: Of course, I want to go with her!? What if something happens to Emma while I'm not there...?

Rio: But if me staying here will allow Emma to travel with peace of mind, then I... I...

Clavis: Haha, if that's the case, don't worry.

Clavis tore off a piece of bread he was holding, brought it to his mouth, savored it deliciously, and swallowed.

Clavis: We'll be Emma's bodyguards in your place.

Rio: Eh, really? That's great, then I can relax--

Rio: --That's not how it works, is it!? Wait, what do you mean?

(What does he mean!?)

I almost dropped my divination bread and hurriedly caught it.

Clavis: Exactly what I said.

Luke: We're going to Tanzanite too.

Luke, who had stuffed a whole honey-covered pastry into his large mouth, sighed as he licked his fingers.

Luke: I don't want to go because it's a pain, but Chevalier ordered me to go on a diplomatic mission.

(To Tanzanite at this time...)

*flashback*

Akatsuki: Things have been dangerous everywhere lately.

Emma: Could it be... because of the Triple Alliance?

Akatsuki: Yeah. For now, there are no overt moves from any country. But it feels like the calm before the storm.

*back to present*

(...I'm an outsider now, so it's probably best not to pry too deeply.)

Clavis: It's close to your departure date. So, wouldn't you want to go with us?

Clavis: We're planning to use the sea route via Benitoite, and if you board the country's passenger ship, it's practically free.

Clavis: I can see you crying with joy. Ah, I know even without you saying it.

Clavis: Such good fortune to be able to go to a foreign land with your beloved Clavis--

Rio: Objection!

Rio, springing to his feet in the small room, pointed a finger at Clavis.

Rio: They say there's nothing scarier than something free, so what's your objective?

(As expected of Rio, that's what I wanted to know too.)

Clavis took a sip of the tea I had prepared as if to pause for a breath...

And what appeared on his slightly moistened lips was a meaningful and fearless smile.

Clavis: What do you think?

Luke: Don't be so suggestive. There's no deep reason.

Clavis: Luke, read the room.

Luke: You should.

Luke: This guy issued a notice to all officials to report any interesting information regarding Emma to him immediately.

Emma: So you knew about my trip to Tanzanite because...

Luke: The official who issued your departure permit ratted you out.

Emma: Isn't that an abuse of power!?

Clavis: What are you talking about? It's his job.

Luke: This guy was jumping for joy when he learned about your first trip, saying "Delightful."

Luke: He volunteered to go to Tanzanite himself, and I was stuck with babysitting Nokto.

Luke: He said, "I have to give Emma at least one sane person because she's pitiful."

(Thank you, Nokto!)

Luke: But, if you really can't stand it, I'll take responsibility and bury Clavis in the woods.

Clavis: There's no need to worry about that. Emma must be trembling with joy, right?

Luke: ...You should get your eyes checked by a doctor before you leave the country.

Rio: ...I'm worried. I'm very worried.

(I should probably consult with the owner since I'm not traveling alone... )

(But it's reassuring to have someone I know in an unfamiliar place, not just Clavis but Luke too.)

Lost in thought and worry, I furrowed my brow and tore the divination bread I was holding in half.

Emma: Ah.

(Something came out from inside.)

It was a small figurine made of pottery.

It was modeled after a horned horse, standing gallantly on the palm of my hand.

Rio: As expected of Emma! That's a jackpot.

Clavis: Oh ho... Indeed, the unicorn is currently considered the "symbol of good luck" across the continent.

Emma: Is that so?

Clavis: Yes. It's a good sign, you should keep it as a charm.

Clavis: After all, the unicorn has a special meaning in the desert country...?

(I don't really associate unicorns with deserts...)

Emma: If that's the case, it seems like it will bring good luck.

Luke: You've been a good girl. Lots of good things will happen to you even without a unicorn.

I gently wrapped the unicorn in my hand with my fingers.

The unexpected good fortune seemed to be pushing me forward, confirming that my current honest feelings were "right."

Clavis: So, Emma, will you go with us...?

The gateway to Tanzanite, the land of divination and illusions enveloped in desert, was a bustling port town like Benitoite, thriving with merchants.

Emma: This is Tanzanite...!

(I had heard it was a desert, so I thought there would be more sandstorms raging...)

There was no hint of desert in the lively town.

However, the attire of the animals and people passing through the town was clearly different from that of Rhodolite and Benitoite, and coupled with the scent of spices wafting through the air, it made me feel like I was standing in a foreign land.

(I've really come a long way.)

Akatsuki: Our destination is far. It's too early to be frolicking around.

The owner, carrying luggage for his business trip, lined up next to me.

I was also carrying a bag full of books, but it was nothing compared to the owner's.

Emma: Should I carry some more of your luggage?

Akatsuki: No need. I usually carry it all by myself.

(It looks like there are easily 100 books, and he carries them all by himself...)

Clavis: Even though we offered to help, Akatsuki is quite serious, isn't he?

Luke: Emma, I can also carry some for you.

Clavis and Luke, who were on the same ship, were lightly dressed in contrast to us.

Emma: Thank you. But this is my first purchasing trip, so I want to carry my luggage myself.

Emma: Selling books in a foreign land, buying new ones...

Emma: I'm really looking forward to seeing how much the contents of my bag will change between the outbound and return trips.

Luke: You're really lively.

Clavis: Akatsuki has a good assistant.

Clavis: By the way, where are you two going now?

Akatsuki: Someone is coming to pick us up.

Emma: ...Pick us up?

Where the owner unnaturally shifted his gaze, an eye-catching beauty was standing.

(Wow...)

She was a tall, bewitching woman dressed in extravagant ornaments, no less impressive than the owner in his vibrantly colored ruby red attire.

Next to her was a gentle-looking man with glasses, who, upon noticing us, broke into a smile and approached.

Man with glasses: We've been waiting for you, Akatsuki. And...

Emma: I'm Emma. I've come as the owner's assistant.

Basil: Ah, I heard about you in the letter. Nice to meet you, please call me Basil.

Basil: And this flamboyant woman here is Kamal.

Kamal: ............

Kamal smiled seductively and showed me the words "Nice to meet you" from a bundle of papers she took out of her pocket.

Basil: As you can see, Kamal can't speak, so please communicate with her through writing.

(I see...)

Emma: Understood. It's a pleasure to meet you both.

Clavis: ...Hmm.

Beside us, as we exchanged greetings amicably, Clavis rested his chin on his hand.

Clavis: You are servants of the Living God, are you not?

(...Eh?)

Basil: Impressive! How did you know?

Clavis: Well, you have the proof of faith, don't you?

Clavis pointed to his own chest with his finger.

Both Basil and Kamal had their cloak clasps in that spot.

(...Looking closely, there's a unicorn on the clasp.)

(Is this the "proof of faith"?)

Clavis: I once heard that those close to God wear unicorn ornaments.

Clavis: Also, a few years ago, I heard a story about the book merchant that Prince Azel employs.

Clavis: I had a hunch, but it seems Akatsuki's client is a big shot.

Emma: Client... You mean God?

