#but the pretense is that they’re there to clean

[sailorsleepymoon]

I’m watching Willy’s wonderland and so far I do absolutely love it to be clear I’m having the time of my life, but the fire hazards in this movie are driving me a little crazy. Handcuffing your daughter to the radiator? Chaining nic cage inside? I mean he’s obviously trying to let nic cage get killed, but still!!!! Not by fire!!

[inkdrinkerworld]

hi!!!! if you’re still writing for remus, i was wondering if u could write something like rem and reader being super close friends and they just realize they have feelings for each other in a not very dramatic way, just kind of like, i love this closeness and i want more of it way?

sorry if i’m not good at requesting english isn’t my first language!!!!

Your English is perfect babe! Don’t worry about that! I hope you enjoy this Remus x best friend!reader on their weekly sleepover with a sleepy love confession ᡣ𐭩

“Did you see that new realty show about the girls who make more than their husbands?”

You ask Remus as he hands you a cup of tea. You’re curled up on his sofa, feet tucked neatly under you as you scroll through tv programs.

“No I haven’t seen it. Did you start it yet, dove?”

Remus sits beside you, the bottoms of your feet pressed into his thighs.

“No, I started one episode and fell asleep.”

Remus laughs, “That’s not a good sell,” you smile sheepishly.

You and Remus do this every Saturday- meet at either of your houses for lunch that turns into dinner and dessert and sleeping over cuddled next to each other.

You both swear you’re not in love with each other to your friends, but as his hand falls to your ankle and tugs your feet into his lap, you know it’s not true.

In turn, Remus knows that you’re in love with each other by the way you look at him as his thumbs press into the arches of your foot and your foot stretches into his palm.

“It was going pretty well, I was just so knackered.” A yawn tears apart your words as if to prove your point.

Remus nods sagely, taking a sip of his tea to hide his smile.

“Start it up then dovey,” you click the first episode with a pleased look on your face.

“If I fall asleep here please wake me.”

Remus rolls his eyes and you scowl, “You hurt your back the last time.”

Remus scoffs, “I did not! It was just rained that night so my muscles hurt a little extra.”

“Well I don’t want them to hurt any extra tonight, Rem.”

He nods, but you’re suspicious.

Remus watches one episode all by himself because you barely make it past the 15 minute mark.

It’s no matter to him, because he gets the chance to really look at you and feel his heart galloping in his chest without feeling like his face will give his feelings away.

Your eyebrows as without a furrow, which is strange for your seemingly permanent semi-frown, your cheek smushed under your hand and your lips all the more pouty for it. God he wishes he could just give you a quick peck.

Instead, he busies himself with cleaning up- putting your mugs in the dishwasher, wiping his counters down and going to his room to unmake the bed a bit.

His touch is featherlight as it graces your cheek, “Bedtime, precious girl.”

His hands slip under you and you rouse, a bleariness that can only come about by waking from a deep sleep making Remus smile.

“You’re so stubborn.” Sleep eats through your words, like molasses dribbling off a spoon. Remus kisses your temple.

“You’re adorable,” he lays you down on your side of the bed and you look at him with much more severity for your play argument.

“I think I’m in love with you Remus.” The words escape you with no pretenses or fanfare- just the simple, love infused words.

Remus’ hands stutter where they’re pulling your favoured blanket over you.

He kneels down and you twist under the sheets to face him, his hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking all the creases there from your palm resting there.

“I know I’m in love with you too dove, but I’d like to take you out on a proper date tomorrow if you don’t mind.”

You smile wide and bright for a night only half illuminated by the moon, “I don’t mind in the slightest.” Remus’ smile mirrors your own. He spends a couple minutes stroking your face, your eyes fluttering shut heavily. “Would you come up here? Give your knees a break, Rem.”

He scoffs a laugh, “You’re so bossy.” His lips brush your cheeks and then your nose.

“Wait I want a real kiss first.” He laughs outright then. His lips parting to puff air on your face as he does.

“No wait for our date,” you whine and pout all with your eyes closed, it’s then and instantly Remus realises he’ll never be able to deny you because he coos and tilts your face towards him. “One kiss.”

You parrot, “One kiss.”

Remus’ lips press into yours softly, soft and not more than a peck but it satisfies you. His knees crack as he stands, slipping into his side of the bed before you can say anything.

You turn to face Remus, bodies pressed close. His hand drags up and down your back, settling you. “You’re spoilt rotten already and it’s only going to get worse.” He murmurs fondly as you fall asleep, his smile hard to tame.

[nanamincreampie]

Accidental Cuddles

Ryomen Sukuna x Black plus size reader

It had been a long day full of errands, cooking, cleaning, and your usual flair for making even the most mundane tasks a little more fun. But now, as the chill of the evening set in, you found yourself naturally drawn to Sukuna, who was already slouched on the couch with a book in his hands.

The warm firelight illuminated his sharp, brooding features, casting shadows across his crimson eyes and the black markings etched into his skin. He looked as intimidating as ever, but that had never stopped you from invading his space.

“Hey, grouch,” you greeted with a bright smile, dropping onto the couch beside him with zero hesitation.

Sukuna didn’t even glance up. “What do you want now?”

“To annoy you, obviously,” you teased, kicking off your slippers and tucking your legs beneath you. “And maybe tell you about my day.”

“Great,” he deadpanned, still not looking at you.

But you didn’t need his permission. You launched right into it, recounting every little detail with your signature energy. “So, while I was out, this lady stopped me to compliment my hair, she said she loved my boho braids!” You ran your fingers through the mix of neatly braided strands and loose, soft curls that cascaded down your back. The tiny, colorful beads you’d woven into some of the braids clicked softly with your movements. “She couldn’t believe I did them myself!”

Sukuna flicked his eyes toward you for a moment, taking in the intricate style. The firelight caught on the beads, creating a subtle shimmer. But he quickly returned his gaze to his book, muttering, “She’s not wrong. They’re decent.”

“Decent?” you repeated, feigning offense. “These are gorgeous, thank you very much.”

“Sure,” he replied dryly.

You leaned closer, letting your curves press against his side. “You’re just mad you can’t braid.”

He grunted, flipping a page. “As if I’d want to.”

You laughed, the sound bright and melodic, filling the otherwise quiet room. For all his grumpiness, you knew Sukuna didn’t actually mind your chatter. You could tell by the way he hadn’t told you to leave not yet, anyway.

As the minutes passed, the warmth of the fire and the soothing rhythm of your own voice began to lull you into a state of drowsiness. Sukuna didn’t seem to notice when you leaned against him fully, your soft, plush body resting against his firm side.

“It’s so cold,” you murmured, pulling your oversized lavender sweater tighter around yourself. The soft fabric clung gently to your curves, but it wasn’t enough to fight the chill in the air.

Sukuna stiffened slightly, his crimson eyes flicking down to you. “I’m not your heater, you know.”

“Mm, but you’re warm,” you mumbled sleepily, resting your head against his shoulder.

He sighed, but didn’t shove you off. Instead, he continued to read, his free hand resting on the arm of the couch as if to keep up the pretense that he wasn’t affected by your closeness.

Soon enough, your rambling stopped, replaced by the soft, even rhythm of your breathing. Sukuna glanced down, his book forgotten as he took in the sight of you.

Your features were relaxed, the light from the fire highlighting the rich, warm undertones of your brown skin. Your braids framed your face, a few loose curls spilling forward onto your cheek. The beads in your hair glimmered faintly, adding a whimsical touch to your already striking beauty.

“Tch,” he muttered, setting his book aside. “Ridiculous woman.”

Careful not to disturb you, Sukuna reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch. With surprising gentleness, he shook it out and draped it over your shoulders, tucking the edges around you. His large hand lingered for a moment, hovering over your face. One of your braids had slipped across your lips, and he brushed it aside, his fingers grazing your soft skin.

“Don’t get used to this,” he grumbled, though there was no one around to hear him.

You sighed in your sleep, leaning even closer to him, and for a moment, Sukuna allowed himself to relax. His arm settled around you, his hand resting lightly on your hip.

As much as he pretended to be annoyed by your boundless energy and constant affection, there was something comforting about the way you fit against him. Your warmth, your softness, it melted the icy edges of his demeanor, leaving him with a quiet contentment he would never admit out loud.

“Stupid woman,” he muttered again, though his tone lacked any real bite.

The fire crackled softly in the background as Sukuna closed his eyes, his gruff expression softening as he held you closer.

[teal-fiend]

Mistakes Happen

Content: vore, accidental digestion, unwilling prey,

Summary: A pred who has bad coping skills

–

The dim light of your living room flickers against the recently cleaned, dark wood floors. It’s late, and you’d intended for tonight to be a bit of fun—for you. Not for your guest. 

You didn’t mean anything malicious by it, you just wanted to prove a point. You look down at your stomach, still flat, knowing that’s about to change. 

Your guest sits nervously on the couch, shifting under your gaze. Your stomach growls in anticipation, as if it could read your thoughts. 

You had lured them into your home under the pretense of dinner. You suspected that they wanted more, and they would get more. But probably not the ‘more’ that they wanted. 

This prey was someone who you didn’t get along with (you didn’t get along with them. They seemed very… attached to you). But for the sake of other people, you need to get over it. And you had your methods. Tonight you were going to give them a good scare. They'd back off after learning what you are.

You had no intention of making this permanent, so to speak. You didn’t like digesting prey anyway. You preferred to trap them in your belly for a little while, feel them struggle for their life, and then let them out. All’s well. 

“Are you hungry?” Your soon-to-be-prey jokes. They heard your stomach too.

“No,” you say, with a grin. And it’s true; you don’t do this out of hunger.

They have a nervous laugh, glancing up at you. "You sure?"

They also notice the look in your eyes, how you’re inching closer, and how your stomach is still growling. Not adept at subtlety. Do they know what’s about to happen? It doesn’t matter-

"Promise." You stretch your mouth, testing. Feeling the familiar sensation as your jaw loosens, preparing for what comes next. 

The whole process is smooth—you’ve done this a lot. Your guest doesn’t put up much resistance, either or you’ve gotten too good at this. You swallow them down, bit by bit, enjoying the slight struggle. You welcome the familiar feeling of satisfaction that surges through you as your belly starts to swell, expanding with their form. When you finally gulp down the last of them, you pat your now round, firm gut. Your skin stretches tight, and you feel every slight movement from inside.

"There we go," you sigh, running your hand over your belly. Your prey squirm and push against the confines of your body. They’re in there, safe—not that they know it.

You settle back into your chair, resting a hand on your full belly, letting out a small, satisfied burp. A part of you feels giddy about it all. You showed them you could do it, that they were nothing but prey if you wanted them to be. But now… now you have to let them back out. You give your stomach a firm rub, feeling it churn beneath your fingers.

"See? Not so bad," you mutter, as your prey seems to realise the environment isn’t so hostile - Their predator has the stomach on a tight leash. There are no acids out and about right now.

Although you can feel your stomach’s eagerness. It wants to digest. Very badly. You feel it sizing up the prey, squeezing it gently, savouring it. You don’t want to tease it for much longer. 

"… guess I’ll let you out now." You say this out loud, but you sit for a moment longer. Basking in the post-meal afterglow. Observing your stomach as it cradles the prey, gentle because it is obedient. Like a dog balancing a treat on its nose. You smile, and give it a good pat. Enough fun for one night- 

Except, as you sit there, the weight of your belly presses down on you. Warmth pooling through you from the meal, your eyelids start to droop. It wasn’t meant to feel this cozy. The way your gut rests on your lap, heavy and comforting, it tugs at your fatigue.

You yawn. Your brain briefly registers that this is a mistake, but your body pulls you toward sleep like the tide. Inevitable, nothing can be done to stop what is about to happen. This outcome may have been sealed the moment you came up with the idea. You lean back, letting your hands come to rest on your stomach, and before you know it, you’re out.

unbeknownst to the unconscious you, your stomach continues to ungulate as the prey squirms. They become increasingly concerned about your unresponsiveness. As your heart rate and breathing slows, the noises from your belly grow louder, and the squirming intensifies. You don’t have as much control over your stomach while you’re asleep.

---

When you wake up, it’s dark. The house is silent, except for soft gurgling noises coming from your midsection. You blink, groggy, the weight of your belly immediately plain to you.

Reflexively, you let out a thick, rumbling belch. That didn’t sound… good. You get the sense that you may have fucked up.

You swallow hard, a slight twinge of dread settling inside your chest as you rub your eyes and look down. 

Your stomach has changed. No longer tight and firm with clear contours of your prey’s figure. It’s soft and heavy, resting against your lap like a large, overstuffed pillow. You blink, pressing a hand to it. It doesn’t push back. There’s no movement. Only softness, warmth, and the unmistakable sound of digestion; deep, slow, and languid, resonating from within.

"God damn it…" you mutter through gritted teeth, pressing both hands to your rounded stomach. You shake it, hoping for a sign, a twitch—anything. But your stomach is eerily calm. Content.

They’re gone.

“Fuck,” you hiss to yourself. You’re a predator; this is what your body does. You know you’re playing with fire when you put your preferred prey inside your predatory stomach.

But you should have control - if only you hadn’t fallen asleep, this wouldn’t have happened. But now… your guest has processed inside of you, and you’re left with the aftermath: a swollen, satisfied gut and a persistent weight of guilt. Condemning the prey to such a fate. And some disappointment in yourself too.

You groan, pushing yourself up to your feet. The weight of your stomach pulls you forward, making each step a little more laboured than usual. This is why you don’t like to let your stomach go all the way. And you don’t like knowing that it got the better of you.

You hate this—feeling heavy, burdened, unable to hide what’s happened. You dread the questions and comments that will be coming your way in the following days.

Padding into the kitchen, you put the kettle on. Tea, to clear your head, and help settle your rebellious stomach. It churns, hard at work, the digestion well underway, but you feel heavy, slow. You grumble under your breath, hands trailing over your large gut with annoyance.

"This wasn’t supposed to happen," you mutter. "I wasn’t hungry."

The kettle whistles, and you pour the hot water into a mug, steeping the tea as you stand there, absently rubbing the swell of your belly. You take a deep breath, calming your nerves, but the weight of what you’ve done (and what you now carry) lingers.

"Great," you mutter, sarcastic, taking a sip of the tea. "Now what?

You can’t exactly reverse what happened. Your body’s already claimed the meal, leaving you with the consequences. The mass in your belly hangs there, undeniable evidence of your mistake. You scowl, irritated that your stomach exploited your nap.

"Not like I can explain this to anyone," you grumble, leaning back against the counter. You take a curious, calculated glance at your jutted out stomach, wondering how you can make this bulge look less suspicious. 

This could land you in serious trouble. You weren’t supposed to digest them—only spook them a little. But this was too far, and you’ll be dragging around this heavy belly for the next few days. It will be comically obvious; You invited this person over for ‘dinner’. You ate them - you digested them. Everyone’s going to think you did it on purpose. That you were so petty that instead of being an adult and getting along, you ate them. Classic move. 

Next time you show your face, you'll be asked if you’ve seen the prey, because didn’t you invite them over? No-one’s seen them since. Concerning, don't you think? - They’ll see your gut, and know exactly what happened. You won’t be able to argue it was an accident. You grimace in embarrassment at the thought. 

“I hope you’re happy, you bastard,” you say, looking down at your stomach. It offers a noisy grumble, perhaps in reply. You feel a flare of affection towards it, which you are quick to squash. You’re still annoyed.

You can get ahead of this. Send a few texts, apologise. Beg them to understand it was an accident - you fell asleep - but you take full responsibility for your actions. It won’t be a perfect fix, but you can do damage control.

There is a lingering smidge of relief in knowing that you won’t have to deal with your prey's antics anymore. They were deep in your gut now, stored away, gone forever. That was a nice thought. But this wasn’t the way to deal with your problems. You cannot let it happen again.

[stygiansun-totaleclipse]

How would the RO's deal with an MC that when sick/injured (Not life threatening but like moderate) refuses to stop working and rest to get better? :p

Kieran: So clearly this is habitual and mc either hasn’t been taught a lesson or hasn’t taken it to heart. So they’re going to have to take it upon themselves. They’ll corner mc into being obligated to accompany them to the infirmary—which shouldn’t be hard, mc will falter eventually at this pace and preferably Kieran will point it out in public so it’s harder to deny. And they suppose their tense/hostile relationship with mc comes quite in handy here while they personally attend to mc—is this uncomfortable for you? Good. Next time you’ll seek the help of an actual healer before Kieran notices bc trust them, they’re Very. Attentive. You won’t hide it from them for long.

Nihm: Tries to confront mc directly—they’re honest and to the point and they’ll be gentle but firm about it, but they’ll straight up tell you hey you should rest up and you’re not doing yourself or anyone any favors burning yourself out. If that doesn’t work then mc needs different motivation. They’ll either find someone mc will have to listen to or they’ll figure out what makes mc tick (time to shadow you and take notes like they’re studying bc they’re a good student) and reframe their request accordingly to be less focused on “you need to do this to help you” and more “I need you to do this to help me 🥺”

Lilith/Lucien: They’ll shoulder more of MCs workload to give them more leeway here and they’ll carve out spaces where they can help mc relax by like taking them out to dinner etc. When they do run into mc overworking themself, they’ll distract and redirect MCs attention to something else that will keep their mind occupied while giving them an opportunity to actually rest a bit, like getting mc to play chess with them or leading them through the gardens under the pretense that we’re gonna talk Business™️ but they end up chatting about nothing and everything and mc doesn’t even realize it.