Akatsuki: Whether it's God or royalty, a customer is a customer. Nothing more, nothing less.

(He didn't tell me that!?)

The owner, who didn't change his expression at all, might be a more amazing person than I thought.

Basil: We will always serve as guides for Akatsuki.

Basil: Prince Clavis and Prince Luke, please go that way. The court envoy is waiting for you.

Clavis: Haha, as expected of your discerning eye, to know not only about me but also about the newcomer Luke.

Clavis: Rhodolite shouldn't have sent a prior notice about who was coming, so it must be a prophecy from the Living God, right?

(...!)

Basil: That's right! Prince Azel is truly an amazing person! Can I talk about this? Is the atmosphere okay? It's okay, right?

(He suddenly started talking fast...?)

Kamal mercilessly smacked Basil on the head as he pushed up his glasses and made them shine, a complete change from his calm demeanor.

Then she took out another stack of papers and showed the word "Let's go."

(...That sounded like his skull cracked, is he okay?)

Luke: Well, we'll say goodbye here for now.

Clavis: I'll come to see you myself before Emma starts crying from loneliness, okay?

Emma: I don't think I'll cry from loneliness, but let's meet again.

(With this flow... we're going straight to God's place, right?)

(Oh no, I'm getting nervous.)

(I wonder what the real God is like.)

Azel: Thank you for making the trip to such a remote place.

Emma: Ah!

Chapter 2

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

#ikepri translations #ikemen prince translations #azel #azel radwan #azel radwan main route #ikemen prince azel radwan

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ink-and-dagger · 2 days ago

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Hiii! I want to start by saying that I love your writing and I have re-read Drink With Me roughly 3 times now and it never gets old. However, with me rereading I can’t help but wonder about some silly hypotheticals regarding the story. So…if you don’t mind me asking, could you enlighten me😩🙏🏾😩🙏🏾😩:

1.) How would Silco and Reader (Astrid’s) mother interact? Do you think she would be scared of him? Or would she have him by the hypothetical balls?

1.5) Also branching off of the previous question: what would be the Readers, mother’s reaction to them getting back together?

2.) Could you see Silco and Reader (Astrid) getting married?

3.) Has Reader (Astrid) moved in with Silco by this point or does she just stay with him off and on?

4.) Since the Marcus fiasco, what would the interactions between Silco, Marcus, and Reader (Astrid) be like? Would there be tension or would Silco and Astrid rub it in his face? Perhaps some threats from Silco?🤔🤔🤔

5.) What would Reader (Astrid) and Silco’s relationship look like to an outsider? This question, I’m asking because two of my favorite chapters post Drink with Me are VIP Booth and Shag Rug. And both are instances where there are other people around or nearby when Astrid is dragged off by Silco😅😂. So I just wonder what the average bystanders would think, considering their relationship is private.

I hope this wasn’t too much. I just finally noticed that the link on AO3 was to your tumblr and I wanted to show some love.

P.S. if this is too much, feel free to disregard!

Thank you so much sweet anon! I'm so glad you enjoyed it enough to reread 3 times sob sob <3 <3 <3 Apologies for taking a hot minute, but here are some answers for you...

1.) How would Silco and Astrid’s mother interact? And what would be her mother’s reaction to them getting back together?

This is probably the number 1 top question/request I always get in my askbox lmfao. Silco has little to no interest in ever meeting Astrid's mother, and Astrid is cool with that too. However, if they ever did meet, mother dearest would certainly not have Silco by the balls. Her initial reaction to meeting him would be fear. After that, it would go either one of 2 ways depending on what mood Silco was in that day. He'd either stoke that fear. Or he'd charm her, and have her referring to him as the son she never had within roughly 10 minutes. I'd say the former is most likely, the latter would only be in order to lure her into a false sense of security before petrifying her with a benignly worded threat at a later date.

As to how she'd react to them getting back together post DWM - she'd disapprove (naturally), and would give Astrid a lovely long lecture about how stupid she is to make the same mistake twice and how Astrid's selfish decision is going to impact her [mother's] life.

2.) Could you see Silco and Astrid getting married?

Yes and no.

My headcanon is that marriage isn't hugely common in Zaunite culture because there's no pressure to prove the legitimacy of relationships (familial, romantic or otherwise). In Piltover, families are tied through blood and matrimony. In the Undercity, they're forged in fire. Genetics are inconsequential in Zaun - if you're kin, you're kin, regardless of the blood in your veins, and that's something that Topsiders by nature will never be able to comprehend. In Piltover, a couple who have been together for 2 years and married for 1 would be taken far more seriously and given more rights than a couple who have been living together for 10 years but aren't married. It's all about societal appearances and expectations up there. But in Zaun, none of that matters. Siblings born in hardship are no less than siblings born in blood. Love and loyalty down in the depths isn't defined by anything so tangible.

I'm not saying that people don't get married in Zaun - I'm certain they do - I'm just saying that it isn't such a thing as it is in Piltover or other similarly built societies. There's no expectation for a couple to get married after being together for a certain amount of time, and there's no judgement if they don't.

The reason Astrid's mother is so caught up with the idea is hard for me to put into a few words. She's resentful of her lot in life; a part of her feels she deserves to be wallowing in the Undercity, and another part of her is envious of those who aren't. She places Piltover on this weird pedestal of admiration. She's the type of working class woman who moans about how shitty her life is at the same time as having a framed picture of the monarch on her living room wall.

3.) Has Astrid moved in with Silco by this point?

Soz babe, I'm sitting on this answer a while longer :)

4.) Since the Marcus fiasco, what would the interactions between Silco, Marcus, and Astrid be like?

Tense.

Pretty much immediately after the epilogue in DWM, Astrid and Silco would have spent the morning in bed talking a lot of things out. Including Marcus. Silco no longer holds the past against Astrid, and they are both committed to moving forward together. Despite this, Marcus does remain somewhat of a sore spot in their relationship. Not actively per se, but Astrid avoids mentioning him at all costs, and tends to stay well out of the way whenever the Sheriff comes for a meeting. At the start of their relationship, she also made sure to stay away the night after any meeting too, to give Silco space as his mood post-Marcus meetings tended to be a little unpredictable. But as time passed and her relationship with Silco became more solid, the intensity of this 'sore spot' became less and less. Astrid still avoids mentioning Marcus, and stays well clear of him whenever he visits, but it isn't so awkward as it was at the start of her relationship with Silco now. That being said - the three of them haven't occupied the same room since that one fateful meeting in Chapter 14...

5.) What does Astrid and Silco’s relationship look like to an outsider?

That depends. By this point pretty much the entirety of Silco's staff knows about them in an unofficial capacity. They just pretend not to know. Let's face it - Silco and Astrid aren't as subtle as they think, and their chemistry is evident to anyone with eyes and half a brain. The only people who know about them 'officially' are Jinx, Sevika, Jasper, Max, Astrid's Mum, and Ran (Ran was an unfortunate accident - they walked in whilst S&A were sharing an intimate moment. They swore to secrecy and it's never been mentioned again).