Samira: Literally her pet peeve. She and mc are going to butt heads. She gets frustrated when she tells someone repeatedly to not be careless and they do it anyway bc then she is expected to clean up the mess. And now she has to worry unnecessarily over you. Stop being a stubborn patient bc she promises you she can and will be way more obstinate. This is a battle of wills and you have no idea who you just waged war with. Now get. Your ass. Back. In. Bed. 🫵

Aurynn: You get three strikes and if you don’t listen to him then he tattles on you to Samira. And he will taunt you with that too so when he does tell on you, you have no one to blame but yourself bc you were warned. 👍 Wouldn’t wanna be in your shoes rn. Good luck getting away with it now, fucker.

[acourtofquietdreamers]

Elain Archeron Week: Hope

Art by Pinkykei.art and commissioned by me 💗

Imagine being Elain Archeron at the end of ACOWAR. She was just turned fae against her will, her body violated in the process and a stranger claiming her as his mate moments after. She’s forced to leave behind the life she was building for herself to live in a land she was raised to fear. She spent months plagued by visions and powers she doesn’t understand, leaving her almost catatonic as she’s trapped in a murky realm she can’t escape. She finally gains clarity on her new powers, but is then cruelly rejected by her fiancé. The same magical pot that turned her fae lures her out of camp under the false pretense that her ex-fiancé came back for her. She witnessed brutal battles that left her retching and then rammed a magical blade through a king’s neck, taking her first life. This same king murdered her father moments before.

After these events, she has every right to despair and crumble, but Elain Archeron chooses a different path. She cleans up her father’s lifeless body, picks him flowers, and tells him she loves him.

“Elain quietly washed his face. Combed out his hair and beard. Straightened his clothes. She found flowers—somewhere. She laid them at his head, on his chest. We stared down at him in silence. “I love you,” Elain whispered, voice breaking.”

She smiles and hopes.

“Elain nodded, smiling up at me, and it was tentative joy—and life that shone in her eyes. A promise of the future, gleaming and sweet.”

She dreams.

“What now?” Elain mused, at last answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.”

Elain’s ability to rise above everything that happened to her as she continues to dream of better days shows extreme resilience and I admire the way she looks to find and create beauty in the world, no matter how bleak things look. She’s holding a bouquet of irises in this piece and much like our quiet dreamer, irises symbolize hope and faith. They’re also one of the flowers Feyre painted on Elain’s dresser drawer so I thought they fit perfectly here! Thank you so much again, Pinkykei, for working on this piece for me. Happy Elain is the best Elain and you captured that beautifully 🥹💗

Please don’t repost without permission.

@elainarcheronweek

[dontevenpmodarlin]

Montresor analysis post.

I am going to talk a lot about episode 87 and then a bit about other episodes.

I watched a guy talk funny on YouTube and here is it roughly translated;

“Ego produces most of our thoughts. We think that when we interact with the world, talk to people, that those things generate thoughts inside us. But no. What enters us are raw materials, materials from which the ego composes thoughts. But what thoughts it creates depends on what you have experienced, what traumas you have, how you were raised. What you have understood to what extent and how certain things, what conclusions you have drawn based on a certain understanding you had. What decisions based on these conclusions you have started to make and what patterns have been created based on making certain decisions. What you have seen, smelled, experienced.”

So the stuff that are being said here are very impressive to me and I adore it.

And it reminded me of Montresor.

Montresor is raised in a very religious community. In it, for reasons unknown to us yet, he is seen from birth as a sinner.

“You’ve had the devil inside you since the day you were born” - Monty’s mom.

If it’s by his mother, or by the whole community, we don’t know. We know that at the end he seems to be the scapegoat of them all, (if the robed figures do indeed symbolize his old community, idk they may symbolize just other people over all.) but let’s assume that ig? Going by that thinking Montresor is raised in a place where everyone blames him for stuff.

Let’s quickly go over the facts we get from the flashback:

We’re in a church.

There’s dirties cloaked figures, faceless, that are wearing white robes. The robes themselves are dirtied, suggesting that those people are themselves not ‘clean’ ‘pure’ or free of ‘sin’

Montresor asks them who they are and what do they want.

A figure reaches out from under the cloak- let’s also point out that everyone in this flashback is cloaked. As if the robe itself is a protection from the dirt? Perchance? (You can’t just say perchance☝️🤓)

The robes can suggest that they’re hiding themselves under the pretense of something pure/righteous and do not let the dirt stain them.

They may hide who they really are or their intentions.

The person who touches him on the chest -Duke and Annabel railing scene style- stays quiet for a moment “…” before saying that “You’re wicked.”

And THAT burns. That handprint burns.

The cloaked figures hand itself turns black, and the DIRT from the cloaked figures robe, atoms dissolves itself and burns Montresor leaving a mark.

Here’s the visual for the first time it happens and later on we get a whole panel of how the line infront of him is dirtied and the whole line after passing by him is cleansed.

Okay so we pretty clearly get the meaning of this, but let’s go over this panel by panel.

Montresor bends over holding onto his chest and making the ouch-sounds, and bro doesn’t get a break because the next hand is already reaching out for him, as the now cleaned ‘Mr.Yee Wicked’ goes away.

Montresors notices and says ‘WH- hold on’

But the next figure already is saying “You are selfish.”

And it’s dirt leaves its robe, creating a burn on Montresor’s back.

The figures keep coming with comments like “Gluttonous.” “Stupid.” “Depraved.” to which all Montresor objects, getting more and more agitated.

As I said, the whole line infront of him is dirtied, waiting for their turn to get rid of their dirt-sins-wrong doings, by blaming it on him, or projecting or whatever.

I’ve wanted to write down list over where which blame is placed but it doesn’t show past these three’s, and I don’t want to assume too that it was meant symbolically, but it would’ve been cool if it was.

Heart? - Wicked.

Upper back - Selfish.

Left Shoulder - Depraved? Or Wretched?

Either way the Wretched comment is where he breaks with a “Please.”

Now for everyone that is as English as me, id like to just quickly summarize that the word Wretched means being in a miserable, unfortunate, or deserving of pity state.

(If I’m wrong, do so correct me.)

Either way it suggest in religious context being removed from the God. Which well, is the source of life and everything overall.

Also let’s quickly say that the handprints leaving burns means them having a lasting effect on Montresor. They burn him. The accusations and judgments, handprints symbolizing different vices, condemning him, have long lasting effects on him.

Montresor is in the next panel curled up nearly, he hugs himself with his long hair covering his face, (in shame?) and his right eye being visible in emotion of like I’d say conflict? He is hurt by so many people here, he asks them to “Just leave me be.” I think that panel describes a lot of his childhood. He doesn’t understand what’s happening or why they’re doing this to him.

Him hugging himself with his hands holding his shoulders tightly amidst the burning handprints dooo create a visual. Are his hands atp holding him together or are they part of the blame, but now self inflicted? Does he believe all of that? Maybe he knows it’s not real but still it does force the thoughts and bad beliefs.

He must feel it to be wrong, OR he believes it, but he must’ve noticed as he grew up that others weren’t holier than him.

When a hand reaches to his forehead to say “You are worthless.” He SNAPS.

He does NOT let that touch him. He fights against it all then, with

“So what if I am.” He replies looking up. (Idk if the way the sentence is multiplied and lowered on opacity suggests it being said before, or a ringing effect.)

It continues with:

“Does it make you feel holy?!” “Like yer better than me!?” “Like y’all ain’t sinners yerselves?!”

Which hi? Okay so he may accept all those things, and believe them deep inside? Negative stuff being repeated to us as we grow up DO fuck up our brain, and worm inside it. They create beliefs because even IF we are so lucky to understand on an intellectual level that something may not be completely true, the wound itself was created on a deep emotional level.

If you’re told as a child that you’re an pathetic little crusty Cheeto thief-goblin then that may trigger an insane emotional reaction. You trust adults, if the ones that are your guardians say shit, you believe them ofc. They are keeping you alive, you need their love and approval to survive and grow.

So words like pathetic, Cheeto, and thief fx can leave marks on us, make us feel ashamed so insane degrees. And fear and shame are two main sources of a lot of feelings, that may be masking them.

So even understanding that you’re not a Cheeto might’ve left such an emotional scar on you that until you feel those feelings that were stopped back then and turned into a trauma, you won’t be left free of it and will be haunted. And for the emotions to flow, you also need a new logical understanding of what happened and why you’re not a Cheeto or why being a Cheeto is not wrong. You need to see on both levels that it’s a misunderstanding or not a wrong doing.

Anyway that Worthless comment ENRAGES Montresor. All the other comments lead him to feel anger, shame? Sadness? But that one triggers him more that the T-word (🚂)

“Worthless, y’say?” “Worthless!?” Monty screams looking around, he is circled by the purified freaks, “YOU.” “NEED.” “ME.”

Which fuck yeah, okay so he understands that everyone around him is a ‘sinner’ as well, and that they’re using him as a scapegoat to feel better about themselves. This is and understandable source of insane anger.

Now the fuck ass bitch of the mf year comes in, aka his Mother who I’ll call Samantha because I don’t want to type Monty’s mom 24/7.

Samantha- I’m kidding, his mother shushes him, calms him down as she reaches for him, and holds him- or rather has him in her clutches! As she doesn’t HUG him ladies and gentlemen, she holds her hands clasped around him.

Let’s add to this that his mother’s robe is colored RED. And her right hand has a golden cross ring.

Which HI OKAY. Okay. Funny thing, this might be a reach BUT, overall wearing a cross necklace is supposed to mean bearing your own cross, as in bearing your own hardships and suffering and pain etc, not rejecting it.

In literature such as Dostoyevsky the cross necklace is used often in ways as to show one taking the consequences of their actions and bearing them. Or as in exchanging them to show brotherhood.

Either way, I may be looking too much into stuff yk? But she’s wearing it on her middle finger which lol, but she’s wearing it on her hand, not around her neck, and she puts her hands around in a pseudo hug which is actually a cage next to the other burns on his body.

Is it meant to symbolize her trapping him by using religion? Or Samantha putting her own wrongs and blames on him as well? Her burdens? We’ll get back to that later.

Monty is huffing and puffing bcus he just had a rage attack, and his mother asks him “Are you picking fights again, my treasure?”

I’m shitting myself full live ultra HD because this implies that him trying to fight for himself and rejecting himself being worthless is declined.

He is not allowed to do so.

Why doesn’t his mother allow it? Because feelings as shame and guilt can be used to trap people. That’s what narcissists does usually taking facts mixing up words and phrases to make the other person seem guilty and in blame.

Holy Samantha is calling this ‘picking a fight.’ And the ‘again’ suggest that she’s been bending perceptions to her like and presenting the reality in her fancy.

And her fancy is keeping control over Montresor.

“My treasure.”

So this is a whole thing, which I suspect most of us already know of but let’s go over it for the sake of clarity.

His mother calling him ‘Montresor’ which can be directly translates to ‘My treasure’, and now it’s cute when it’s in the style of ‘My pumpkin’ pie’ but it’s rather giving ‘MY PRECIOUS.’ As in Gollum.

He belongs to HER. His autonomy is hers. He is not to misbehave- but actually he IS to misbehave, because that’s what keeps him trapped! If he sins, he needs HER to atone. How else is he to be forgiven? (Samantha is flashing us her Colgate smile my loves, she is NOT against this situation.)

His mother traps him in a cycle where he will always misbehave, and everything he does will be shown in that light, he’s either hopeless or selfish, and she DOES want him in that cycle, for him to endlessly try to not misbehave and always fail, and always have to depend on her for atoning for failing.

The next scenes will explain this better,

Montresor looks down at the arms wrapped around him and says “Mother.” In shock on his face. But not ‘Mother?’ But as in a statement.

Also back up, she is wearing a red robe. It’s not stained. She does not feel at fault or blame. And maybe it’s because her son is her main outlet. The white can symbolize righteousness, or devotion. Red may symbolize power or sin? Probably power, since she’s in power of him.

Anyhoo, she says

“Holler all you want. They’ll never hear you.”

Aka you’re helpless, no matter what to do they will never hear you = understand you = accept what you say. This can be a shaping belief to have, it’s no use to defend yourself because the crowd is deaf.

This is critically damaging because it’s partly truth in this situation. The cloaked figures won’t listen to what he has to say, he’s the worst of them all, all he says is bound to be bad.

This also dismisses the idea of trying for change or reaching for justice by peaceful means. They won’t listen anyways. You have to act in other ways.

“How don’t you understand yet?”

She’s insinuating he’s behind on something and it’s he who doesn’t understand, it’s all an illusion in his head. She’s planting doubt atp in his head too. Like darling? Why tf are you so behind, throwing a fit in a public server. Be ashamed- if you want ig.

“You are not one of us.”

Isollllation. Isolation is DEATHLY. Detaching him from all of them again would force him to think that she is like nearly a god for being there for him or loving him.

Making him dependent on her. He is to feel worse by overall, and it all comes at the end of the day of if she’ll be pitiful enough- or god forbid ah if she is forced to love him because he’s her child and it’s not even her choice to pity him! It’s forced! - and will grant him ‘acceptance’ or a form of it.

She won’t leave him. And her abandoning him should scare him. (Maybe this is a reach, I’d like to say that I’m theorizing real hard rn) but Samantha not wanting Montresor to leave her could indeed be swapped around into a way in which he feels her fear instead, so she gains more control. Typical narcissist behavior ig.

I feel ashamed? Nahhh, it’s all you G. I am angry? No it’s YOU who is raising your voice at ME. I’m the poor victim. LMAO IG?

I don’t want to be left alone? (Again?) (or to bear all the shame alone?)

Well, let’s switch it around and make YOU scared of me leaving so that I’ll be ensured you won’t leave me.

Ok next is just Monty looking at the big ass cross on the wall hit up by light and shit, as his mother holds him and keeps talking.

Btw id like to point out the effect of the windows. They have those diamond bars patterns. They’re ALL over Samantha’s smexy red H&M robe. They’re like prison bars, and it can ofc suggest her trapping him, or them both being trapped. I mean she herself is trapped in her own emotions and who she is, and she’s doing it to him too bcus that’s what she is doing to herself, unconsciously or not. The patters seem to do that to us.

“We walk with the lord, always.”

“Never question his plans.”

The statement of him not being one of them and then these being said suggest that he doesn’t walk with the lord and that he questions his plans- by questioning stuff? By questioning how he is treated? Very extreme show of how religion can be corrupted and bent for one’s own use. You could take overall a lot of wisdoms or Facebook quotes and do tf u want with them, and Montresor’s mother is quite a person.

“And He smiles upon us for our devotion.”

“But when He tests you, you get angry. You think you know better.”

Well what a way to spin and tamper with his emotions. His anger is not rightful. What he feels is wrong. People around him judging or abusing him is right or a test or whatever, and if Monty was devoted he wouldn’t feel like this.

Which is insane for as many reasons as you can think of. Anger to unjust is the right emotion, lmao it’s even mentioned in Bible, so she’s bending the words to her will.

Then, she reaches out for his hair in this very motherly manner of tucking it behind his ear, saying “You are faithless, my son.” “You have earned your misery.”

Okay so also to say, her tucking his hair behind his ear like this is crazy brainwashing. The physical touch and motion shows love and affection. While the words she speaks are of the opposite. We can see her mouth through most panels and she is show smiling, she is calm, she is content saying all of this.

Also the fact that she uh like takes the hair away for his ear to be out in the clear like dawgs on the beach, maybe in a way so he listens.

Montresor objects again.

“I’m not. I didn’t.”

Woah gender reveal ahh colors. He objects to being faithless, which may mean that he believes in god but thinks himself too wicked, and that’s why God does nothing for him? I’m unsure, as in episode 81 we get this golden stuff:

“Say, love Will? D’you wanna know a secret?”

“God’s never saved anybody. ‘Specially not the faithful.”

We could assume he means himself. I at first thought he meant himself when he was a believer but then if he went being non believer he wouldn’t say that God doesn’t save ppl because God wouldn’t exist I guess. So God chills but he’s mean in Monty’s opinion?

“Even in the good book, they always end up worse off. At the end of the day, all you can rely on is yourself. So maybe try growin’ a backbone, yeah?”

Okay so crazy good, because we can see where his belief of only relying on yourself comes from. It’s from the fact that he probably had to save himself from the situation he was in when he was younger. No magic hocus pocus apparated him out of the church, no Voldemort giving him a gun in the forest. He was all on his own, and he probably strongly believes he always will be.

Also in Wills gray ass shattered like pieces of glass flashbacks (William you’re so incredibly talented in being mentally unwell I feel better abt myself) we can see Monty’s comments to Will.

“Stop them you useless piece a shit!”

“Well? What’ll it be pal? Hightail it like a wimp, or die standing up?”

“Yer a damned fool, Will.”

“What a bootlicker” - “s’pose you’d know.”

“Hell, Will! S’the matter with you!?”

“I love you so much we should move out and live on a farm and see who kills who first.”

And by all those comments we get yet another glimpse into Montresor’s world.

William in Monty’s eyes is someone weak and helpless. Who has read FP ifykyk, I would love to write abt that, it’s another important part to Montresor’s character but idk if I should do so here, as idk how tf to spoiler anything.

Okay, and what is his reaction to weakness or helplessness? It’s a reaction of protection!

As in, rejecting portraying weakness or feeling helplessness or any act of it, and defying it, is a form of saving himself from the pain that those things brought him, as he associated being that with being trapped, used, manipulated. He can’t afford himself to have such weak spots, he has to be the opposite.