There may be a few regulars in The Last Drop that suspect something is going on between Silco and the cute bartender - but most would likely assume it's a purely physical arrangement. Those who don't frequent the Drop as often and happen to see Silco pulling Astrid off somewhere private would most likely avert their eyes and think poor girl...

#inky answers #drink with me #DWM lore #silco fic #silco x astrid #astro #silco x oc

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amazinglystay · 2 days ago

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Under the Moonlight✨

Felix Lee x fem!Reader

·:¨⛦𓆩♡𓆪⛦¨:·

Summary:

Under the peaceful night sky, Felix and Y/N bond over quiet conversations, with Felix finding a rare sense of calm as they talk about the simple joys in life.

T/W: Fluff🌸 (and stress? Idk tbh.)

-Not Proof Read-

It was late when Felix found himself wandering outside the dorm, the quiet hum of the city mingling with the cool breeze. The night sky stretched out in front of him, stars twinkling faintly as he took a deep breath. He’d been feeling off all day too much noise, too many people, and not enough time to breathe. But out here, in the stillness, everything seemed to slow down.

As he rounded a corner, he saw her.

Y/N was sitting on a bench, her face turned toward the sky, lost in the rhythm of the night. Her hair swayed gently with the breeze, and Felix couldn’t help but stare for a moment. There was something calming about her presence, as though she belonged to the quiet, just like the stars.

He took a step forward, not wanting to startle her, but his shoes made a soft squeak against the pavement. She looked up immediately, her expression shifting into a soft smile when she recognized him.

"Felix," she greeted, her voice like a melody. "You’re out late."

He shrugged, stepping closer, hands in his pockets. "Couldn’t sleep. Just needed some air."

Y/N nodded, and for a second, they both just stood there, the comfortable silence wrapping around them like a blanket. The moonlight made her eyes shine, and Felix found himself caught in their depth. He’d never been one to talk much about his feelings, especially not to fans, but there was something about Y/N that made him feel safe enough to let his guard down.

"You’re usually so busy," Y/N said, breaking the quiet. "How do you deal with all the pressure?"

Felix paused. It wasn’t often that anyone asked him that. Most people just assumed he had it all together. He chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I don’t know if I deal with it. I just… keep going. Music helps. And my members." He looked at her, his expression softening. "And sometimes, just a moment like this."

Y/N smiled, that knowing look in her eyes. She understood. Sometimes, it wasn’t about the big answers or grand gestures it was about finding peace in the little things.

"You always seem so confident on stage," she said quietly. "But you’re different when it’s just us."

Felix blinked at her, his heart skipping a beat. "What do you mean?"

She shifted on the bench, her gaze turning back to the sky. "It’s like… when you’re up there, you’re this unstoppable force. But here, now, you’re just… Felix. Just a person who needs a break too."

Felix felt his cheeks warm. He hadn’t expected such an honest observation. But it felt nice, hearing that from someone who wasn’t looking at him through the lens of fame.

"Yeah," he murmured, stepping closer to sit beside her. "I think everyone needs a break."

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the only sound being the distant hum of the city and the rustling of leaves. Felix felt a rare sense of calm settle in his chest. It wasn’t often that he got to experience moments like this just being himself, not the idol, not the performer.

"Do you ever think about what you want to do after all this?" Y/N asked after a while.

Felix glanced at her, considering the question. It was something he’d thought about before, but never really had an answer for. The future felt like a blurry horizon that kept moving further away no matter how fast he ran toward it.

"I don’t know," he admitted. "But I know I want to keep doing what I love. Whether it's performing, making music, or something else… I think I just want to stay true to myself."

Y/N smiled at him, her eyes softening. "That’s all anyone can do."

Felix looked at her, feeling a warm, almost overwhelming sense of gratitude for this simple moment. "Thanks, Y/N," he said quietly. "You always know what to say."

She shrugged, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "I guess I just listen."

Felix laughed softly, and for the first time in a while, he didn’t feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. Just the quiet, the moonlight, and the comforting presence of someone who saw him for who he was, not just who he appeared to be.

"Yeah, well, maybe I should listen more often," he said, nudging her playfully.

They stayed there for a while longer, two people under the vast sky, letting the night wrap them in its quiet embrace. Felix wasn’t sure what the future held, but in that moment, he knew he was exactly where he was supposed to

·:¨⛦𓆩♡𓆪⛦¨:·

A/N: Hope you enjoyed! In my opinion it’s not the best and could be better 🤷‍♀️. Anyway make sure to eat sleep drink byeeeeeee ✨

More like this? Click here

#Skz fluff #straykids fluff #skz x reader #straykids x reader #Felix x Yn #Felix x reader #skz x y/n #Felix fluff #stray kids felix #Feilx Lee fluff

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lamemaster · 2 days ago

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Marred Music

Request: @liar-anubiass-blogGood day🫶🏻 I hope you are feeling well, congratulations on the upcoming holidays 🎊 Fingolfin/Maiyar reader Ulmo. Timeline before Nolofinae's courtship of Anaire, everyone was just waiting for it to happen, but there had been some kind of strange pause for a long time. And then at one of the dinners where Finwe's entire family was present, Fingolfin finally takes the floor and informs everyone that he is breaking the agreement and will not court Anaire. He says that his heart and mind belong to another. When Finwe wants to object, Fingolfin says that he has already explained to Anaire that he loves another. Everyone is shocked. And then in the silence, the intrigued Feanor (who is delighted with the prospect of conflict) laughs and asks for whom he is trying so hard. Plus or minus so. I hope you can extract something worthwhile from this😅maybe a little drama? Nolofinwe deserves to get a cool Maiar wife and wipe Feanor's nose with this)))

Genre: Drama & angst

Pairing: Fingolfin x Maia Reader

Summary: When he looked up, however, another pair of golden eyes met his own, your eyes. Bright, sharp, and unblinking, they regarded him with an intensity that made him freeze. Startled, he let out a squeal unbecoming of his dignity and very ungracefully tumbled from the tree.

AN: Thank you for requesting this! I love your ask! And Fingolfin over Feanor any day but this one turned out very different (I'm so sorry). But once I started writing there was no stopping so please expect some more chapter ig. First time writing Fingolfin yee-haw

Chapter 1|

Reader POV

“It is not your fate to be with the second eldest of Finwe,” Namo declares, his voice cold yet resolute, echoing through the desolate halls of his domain. The restless winds swirl around him.

You lower your gaze to the ground. The rippling waves of the lake lap softly at your feet, their touch tender, almost reverent, as though the waters themselves grieve with you for what cannot be undone.

“I understand,” you whisper, though your voice trembles under the weight of the words. Fragile, hollow, they carry a sorrow that coils deep within you. A void left by something Namo has stripped from your soul.

An act you must obey from the words of your lord. An act that was done for the betterment of Arda. Yet, the pain grasps your heart and flows from your eyes.

How wretched was such affection that had weakened you to a weeping mess. Why had tales of Melian and Elwe not warned you of such an end? Why had you not looked for the tale of Miriel instead? Then perhaps you would have held your heart closer. Away from this misery.