There’s a delicious other side to this but ig if I’ll get bored in a month or so I’ll write abt the current fp.

Next panel after Montresor objecting is his Mother smiling and telling him “The prove it.”

“Pray.”

And she pushes him down to kneel, looming over him. Also to mention, her brighter blonde hair is insane because he has dirty blonde hair. Hi?

His hands shake as she forms them into the praying hands, and he tells her “B-But I can’t.”

“And why not?”

“I’ve forgotten the words. Could you remind me how it starts? I need your help, Mother.”

(Also is she leading the church or what? Why is she ‘Mother’ and not ‘mother.’ So she has a superior lore in the church as a nun or smth idk?)

Montresor here is ready to pray and ask for forgiveness, but he doesn’t know the words any longer, and he is vulnerable in asking for help, he literally says out loud the ‘I need your help, Mother.” Which is crazy work for a guy like him. Sadly it’s the wrong person to ask for such, but it’s the only person perhaps he believes he can ask for that. She didn’t seem to leave him even if he’s born as this massive sinner from the beginning.

Then she lifts his chin up and tells him that

“I know.” “But there’s no helping you, my treasure.”

And her face seems ‘solemn’ now. As if she’s telling him the sad truth. This is her just further trapping him up in the cycle of being in control of him. There’s no helping him really, but he should be always asking for it. It’s using the stuff from Bible about people being born in sin and never being able to really get rid of it, but yet still are encouraged to ask for it.

As well, without the overall corruption it just means to accept one’s flaws and how stuff like generational trauma already passes upon us, and that such complicated stuff are impossible to fully fix. Since under one illusion lies another and so on, and you’d really need to be a God to fully just heal and be pure of all the ‘sin’ but asking for forgiveness even if you do stuff wrong bcus u don’t have control over every mean thing you do, I’d just admitting that you aren’t strong enough but want to change, and you keep that intention.

You don’t really have to believe in God or be religious to see that intentions are like really powerful stuff too, and they make our brain orient us on the goals we set for ourselves, and if the intention is indeed, Im sorry for doing this thing that I know is not good, and id like to ask for help and change, - Is literally gonna lead u good places either way.

Samantha is taking that away from Montresor. The belief that he can change, can ask for help, and then adds at the end that he is her treasure.

He is stuck with her. Who else will love him than her in this pov she’s forcing onto him? She takes away the possibility of being free by that, locking him in the delusional beliefs she keeps feeding him.

He has worth only when he’s with her. He snaps at being judged to be worthless, and his mother is the only one around to see him in any worth.

He’s literally her treasure.

Like no wonder bro compensates so bad, look at the cellar arc again in how he had a broken leg but stand up. Lenore comments:

“Their loyalty might be more fragile than it looks. Maybe he’s worried if he shows weakness, he’d lose control over them.”

Be weak = lose control over ppl or himself or over anything over all.

Back to Montresor and Samsung.

Samantha says “You’ve had the devil inside you since the day you were born.” Right after the there no helping you my treasure.

And yeah you can’t be helped fr bro, you was born with the devil inside you, no much to do with you other than keep under control for the rest of your life.

He gets angry then again and his eyes change to demon like.

Then he pukes the demon out- or well it leaves him?

The fuck ass hellish goat is birthed and stands on the symbol of Belial - Belial in Hebrew Bible originally meant “Worthlessness” or “Lawlessness” or “Wickedness.” The word itself means Without Worth, or usefulness.

So this demon in Montresor is created because of all of this. Before he even pukes it out and is forced to look up at his mother we can see the symbol itself being on the floor, not lightened up. As it can either mean it already being prepared by her or just the view that when you stand before God (since it’s where the cross was up on the wall) you put yourself in the state of being worthless.

Which woah again is insane, as the message in the Bible over all is the opposite in every way overall. But that’s then again the corruption.

The circle symbol thing lightens up in red, and Montresor is shaking on the floor. This a beautiful visual of what stuff like these can do to us, as we in fact do have something that can be described as a ‘demon’ in us. Aka the wounds and the ways we try to save ourselves and protect ourselves.

Also that doesn’t excuse our actions and doesn’t make Montresor not a villain in any way, it just explain him. This is NOT and apologist thing, I’ll jump before I’ll become that. But then when someone doesn’t hate on something bad every three seconds they must dislike waffles since they are taking about pancakes or smth.

“God have mercy.” Above the goat thing, is said by the figures we can guess from the font of the text.

The candles form around the circle and idk if that means shit since they’ve been floating around before or if it’s just decorative.

Then we get the visual of the figures praying out loud and saying the words Montresor has forgotten, as the demon attacks them.

Montresor gets blood on his face and looks up shocked and laughs at it. Because they’ve gotten what they deserved in his mind now.

Now idk what to say abt this panel, im totally missing out on the probably double meaning of it but it’s 3 am.

Then we switch pov to what’s actually happening and it’s Montresor choking his best friend on the floor. Parallel to the demon choking a cloaked figure shadow.

Lenore then says all kind of stuff to him, mocking him as “you, the devil you are.” “Ain’t scared of nutthin’ and no-body.” And he just agrees. And then she clocks him in with the “You’re always scared. Aren’t you?”

And he totally is.

Annabel then saying that if he wants help he’ll have to ask them for it is insane too, because we just saw what his beliefs/experiences are on asking for help.

Not to mention his overall power status going down if he does so.

“All he needs to do is ask for our help. But if his pride is more important to him than his life, who am I to argue?”

And that’s funny because for Montresor it’s not just pride, it ends up being it of course, but him thinking that he is worse than everyone around him is making him compensate in acting as if he’s better than everyone ig or trying/believing that he actually is and trying to reject how he was treated, and both thinking you’re better than everyone around you as well as thinking you’re the worst of the worst is being prideful, since in both you let yourself believe that you know better.

Which is tricky. Bro is defo stuck. His mother may not be around but he carries the cross on his neck. Idk what that symbolizes for him, if it’s a sign of his fate, of his mother still holding power over him, or something entirely else, or all at once.

Montresor’s first words after fairing and being awakened to be “I’m not,” and “I didn’t!” Are creepy as heck and sad.

And the fact that after saying those same words he has to ask for help again. A stranger. And Annabel replying the same way his mother did? “I’m quite certain you’re beyond help, Montresor.”

Montresor 💀 My treasure. Bye.

Also now I’m conflicted if him asking her why she hates him sm is like him getting a chance to ask his mother why she hated him sm?

Idk maybe it’s a reach. But we see that Montresor respects Annabel and that makes sense.

Then in episode 115 we see that when Eulalie ignores Montresor, which can make him feel un important or unworthy of attention, instantly maddens him.

Then he pretty much just shifts the words around like a professional and manipulates Will’s understanding of the situation into what he wants him to see/what he sees.

Then in the latest free chapter we see that Montresor did NOT in fact leave Will alone. Which says a LOT. It gives him a whole new side making him even more humane in his actions. Not to mention the fact that he SHIELDS Will with his own Body. And compliments him in the minimum way.

He treats Will the way his mother treated him in many ways, but there’s the MAIN big difference.

Okay but now we can finally get a conclusion to this thing.

Those two pages from a book I was reading are giving Monty I think. (hi Willspero nation)

We don’t know why Montresor is deemed to be born with the devil inside of him. Is it because of who his father might be? Or because he was meowed under no wedding circumstance? Did his father leave?

The shame of that would be left on his mother I guess? His mother is referred to as Mother rather than just mother, so she might be a nun or smth of high status and those usually make vows of not holding hands with guys.

Samantha could’ve lied or done something who knows, either way the father seems not to be around I think, and him leaving her would be a ‘good cause’ for her manipulating Montresor to never leave her.

We don’t know her story but if she got some abandonment issues or some shit she is definitely taking it out on him in the most malicious way possible. She might’ve been shamed for having a child and put that shame on Montresor too.

She mocks him for his anger, the way in earlier post I’ve talked about how Annabel mocks Ada for throwing a tantrum. Annabel does it to get out of a situation where she is held captive, Monty’s mother does it to keep someone captive. Ig?

“You’re either born a gambler or yer not.” You’re born this way or that way. Therems no change in life, you’re either this or that. He can’t change, he is born worthless is what is his core belief, and its in war against the new extreme of being better than anyone else. I think?

He has earned his misery, he deserves it, that’s his core belief that his mother gave him, and now he built a sub personality to contradict that, because he hates how it makes him feel, be seen, and treated.

He can’t accept healthy shame and tries to be more than a human. He strongly identifies with being strong, he disowns the trait of being weak, and “every disowned part has an opposite energy with which your protector/controller is identified with.”

So you don’t have to be religious to have healthy fundamentals, but she ruins the idea of any healthy principles for him by using the one that are shown in Christian religion and using them to control, so now no matter where he’d find good basic morals, he’d connect them to this, and reject them.

The devil that crawls out of him is part of his biggest fear of what she saying being the truth, that he’s at fault and not strong and powerful, but then he finds reassurance in it, he -I think- finds some peace in accepting that lie of being wrong, because it stops the war inside of him, but also contradicts itself by letting him feel strong as the cursed one. That they all fear him.

At last panel in the flashback chapter he just holds himself and laughs because I think we all can imagine how weird of a relief it must be to accept the lies but find strength in them and making them your own, even if they still are the ones that control you, you find some place of power and less helplessness in them. If u cant escape, at least u can do that.

Annabel manipulating Ada’s self worth - ‘lose him = loosing her self worth’ - Monty beliefs that people only will care for him when he is strong are being affirmed and reinforced

So going back to the orange text I started with, I’d like to show how everything that happens around Monty is just happening, but how he understands the world and which traumas he has had and what conclusion he has drawn, based on the certain understandings he has had at whatever age it happened all to him or kept happening, and then the decision he made on those flawed conclusions, and what patterns were created upon making those decisions.

Every character does that, so far I think? Ada has understood something to a specific extent about and concluded that true love is the priority in life. She started making decisions on this understanding and it created those patterns of swiping right on the wrong guys.

We don’t know what created that understanding, but we know that her self worth is connected to external forces.

Either way, Montresor accepting the fact that he’s the devil in a way, is a way of him taking control back in a deluded way. He turns around the judgements placed upon him and they grant him the illusion of power and strength.

And just for insurance I guess, he is the villain, this is not excusing him, he goes around acting all bleh and ew and he will deserve the consequences for that and he deserves the ones he gets now. He is not a good guy, and he doesn’t need to be.

He is not changing/wanting to change, because that would go against his whole thing. Does that mean I wouldn’t like to see him change? No. I would love to. But people like that hardly does ig since they’re so trapped. Montresor was trapped for how long we don’t know by his mother and even when he’s left and lives his life we see how deeply that wounded him.

He is still trapped, but maybe for him, being like this was what let him escape his community and his mother. Idk life is complex and his character story is too.

His spectre does have golden chains around him and his power is making deals and such. Would make sense.

[7ndipity]

False Pretenses

fwb!Jungkook x Reader

Summary: Just how fair does the ‘benefits’ aspect between Friends with Benefits actually extend? Based on this meme.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: crack to fluff, suggestive moments and ending, swearing, Jk has side by side washer/dryer units cause it’s funnier, reader’s referred to as ‘Ma’am’, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! Sorry it took me soo long to get to, I hope you’ll still like it tho! (I’ll also be posting a couple more pieces with this pairing in the next couple weeks, so keep your eyes peeled if you liked this)

Masterlist

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It was the type of text you had gotten more than used to receiving from him over the past few months, smirking down at your phone as you waited for the elevator in his building.

“Need you so bad rn. Come over?❤”

The heart was a new addition, he must be feeling particularly needy today, you thought to yourself as the elevator doors finally opened.

Since the two of you had established this new part of your friendship, it was rare for you to go more than four or five days without receiving some variation of the same short message from him.

You were still slightly surprised by his text, seeing as you had only been over the night before, but you weren’t complaining by any means. Though you may have enjoyed pretending that Jungkook was the needier one in your arrangement, if you were completely honest, you were just as affected by him, finding yourself missing him on the nights you didn’t spend together.

When he opened the door, you noticed he looked a little more disheveled than usual, his hair sticking up all over the place, as if he’d been running his hands through it, a habit you knew he did when he was stressed.

“You got here fast.” He noted, letting you into the apartment.

“Well, your text made it sound kinda urgent, didn’t want to leave you waiting too long.” You said, wandering through into the living room, slowing to a stop as you caught sight of the chaotic state of the space, cleaning supplies and laundry scattered around, furniture moved all out of place.

“What happened in here?” You asked, turning back to Jungkook, who was now avoiding your eyes. “Koo?”

“I lied, I didn’t want sex.” He said guiltily, looking up at you. “I need you to help me clean.”

“I-, what?” You blinked at him, unsure if you heard him correctly.

He slumped back against the counter, looking stressed as he ran his hand through his hair again. ”My parents decided to surprise me by announcing they’re coming to visit tomorrow, but I’ve done nothing but sleep since I got home from tour last week, so the house is a fucking mess and everything’s a disaster and I need help, please.” He pleaded, staring at you.

You immediately began pulling your coat back on, turning back towards the door. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Y/n, please!” He quickly followed after you, catching your sleeve. “I’ll do anything you want! I’ll buy you dinner, I’ll rub your back, I’ll even let you pick what we watch for a month!”

You paused, turning to look back at him with a raised brow. “Even if I want to re-watch ‘Our Beloved Summer’ for a third time?”

He bit lip, trying to fight back a pained grimace before nodding slowly. “Whatever you want.”

You stared at him for a long moment.

“Fine.” You said reluctantly, caving as you saw the genuine desperation in his eyes. You could never say no to him.

“Thank you!” He sang, catching you in a tight hug and spinning you around in a circle. “I promise I’ll make it up to you!”

“Yeah, whatever,” You grumbled as he set you back on your feet. “Where do we start?”

“Laundry room?” He offered. “It’s mostly done, I just need to vacuum behind the machines.”

Do you really think your mom’s gonna look back there?” You raised a brow, following him down the hall.

“She’s very thorough.” He said seriously.

“Fair enough.” You shrugged. “I don’t quite see why I’m necessary for this part though?”

“I was afraid if I tried to clean back there by myself, I’d slip and get stuck or die.”

“So you want me to slip and die behind your washer instead?” You shot him an accusatory look.

“No! I’ll hold onto you and keep you safe,” He smiled reassuringly. “You know, like the buddy system.”

“I thought the buddy system was for camping so you didn’t get lost or eaten by bears?”

“It’s a multi-purpose system!” He said, his earlier agitation starting to flare up again at your teasing. “Are you gonna help me or not?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it, pass me the vacuum.” You relented, boosting yourself up on top of the dryer.

He held onto your hips to keep you balanced as you cleaned, his mind beginning to wander as he stared at your ass, his fingers starting to slowly knead your flesh absent-mindedly.

“Koo.” You warned, shooting him a quick look.

“Right, sorry.” He snapped back to attention, ceasing his movements and focusing back on the task at hand.

You finished up quickly, passing the vacuum attachment back to him and letting him help you down.

“Thank you.” He said.

“You’re welcome.” You answered, looking around expectantly. “What’s next?”

The apartment wasn’t nearly as bad of a mess as he claimed it to be, but it still took both of you several hours of work to get everything back in order, finishing off with laundry and changing all the bedding.

“Why are these sticky?!” You asked, mildly horrified as you helped him strip the sheets off his bed.

“Relax, it’s just caramel sauce.” He said.

You looked up at him confused. “We didn’t use-?”

“No no, that was just me,” He explained quickly. “I had ice cream last night.”

“Without me?!” You said, clutching your chest in feign hurt, making him roll his eyes as he let out a huff of laughter.

“I’ll add that to the list of things I need to make up for, okay?” He said.

“Eh, it’s better than where my mind went.” You said, only half joking as you grabbed the fresh sheets from him and turned back to the bed. “Almost thought you were fucking around behind my back for a second there.”

Facing away from him, you missed the way his expression suddenly turned serious as he looked at you. “I would never.”

It was strange, despite the supposedly ‘casual’ nature of your arrangement, you both found yourselves making little comments like that, words and exchanges that sounded a lot more like things said between a committed couple, rather than just two friends helping each other out till you found something more serious.

“Alright, I think that’s everything.” You said, snapping him out of his thoughts. You had finished making up the bed, even turning down the covers for him.

“Thank you, y/n.” He said gratefully. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Probably called Hobi.” You smirked, making him snort.

“Now, you promised me food, and if you lie to me twice in the same day, I’m dumping your ass.” You said, earning another laugh from him.

“Alright, whatever you want, just like I said.” He said, leaning down to give you a quick kiss.

“Although, if you wanted, I could make up for my false pretenses from earlier in a different way?” He offered, eyes darkening slightly as his hands drifted over your hips

You lightly shoved his hands away. “Not a chance, Loverboy, I’m way too tired now. You’ll have to try and ‘make it up to me’ some other time.”

“How about tomorrow?” He said, eyes twinkling mischievously, looping his arms around your waist instead to keep you close.

“I thought your parents were coming over tomorrow?” You reminded, raising a brow at him.

“You could come over after.” He suggested. “Hell, you could even come to dinner with us, my parents like getting to meet my friends.”

“Friends?” You looked up at him skeptically.

“Yeah, what?” He laughed, squeezing you lightly.

“Do you let your other friends suck your di-?”

“They don’t need to know the details of our relationship!” He said quickly, his face flushing slightly, making you snicker. “You’re still my friend, one of my best friends actually.” He added, in a soft tone.

The way he said it made your heart twist in a weird way, though you didn’t quite understand why.