In the vast, cold expanse of the valley, the only warmth comes from Namo’s hand as it rests lightly on the top of your head. The touch is solemn, neither cruel nor kind, offering comfort even as it deepens the ache in your chest.

You feel your composure unravel, the fragile mask you wore dissolving into a raw sob. A sound that echoes through the stillness, as acute as any note in Ilúvatar’s song.

You sink to your knees, the waters rising to embrace you. Their cool caress mingles with your tears, which fall freely, carried away into the depths.

“What am I to do? What music is this?” The cry bursts forth, anguished and pleading, your voice breaking against the unyielding silence.

Fingolfin POV

He had been but thirty loar of age when he first met you—an ellon barely beyond the years of growth, still enchanted by the orchards of Ingwe, his maternal uncle who ruled the Vanyar.

It had been during one such visit, a special occasion meant to introduce the newborn Findis to the court of the Vanyar. It was a tradition Indis upheld diligently, just as she had for Nolofinwe, and Lalwen before.

Escaping his sister’s relentless questions, Nolofinwe had wandered off, eventually finding himself climbing a peach tree to marvel at a tiny nest perched on the topmost branch.

The cool winds of Taniquetil whispered through the air, mingling with the waning light of Laurelin. Enthralled, he studied the intricate weave of the sparrows’ nest, snugly cradling two eggs amidst scraps of fabric.

When he looked up, however, another pair of golden eyes met his own, your eyes. Bright, sharp, and unblinking, they regarded him with an intensity that made him freeze. Startled, he let out a squeal unbecoming of his dignity and very ungracefully tumbled from the tree.

The fall might have been disastrous. One that would have left his brother Curufinwe in fits of laughter for weeks, had it not been for you. Swiftly, with a fluidity that reminded him of a hawk diving for prey, you caught him mid-fall, your movements swift and precise.

“Stealing younglings is hardly moral,” you chirped. Your head tilted sharply as you studied him, your movements sudden yet graceful, and your golden eyes narrowing in brief suspicion before softening with curiosity.

Nolofinwe barely registered your words. Now that his feet were on the ground, he could only stare at you in wonder.

You stood tall, radiating the ethereal presence of the Ainur. The golden light of Laurelin seemed drawn to you, pooling around your form. To his awestruck eyes, you were wondrously fair, your back graced by wings of a great eagle, folded neatly yet trembling slightly, as though ready to spread and take flight at any moment.

Your sharp nose and piercing gaze of your features- similar to that of the maiar of Manwe. The curious tilt of your head became more pronounced as you stepped closer, your gaze darting over him with a quick, assessing flicker.

“Second-born of Finwe,” you trilled, as though testing the sound. Then, almost imperceptibly, you ruffled your wings, an instinctive motion that made Nolofinwe flinch as though he were being considered for retribution for disturbing the nest.

A newfound interest lit your eyes, the same fascination with which one might observe a fledgling testing its wings. And then without a word you were gone. As if done assessing that Nolofinwe, indeed did not hold any intention to harm the eggs.

From that day forth, eagles became his most cherished beings. A sudden, fervent love for birds blossomed within him. A devotion his maternal uncle wholeheartedly approved, though he never fully grasped its origin.

Beside his bed, a small basket of peaches always rested, their soft fragrance weaving through his room like a whisper of memory. Each breath carried him back to the moments he could not forget the gentle music of your voice, the warmth of your touch, and the majesty of your wings.

To Indis’s great curiosity, peaches became her son’s most beloved fruit. What had once been a passing taste grew into a quiet obsession.

Even the peach orchards of Valinor, which he had rarely noticed before, became his frequent sanctuary, a place where the scent of the trees and the murmur of the breeze spoke to a longing he could never quite explain.

Reader POV

“How is it that Melian came to love Elwe?” you ask Eonwe, who stands vigilant beside you. Your brother, ever steadfast, serves your Vala, the King of Arda, Manwe Sulimo, as you do.

A gentle breeze stirs the air in the halls, coaxing the wayward vines to release their blooms, which fall like whispers to the ground. You watch their descent, lost in thought, as the question lingers between you.

Eonwe turns his gaze toward you, a hint of puzzlement crossing his features. His attention shifts, now entirely on you. He has little fondness for the songs and tales of the Children of Iluvatar, yet even he cannot deny that this particular tale weighs heavy on the memory of most Maiar.

Melian, the first among your kind to forsake the blessed lands of Aman. Hers was a path followed by many, though few remained in Middle-earth as she did.

“Iluvatar revealed a purpose for Melian,” Eonwe replies at last, his voice steady, though touched with reverence. “Their love is woven into the fate of Arda itself. A union that will bring forth the rest of Iluvatar’s music in the days to come.”

“Does Melian love the Firstborn King as we love our lord?” you ask softly, turning to meet his gaze. “Or is hers a love like that of our Lord and Lady? An eternal love.”

Resting his spear against a column of intricately carved marble, Eonwe exhales, his eyes distant as they wander eastward. “Much sorrow will this love cost her,” he murmurs, his tone heavy with foreknowledge. “Yet joy, too, she will find—this, our lord believes. Love in Arda Marred comes with a price.”

Your thoughts drift unbidden, carried away like the falling petals. You think of the elf from weeks past. The elfling from ages ago who had once climbed a tree to peer into Yellen’s nest. A chance meeting so simple, yet one that lingered through the passing years.

Through letters, through feasts, through fleeting encounters too brief to satisfy, and through the careful delivery of trinkets now hidden away in your room, far from prying eyes.

Nolofinwe. His name sings to you in every moment of Laurelin’s light and Telperion’s shadow.

It is a love distinct from your devotion to your lord. A tenderness set apart from the bond you share with your brother.

You have hidden it well, shielding it from the omnipresent song of Arda, whose marred melody seems to reach for all things pure, twisting them into its discordant strains.

But had you forgotten? Forgotten that he, your beloved, is a part of that same melody? That no matter how you might try, you cannot shield him from the song of which he is an inseparable note?

The mercy Iluvatar bestowed upon Melian to love Elwe was hers alone. It was never yours to claim.

Fingolfin POV

“My mother named me Aracáno,” Nolofinwe explains, his tone thoughtful. “It means ‘the high chieftain.’” He blushes faintly, the memory of childhood teasing surfacing unbidden. “Though as a child, I didn’t think much of it. My brother Feanaro often mocked me, calling me the chieftain of snotty elflings.”

He chuckles softly at the recollection, his hand holding yours in a snug grasp. Hidden away from the rowdy feast of rains, Nolofinwe has finally stolen a moment with you, away from prying eyes and curious ears.

It had been no small feat to slip away, especially with your brother. Eonwe, the mighty Chieftain of the Maiar, ever watchful. For days, Nolofinwe had been haunted by uneasy dreams of spears and falcons, as if even the thought of drawing close to you invited his disapproval. Yet here you were, close enough to touch, and for this moment, all those fears seemed inconsequential.

Clad in the luminous bloom of Telperion’s light, you were a vision he could not bear to miss. And as always, in your presence, the words spilled freely from him, unguarded and sincere, a rarity even among those he trusted.