“So?” He asked, staring down at you hopefully. “Will you come?”

You chewed your lip, considering. It felt like a really big commitment to meet his family, regardless of what your relationship was, but you tell it would mean a lot to him if you said yes.

“I’ll think about it.” You said finally.

He beamed.

“Thank you!” He said, leaning in to kiss you again, his lips lingering longer this time, tracing over yours lightly, making you shiver.

You pressed closer to him, hooking your arms around his neck as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss, letting your tongue delve into his mouth as his hands grip on your waist tightened.

When you pulled back for air, his pupils were blown wide, eyes almost black as he stared down at you, breathing heavily.

“Take your shirt off.” You ordered, your breaths equally unsteady.

“But I thought you said-?”

“I changed my mind.” You cut him off, tugging at the fabric impatiently. “Shirt off, now.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @a-gayish-unicorn

[comatosebunny09]

oral fixation | astarion a.

summary: he loves your lips. especially when they’re so eagerly wrapped around him. genre(s): erotica, romance warning(s): female anatomy described, oral fixation, face-fucking, bj, jealousy, possessiveness, bodily fluids, choking, cum-eating, brief dacryphilia, explicit language, alcohol and tobacco use (hookah), blood drinking now playing: criminal - taemin notes: please thank @nanaoise08squad for helping me write this! also, please let me know if i missed any warnings! hope you enjoy, lovelies! screenshot credit

Lips.

Your lips.

They’re his favorite—if anyone ever bothered to ask what he enjoys most about your body.

Well, other than the devastating clench of your pussy, of course.

They’re pillow-soft. Thick. Flushed like rose petals. Cute when they’re pulled into that warm smile. 

Alluring, stretched into a thin line as you glare at your enemies. 

Exquisite, stained with blood and bruises and split—he can’t help wanting to lick them whenever he sets his eyes on them, even in the heat of battle.

Perfect and sweltering, curled around him. Dribbling with globs of spit and pre-spend as you take him down your throat. His favorite of all. And those pretty, garbled sounds you release when he presses deeper, testing your gag reflexes, amplifies his love for them.

Your sinfully gorgeous lips.  

Gods.

Astarion bites his lip, threatening to draw blood. 

He observes you through the wispy haze of tobacco smoke staining the lounge, trained on every twitch and spasm of your mouth beneath the dulled lighting. Every smile, every scowl. Every dart of your tongue from betwixt them, chasing wine that glides down the corners.

Your tongue leaves a sheen of saliva in its wake. Astarion swallows thickly. Unconsciously flashes back to how you make his cock gleam like that. Glistening and flushed an angry red when you release him with a lewd pop after swallowing him down like a fucking pro.

Astarion shudders, his eyes rolling into the backs of their sockets. His fingernails pull at the plush, crimson cushions beneath him, a groan trying to make itself known.

You’ll be the death of him; he’s sure of it. 

Astarion sulks, swirling the contents of his goblet, brows weighed down in the middle by something like irritation. 

You’re doing this on purpose. Enticing him. Vexing him. Your eyes occasionally find him across the lounge. Twinkle with mischief below bowed lashes before flitting back to your company. Company he wishes would piss off.

He can think of better ways to occupy your mouth that don’t involve meaningless conversation.

However, everyone’s gathered around you to celebrate the famed Hero of Baldur’s Gate. Despite Astarion’s protests, you insisted on staying. 

You are a beacon of hope. An idol perched on a plinth, the Madonna della Pietà. Who would he be to steal you away from your adoring fans?

He just wishes his trousers weren’t so unbearably tight. Wishes he wasn’t straining against the seam of them, throbbing and pulsing with beads of pre-cum staining the thick material. Plagued by memories of the beautiful sounds he evokes from your mouth instead of your airy laughter filling his head once again.

Astarion crosses his legs with a petulant sigh and shoves a pillow onto his lap to mask his growing need. Quietly simmers, downing what remains in his cup. He swipes the back of his hand across his chin to clean up errant dribbles of wine, uncaring of how unsightly he must appear.

He’s in no mood for pleasantries. No mood to entertain others, waving off the belly dancers who try vainly to charm him with the wind of their hips. He’s too busy boring holes into the arm draped about your shoulders—one of your fans getting a little too cozy. 

If looks could kill, he would’ve murdered this imbecile a thousand times over.

His vision glosses red when the man’s thumb swipes at the corner of your lips under the pretense of cleaning off some wine.

“There you go, lass,” he murmurs, the rough pad of his thumb grazing your chin. “Good as new. And still just as pretty.” 

There’s no mistaking the gleam in his eye. The lecherous cant of his lips. A look Astarion knows all too well, having pinned you with it so many times himself. 

You chuckle something tense, finding Astarion’s gaze through the discord.

Astarion moves on instinct. Soundless as a panther, pushing through the harem of dancers that had gathered around him. Parts through the revelers assembled at your feet, and they look up at him with varying degrees of alarm.

With an abrasive sound pinched from his lungs, Astarion plucks you from the settee with a possessive hand encircling your wrist. Murmurs a curt excuse us, daring the man who touched you to protest with a predatory glare over his shoulder. 

The hairs of your neck stand ramrod stiff. A pleasant, cooling sensation pools in your belly. Trickles southward into your underwear, and you throb.

You do so love it when he gets like this. Green-eyed and seething.

You bid the other patrons farewell, unable to disguise the sinister arc of your lips. Toddle behind your beloved, your body still buzzing from the wine, your head still spinning from the nicotine. Astarion finally tugs you beneath layers of sheer, burgundy curtains, far from the grasp of the lounge’s other clients.

“Astarion,” you gasp as the world twists around you, and he pulls your stumbling, giggling self before him.

You’ve hardly any time to admire your surroundings, the swell of sound from the longue muddled and blotted out by the clipped growl rumbling in Astarion’s chest. 

You only have the gleam of his irises and the flash of his teeth as warnings before you tumble backward onto a mass of pillows, shoved into them by your beloved. You clamber to your elbows, breaths labored, pupils dilated. Again, you’re pushed into the satiny cushions as Astarion crawls overtop, fingers winding around your jaw and neck to hold you in place for him to ravage you.

He slots himself between your legs, and it’s like he’s always been there. Feasts on your mouth, pushing past the barrier of your teeth in pursuit of your tongue, thumb pressing against your larynx. He pours the most relieved sound between your lips when he finds it. Entices it into an ardent dance, and Gods, you’re so warm and wet here. He can’t help how he bears down, hips rolling like waves licking the shoreline as he presses against the stitching of your breeches.

You moan in tandem, and the air punches from your lungs, the heels of your feet digging into his back as you twine your legs around his waist. 

His other hand pulls and bunches up your clothing in search of the supple glide of your skin. Groans something satisfied when the hardened pads of his fingertips find the xylophone of your rib cage, easing upward. He grazes the underside of your breast, and he kneads and rolls your nipple with slow, meticulous circles, luring the prettiest little whine from your throat.

“Astarion,” you recite, clawing at the bindings of his breeches. It’s the sweetest supplication to his ears to hear you begging so wantonly for him. To see he isn’t the only one who missed the hot press of your body to his.

He abandons your mouth to blister your neck with kisses, fangs nipping at your clavicle, thumbs cruising down the dip of your stomach in search of your hips whilst you arch your back. He sighs around your nipple when your soft hands close around the head of his cock, tugging and squeezing, your thumbs generous as they spread pre-spend around him. Instinctively, Astarion ruts into the scorching clasp of your hands, breathing hot against your flesh, rolling your other nipple between lithe fingers.

It’s almost embarrassing how desperately he yearns for you. How he leaks and whimpers while you fist him, and his canines sink into the doughy flesh of your tit, pulling a yelp from your mouth. He licks over the wounds in apology, hips pinning your waist to the floor. He’s dizzied and overwhelmed, and the wind of your waist isn’t helping matters. 

The succulent tang of your blood provokes his tastebuds, and his hips paint a rhythm of their own volition as he pistons against you. He glances up whilst your head crashes into the pillows, your lips glistening and parting with a breath, and your lids shuttered against the wave of ecstasy sifting through your spine.

“Astarion,” you breathe, pulling so nicely on his cock. Swallow. “Astarion, please. My mouth. Need, I—you…want you in my mouth.”

How sweet you sound, begging for your mouth to be stretched wide and violated. The jumble of your words is endearing. Usually, Astarion would tease you for your impatience. But he hasn’t the tolerance to, having gone without your lips sucking him in for days.

Astarion pants, scrambling to his knees, straddling your shoulders, and tugging his breeches down, down, down until his impressive girth springs free of its confines. It slaps intimidatingly against his abdominals, a pretty, gossamer string of pre dribbling from the slit towards your chin, and his cock twitches at your eagerness.

There’s reverence in your stare. Hunger as your mouth opens and closes, and your perfect body squirms beneath him, anticipation lancing through you. You squeeze your thighs together to ward off the delicious, sparkling rush of endorphins collecting between them. 

You watch as Astarion handles himself, his hand swallowing up the bulk of his cock whilst he pumps himself, head thrown back, the tendons of his neck flexing. 

He groans something feral and desperate, his cock grinding against the hot, sticky pucker of your lips. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Fuck, darling. Open your mouth. Now.”

He spares you a few more stuttered rolls of his pelvis. Taps the turgid flesh of his cock against your tongue before feeding the swollen, sensitive head between your lips. 

“Oh, Gods,” Astarion sighs. Draws back, his body shivering as your mouth releases him with an obscene pop. You flitter your tongue over the slit, chasing the briny edge of pre-cum.

He peers down at you through furled lashes, irises smoldering like liquid spilled over hot coals. He chuckles something breathy, easing back into the hot suction of your mouth.

“Eager, aren’t we, darling?” he husks. Cheeky as he drives himself deeper until your jaw clicks, your eyes roll back, and your whimper vibrates around him.

Your pussy clenches, and you undulate your hips off the floor. Grip the taut globes of Astarion’s ass, urging him further inside until he agitates your gag reflexes. 

Your throat constricts around him, a fist-like vice that brings him barreling forward onto his hands. And he’s a pretty, panting mess hovering over you, alabaster curls falling over his eyes, sweat gliding down the tips, brows creased in anguish.

He gives you minimal time to adjust before taking a fistful of your hair and pinning it to the pillows, keeping you in place so he can fuck into your mouth. 

Slowly, he draws his hips backward until only the head rests on the palate of your tongue. You whine petulantly before Astarion pushes back in, building a steady tempo thereafter, your lips stretching so wonderfully to accommodate him each time.

His mouth forms around silent ohs. Breaths choppy as he fucks your face, and saliva meddled with pre-spend bubbles on your cheeks. 

Your eyes gloss over with tears, your throat rubbed raw, jaw aching. But you squeeze his ass ever tighter, urging him to use you. To chase that cresting wave of pleasure. You could die like this, with his cock distending your throat and your pussy weeping and begging to be stuffed.

“Gods, fuck, fuck, fuck,” chants your lover. His hips stutter, and his cock throbs on your tongue, fingers gripping your hair in a way that’s almost bruising. You know he’s nearing his peak, and you take to kneading his weighted, tight balls to help steer him to the edge.

It takes but a few more thrusts into the opulent warmth of your mouth before he paints your throat in thick, syrupy steaks of white. He pushes a groan through clenched teeth, eyes screwed shut whilst he cranes his neck back, exhaling his release.

You choke, the hot rush of tears blistering your cheeks. But Astarion holds your mouth in place as you thoroughly milk him, dumping the last vestiges of his cum down your throat. 

He slowly unsheathes himself. Crawls down to straddle your hips, petting through the riot of your hair and drawing your swollen mouth into an apologetic kiss. He tenderly entwines your tongues together, the briny tang of his cum coaxing a moan from him.

Astarion rolls onto his back beside you, giving you time to catch your breath. And with your lashes dewy and wet and your lips abused, you chuckle something satisfied. Astarion looks at you warily before laughing himself, seeking out your hand to lace your fingers together.

“I should make you jealous more often,” you muse once your laughter peters. You roll onto your side, propped on your elbow, cheek perched on your hand whilst you run your finger down the length of his arm. A cattish grin rounds your lips.

Astarion scoffs, avoiding your stare. “Jealous? Me?”

You give him a pointed look.

He flinches beneath the weight of your glare, a nervous smile twitching his lips. “Well…maybe just a little.”

You sit like this for a while longer, admiring the flutter of his lashes and the peachy hue of his cheeks. Finally, he breaks the comfortable silence, pinning you with a scarlet-spun gaze. 

“We should go.” Astarion slowly sits up, a smirk taking residence on his lips as he tugs you into the circle of his arms. “I’ve much more in store for you, my love. Things I can’t be bothered to do…here.”

You shiver at the thought, boneless as your lover hauls you to your feet. You fix your clothes and hair as best you can before Astarion leads you back to the main lounge, twin smiles adorning your lips.

Astarion swings by the bar to drop some coin onto the counter to pay for your drinks. Catches the eye of the man who’d had his arm around you earlier, and his mind sparkles with a sinister idea.

He draws you against him, your breath coming out in a gasp before he takes possession of your cheeks and lures you into a soul-siphoning kiss. One of tongues and teeth and sloppiness, and you find your thighs rubbing together again to curb the insistent throb between them. 

You whimper into his mouth, and Astarion fixes the man with a sinister look over your shoulder as he grips your ass and squeezes. Something of a warning, a threat. 

Touch her again, and I’ll have your head on a pike. 

masterlist

[otp-after-dark]

THT Season 6, 8 Episodes In: What We’ve Learned About Partnership, Love, Lies, and What Comes Next

Here we are — 8 episodes down, 2 to go. And if this season has proven anything, it’s that the cracks in every relationship are finally shattering open.

For June, Nick, and Luke, this season has been one long, brutal stripping away of all the pretenses they’ve been clinging to — about love, about loyalty, about what it means to survive. Now, as we head into the final episodes, it feels like everything is finally coming to a head.

If there’s one word for Nick this season, it’s unraveling.

For years, he’s kept his head down and his heart locked up. Doing whatever it took to survive — for June, for Nichole/Holly, for himself. He’s played Gilead’s game, worn the mask of a Commander, stood beside men he despises. But in Season 6, that mask is slipping.

In 6x03, he comes apart. “I loved you,” she said — and it nearly killed him. Because for Nick, it’s never been past tense. He doesn’t just love her — he’s still in love with her. Actively. Passionately.

And the weight of that — the years of holding back, of sacrificing his own soul just to keep her alive — finally cracks open in 6x06.

“You’re it. It’s always been you.”

But here’s the thing: June kissed him. She said yes. And she's confirmed that she does love him. But she said yes before she knew the whole truth.

Before she knew he’d killed for her. Before she knew he was capable of terrible things.

Now she has to decide: Can she still love him, knowing the full cost of what he’s done?

Nick lays it all out. The Guardians. The blood. The lies. He’s finally showing her the man he’s always been — the one who would do anything to keep her safe, even if it means staining his hands with blood.

“You never cared what I did when I helped you.” “I killed those two Guardians to protect you.” “You didn’t face it. And now you have to.”

For years, June held onto this idealized version of Nick — her protector, her soft place to land. But now he’s saying: I’m not just that. I’m also the man who killed a nineteen-year-old to keep you breathing.

And instead of looking at him and seeing the whole picture, June pulls back. Because it’s easier to judge him than to face what he’s really saying:

I did this for you. I bled for you. And I would do it again.

That’s the question as we head into the final two episodes: Can June forgive Nick? Can she love him as he is — not just as she wanted him to be?

Because that’s what Nick is asking for. Not just love. Not just Paris. But forgiveness.

He’s saying, I am not clean. I never was. But I still love you. Will you love me back?

Now, June has to decide: Can she love him, knowing the full truth? Because if she can’t, then the love she said yes to in 6x06 wasn’t real. It was a fantasy. A safe place. A lie.

But if she can? If she can look at Nick, the man who has done terrible things for her, and say, I love you anyway, then their love still has a chance.

And that’s where the Damon/Elena parallel comes in. I swear this arc is giving me all kinds of D/E vibes.

Damon spent years convincing himself that he was a monster. That he wasn’t good enough for Elena. That he was too dangerous, too reckless, too far gone.

And after everything they’d been through, when Damon finally looked back on the moment he knew they were meant to be, he said:

"I was all ready to go, and the door opens, and you jump in the car and say, 'We're in this together'... and you weren’t taking no for an answer. That was the moment I realized you were the perfect girl for me because you were just as crazy as I was."

That’s exactly what Nick is doing now. He’s asking June to jump in the car. To be his partner in chaos, in fire, in the life that isn’t safe or simple — but is real.

When June says, “You’re crazy,” she’s not just calling him reckless. She’s acknowledging that same fire in herself. He’s the one who will run with her — just like Damon did with Elena.

They’re both a little crazy. Both a little wild. Both willing to do whatever it takes to keep each other alive.

That’s why he says, “I know.” Because he knows she feels it too. And the only question left now is — will she get in the car? Metaphorically speaking.

I’ve put a lot of thought into different scenarios at play, and here’s my interpretation (or hope) for where this is all heading.

Because the Nick she kissed in 6x06 — the Nick who acknowledges he’s crazy —wasn’t asking her to come back to some fantasy.

Yes, Paris was a fantasy. But what he was really proposing wasn’t. He wasn’t asking her to play house or fit inside four walls.

He was asking her to run with him. To burn the world down together. To finally, truly, be partners.

And I swear that’s what this season has been building toward. Not Nick and June playing house. Not June pretending she can ever be the woman she was before.

But two people who have always been more dangerous together than they ever were apart. Two people who don’t just survive the fire — they become it.

Because Nick has always seen her clearly. The fighter. The wild one. The woman who would risk it all for the people she loves. And now he’s asking her to be that woman for him. Not the soft, safe version of herself. But the one who would run. The one who would burn. The one who would say yes.

And if she can’t love that man — the whole man —then she was never really in love with him at all.

And this is where I have to say it.

If the writers end this story by having June choose obligation over desire, duty over passion, or moral high ground over the man she truly wants —it would be the ultimate betrayal of her character.

Because from the very beginning, this story has been about reclaiming your body, your voice, your desires. It’s been about a woman who refused to be owned. A woman who refused to be controlled. A woman who fought to get back to herself — to own her choices, her sexuality, her fire.

If June can stand in front of Serena and say, “I will never let you own me again,” if she can take back her body, her life, her freedom — then how can she not take back her heart too?

How can she preach about finding your voice and then silence herself in the one place that’s supposed to be hers? How can she talk about freedom and then stay in a life that isn’t hers, with a man she doesn’t really want, because it’s safer or easier or more acceptable? And I'm sorry her ending solo would be such a cop out on this decision. If she can’t be brave enough to say, “I love you, I want you, all of you,” then what was the point of this entire story?

Because in the end, choosing Nick isn’t just about choosing a man. It’s about choosing herself. Her real self. The self she became in Gilead. The self she was always meant to be. The self that is wild and reckless and burning.

And that’s the woman Nick is in love with. The one who jumps in the car without hesitation and says, “We’re in this together.” The one who will never be owned again. Not by Gilead. Not by Luke. Not by anything but her own desire.

So, yeah. If she chooses anything less than that? Then she was never the June Osborne they told us she was.

[gliphyartfan]

It’s that’s time of year again folks! Another year over and a new one beginning!

To those who stuck to my blog, thanks for STILL finding my works worth reading!

@yanderelinkeduniverse @stars-for-thought @eternadreeblissa @imprisioned-in-the-hole @screaming-until-god-hears-me @crestfallenmermaidan @ice-cream-writes-stuff @linked-heroes

To those who are new to my blog, thanks for finding my works worth reading 🥰

You guys are the best and I treasure you lot greatly.

Now, as always let’s begin this final bit for the year to make way for the new year!

————

———

——

—

The dean’s office buzzed with excitement as invitations to the prestigious Martell Charity Gala were handed out to select students. (Y/n) was one of the lucky few. She stared at the sleek black and dark blue card embossed with silver lettering.

‘You are cordially invited to the annual Martell Charity Gala. This year’s theme is Midnight Elegance. Dress code: black and dark blue. Formal attire required. We hope to see you there.’

The invitation was beyond anything she’d ever dreamed of. Or anything she ever expected to happen to her.

Attending the gala meant mingling with the city’s elite, and maybe even a chance to network for any future career she chose at the end of her term at the college. The dean himself had handed her the invite, his smile unusually cheerful. “You’ve been a promising student, (Y/n).” Says the man who never even spoke to her before. “ This is a rare opportunity. Represent our school well.”

She didn’t notice the brief glance he shared with an unassuming man in the corner of the office as she left the room, a subtle nod exchanged.

——

(At a certain home base.)

——

“We all know this alliance with the Martells is a powder keg. They’re unpredictable, and Emilio doesn’t trust us any more than we trust him.”

The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a single overhead light and the faint glow of the city skyline beyond the large windows. Around the long table each hero sat with an air of tension hanging over them.

Time sat at the head, his hands folded in front of him.

Twilight, having been the one to speak, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression grim.

“That’s an understatement,” Warriors added, sitting up straight with his hands folded in front of him. “The only reason he agreed to this ‘partnership’ is because it’s been mutually beneficial. But if he thinks we’re a threat to his control, he won’t hesitate to strike first.”

Hyrule shifted nervously, glancing between the others. “Do you think he’ll actually try something tonight? At a public event?”

“It’s possible…” Time said, his voice calm but firm. “Emilio knows this gala is the perfect stage to send a message, it’s his stage after all, to either solidify his power or undermine ours. That’s why we can’t let our guard down.”

Four, seated quietly at the table, nodded. “If he does try something, it won’t be obvious. He’ll strike in a way that keeps his hands clean while making us look weak.”

Wild smirked, his arms resting on the table. “Then we make sure he doesn’t get the chance. If things go south, I’ll have a plan to cut off his escape routes.”

“And cause a scene?” Warriors snapped, glaring at him. “We can’t afford to look reckless tonight. This Gala is well known in this city. Our reputation is at stake just as much as theirs.”

“Reputation doesn’t matter if we’re dead.” Wild shot back.

“Enough.” Time interrupted, his sharp tone silencing the room. He looked around at each of them, his gaze steady and commanding. “This isn’t the time for bickering. Emilio’s greatest weapon is chaos. We need to be united, disciplined, and ready to act. Without drawing unnecessary attention.”

His piercing gaze moved from one man to the next, ensuring he had their attention before he spoke.

“The Martell family’s gala tomorrow is an opportunity.” Time began, his voice calm but firm. “They’re gathering their allies, consolidating power, and using the pretense of charity to solidify their influence in the city. This is our chance to remind them that their reach is not absolute.”

Warriors leaned forward, his arms crossed. “And how exactly do we plan to do that without starting an all-out war in the middle of a ballroom? They’ll have security everywhere.”

“We’re not here to make a spectacle,” Twilight interjected, his tone even. “This is about sending a message. Subtle but clear.”

“Subtle’s not exactly our specialty,” Wild muttered, smirking.

“We’ll manage.” Time said bluntly, cutting off any further quips. “Legend, Four, and Hyrule have already ensured we’ll be prepared to bypass the Martells’ security measures.” He gestured toward the cane by his side. “Their metal detectors won’t detect our weapons.”

Hyrule nodded, his usually bright demeanor subdued. “The enchantments on the wood will hold, but they’re not infallible. We’ll need to act quickly if it comes to a fight.”

“What about their allies?” Legend asked, his voice sharp. “It’s not just the Martells we’re dealing with. They’ve got half the city’s scum in their pocket, and you can bet some of them will be at that party.”

“That’s why we’re keeping our eyes open,” Time replied. “This isn’t just about the Martells. It’s about understanding the full scope of their operations. Who they’re working with, what their next moves are. information is just as valuable as action.”

Sky leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed thoughtfully. “What’s the endgame here? If we make our move too soon, we risk pushing them into retaliation. And if we wait too long, they’ll see us as weak.”

“They already see us as a threat,” Warriors said. “That’s why they’re inviting us to this gala in the first place. They’re making a show of strength.”

“And we’re here to remind them that we’re not afraid.” Twilight added.

“What about (Y/n)?” Wild asked suddenly, drawing the attention of the group. “She wanted to invite us to celebrate New years with her family.” Every one was quiet at that.

“…Does she even know about any of this?”

“She doesn’t know the specifics.” Time said, his voice softening slightly. “And she won’t be involved. The last thing we need is for her to become a target when our position is being challenged.”

“Keeping her out of this might be harder than you think.” Legend muttered. “She’s observant. If she figures out what we’re up to-“

“She won’t.” Time interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’ve kept her in the dark for a reason. This is not her world, and I intend to keep it that way.”

Wild exchanged a glance with Twilight, but neither said anything further.

As the conversation continued, the Chain began outlining their individual roles for the evening.

“Warriors and Twilight will be stationed near the entrances,” Time instructed. “You’ll monitor who comes and goes. Note anyone of interest and ensure no surprises.”

“Understood.” Warriors said, his expression serious.

“Sky, you’ll be mingling within the crowd with me,” Time continued. “Keep your ears open for any useful information. If anyone seems too eager to flaunt their alliances, take note. Wild will go undercover.”

Sky nodded, while Wild smirked. “I’m great at blending in.”

“Legend, and Hyrule,” Time said, turning to them. “You’ll be my backup. If things take a turn, we’ll need to act quickly and decisively.”

“And besides being with Sky, what will you do?” Warriors asked, his brow furrowed.

“I’ll handle Emilio Martell personally.” Time said. “If he thinks he can intimidate us into backing down, he’ll learn otherwise.”

The group was wrapping up their meeting when Sky frowned and gestured toward the table. “What about the alliance? Are we still trying to maintain it, or are we burning that bridge tonight?”

“The alliance is tenuous at best,” Time admitted. “If the opportunity arises to weaken their position without breaking our agreement, we take it. But if they cross the line—”

“We make sure they regret it.” Twilight finished, his tone cementing the decision.

The room fell silent as the weight of their mission settled over them. Each man understood the risks involved, but none of them wavered.

As they prepared to leave, Time glanced at them one last time. “This is a game of chess. Stay sharp, stay vigilant, and don’t make any moves you can’t defend.”

They nodded, each heading off to prepare for the night ahead. None of them realized that (Y/n)’s presence at the gala would throw their plans into chaos.

——

——

(Y/N) sat crosslegged on her bed, her laptop open to a collection of evening dresses she had been scrolling through for the past hour.

Around her, piles of her own clothes were scattered, a few dresses, skirts, and tops she had dragged out in a half hearted attempt to make something work.

Her best friends, Nic and Tess, lounged nearby, armed with snacks and opinions. Tess flipped through a fashion magazine, occasionally holding it up to show a dress she thought would work, while Nic leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and a skeptical look on his face.

“I don’t get why you’re even going to this thing,” Nic said, frowning. “Missing New Year’s with your family for some snobby party full of rich jerks? What’s the point?”

(Y/N) sighed, flopping back onto her bed. “The Dean basically cornered me into it. He said it’s a great opportunity for networking, and I could represent the college or something. Plus, he said the invitation was ‘special.’” She made air quotes.

Tess raised an eyebrow. “Special? Sounds suspicious.”

“I thought so too,” (Y/N) admitted, sitting up again. “But he made it sound like I’d be ungrateful if I didn’t go. And now I’m stuck trying to figure out what to wear when I could be at home with my family, watching movies and eating junk food.”

Nic snorted. “Yeah, sounds like a real ‘opportunity.’”

“Stop sulking, Nic.” Tess said, smirking. “If she’s going to go, we might as well make sure she looks amazing.”

(Y/N) groaned. “That’s the problem. The dress code is black and dark blue, and everything I’ve looked at is either ridiculously expensive or way too fancy for me.”

Tess tossed the magazine onto the bed and gestured to (Y/N)’s laptop. “Show me what you’ve found so far.”

(Y/N) pulled up a tab with a simple but elegant black dress, a knee length with a slight shimmer to the fabric and a modest V-neckline. “This one’s nice, but even the budget version is still kind of pricey.”

Tess nodded approvingly. “That’s actually pretty perfect. It’s simple, but with the right accessories, it’ll look classy.”

Nic squinted at the screen. “How much is it?”

(Y/N) winced. “More than I’d like to spend.”

“Ugh, fine,” Nic said, throwing his hands up. “I’ll chip in. But you owe me one.”

(Y/N) blinked in surprise. “You’d do that?”

“Of course,” Nic said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not going to let you show up to some hot shot event looking like you just rolled out of bed.”

Tess grinned. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Okay, we need shoes. Do you have anything that would work?”

(Y/N) got up and rummaged through her closet, pulling out a pair of black heels. “These?”

“Perfect,” Tess said. “Now jewelry. Do you have anything sparkly but not over the top?”

(Y/N) nodded, grabbing a simple silver pendant necklace her grandmother had given her. “…This?”

“Oooh~” Tess said. “It’s perfect.”

Nic sighed dramatically. “I can’t believe I’m sitting through this. I could be at home right now.”

(Y/N) laughed. “But you’re not and I love you for it Nic. I owe you big time.”

“Damn right you do.” he said, with a half hearted grumble.. “But seriously, you better make it worth it. If you’re going to miss New Year’s with your family, at least make sure you own the room.”

He paused and looked at Tess. “…and since when can you pick decent looking outfits?”

Tess cheerfully flipped him off as a response.

(Y/N) smiled, feeling a little less anxious about the event. “Thanks, guys. You’re the best.”

Tess waved a hand dismissively. “Just remember us little people when you’re flattering the rich boys.”

“Not likely.” (Y/N) said, grinning. “But I’ll try to survive the night without embarrassing myself.”

———

—-

——-

The ballroom was a sight of elegance.

Dark blue and black draped the high ceilings, lit by soft, golden chandeliers that cast a warm glow over the polished floors.

Guests were trickling in, dressed in sleek gowns and sharp suits, as waiters weaved through the crowd with trays of champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres. The Martells, as always, spared no expense for their events.

The Chain arrived early, sharply dressed in tailored suits. Time, standing tall with his cane, led the group into the room. His expression was calm, blank, almost cold, but beneath the surface, his mind was cataloging every detail his eye took in.

Warriors adjusted the cufflinks on his dark blue suit, his eyes scanning the room for anything out of place. “The decorations scream ‘power play,’ but the crowd isn’t just Martells and their allies. Look, some of their enemies are here too.”

“Which are also OUR enemies.”

“Enemy of my enemy and all that?”

“ They’ve got a mixed hand tonight.”

“Not good” Twilight said, his voice low. “But the more we know, the better.”

Sky walked close to Time. “I’ll keep an eye on the exits. If anything goes wrong, we’ll need a way out.”

“Wild,” Time said, glancing at him. “Mask up. We need you moving unseen.”

Wild nodded, slipping on the Stone Mask Time gave him. As soon as it settled on his face, Wild’s presence seemed to fade, even from his companions.

“Make a circuit around the room.” Time instructed. “Mark the exits, entrances, and anything unusual. Report back as soon as you have something.”

Without a word and two taps on Time’s shoulder, Wild slipped into the crowd, moving unnoticed even as he brushed past guests and waiters..

That was the cue for fhe Chain to subtl spread out, the tension between them was palpable. Hyrule stayed near the refreshments table, pretending to enjoy a drink as he scanned for any signs of trouble.

Warriors lingered near the dance floor, his sharp eyes watching the movements of the waitstaff and Martell associates.

Twilight leaned against a pillar near one of the exits, his stance relaxed but his senses sharp. “I don’t like this…” he muttered into the comms.

“No one does.” Time responded coolly. He stood near the center of the room, his cane in hand, glass of champagne in another, looking every bit like a guest enjoying the event and he smiled at Legend while they pretended to have a normal chat. “Focus. Stay sharp.”

Minutes passed, and then Wild’s voice crackled through their earpieces. “…We’ve got a problem.”

“What is it?” Warriors asked immediately.

Wild’s tone was unusually tense. “She’s here.”

There was a pause before Time’s measured voice cut through. “Who?”

“(Y/N).” Wild said, his voice more anxious this time. “She’s at the event.”

The Chain froze. The air seemed to thicken as the weight of Wild’s words sank in.

“What?” Twilight said sharply, his calm demeanor cracking.

“Are you sure?” Sky asked, his tone a mix of disbelief and concern.

Wild confirmed, “Positive. She’s here, and… she looks like a guest, not someone who wandered in. This isn’t an accident.”

Sky clenched his fists, trying to stay calm, but his attention shifted sharply as he spotted movement across the room. His eyes widening slightly when he saw a tall, dark-haired man in a perfectly tailored black suit approach (Y/N).

“It gets worse..” Sky muttered into the comms. “She’s being approached by Emilio Martell.”

The Chain’s tension snapped into a razor sharp focus.

———

—

———

(Y/N) stood near a small group of guests, nursing a flute of sparkling water as she tried to blend in. Her dress fit the event’s theme perfectly, but she still felt out of place. She glanced around, scanning the faces of the room, trying to distract herself from the dull ache of missing her family on New Year’s Eve.

“Miss (Y/N)..” came a smooth voice behind her.

She turned, startled to see a tall man with a confident smile and piercing green eyes. His presence was…attention grabbing, the kind of aura that drew you in whether you wanted it or not.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” he said, extending a hand. “Emilio Martell. Organizer of this years event. A pleasure to meet you.”

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment before shaking his hand. “(Y/N). Nice to meet you.”

“You must be a guest of honor,” Emilio said, his tone laced with charm. “You stand out in a room full of people trying very hard not to.”

(Y/N) gave a polite smile, unsure how to respond. “I’m.. actually here on behalf of my college. My Dean thought it would be a good opportunity. I’m surprised you know my name.”

Emilio’s smile widened. “A wise choice on his part. And I make it a point to know the names of my guests. Your presence certainly elevates the room.”

—-

——

Sky’s hands balled into fists as he watched Emilio speak to (Y/N). His posture stiffened, and his normally calm demeanor wavered. “We need to get her out of there,” he muttered.

“No sudden moves, Sky stand down.” Time said firmly. “We can’t tip our hand.”

“She doesn’t know who Emilio is.” Warriors said, his voice strained. “She doesn’t know she’s walking into a lion’s den. Who invited her here?”

“I aim to find out.” Legend growled under his breath as he tapped away at his phone, Wind and Four on the other line, watching though the cameras.

Twilight growled, his frustration barely contained. “We need a plan. Now.”

“We can’t draw attention.” Time said. His voice remained calm, but there was a cold edge to it. “Wild, stay on her. Legend, find a way to get closer without causing a scene. Everyone else, maintain your positions.”

The Chain knew they were on borrowed time. The stakes had just risen, and they couldn’t afford to make a single misstep, not when (Y/N) was now caught in the middle of this.