“And then I let Arafinwe cho—” He falters mid-sentence, his words dissolving into silence as your wing extends, wrapping gently around him. The soft, downy warmth envelops him, and for a moment, Nolofinwe can only look up at you, pleasantly dumbfounded.

You tilt your head slightly, your golden eyes studying him. “Is it too warm?” you ask, already beginning to fold your wing back.

But Nolofinwe shifts closer, leaning into the embrace with a soft sigh. “It is pleasant,” he murmurs, his voice low and content. His hand lifts instinctively to comb through your feathers, his touch reverent and light.

The story he’d been telling fades entirely from his thoughts. All that remains is this quiet moment, the warmth of your wing around him, and the quiet peace he finds in your presence.

Feanor POV

A Maia?

Curufinwe nearly laughs aloud at the sheer absurdity of it. Surely this is some elaborate jest, another one of Nolofinwe’s ill-advised attempts to outshine him.

Beside him, Nerdanel discreetly stomps on his foot, a warning meant to temper his reaction. But it does little to dissuade him. The sight before him is far too amusing to ignore.

Seated beside a straight-backed Maia, with magnificent wings slightly fluffed in what Curufinwe assumes is either nervousness or pride, sits his brother, Nolofinwe.

Feanaro had every intention of interrogating you later about the beads woven into your feathers. How they managed not to hinder your flight was a mystery worth solving but for now, his attention is wholly consumed by the scene before him. A pair indeed. A couple of trolls.

“So… this is your suitor?” he asks, his voice laced with poorly masked amusement. The effort to suppress his laughter is futile; from the glowering look on Nolofinwe’s face, it’s clear he’s failed spectacularly.

You, however, remain utterly unbothered, your posture as straight and vigilant as a guard on duty.

“Yes, I reckon I am indeed the one your brother courts, Crown Prince Curufinwe,” you reply, your tone cool and precise, as though delivering a patrol report.

For a fleeting moment, Curufinwe is struck by the urge to test you—to see if the obedience typical of Manwe’s Maia extends to you. Would you follow his orders with the same unflinching diligence?

The thought alone is nearly enough to make him laugh again, but Nerdanel’s second, more forceful stomp ensures he stays (relatively) composed.

From the prideful look in Nolofinwe’s eyes, Curufinwe can practically see him preening, as if to say, Look at this marvel I’ve claimed.

The Maia beside him, however, seems to be fighting a very different battle. Your gaze flickers just barely toward the chandelier above the table, a glittering temptation. You try valiantly not to let your eyes linger, but the effort is almost painful to watch.

A preening peacock and a gullible eagle. What a pair indeed, Curufinwe muses with a ghastly bout of fondness he absolutely refuses to acknowledge.

#the silmarillion #silmarillion x reader #tolkien elves #noldor elves #fingolfin #fingolfin x reader #fingolfin wingolfin #feanor #feanor being a decent brother for once ig #eonwe #manwe #maia reader #hurt #comfort maybe><

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a-cloud-for-dreams · 15 hours ago

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CUPID&APPLE HCs DROPPED LET'S GOOOOOOO!!! forgive me as I go and comment on every part of this (most of it incoherent jibber-jabber or squeals)

When Love Changes the Script sounds like it could be an actual episode title you ATE that up

(but never her own self, it seems) I JUST STARTED WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO MAKE ME CRY RN?!?!?!? the cruel irony of the personified version of love never being able to find love for herself is so😔

"This time .... she can see it in her eyes." me losing it when couples can tell how the other is feeling by merely looking into their eyes AAAAAAAAAH

"but there’s something fragile in the way she holds herself with her smile not quite reaching the depth and height of her eyes." stop you captured Apple's character so well here this is LITERALLY APPLECORE!! always masking her true self to appear beautiful, happy, free of flaws, perfect because that's who Snow White is, right?

"her mother doesn't get to control this" and she's literally looking at love incarnate LIKE???

oh hell yeah recap one of the greatest EAH moments ever as you should!! "The scene still lingered in everyone’s minds, even if they tried to hide it" exactly

"After all, if Apple starts doubting herself and her story, then the earth might as well swallow them all!" oh I LOVE this trope the whole "unwavering confident character finds their confidence wavered"

"As if the hues in her iris can reach to the lines under Cupid’s eyes, as if she’s still scared to speak up and hopes Cupid understands her silence. All her life, she knew that a prince would be by her side. That is what she prepared for. She laid it all out, like pieces of a puzzle she already could hold in her hands. And now the pieces were stubborn, refusing to claim their place. They didn’t fit in anymore. She didn’t fit in either" this is just...I have no words I'm SPEECHLESS you captured Apple's inner conflict so well here. How is THE Apple White supposed to live the rest of her life now knowing that everything she's been preparing for was for someone she wasn't???

"Was this truly the life I’ve been waiting for, or have I been waiting for a version of it that never existed" oh Apple....🥺🥺😭😭

"She can pretend it’s just another lesson she needs to master!" APPLE NO DENIAL IS A RIVER IN EGYPT DON'T DO THIS TO YOURSELF!!! Imagine her on her deathbed and her last thoughts are sullied with regret for a life she could have lived. Maybe Raven wasn't so wrong after all...

"So she asks questions — SO many questions — that Cupid almost doesn’t know where to begin" THIS IS SO SWEET AWWW leave it to Apple White to stump THE CA Cupid

THE METAPHOR YOU DESCRIBED WAS SO AMAZING I CAN SEE CUPID USING IT SO VIVIDLY!! God I love Cupid we all need to be friends with a Cupid in our lives

"Exactly! It doesn’t mean the key is wrong, or that the door is wrong. They aren’t a match. That’s all" 🥹🥹

"Maybe that’s why losing Briar had felt so scary, as if losing one of her limbs" oh my gosh tell me that's not how Apple felt

"If Raven was here, she'd probably chuckle. She can almost hear her voice telling her "I told you so!" HELP Raven my bi queen you get it frfr

"Cupid would be so gentle with her, her voice soft and steady, the kind of voice that wraps around you like a warm blanket on a stormy night, the kind that can help lost sailors find their way." Oh this is such a good metaphor she is literally such a comforting spirit 🥺🥺🥺 she deserves everything actually

STOP Tumblr won't let me write out the quote but the idea of Apple gradually forgetting the notebook and starting to tap into her inner self to figure out herself, love??? Now truly focusing on Cupid??? who's cutting onions

"Cupid moves closer, reaching for Apple’s hands, holding them firmly in her own" HOLDING HANDS CALLBACK

"It’s endearing, at first. Then, it’s devastating." Why can't anybody in this show be happy for once

"Cupid feels something shift in her chest. And it shouldn’t because she’s heard her laughter so many times. She could play it on a harp blindfolded. It’s a symphony that has taken over her brain. It shouldn’t, but it does" this is just *chef's kiss* there's no better way to describe it I read that whole part like 😲

WORDS AS A SACRED PRAYER TROPE I REPEAT WORDS AS A SACRED PLAYER TROPE!!

"Chariclo Arganthone Cupid has fallen in love with Apple White." gotta quickly shoutout who beautiful Cupid's full name is. Also AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

"This is Apple White, of course everyone is drawn to her!" that face card NEVER declines!!

"But ……. Cupid can lie all she wants, but love is what she was born for, and she knows it too well." oh this hurts me we ALL know how this will end

"how she would smile as if she was the happiest girl in the world, how she would reach for her hands excitedly. But none of her rehearsed responses seem to fit now that it’s real. None of them are able to escape from her lips...And as she says it, she can feel her own heart being ripped into pieces. She could swear an arrow of her own just pierced her soul...She watches Apple leave the room, taking Cupid’s heart with her." I'm going to fight someone for th-- HEY GET THAT CAMERA OUT OF MY FACE I'M NOT CRYING S-SHUT UP THE THEMATIC IRONY JUST GOT TO ME OKAY?

"And she tells herself it’s alright, it will be alright. After all, this pain isn’t foreign to her. Chariclo Arganthone Cupid was born for love, but love wasn’t raised for her." JB when I find you....

"Cupid has mastered the art of hiding her pain." girl same imfao

"And maybe, one day, someone will teach her the kind of love she’s always given to everyone else. It is not the ending she wanted, but it is hers. And she learns to hold it gently, the way she wishes someone would hold her." I hate everyone and everything why would you do this to me

TLDR: I guess I am legally obligated to make a CupidApple (RedArrow??) playlist and fanfic now

When Love Changes the Script (my eah headcanon)

or — Cupid teaches Apple that love takes many forms, and an arrow always finds its true target.

Cupid, the daughter of Eros, is known for her wisdom about all things Love. Whether it’s answering questions about complicated feelings on her podcast or guiding someone toward their happily ever after (but never her own self, it seems) or finding the best gift for Heart's Day, Cupid is the person people turn to when they don’t know where else to go! Who else could do it like her? Who else can achieve it if not her? Love is her calling and she is more than happy to help you!

And she does it all with a smile that makes you feel so welcome !! Even when love seems to play a cruel joke on her by slipping away from her own hands.

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

So truly, she should not be surprised when Apple White knocks at her door, seeking help.

She is used to undoing the knots in people’s hearts, enlightening their darkened worries, but who would’ve thought that THE Apple White would come to her? And sure, she did seek her help once, but it was about Ashlynn’s relationship.

Back then, she was agitated not about her own self but for the sake of her dearest friend.

This time .... she can see it in her eyes.

She’s here for herself.

The Apple White, who has spent her entire life chasing perfection and destiny, who’s stood with a high head and fought for what she believed in, who has made so many hearts rise with envy in front of her composure, is now standing at Cupid’s doorstep, looking lost.

It almost feels surreal.

But it’s true.

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

So Cupid immediately invites her in.

Thankfully, Blondie isn’t there -- away on some top secret mission to find out about the validity of some rumours she’s heard. She has to get the scoop just right, she had said while excitedly getting ready.

When Apple steps inside, she’s as pristine as always — with every strand of hair in place, locks falling down like pieces into place, her cape immaculate, a shade of red adorning her lips, her sweet perfume clinging to her skin as if it was a privilege to adorn her — but there’s something fragile in the way she holds herself with her smile not quite reaching the depth and height of her eyes.

It’s the weight of uncertainty, Cupid realizes, a weight she knows all too well.

Apple admits to her that she needs help.

Her voice is low, as if she still can't admit it to herself.

The words feel unfamiliar, almost treacherous. Her mother's voice rings in her head, but she pushes it away. Not this, Apple thinks to herself. Her mother doesn't get to control this.

Cupid recognizes it very easily. The worry in the blonde's eyes seems to travel from her face to her shaking hands. But she made the first step, and that in itself is the biggest prize she could win. (Cupid tells her that with a smile.)

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

Cupid know what it is about, of course she does. Everyone saw how Daring’s kiss didn’t wake up Apple. They had all held their breath, waiting for the sacred moment that would’ve sealed their oh-so-yearned happy ever after.

This was it, the moment Apple would get what she wanted!

And yet, everyone got first row tickets to her biggest nightmare: the moment in which their desired future shattered, like a mirror laughing back at them.

And instead of Daring, it was Darling’s lips that brought Apple back.

True Love’s kiss — what a cruel thing, deceiving everyone into believing one thing, only to unveil the truth when a sea of eyes dared to hope.

The scene still lingered in everyone’s minds, even if they tried to hide it.

Nobody wanted to question Apple, but the question was right on their tongue, threatening to spill whenever they saw her.

“What now?”,

except this time, the question was evicted from Apple’s lips.

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

The thing is, Apple White isn’t the kind of person who doubts herself, not openly, not like this.

This sight felt like a joke, perhaps another one of Kitty’s pranks, an elaborate one with magic!

After all, if Apple starts doubting herself and her story, then the earth might as well swallow them all!

For as long as anyone could remember, Apple had been obsessed with her story, with her destiny, with her future role.

It is what defined her, what she had built her entire life around. Apple didn't waver; she didn't question. She planned, she prepared, she perfected, she embodied. If you fail to plan, you plan to fail — and Apple vowed to never end on that route.

She embodies royalty, she embodies perfection, she embodies her fate.

She’s everything Headmaster Grimm could ask for. If the Storybook of Legends could possess someone, it would be her.

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

But now here she is, her hands shaking as she looks at Cupid, as if her eyes could speak to hers, in a language only they can transverse. As if the hues in her iris can reach to the lines under Cupid’s eyes, as if she’s still scared to speak up and hopes Cupid understands her silence.

All her life, she knew that a prince would be by her side. That is what she prepared for. She laid it all out, like pieces of a puzzle she already could hold in her hands.

And now the pieces were stubborn, refusing to claim their place.

They didn’t fit in anymore.

She didn’t fit in either.

So the pieces turned their back on her and began a new imagery.

And she wondered, what were all those years for?

At times, being with Daring had been more an act of fulfilling duty than something she truly wanted. After all, this was the prince, the future king, with whom she would finally achieve her sweet desired ending. She would be poisoned, he’d wake her up, and her kingdom would finally be hers! She would reign, listening to her subjects, and Daring would make her laugh and … all the other things that came with love. She never truly thought about that part. They had forever ever after for those thoughts.

But now … how was she even supposed to face him?

Would they remain friends now? Were they ever friends?

Would their friendship, or perhaps lack of, change anything?

Could they move on, pretend like it never happened?

Apple knew the answer was no.

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

So she asks Cupid, "Was this truly the life I’ve been waiting for, or have I been waiting for a version of it that never existed?"

She stands up nervously, pacing around the room, now visibly shaking, allowing her true emotions to reign in her body, materializing in the way her face falls apart, fear finally presenting itself.

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

But at the same time, Apple is known for wanting to address things head-on. She isn’t the type to sit and let her thoughts fester. No, she’s outspoken, direct, the kind of person who believes in action rather than sitting down and drowning in worries. (Perhaps it’s another privilege of being the daughter of the Snow White—a woman who carved out her happily ever after with unwavering determination.)