——

——

Emilio Martell’s charming smile never wavered as he continued speaking to (Y/N), his body language relaxed and confident. He was fully aware of the eyes on him. But it was no matter. Emilio thrived on this kind of tension, playing the predator circling his prey.

“You’ve been making an an excellent impression tonight.” he said to (Y/N), his voice low and smooth. “I’m sure your college will appreciate the effort. And what about you? Are you enjoying yourself?”

(Y/N) hesitated, glancing at the luxurious surroundings. She was still a little on edge, but Emilio’s casual attitude eemed to ease her nerves. “It’s a beautiful event…” she admitted with a sheepish smile. “A bit overwhelming, but… yes, I think I am.”

Emilio nodded, his smile widening. “I’m glad. It’s always a pleasure to meet someone with a genuine appreciation for the finer things.” He gestured toward the bar. “Can I get you something? A champagne? Perhaps something stronger?”

“No, thank you.” (Y/N) said politely. “I’m fine with sparkling water.”

“Ah, a woman of discipline,” Emilio said, his tone approving. “I respect that.”

From his position near one of the exits, Sky watched the interaction with barely contained anger. Emilio’s posture and expression were deceptively polite, but there was an undeniable undercurrent of smugness, as though he were mocking them with every word.

“Emilio knows,” Sky said into his comm, his tone tight. “He’s playing her to get at us. This isn’t a coincidence.”

“No,” Time responded coldly, his gaze locked on Emilio from across the room. “This is deliberate. He wanted us here, and now he’s using her as leverage.”

“Then why isn’t he doing anything yet?” Twilight asked. He was stationed at a nearby pillar, his sharp eyes scanning for any sign of Emilio’s associates.

“He’s baiting us,” Warriors said grimly. “Waiting for us to make the first move so he can claim innocence.”

“What’s the plan?” Wild’s voice came through, calm but edged with tension. He had taken a position near the shadows of the room, his presence still cloaked by the Stone Mask.

“Hold positions.” Time ordered. “We can’t act without exposing her connection to us. Sky, stay close but out of sight. Legend keep your bracelet at the ready, Wild, keep circling. Look for anything out of place.”

“And if he tries something?” Hyrule asked, his voice quiet but determined.

“He won’t get the chance.” Time replied calmly.

As (Y/N) tried to navigate the conversation, she felt the weight of Emilio’s attention growing heavier. He leaned in slightly, his tone dropping to something more intimate.

“You have an air about you,” Emilio said. “Something unique. People like you don’t go unnoticed in a place like this.”

(Y/N) offered a polite smile, her discomfort starting to creep back in. “I’m just here to represent my college. Nothing special.”

Emilio chuckled softly. “Don’t sell yourself short. A sharp mind and a beautiful face, those are rare qualities. But I imagine you already know that. Perhaps there is a position in one of my businesses that could use someone like you..”

Before (Y/N) could respond, another voice cut through the moment.

“Ah, Martell. Already charming the guests, I see.”

Time’s smooth, even tone drew Emilio’s attention. The older man approached with a casual gait, his cane tapping lightly against the polished floor. His expression was perfectly neutral, betraying nothing of the storm beneath.

Emilio straightened, his smile unfaltering. “And here I thought you were too busy inspecting the decor to join us, Signore Time.”

Time’s lips twitched in the faintest semblance of a polite smile. “One should always make time for old acquaintances.” His sharp eye flickered to (Y/N), and he added, “And new ones.”

(Y/N) brightened slightly at his familiar presence. “Time! I didn’t know you were here.”

“I couldn’t miss such a prestigious event, especially one I was invited to.” Time replied smoothly, his gaze briefly lingering on her before returning to Emilio. “And it seems you’ve already made an impression.”

Emilio’s smile tightened, just a fraction. “Your reputation precedes you, Signore Time. Always a man of observation.”

Time inclined his head, his grip tightening slightly on his cane. “And you’ve always been a man of theatrics. How… fitting.”

The subtle tension between the two men was palpable, though (Y/N) seemed blissfully unaware of the undercurrents. Distracted with the relief of someone familiar at the event with her.

Emilio continued, Wild’s voice came through the comms again.

“Martell’s got people,” he said quietly. “Two by the north exit, one near the bar. They’re watching Emilio closely.”

“Armed?” Warriors asked.

“Likely,” Wild confirmed. “And they’re not alone. There’s movement on the buildings across from this place, looks like snipers.”

Four’s voice came through the comms, cold. “Keep marking positions. We’re not moving until we know the full picture.”

—-

Emilio took a step closer to Time, his smile still intact but his eyes hardening. “This city is a place for opportunity, don’t you think? A place where alliances can thrive… or falter.”

Time didn’t react, his tone even. “Opportunity, like respect, is earned. Not bought with cheap theatrics.”

Emilio chuckled, though the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “And yet, it seems even you can’t resist a good show.”

Time met his gaze steadily, unflinching. “Let’s hope your finale doesn’t disappoint.”

The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife, but both men maintained their masks of civility.

As Emilio turned back to (Y/N), his charming smile returning, Sky took the chance to step closer, his presence calm but deliberate.

“Excuse me.” Sky said smoothly, his voice gentle but firm. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

(Y/N) turned, surprised but relieved to see him. “Sky! You’re here too?”

“I’m someone’s plus one tonight.” Sky replied, his gaze briefly flicking to Emilio before returning to (Y/N). “Would you mind if I borrowed you for a moment? I’d like to catch up if that’s alright with you Mr. martell?”

Emilio’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to monopolize her time.”

(Y/N) nodded. “Sure, Sky.”

Sky offered her his arm, and she took it, allowing him to gently guide her away. As they moved, Wind’s voice came through the comms.

“She’s safe for now, Sky has her.” he said. “But Emilio’s watching her closely. We need to wrap this up before he makes his move.”

——-

——-

Emilio watched as Sky led (Y/N) away, his smile lingering for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to Time. The man before him was an enigma, always calm, always composed, and always a step ahead. Emilio had played these games with powerful men before, but there was something about “Signore Time” that unsettled him.

“Your associate seems quite protective,” Emilio remarked, his tone casual but his words carefully chosen.

Time’s one visible eye remained fixed on him, cold and calculating. “My associates are loyal. Loyalty is the foundation of any successful… endeavor, don’t you agree?”

Emilio’s smile tightened. “Of course. Loyalty, after all, is the currency of trust. But trust can be so fleeting, can’t it? Especially in our line of work.”

“Only for those who don’t know its value,” Time replied smoothly. He leaned lightly on his cane, the movement calculated to appear as a casual gesture. “Those who gamble with loyalty often find themselves alone when the stakes are highest.”

Emilio chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “Ah, but gambling can be so exhilarating, can’t it? The thrill of the unknown, the rush of risk… It’s what keeps us all moving forward.”

“Some might say it’s a fool’s game,” Time countered. “A fleeting pleasure for those who mistake recklessness for strength.”

Emilio tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. “And yet, even the most calculated plans can crumble under the weight of a single misstep. Tell me, Signore Time, do you ever wonder if your own calculations might one day fail you?”

Time’s lips curved into the faintest semblance of a smile. “I’ve learned to anticipate missteps. To anticipate possibilities of past, present and future. It’s why I’m still standing.” He paused, his tone lowering slightly. “But the same can’t be said for everyone, can it…Emilio?”

The subtle use of Emilio’s first name was not lost on the younger man, whose smile faltered ever so slightly before he quickly recovered. “Touché. You’ve always been… thorough. But thoroughness has its price. It must get exhausting, always watching, always waiting.”

“Not as exhausting as underestimating an opponent.” Time said, his tone icy. He tapped his cane lightly against the floor, the sound barely audible over the soft murmur of the gala. “Tell me, Emilio, do you ever wonder if your own gambles will come back to haunt you? Or do you prefer to ignore the debts you’ve accrued?”

Emilio’s smile grew sharper, his eyes narrowing. “Debts, Signore Time, are a necessary part of the game. It’s how you leverage them that determines your success. But then again, you’ve never been one to play by conventional rules, have you?”

“I’ve found conventional rules to be limiting. ” Time replied. “And fragile.” He stepped forward slightly, just enough to subtly impose his presence. “Unlike the alliances I forge, which are built to last.”

Emilio laughed lightly, though there was a tension in his posture now. “Well, I suppose that’s what sets you apart. A man of… permanence in a world that changes so quickly. It’s admirable, really.”

“Admiration is a fleeting thing,” Time said, his gaze unwavering. “I prefer respect. It holds more weight.”

Emilio held his gaze for a long moment, his smile thinning. “You’ve always been good at commanding respect, Signore Time. But I wonder… how long can one man hold the weight of it all before he crumbles?”

Time didn’t blink. His voice was calm, deliberate, and unyielding. “A man who stands alone might crumble. But a man who stands with those who are loyal to him? He becomes unshakable.”

The two men stood in silence for a moment, the tension between them palpable. Emilio’s smile remained, but his eyes betrayed the simmering frustration beneath the surface. Time, as always, was unmovable, his presence as solid and enduring as the name he had chosen for himself.

“Enjoy the evening, Signore Time,” Emilio said finally, his tone polite but edged with malice.

“I always do.” Time replied, his voice even. “And I trust you will as well. After all, tonight’s… festivities are just getting started.”

As Emilio turned and walked away, Time remained still, his grip on his cane tightening ever so slightly. The game had begun, and Time was already five moves ahead.

——

——

The gala was in full swing. Guests floated across the polished marble floor, their laughter and conversation a background to the string quartet playing softly in the corner. Yet, for those who knew the true purpose of the evening, the atmosphere was a mask stretched thin, ready to snap at the slightest poke.

Amidst the glittering gowns and tailored suits, the Chain moved like shadows. Twilight and Warriors blended seamlessly into the crowd, their sharp eyes scanning the room for potential threats. Hyrule lingered near a grand pillar, subtly marking the entrances and exits, while Wild, cloaked in the anonymity granted by his Stone Mask, wove unnoticed through the clusters of guests.

Through the comms, Wind’s voice cut through the quiet hum of tension. “Why do they get to hang out with her? I’m stuck doing recon! It’s not fair!”

“Wind,” Warriors replied curtly, his voice low and commanding, “focus on your task. She’s safer this way.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wind muttered, clearly pouting. “Still sucks.”

Wild, unseen and unnoticed, chuckled softly through his channel. “Keep your eyes open, kid. We’ll make it up to you later.”

“Wild,” Time’s calm voice interrupted, laced with authority, “report.”

Wild’s tone shifted immediately. “Martell is making his rounds, but nothing actionable yet. I’ll keep tracking him.”

Time’s gaze flicked briefly toward the far end of the room, where Emilio Martell moved among the guests with practiced ease, his smile as polished as the cut crystal glasses in their hands. But his focus didn’t linger. He turned back to (Y/N), who stood beside him and Sky, her expression bright with a mix of curiosity and unease.

Time allowed himself a brief moment to savor her presence. Her dark blue dress, simple yet stunning, caught the light just enough to draw the eye without overwhelming, the intricate stitching along the hem whispering of elegance on a budget. Her (h/c) hair framed her face perfectly, and her eyes sparkled with the kind of sincerity that felt rare in a room filled with veiled intentions.

Sky leaned closer to her, his warm smile disarming. “You look incredible tonight, (Y/N). It’s no wonder you caught everyone’s attention.”

She blushed lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks, but I feel a little out of place here. Everyone seems so… important.”

“You belong here as much as anyone.” Time assured her, his voice steady and grounding.

Her lips curved into a small smile, though doubt still lingered in her eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for the Dean. It’s strange that he thought I’d fit in at something like this.”

Sky’s expression remained relaxed, though a flicker of unease passed between him and Time. “You’re more important than you realize.” Sky said softly, his words layered with a meaning she didn’t catch.

In the distance, Hyrule’s voice crackled softly through the comms. “Martell’s stopping near the auction stage. He’s speaking to someone, looks like one of the heads of the merchant syndicate.”

Twilight’s voice followed, low and steady. “No sudden moves. We’re not here to start anything unless it’s unavoidable.”

“Unavoidable might come faster than we think,” Warriors murmured. “Keep eyes on the entrances. If Martell’s expecting trouble, he’ll have a backup plan.”

Meanwhile, (Y/N) shifted slightly, her attention caught by a glittering chandelier overhead. “This place is incredible,” she said, her voice full of genuine awe. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Sky chuckled. “It does have a certain charm, doesn’t it?”

Time’s gaze remained fixed on her, his usual stoicism softening ever so slightly. “You have an eye for beauty.” he remarked.

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. “I think it’s just the novelty. I’m not used to this kind of… luxury.”

Through the comms, Wind groaned dramatically. “She’s so adorable, and I’m missing it! This is the worst.”

“Focus, Wind,” Warriors snapped.

“Fine.” Wind muttered, his voice laced with defeat.

Wild’s report cut through the moment. “Martell’s moving again. Heading toward the upper balcony.”

“Good,” Time said quietly. “Everyone, stay in position. Sky and I will keep her occupied. Wild, follow Martell but keep your distance.”

“Understood,” Wild replied, already moving.

As the Chain’s unseen web tightened around the room, Sky leaned closer to (Y/N), his voice low and playful. “So, what’s the verdict? Are you enjoying the party?”

She smiled up at him, her earlier unease momentarily forgotten. “Honestly, I think I’m more nervous than anything. But it’s… nice.”

Time’s hand rested lightly on the head of his cane, his ever watchful eye scanning the room even as he spoke. “As long as you’re with us, there’s nothing to be nervous about.”

Though she didn’t fully understand the depth of his words, (Y/N) found comfort in them, unaware of the storm brewing just beneath the surface.

——

Far away from the Gala, something odd began to happe.

The Chain’s main property had a vault hidden deep within its estate, a place no one besides the nine visited. This room held everything they had managed to hold on to from Hyrule: old weapons, tools, trinkets, and treasures with enough magic to make anyone in the modern world go pale. The storage was locked tight, enchanted by Hyrule, Legend, and Time to ensure no one but the Chain could enter.

The room was dim, the only light coming from faintly glowing runes etched into the walls and the edges of shelves. Everything in here had a history, everything had a use but tonight, one item decided to stir.

A small, nondescript pouch sat on a table, forgotten among the more dramatic relics. It didn’t look like much-just a plain, worn bag. But it twitched, the fabric shifting like it had something alive inside.

Then, the drawstring loosened on its own, and out rolled a small wooden carving. The figure landed lightly on the table, lying still for a moment before its smooth, carved head tilted slightly, as though waking up.

The carving was unmistakable: it was (Y/N), dressed in a blue tunic and trousers like a proper Hylian adventurer. The details were shockingly accurate, down to the tiny curls of her hair and the soft expression on her face.

The doll’s eyes glowed faintly, their light cutting through the dark room. Then came the sound, soft at first, like a faint giggle, playful and almost childlike.

It echoed, but it did not sound malicious. The doll twitched, its tiny arms shifting slightly as if it was trying to stretch. And then, a voice filled the room.

“Warmth…” the voice murmured, the word reverberating through the storage like a ripple in still water. “Home. Heart. Warmth is here.”

A translucent mist began to seep out of the doll, curling like smoke but with a faint glow that pulsed like a heartbeat. The mist swirled and rose, twisting as it moved toward the ceiling.

The voice spoke again, louder now, with a strange resonance that filled the room. “Warmth is near…will find it.”

The mist lingered for a moment, swirling around the wooden carving before shooting upward, slipping through the cracks of the ceiling and disappearing entirely. It moved with purpose, drawn by an invisible force.

the undeniable presence of its Warmth, its Home, its Heart.

Somewhere, far from the location, (Y/N) remained blissfully unaware of the being seeking her out, as it moved with desire to be ever closer to its source of warmth.

——

The Gala buzzed around them, a hum of conversation, clinking glasses, and soft music filling the air. But (Y/N) barely noticed any of it as she leaned slightly toward Sky and Time, the tension in her shoulders melting just a little.

“I’m just saying,” (Y/N) grumbled, crossing her arms, “the Dean could’ve picked literally anyone else. I don’t even know why he thought I’d be a good fit for this.” She sighed, glancing at her nearly untouched glass of champagne. “I should be home right now, watching cheesy countdown specials with my family and eating way too many snacks. Not… whatever this is.”

Sky smiled at her, a little softer than usual. “Maybe he just thought you’d represent the school well,” he offered, though there was an edge to his voice, like he didn’t buy it either.

“Doubt it,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “This is the same guy who got my name wrong at orientation. Twice. And now I’m here, dressed like someone I’m not, trying to smile at people who probably don’t even care if I’m alive.”

Time didn’t say much, but his presence was steady. He tilted his head slightly, letting her vent without interruption, his good eye focused on her like she was the only thing in the room worth paying attention to.

Suddenly, Four’s voice came through the comms in their ears, low but clear. “I’m already looking into the Dean.” he said. “No way this is just a coincidence.”

Sky and Time didn’t react outwardly, but they exchanged a quick glance.

“What’ve you got so far?” Time asked, his voice barely above a murmur as he turned his attention back to (Y/N), who was fiddling with her glass and muttering something about how dumb gala food was.

“Not much yet,” Four replied. “But the timing’s too perfect. The Martells pull this stunt, and she just happens to be invited? Nah, there’s more to it. I’ll keep digging.”

Sky nodded subtly, keeping his expression neutral for (Y/N)’s sake. “Keep us updated,” he said under his breath, before giving her a reassuring smile. “At least you look good.” he added lightly, hoping to cheer her up.

(Y/N) groaned, half-amused. “Yeah, well, this dress cost me an entire paycheck, and a debt to Nic, so I’d better.” She glanced down at the elegant-but simple-dark blue gown she’d managed to snag last-minute. “I still feel out of place.”