So, of course, Apple almost treats this like a lesson. Maybe this is to protect herself. She can pretend it’s just another lesson she needs to master! She’s going to get the answers to all of her doubts and she’s going to know all hues and actions needed. It’s almost a coping mechanism. For a few minutes she can pretend this isn’t her real life, maybe it’s a dilemma in a theatrical play, or perhaps someone else is feeling what she is, so she’s gotta help them! This isn’t about her, obviously it isn’t!

So she asks questions — SO many questions — that Cupid almost doesn’t know where to begin. "How do I know for sure?" / "What does it mean if I feel this way?" / "Does it make me… wrong?" / "No story ever had this before, right?" / "Am I not going to get my happy ever after?" / "What do I do with … this destiny?" / "Was this always fated?" / "So why didn’t I notice?"

It’s earnest, vulnerable, and so utterly Apple that Cupid can’t help but feel a pang of something bittersweet.

Apple’s perfectionist tendencies bleed into every corner of her life, even her confusion. Whether it’s a flaw or a skill, it’s up to the reader.

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

Cupid quietly introduces her to the concept of comphet.

She doesn’t use the term outrightly though, so as to not scare Apple.

So instead she uses metaphors, "sometimes, we are handed a script. We read it and we assume that role. Even if it doesn’t fit us, we still try. We want to play the part to the best because we think we owe it to someone."

"Like trying on the wrong glass slipper?", Apple replies.

Cupid chuckles, "Yes! Imagine you’re handed the key to a new dorm — well, you switched with Maddie, right? So think that you got the key, and you put it in, you try and twist it, but it doesn’t open. The issue though isn’t the key, right? The key itself is right — it’s shiny, shaped the right way, and it feels right. The problem is the door. You can try and twist it as much as you want, but it will not open."

"So…. I’m not the issue? I just .. got the wrong door?"

Cupid smiles, taking Apple’s hands, as if the mere proximity can calm the blonde’s heart. "Exactly! It doesn’t mean the key is wrong, or that the door is wrong. They aren’t a match. That’s all."

She takes a deep breath and looks exactly into Apple’s bright blue irises’ horizon. "You’re not wrong, Apple. You’re not a faulted object, nor a fraud. What you’re feeling is completely right. You haven’t realized it because you tried so hard to be perfect, or the version of perfect that everyone wanted from you, that you suppressed all that you felt."

She can feel Apple’s hands shaking as she says "… So what do I do?" and it sounds so heartbreakingly lost that Cupid’s heart seems to drown in her pain.

"...Cupid...I don’t know who I am, if not the role given to me."

"You can still achieve your destiny, it simply looks different from what you planned. A long road — our lives — is always meant to change. You don’t have to be anyone else. You have to be yourself, for that is the girl who is going to achieve all that she desires."

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

And at the same time, perhaps pieces are falling into place.

Maybe that’s why hanging around Darling was easier, why her laughter seemed to seep into Apple’s chest, warming places she had never realized were cold.

Maybe that’s why losing Briar had felt so scary, as if losing one of her limbs.

Maybe that’s why she never felt like that around Daring, no matter how hard she tried or how often she told herself it would come with time.

And now she realizes, she doesn’t have to force herself to feel that way because she, like everyone else, DOES have a choice. It’s ironic, truly, considering how ardently she fought against it.

and it’s TERRIFYING, because who is she if not that role, that label? She's not her own person, she's literally named APPLE. They are all just wearer of their roles in this society, actors on the stage of fate — but what happens when you want to get off the stage and rewrite your own lines?

If Raven was here, she'd probably chuckle. She can almost hear her voice telling her "I told you so!".

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

Cupid would be so gentle with her, her voice soft and steady, the kind of voice that wraps around you like a warm blanket on a stormy night, the kind that can help lost sailors find their way. That was how Apple felt — as if lost at sea. She tells Apple it’s okay to feel confused. That it’s okay not to have all the answers, not to immediately understand her feelings or her sexuality. That it’s okay to be unsure, to take her time. That she isn’t the first, and will not be the last to feel like this.

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

"You don’t owe anyone anything, Apple," Cupid would say, a stark contrast to the conditioning Apple has carried all her life. Her crown of thorns would slowly start dissipating.

Cupid would share stories — small, tender moments she’s witnessed or experienced herself. Maybe, if she’s feeling daring, even a glimpse of her time in Monster High, though she carefully avoids saying too much about the school itself. Instead, she talks about the universality of love, how it comes in countless forms and hues, how it can surprise even someone like her, who should know everything about it. Love is all encompassing, an action, something you can try and hide from, but it will find you when you least expect it. It sees the ashes in your heart and the thorns around your ribcage, and it is not scared.

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

At some point, Apple would have probably taken out her notebook. She’s known to keep lists and categorize everything. She would treat it like the lesson of her lifetime. She would be jotting down questions, observations and little scraps of thoughts that flit across her mind. Sure, she is freaking out, but nothing will stop her perfectionism from shining through again.

But as the conversation deepens, as Cupid’s words resonate more and more, undoing the knots in Apple’s chest, the notebook would quietly fall to the side, forgotten in the corner, and with that, so would Apple’s concept of the world.

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

It is clear that Apple feels even more shaken now, so Cupid moves closer, reaching for Apple’s hands, holding them firmly in her own. Her grip is warm and grounding, and when she speaks, her voice carries the kind of certainty that makes you believe it’s true, even if you don’t yet feel it.

Apple’s lip trembles, and she looks down at their joined hands, a single tear slipping down her cheek. Cupid doesn’t let go, doesn’t move. She simply stays, her thumbs brushing over Apple’s knuckles.

"Thank you," Apple says quietly. "For… for listening. For understanding."

Cupid smiles, "Always."

"Can I.. come again if I need help?", she asks. Cupid nods, "Of course!"

The waves in Apple's heart slow down a little after this interaction.

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

And so, over time, they meet again. It’s always either in Cupid’s room (when Blondie isn’t present) or in Apple’s — anywhere else feels not enough for these sacred conversations, not deep enough to hold the truth Apple is slowly reaching for. They tried to meet in the gardens outside once, but it quickly felt too suffocating, so they decided to regularly meet in their rooms.

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

At first, Cupid treats it like any other guidance she’s given: professional, purposeful, with all the wisdom she’s gathered from years of untangling hearts. She lays it all down, slowly and carefully, and explains it.

But Apple… Apple is different.

Apple shows up with the same precision she applies to every part of her life. There’s a determination in her, an eagerness to get it right. She brings notebooks, pens, color-coded questions. She has lists, she marks down her words, she highlights what she thinks is most important.

She says it helps her concentrate.

She leans in too close when Cupid speaks, her bright blue eyes wide, her brows furrowed in concentration. She leans her head on Cupid’s shoulders when she feels too overwhelmed, and she squeezes her hands in excitement when discussing their days.

It’s endearing, at first.

Then, it’s devastating.

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

Because Cupid realizes that Apple doesn’t just listen to her words; she absorbs them, as if her words are water and she is a sponge. Every reassurance, every gentle truth Cupid offers, Apple takes them in as if they’re lifelines. Apple starts to smile more in these moments, the kind of smile that lights up her face in a way Cupid knows she shouldn’t find herself staring at for too long. The kind of smile you can’t help but desire to frame into your eyelids, so as to never spend a day without it.