“You’re not,” Time said quietly, his voice carrying that calm authority that made it impossible to argue. “You belong here with us.”

(Y/N) blinked at him, a little thrown by his certainty, but she didn’t have the energy to argue. “If you say so…” she mumbled, though her lips quirked into a faint smile.

Meanwhile, through the comms, Wind’s voice piped up, loud and eager. “Are we done keeping out of sight yet? I wanna hang out with her too!”

Sky sighed, keeping his voice low. “Patience, kid. She’s in a good mood. Let’s not ruin it.”

“Easy for you to say,” Wind huffed. “I’m stuck back here like some kind of stalker.”

“Wind,” Four said flatly, “you are a stalker right now. Stay put.”

The Chain kept their focus tight, even as (Y/N) relaxed more, her complaints slowing. But the underlying tension in the room wasn’t lost on them.

The music eventually slowed, and the crowd’s murmurs hushed as Emilio stepped onto the stage. His smile was wide, charming, but there was something in his eyes that set every nerve in the Chain on edge. A single hand gesture brought the room’s attention to him like he was the star of the show.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Emilio began smoothly, holding a glass of champagne like he was about to propose a toast. “I want to thank you all for joining us tonight as we welcome a new year. A year full of opportunities, partnerships, and, of course… resolutions.”

The crowd chuckled politely. Time’s jaw tightened, his cane resting just slightly closer to his side.

Emilio’s smile sharpened, though his tone stayed light. “Now, as we move forward, let’s all remember: respect is key. Whether in business or… personal matters.” He let the words hang in the air for a beat too long. “After all, no empire, no matter how storied, lasts without mutual understanding.”

Sky stiffened beside (Y/N), his hand brushing against her back as if by accident. Time said nothing, his face unreadable, but (Y/N) noticed his grip tighten slightly on the cane.

Emilio raised his glass higher. “To a prosperous new year-for all of us.”

The crowd erupted in cheers, the clinking of glasses filling the room as the lights suddenly flickered and cut out, plunging the venue into darkness. Gasps and murmurs spread like wildfire.

“Stay close.” Time muttered, grabbing (Y/N)’s wrist with enough firmness to leave no room for argument.

“What’s happening?” she whispered, but before either of them could answer, Wild’s voice crackled through their comms.

“They’re moving in.” Wild said, his voice clipped and urgent. “Emilio’s men are storming the place. They’re heading straight for you, Time. You’ve got maybe thirty seconds.”

Sky was already moving, grabbing (Y/N) by the arm and guiding her with Time through the chaos of startled partygoers. His voice was low, but firm. “Keep your head down and follow us.”

(Y/N)’s heart raced, her breath catching as the noise around them grew louder-panicked whispers, the shuffling of feet, and something heavier, more deliberate in the distance. “What’s going on?” she hissed.

“Not now.” Time said sharply, his tone brooking no argument.

Sky’s grip tightened as he scanned the room, their path lit only by the faint glow of emergency lights near the exits. “Wild, where are they now?”

“Closing in fast. Four’s trying to block the north wing, but there’s too many.”

“Twilight?” Time asked, guiding (Y/N) through the crowd with precise movements.

“Already clearing the way out,” Twilight answered. “Just get her to safety.”

(Y/N)’s mind raced as she tried to piece together what was happening, but the sheer force of Time and Sky’s urgency kept her quiet.

—-

The crowd grew more frantic, murmurs turning into shouts as Emilio’s men pushed through, barking orders for people to move aside. The air was thick with tension, and (Y/N) could feel it like a weight pressing down on her chest. Time and Sky moved quickly, keeping her between them as Four’s voice came through the comms.

“Keep moving south. Wind and I cleared a path through the kitchens. Get her there now.”

“Understood.” Time muttered, his grip steady on (Y/N)’s arm.

The three weaved through the growing chaos, Emilio’s men shoving partygoers out of the way as they advanced. A few of the guests started screaming, the reality of the situation hitting them like a brick. Sky stepped up his pace, his hand briefly brushing (Y/N)’s back to guide her faster.

“Almost there,” Sky said lowly, his eyes darting to every shadow.

(Y/N) stumbled slightly, catching her balance before glaring at him. “What the hell is going on? Who are these guys?”

“Not now.” Time said again, his voice firm but not unkind.

“Of course not now,” she muttered. “It’s always ‘not now.’”

They slipped into the kitchens, the bright lights and sterile metal surfaces a stark contrast to the dim chaos outside. Wind was waiting near the door, waving them over impatiently.

“Took you long enough.” he said, shutting the door behind them and locking it. “This place is going to hell out there.”

“Thanks for the update,” Sky said dryly, turning to (Y/N). “Sorry about all this. You weren’t supposed to-”

“To what?” (Y/N) cut him off, throwing her hands in the air. “Get dragged into some shady mafia nonsense on New Year’s Eve? Yeah, I kinda figured this would happen the second Time decided to show up.” She crossed her arms, her glare switching to Time.

“I should’ve stayed home, eaten my weight in cookies, and fallen into a food coma watching bad movies.” She huffed. “But no, this had to happen because you, Mr. Mysterious Mafia Boss, decided to ruin my night.”

Sky stiffened, unsure how to respond, but Time-of all people-just smiled. It was sheepish but amused, like he wasn’t even going to try denying it.

“That’s fair.” Time said, his tone lighter than she expected.

(Y/N) blinked, caught off guard by his reaction. She stared at him, then threw up her hands again. “Okay, good. Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Does that mean you’ll forgive me?” Time asked, his tone teasing but sincere.

She narrowed her eyes. “Only if I make it out of this alive-and you owe me big time.”

Time chuckled softly, his one good eye crinkling with amusement. “Deal.”

“Uh, not to interrupt,” Wind said, gesturing to the door, “but we’ve got bigger problems heading this way. Might want to save the banter for later.”

Time nodded, his expression sobering instantly. “Wild, status?”

“Still busy,” Wild answered over the comms. “But Emilio’s men are splitting up. They know you’re not in the main hall anymore.”

“Perfect.” Sky muttered, checking his surroundings.

Time turned back to (Y/N), his voice softer this time. “Stay close. No matter what happens, we’ll get you out of here.”

(Y/N) sighed, her irritation giving way to nervousness as she nodded. “You better.”

“Don’t worry,” Sky added with a small smile. “We’ve got this.”

“Less talking, more moving!” Wind urged, leading them toward the far side of the kitchens. The faint sounds of heavy boots grew louder, and the group picked up their pace, hearts pounding in sync with the chaos outside.

—-

—-

In the middle of the chaos, Warriors, Hyrule, and Twilight were like shadows slipping through the edges of the fray. Armed with their enchanted wooden weapons, they moved quickly and silently. The daggers and short swords, deceptively simple-looking, cut through Emilio’s men without a hint of hesitation.

“Stay quiet, stay fast,” Warriors muttered to Hyrule as he ducked low, slashing the back of a man’s legs before delivering a swift finishing blow. “We can’t let them regroup.”

“On it,” Hyrule replied, his dagger already sinking into another opponent’s side. His movements were light and precise, almost like he was dancing around the chaos.

Twilight moved alongside them, his short sword cutting a clean arc through the air. “These guys are persistent,” he said through gritted teeth, ducking a swing and jabbing his blade into a man’s chest.

“Yeah, well, they don’t know who they’re messing with,” Warriors shot back, deflecting a strike and kicking his attacker hard enough to send him sprawling.

Meanwhile, Legend was a blur of motion, merging into the walls like a ghost thanks to his bracelet. Every time Emilio’s men thought they had him cornered, he’d reappear behind them, striking with brutal efficiency before fading back into the stone.

“Gotta admit,” Legend muttered under his breath, stepping out of a wall to grab a man’s throat before slamming him to the ground, “this is kinda fun.” He disappeared again, only his faint laughter trailing behind as more of Emilio’s men fell.

Overhead, Wild perched in the shadows of a balcony, his bow drawn tight. He had his eyes on Emilio, watching as the man barked orders and rallied his remaining allies.

“Emilio’s sticking close to the west hall,” Wild said through the comms, notching an arrow tipped with a makeshift wooden head. “But he’s got a lot of backup.”

“Keep him pinned,” Time ordered back. “We’re handling things on this end.”

“Got it,” Wild replied, taking aim at a particularly loud ally of Emilio’s. He let the arrow fly, grinning when it hit its mark right between the man’s shoulders. The target dropped with a grunt, and Wild ducked lower, quickly nocking another arrow.

Another group of Emilio’s men was rushing toward the kitchens, and Wild couldn’t let them get too close. He took another shot, this time hitting a man in the leg, sending him sprawling and causing the group to scatter.

“They’re slowing down,” Wild said into the comms. “But Emilio’s not backing off. He’s sending more men your way.”

“We’ll handle it,” Warriors replied, his voice sharp as he slashed through another attacker. “Just keep him busy.”

“Don’t worry,” Wild said, a smirk in his voice. “I’ve got it covered.”

The Chain worked seamlessly, their movements efficient and purposeful, each strike calculated to thin the enemy ranks. Even in the chaos, they were perfectly in sync, and while Emilio’s men were persistent, they were no match for the skill and coordination of Hyrule’s finest.

In the middle of it all, Time’s calm voice cut through the comms. “No mistakes. Stay sharp. We’re not leaving until she’s safe.”

“Roger that,” Legend muttered, slipping back into the walls to finish off another target. The Chain pressed on, their only objective was making sure (y/n) was safe from this place.

The dimly lit kitchen was eerily quiet for a moment, the sounds of shouting and chaos muffled behind the thick walls. Sky and Wind stood near the doors, their weapons ready, while Time kept his cane in hand, standing protectively in front of (y/n).

“Stay close.” Time instructed, his voice calm but firm.

Before (y/n) could even nod, the door to the kitchen slammed open, and Emilio’s men poured in. Time moved without hesitation, swinging his cane with surprising force. The enchanted wood slammed into the first man’s chest, sending him sprawling into the counter.

Sky stepped forward, his sword cutting through the air with a clean precision that sent two more men staggering back. “Keep moving!” he shouted, his gaze darting to Wind.

Wind grinned, brandishing his dagger as he dashed forward, darting between two attackers and tripping one with a swift kick before driving his blade into the other’s arm. “Not so tough now, are ya?”

As the fight raged, another man appeared from the shadows, moving silently toward Time. The older man was focused on the two men in front of him, his cane spinning in fluid, powerful arcs.

The figure behind him raised a knife, his steps quiet…too quiet. Time didn’t notice.

But (y/n) did.

“Time!” she shouted, her voice shaking as adrenaline kicked in. Without thinking, she grabbed the nearest heavy object, a large iron pot from the stove, and rushed forward.

The man didn’t even have time to turn before (y/n) brought the pot down with all her strength.

CLANG!

The sound echoed through the kitchen as the man crumpled to the ground, the knife slipping from his hand. (y/n) stood there, panting and wide-eyed, the pot still gripped tightly in her hands.

Time turned, his visible eye widening briefly as he took in the scene. The would-be attacker lay unconscious at his feet, and behind him stood (y/n), looking more shocked than he’d ever seen her.

“Nice one!” Wind called out, laughing as he deflected another strike.

“Not bad, (y/n).” Sky said with a faint grin, his sword taking down another attacker.

Time stepped closer to her, his expression softening just slightly as he placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “You alright?”

“Uh… yeah,” she breathed out, still clutching the pot like a lifeline. “I think so.”

“Good,” Time said with a small, amused smile. “You might want to put the pot down, though.”

(y/n) blinked, glancing at the pot in her hands before letting it clatter to the floor. She exhaled deeply, her shoulders relaxing.

“I knew hanging around you would lead to something like this,” she muttered, glancing up at Time. “You owe me for ruining my night.”

“That’s fair.” Time said, his tone light as he turned back to the chaos, his cane swinging again.

But as another wave of men stormed in, (y/n) couldn’t help but glance at the pot again.

Maybe she wasn’t entirely done with it just yet.

——

——

The night air outside the gala was tense, Emilio stomping toward a black car parked at the curb with his men in tow. His face was twisted with anger, and his voice boomed over the chaos still brewing inside.

“Find them! Take them out! How the hell are they winning?!” he snarled, jabbing a finger in the direction of the building. “They’re a small group! They shouldn’t even be a threat!”

His men nodded, scattering to follow his orders as Emilio climbed into the car. In his hand, he held a small, sleek switch, his thumb hovering over the button. A grim smile spread across his face as he stared back at the building.

“It’s a shame I didn’t get to speak more with that girl,” he muttered, almost to himself, though the venom in his tone remained. “But that’s how it goes. And as for Time-that fool! His death will be an example to everyone of what happens when you cross me.”

With that, Emilio pressed the button.

He stared at the building, waiting for the fireworks, for the grand finale that would erase all evidence of the Chain and everyone else inside.

Nothing happened.

Emilio frowned, pressing the button again. Still nothing.

He leaned forward in his seat, pressing it a third time, then a fourth, his frustration mounting with each click. “What the hell is going on?” he snapped, slamming the switch down on the seat beside him.

One of his men leaned into the car. “Sir?”

“WHERE are the explosives?! WHY isn’t this working?!” Emilio barked, grabbing the man by his jacket.

Before the man could respond, another voice called out from the crowd. “Boss! We’ve got a problem!”

Emilio shoved his current victim aside, stepping out of the car. “What now?”

The man hesitated, clearly nervous, but eventually spoke up. “Several of our bases… they’ve just exploded. Reports are coming in one after another, everything’s gone!”

For a moment, Emilio froze, the weight of the words sinking in. Then it clicked.

His face darkened, a snarl curling on his lips. “Time. That bastard knew. He knew what I was planning!”

He turned, glaring in the direction of the building, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. It all made sense now-the calm demeanor, the subtle arrogance. Time had been playing him the entire night, and he’d walked right into it.

Emilio’s glare could’ve set the building on fire if it hadn’t already been rigged to blow. “Get me out of here,” he growled, voice low and seething.

“But sir, what about—”

“I SAID GET ME OUT OF HERE!” he roared, cutting his man off.

With that, Emilio climbed back into the car, slamming the door behind him. As the vehicle sped away from the scene, he stared out the window, his mind racing with a mix of fury and humiliation.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

——

——

The group finally burst out into the cool night air, (y/n) panting from the running (never good with heels). They stumbled past the remnants of the chaos, adrenaline pumping as the sound of distant shouting faded behind them. Several sleek black cars, headlights cutting through the dark, pulled up in front of them.

Four leaned out the driver’s side window of the lead car, his expression calm but his eyes sharp as ever. “Get in. Now.”

Behind his car, other vehicles packed with their men pulled up, forming a protective barrier between them and the building.

Without hesitation, Time opened the back door and ushered (y/n) in first, followed by Wind and Sky. He slid in last, pulling the door shut behind him. Four hit the gas, and the car sped off, the others falling into formation behind them.

(y/n) leaned her head back against the seat, trying to catch her breath. Her heart was racing, her arms still trembling. “Oh, come on!” she finally burst out, her voice cracking with exhaustion and frustration. “Of course Emilio’s mafia! Of course nothing in this stupid city is normal!”

Sky, seated next to her, glanced over with a small, understanding smile. He reached out and gently placed his hand on hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. His calm voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. “Hey, you’re safe now. That’s what matters. Just breathe. You did great back there.”

Her breathing slowed as his words settled over her, her grip on the pot starting to loosen-until Sky tilted his head slightly and added, “Though… you’re still holding onto the iron pot.”

(y/n) blinked, looking down at the pot like she’d forgotten it was there. Her shoulders sagged as she stared at it for a long moment. Then, in a flat, deadpan voice, she looked back up at Sky and said, “I’m keeping it.”

Wind, sitting in the far seat, tried to stifle his laughter through the comms. “She’s adopting a kitchen utensil. Classic.”

Four’s voice cut in over the car’s speaker, dry as ever. “It’s probably sturdier than most of our weapons at this point.”

(y/n) huffed and hugged the pot closer to her chest, glaring at the lot of them. “You laugh now, but this pot saved Time’s life. It’s earned its place.”

Sky held up his hands in surrender, smiling softly. “Fair enough. Just don’t name it.”

(y/n) grumbled, muttering something about ‘Stainless Steve’ under her breath as the car sped toward safety.

——

——

The car ride back was filled with (y/n)’s assurances that she was fine, though she kept hugging the iron pot like a security blanket. “Seriously, guys, I’m fine,” she said for the third time, looking between Time, Sky, and Four. “No one died, I didn’t get shot, and I’m home safe. That’s a win in my book.”

Sky gave her a worried glance, but (y/n) waved him off. “I’ll call you in the morning, Time.” she promised, her voice tired but steady. “If there’s any trouble tonight, just let me know.”

Time nodded, his expression softening just a bit. “We’ll be fine. I will always worry. You just get some rest.”

As Four pulled up to her house, (y/n) got out with the iron pot still in her hands, giving the group a tired wave as they drove off. She smiled faintly when she saw Wind hanging halfway out the window, waving enthusiastically. “Bye, (y/n)!” he shouted, “Happy New Year!” only to yelp as Sky yanked him back into the car by the collar.

Shaking her head, she walked up to her front door, unlocked it, and stepped inside. Her mom was there in the living room, walking over with a warm smile. “Hey, sweetie. How was the gala?”