Her red lips have become the latest interrupter of her nights.

And then there’s the laughter.

It begins slowly — awkward little chuckles when Apple catches herself overthinking or stumbling over her words, as if she’s making a mistake when asking completely normal questions. Then it grows, freer and louder as Apple relaxes, as she trusts Cupid more. She notices it in the way her shoulders relax, in the way she allows her eyes to close for minutes at times while thinking. The first time Apple laughs, really laughs in her presence, Cupid feels something shift in her chest. And it shouldn’t because she’s heard her laughter so many times. She could play it on a harp blindfolded. It’s a symphony that has taken over her brain. It shouldn’t, but it does.

It’s in the small things, too: the way Apple tucks her hair behind her ear while she’s listening intently, the way she hugs a pillow to her chest while sitting cross-legged on the bed. The way she pauses after Cupid says something profound, repeating it softly to herself, as if to make it real.

As if her words are a prayer, sacred.

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

Cupid realizes she is in trouble when Apple thanks her one day, cheeks flushed and eyes gazing directly into hers, and her chest tightens, in a way that makes her want to run.

She feels it at that moment — the all too familiar ache of love seeping into her bones, flowing from her arms to her legs, almost making her stumble.

Chariclo Arganthone Cupid has fallen in love with Apple White.

And it’s terrifying.

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

She questions herself – maybe she’s making it up. They’ve been spending so much time together, of course she feels something! It’s just their endless talks about love that have clouded her mind. Of course all of her extremely detailed ramblings and explanations have accidentally seeped into her own heart. This is Apple White, of course everyone is drawn to her!

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

But ……. Cupid can lie all she wants, but love is what she was born for, and she knows it too well.

Apple deserves clarity and she doesn’t deserve Cupid’s mess.

So she bites her tongue every time they meet. When long afternoons stretch into nights, and words threaten to spill from the soundbox of her chest, she holds the poison of her love trapped inside her ribcage. She ignores the way her heart starts racing when Apple takes her hands, running from their room to the Cafeteria to get the cake that — in Apple’s words — she absolutely has to try. Cupid doesn’t say it, but she would trade all the sweetness of this world to feel Apple’s love.

And when the laughter dies down, when the cake is gone and Apple’s hands have left hers, Cupid drowns in Apple’s ghost.

She could feel it in the silence, how her heart longed to be evicted from her chest and run, run till it found Apple’s.

But it can’t.

It’s not fair.

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

And one night, as they are sitting on Apple’s bed, a scenery Cupid has gotten used to, Apple admits it out loud – "I think I like Darling. As more than a friend, I mean. And before you ask, this is not another Daring situation where I think I HAVE to like her because of … our fate. I think – No, I know that you were right."

Cupid’s heart stutters, but her expression remains steady. She’s practiced this a thousand times in her head — what she would say when this moment came, how her face would twist into the right expression, how she would smile as if she was the happiest girl in the world, how she would reach for her hands excitedly. But none of her rehearsed responses seem to fit now that it’s real. None of them are able to escape from her lips. So she nods and musters up a smile, "That is wonderful Apple! If Darling makes you feel like your story is yours, if she makes your heart feel cradled and your joy enlarged, then go for it!". And as she says it, she can feel her own heart being ripped into pieces.

She could swear an arrow of her own just pierced her soul.

How ironic.

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

When Apple hugs her, thanking her endlessly for her support and wisdom, Cupid lets her hands linger just a second longer before pulling away, her eyes tracing her silhouette as if for the last time.

She watches Apple leave the room, taking Cupid’s heart with her. She can barely call it her own at this point. But it will never know the tenderness of the blonde beauty’s love.

And she tells herself it’s alright, it will be alright. After all, this pain isn’t foreign to her.

Chariclo Arganthone Cupid was born for love, but love wasn’t raised for her.

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

The memories she clings to like a lost sailor ….. Cupid tries to let them go, but her mind tortures her incessantly and interminably with the little moments she shared with Apple — the way Apple’s face would light up during their talks, the way she’d laugh a little too hard at Cupid’s jokes, the way her hand lingered a second longer than necessary when she reached for Cupid’s and the way she would rest her chin on her shoulder as if it could help her hide from the world and her own self. Was it real? Was any of it real? She doesn’t know what would hurt more: the possibility that it wasn’t or the thought that it was, just not enough.

She doesn’t cry where anyone can see: Cupid has mastered the art of hiding her pain.

She greets Apple the next day like nothing’s wrong, nodding encouragingly when Apple gushes about her plans to talk to Darling. "You’re going to be amazing", she says, her voice steady, her eyes bright. She excuses herself a few minutes later, saying she has work to do.

She doesn’t. She just can’t breathe.

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

When finally, one day, she sees the two of them together, Apple holding onto Darling’s hands the way she used to with Cupid, she knows it’s over. And she reprimands herself. It never even began, so how can it be over? And if it’s over, why is her heart still writing, demanding for more? Aching to be read by the only person who seems to transverse in its language.

She wishes she could turn it off, shut it away, locked in the tallest of secluded towers where nobody could reach for it.

She wishes she wasn’t Cupid, the embodiment of love. How can she stand up in front of everyone and declare that love is worth it, when it feels like a luxury she can never reach?

ᢉ𐭩 — ✦ . ⁺ 　

As days go on, even as the pain lingers, unlike Apple’s presence, Cupid straightens her shoulders. She tells herself it’s alright, but that she needs to move on. She might not get to keep love, but she gets to create it, to inspire it, to watch it bloom in others. She might not have been able to be part of Apple’s love story, but she helped writing it. And that should be enough. One day it will be enough.

And maybe, one day, someone will teach her the kind of love she’s always given to everyone else.

It is not the ending she wanted, but it is hers. And she learns to hold it gently, the way she wishes someone would hold her.

Author’s Note: omg hi! I have been working on this for almost two months now. it is my first and probably last eah piece. I am very unfamiliar with how to write both Cupid and Apple so I hope this is not too OOC. I guess this story is a quiet ode to the beauty of love, the ache of an untouched arrow, and the joy of watching others bloom in love’s light. may it remind you that love, in all its forms, finds its way to the heart meant to hold it. the love that you give will always find its way back to you. love in its truest form is never wasted, even if it hurts you and makes you feel dismantled. and you never lose love when you give it to someone; instead, you set it free. it travels, it grows, and in time, it always finds its way back to you, often in ways you least expect. thank you so much for mira and void for listening to my rants about this headcanon, and to my friend fungi for even giving me the idea in the first place !! I didn’t specifically listen to this song when I was writing but I feel like it fits the overall topic of the headcanon <3

#oh wow. oh wowwww. oh WO-*dies metaphorically* they own me now oops! i must preciously hold them forever. you knew what you #were doing adding that Halsey song in there....#mir's musings 💬#ever after high #spotify #apple white #ca cupid #apple x cupid 💘#daring charming #darling charming #this is one of my favorite things now there are not enough words to express how PERFECT this is. such a good balance of angst and fluff i-

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