At that, (y/n) sniffled, her resolve finally cracking. She pressed her face into her mom’s shoulder, shaking as the weight of the night caught up with her. Her mom froze for a second, surprised, before wrapping her arms around her daughter. She could feel the dampness on her shoulder and (y/n)’s quiet sniffles.

Whatever happened, her baby needed comfort, so she just held her tighter.

“What’s wrong, honey?” her mom asked softly.

“Mmmph,” (y/n) mumbled into her shoulder.

Her mom tilted her head, stroking her hair. “What was that?”

Pulling her face away just enough to be heard, (y/n) blurted out, “I’m friends with absolute jerks!”

Her mom blinked in confusion, only for (y/n) to launch into a tired, almost comical rant. “Do you know what happens every time I’m with them? Shenanigans! Absolute shenanigans! I knew I should’ve stayed home, Mom. I knew it!”

Her mom blinked again, trying to figure out if she was supposed to be concerned or amused. It didn’t sound like (y/n) was actually upset, more like she was venting out of sheer frustration.

Finally, (y/n) sighed deeply, slumping her shoulders. “I just needed to get that out of my system,” she admitted.

Her mom gave her another hug, patting her back. “Well, good news-you’re just in time to celebrate New Year’s with us!”

(y/n) blinked, pulling back slightly. “What? Mom, it’s after midnight.”

As if on cue, her younger sister Jack walked by, picked up the wall clock and turned it around, manually turning it back an hour. “Dinner’s almost ready.” Jack called out bluntly before disappearing into the kitchen.

Their dad walked in next, pulling (y/n) into a big bear hug. “Go change and get comfortable,” he said with a grin. “I got your favorite sparklers and cake. We’re celebrating properly tonight.”

Tears welled up in (y/n)’s eyes again, but this time they were happy ones. She nodded, her body finally relaxing completely. “Thanks, Dad.” she whispered, her voice soft but grateful.

“Anything for my girl.” he said, ruffling her hair before walking off to help Jack in the kitchen.

(y/n) sniffled again, looking between her mom, dad, and sister, feeling the tension of the night finally ease away.

This.

This was exactly what she needed.

So much better than going to a Gala.

….

She wasn’t gonna get school credit for going, UGH!

—-

The chain was gathered back at their base, still tense but trying to regroup. Everyone was either sitting around the meeting table or leaning against walls, tired but alert. Four had his laptop open, typing away as the others traded updates on the night.

“Emilio didn’t even follow us,” Sky said, breaking the silence. “It didn’t sit right. He’s not the type to just let something go.”

“He didn’t need to.” Warriors muttered, arms crossed. “He thought he had us.”

Wild, sitting on the edge of the table, raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Four looked up from his laptop, his face grim. “Our men sent over some footage. Emilio wasn’t following us because he had other plans.”

He turned the laptop toward the group and hit play. The room went silent as Emilio’s face filled the screen, furious and shouting at his men. His words hit like a punch to the gut.

“Find them! Take them out!” Emilio yelled in the video, holding a switch in his hand. “They’re nothing! A small group of fools, and they’re winning? Kill them all! Bury them in rubble!”

Time’s face was unreadable, but his grip on his cane tightened as the footage showed Emilio pressing the button repeatedly. The room stayed silent as the realization sank in.

“That bastard planted explosives,” Twilight said, his voice low and dangerous. “He was going to take out the whole building.”

“He was going to take us all out,” Sky corrected, his voice tight. “Everyone in that building…gone.”

“(Y/n) was in there,” Wild said, his tone sharp. “She would’ve-“

“She didn’t,” Time cut him off, his voice calm but heavy. “None of us did.”

“But why didn’t it happen?” Hyrule asked, looking around. “The explosives didn’t go off.”

Four turned back to his screen, pulling up another video. “Because while we were dealing with him and his men, someone else was dealing with him too. Watch this.”

The second video showed Emilio again, but this time, his rage was directed at the switch in his hand. He pressed it over and over, cursing loudly when nothing happened. The scene shifted to chaos,explosions, but not in the gala. It was Emilio’s bases going up in flames.

“No one else was targeted,” Four said, leaning back in his chair. “Whoever did this wanted Emilio to lose everything. And they did it.”

The group sat in stunned silence, watching the flames consume Emilio’s properties on the screen.

“Whoever this was,” Legend said after a moment, his tone uneasy, “they were…thorough.”

“And they knew exactly what they were doing,” Warriors added. “They waited for the perfect moment.”

“But why?” Wind asked, his voice almost a whisper. “Why go after Emilio like that? And why not target us?”

He paused and stared at the footage again.

“….Heck of a way to start the new year ya know.”

“Indeed.” Time said, his gaze dropping to the table, his thoughts clearly turning. “We weren’t the target. Not tonight. ”

Sky let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. “So Emilio was outplayed. Completely blindsided. But by who?”

“We don’t know,” Four admitted. “No patterns, no leads, nothing. At least not yet.

“But if Emilio’s plan had worked…” Hyrule’s voice trailed off, the weight of what could’ve been hanging in the air. “We wouldn’t be here.”

“Especially (y/n),” Twilight said quietly. “She wouldn’t have made it out in time.”

Time stood up, his cane steady as he looked around the room. “We don’t tell her. Not now. She doesn’t need to know how close it was.”

The others nodded reluctantly, though the unease was clear. Whoever had stepped in tonight had saved them, but it didn’t feel like a favor. It felt like a warning. And no one liked that one bit.

——

The living room was quiet except for the low hum of the TV playing some badly made movie no one cared to finish. (Y/n) and Jack were curled up on the couch, fast asleep. Leftover snacks were scattered on the coffee table, and a few stray crumbs clung to the blanket draped over them.

The mist floated in silently, barely noticeable as it moved around the room. It paused by the couch, hovering over (y/n) like it was studying her. A soft, almost musical chime sounded, so faint it could’ve been mistaken for part of the movie.

“Warmth… Home… Heart…” The words were barely a whisper, carried on an unseen breeze as the mist seemed to brighten slightly. It moved closer to (y/n), swirling gently around her before stopping by the blanket.

The blanket shifted, as though an invisible hand was carefully pulling it up to cover both her and Jack properly. The air felt warmer, cozier, as if the room itself was tucking them in.

“Keep safe…always…”

A quiet giggle echoed, soft and playful, as the mist swirled one last time. Then it vanished, leaving no trace but the lingering sense of comfort. It wasn’t gone, though. It was there, watching over (y/n), ready to protect her all night long.

The room settled back into stillness, with only the flickering light of the TV casting shadows over the peaceful scene.

———

(Happy New Year folks!)

[estrellami-1]

Lavender Letters

Part 10

Eventually everyone leaves. Eventually Eddie stays behind, first with the pretense of helping Steve clean up, though that pretense is shattered the second Robin looks at Steve.

Chrissy’s taking her home, though, so it’s not like she has any rocks to throw.

They do clean up. The stereo is turned off, all bottles and glasses are taken to the kitchen, and all chip bowls—empty of everything but chip dust—are dumped into the trash. Eddie catches Steve at the sink, crowds him in, draws him upstairs.

Takes him apart slowly, reveling in his whines and writhes, breathless with want, with the thought that he gets this.

It’s after that Steve speaks up. “What is this?” He whispers. “What are we?”

Eddie tugs Steve in more securely, runs a hand through his hair. Smiles when Steve sighs, boneless on Eddie’s chest. “What do you want to be?”

Steve shakes his head. His hair tickles Eddie’s neck. His fingers tighten nearly imperceptibly around Eddie’s side, slotting in between his ribs. “I don’t want you to agree to something you don’t want.”

“Then let me tell you what I want, and you can take what you want.” He rolls them over, cages Steve in underneath him. Leans in to nip at his lips. “Steve Harrington, I’ve had a crush on you from the moment I saw you. I started falling in love then started standing on tables because it was the only way I knew to protect myself. I fall fast and I love hard and it tends to drive people away but I don’t know any other way to love. I never did anything, never said anything, because I’m Al Munson’s son and bad luck is attracted to that name. I thought there was no way I could ever have you. Then you started writing your letters, and I realized who you were, and I realized something else.”

“What?” Steve whispers.

“I’m also Elizabeth Newark’s son. I’m Wayne Munson’s nephew. And those are great things to be, great names to be associated with. And I realized maybe I can have this. I can have my cake and eat it, too.” He teasingly pinches Steve’s hip, then pets a soothing hand over the spot when Steve squirms. “That’s me. That’s how I feel. What do you want to take from that?”

Steve’s silent for a minute. “I fall hard and fast, too,” he admits in a whispers. “And… and girls liked it, at first, because they had my attention all the time. But it got too… suffocating. For them. The longest relationship I ever had was with Nancy and she broke my heart. It’s still healing. I can’t promise I’ll always react the right way. I can’t promise I won’t be annoyingly clingy, because I don’t know how else to be. I noticed you the moment you first stood on a table and couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t get you off my mind. It took Robin and an NDA to shake it loose and make me realize why. I have scars and nightmares from things I can’t tell you about. But I want all of you, if you’re willing to give it to me.”

Eddie rests their foreheads together. “I’m going to tell Wayne,” he murmurs. “And I’m sure you’re going to tell Robin. But when I do, I’d like to call you my boyfriend.”

Steve grins, eyes nothing more than slits. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” Eddie whispers, and kisses him.

It’s a terrible kiss, they’re both smiling too wide to do anything, but it’s fantastic at the same time because Eddie rolls back over onto his side and Steve follows, staring at Eddie. “What?” He asks, “do I have something on my face?”

Steve shakes his head. “Just your face,” he whispers.

Really, what’s Eddie supposed to do, not kiss him? He does, thoroughly, pulling back with a chuckle when Steve yawns. “Sorry,” Steve says around it, cheeks lighting up in a blush.

Eddie shakes his head, taps Steve’s nose with his finger. “Go to sleep,” he whispers. “Let me keep the nightmares away.”

Steve tucks in close, puts his nose in Eddie’s neck. “M’kay,” he murmurs, and does.

Before long there’s soft breaths puffing against his clavicle. Eddie pulls the blanket up more securely around their shoulders, tucks Steve in best he can. Lays awake for as long as he can, memorizing the face he’s seen a million different times, a million different ways, but never so relaxed as he is right now.

Steve sighs in his sleep, throws an arm over Eddie’s chest. His fingers slot between Eddie’s ribs again, and Eddie has one thought as he drifts off.

Maybe our bones were made for each other.

[miorrtae]

NEWS FLASH ᥫ᭡ TAEYEON SMAU

NF 24

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The mirrors in the practice room were fogged slightly with condensation from hours of movement, layered breath, and unresolved tension. The music cut off abruptly mid-beat with the choreographer’s sharp command.

“Stop.”

Everyone froze.

Y/N exhaled, chest heaving as sweat rolled down her neck. Her knees ached, her shoulders tight. She didn’t need to look up to know the bridge section was the problem again.

It always was.

The choreographer sighed, folding her arms. “The movement is there. Technically, it’s clean. But this isn’t about steps. This is about presence. Connection. And whatever this is”—she gestured vaguely between Y/N and Taeyeon—“it’s not working.”

Y/N didn’t look at Taeyeon. She hadn’t in days, not really. Just enough to pass through the choreography. Just enough to pretend they were okay.

But the pretense was fraying.

As the group broke off to grab water and stretch, Taeyeon remained near center, arms crossed, her expression tight. From the corner of her eye, Y/N saw the way her jaw clenched. Stress. Pressure. That ever-present expectation Taeyeon always carried like armor.

Y/N turned away before she let herself look too long.

She headed to the corner near the mirrors, pretending to dig for her phone in her purse. Instead, her fingers brushed against something else. Small. Familiar. Something she hadn’t meant to bring back when she returned from her hiatus, but somehow, it had slipped into the pocket of her bag like muscle memory.

Her weed pen.

She blinked at it for a moment, her thumb resting along the side. The hum of the room dulled behind her, the sound of muted footsteps and soft chatter fading into background noise.

It would just take the edge off. Just enough to quiet the nerves. Just enough to breathe.

She slipped it into her hoodie pocket, heart pounding—not from guilt, but from the temptation. She hadn’t touched it since she came back. Since she promised herself she’d be sharper, better, unbothered.

But now?

Now, everything inside her felt like it was cracking again.

Karina slid beside her suddenly, brushing Y/N’s arm with a nudge. “You okay?” she asked, eyes sharp despite her tone being casual.

Y/N looked up, startled.

Karina doesn’t know.

Her question had been a reflex, the same kind of offhand check-in they always did between rounds of banter and sweat-soaked rehearsals. But now, with Y/N’s pulse hammering in her ears and the weight of the weed pen sitting heavy in her pocket, the words hit differently.

“Yeah,” Y/N replied too quickly, her voice rough. “Just tired.”

Karina raised a brow but didn’t press. “You? Tired? What, did someone finally beat you in a dance-off in your dreams?”

Y/N gave her a weak smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Must’ve been you. I’m still recovering from the trauma.”

Karina scoffed, bumping her shoulder against Y/N’s before reaching for her water bottle. “Don’t be dramatic. We all know I carried you through that last chorus.”

“You wish.”

But the banter didn’t land like it usually did. Y/N’s laughter felt thin in her throat, and her fingers kept brushing her pocket, the familiar shape of the pen pulsing like a secret.

She looked back toward the others. Taeyeon hadn’t moved. She was watching again—openly this time—arms still folded, expression unreadable but intense. That quiet scrutiny Taeyeon had always worn when something wasn’t sitting right. When something—or someone—was slipping.

Y/N looked away.

She hated that it still affected her.

Hated that after everything, after the silence and the betrayal and the aching months of distance, she could still feel Taeyeon’s stare like a bruise just beneath the surface.

Karina slumped down beside her, stretching her legs out in front of her and sighing dramatically. “They’re gonna keep us in here all night if you and that one don’t get it together.”

Y/N didn’t answer.

Because she knew Karina was right.

And what scared her more than staying late, more than another round of emotionless dance repetitions, more than the choreographer’s mounting frustration… was the part of her that wanted to get it together.

Not just for the performance.

But for Taeyeon.

She reached into her pocket one last time, fingers brushing the pen—

Then she shoved it deeper into her bag and zipped it shut.

She decided to just get it over with.

What was the point in holding back anymore? The connection—they’d had it once. Muscle memory, like the pen she’d almost let ruin her night. If nothing else, she could fake it. Pull from the echoes of what used to be and make it work onstage. That was the job, wasn’t it? Sell the emotion. Manufacture the chemistry. Breathe life into choreography even when your chest felt hollow.

It couldn’t be that bad.

There was nothing left between them anyway. Not really. Taeyeon had made her choice, and it wasn’t Y/N. It was someone else—someone safer, maybe, someone easier. Someone Taeyeon could look at without flinching.

Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat, stood, and rolled out her shoulders. Her reflection in the mirror stared back, tired but defiant. She wasn’t going to give the choreographer another excuse to single her out. She wasn’t going to give Taeyeon that power anymore.

When the group reassembled and the music restarted, Y/N didn’t hesitate. She stepped into place beside Taeyeon like they hadn’t spent months apart. Like her heart hadn’t been gutted and rearranged by the silence Taeyeon left behind.

She didn’t look at her.

But when the bridge section hit—and their bodies were forced into each other’s space, hands grazing, breath shared in too-close proximity—Y/N didn’t retreat.

She leaned in.

Not emotionally. Not with anything soft or forgiving. But with precision. Intention. She called on every rehearsal, every stage they’d ever shared, every second of closeness before it all fell apart.

And for a moment—just a blink of time in the middle of the bridge—Taeyeon responded.

Not with words. Not with warmth. But with that same sharp pull of energy. That same heat.

Like neither of them had ever forgotten what it felt like.

Then it passed.

The music faded. The choreographer clapped her hands. “Better,” she said, still unsatisfied, but less exasperated. “Getting there.”

Y/N stepped back, chest heaving, heart thundering for all the wrong reasons.

She didn’t look at Taeyeon. Couldn’t.

Because the performance was over. And when the lights cut, when the music stopped, she was still stuck.

Still standing in the ruins.

Still exactly where Taeyeon had left her.

——————-

Taeyeon didn’t know when watching Y/N had become this painful.

The music restarted. The others shuffled into place, still catching their breath. Taeyeon barely moved, spine rigid, heartbeat refusing to slow. She didn’t expect Y/N to return to her mark. Not this soon. Not without a look. Not without the bite of sarcasm she used as armor now.

But Y/N stepped back into position like nothing had happened.

Like they hadn’t been tearing each other apart in silence for months.

Taeyeon’s pulse stuttered. She didn’t let it show. Not in her face. Not in her body. She couldn’t afford to. The boundary she’d built between them was already paper-thin.

Then the bridge hit.

The section that always broke them.

Y/N moved first—clean, deliberate, razor-sharp like she had something to prove. And maybe she did. Maybe she was finally done waiting for an apology that would never come. Done letting Taeyeon’s silence weigh heavier than her own healing.

And Taeyeon should’ve been relieved.

Instead, she felt breathless.

Y/N’s hand brushed against hers. A quick, choreographed pass—one they’d done a thousand times before. But this time it burned. Not because of touch. Because of restraint.

Because Taeyeon wanted to reach back.

She almost did.

Every muscle in her body screamed at her to lean into the moment—to breathe in the heat of Y/N’s proximity, to fall into the rhythm that used to mean something. But she couldn’t. She wasn’t allowed to. She had made sure of that.

For Y/N’s sake.

For their careers.

For survival in an industry that didn’t allow people like them to be them.

So instead, she matched the intensity. She danced like it was just choreography. Like her heart wasn’t ripping out of her chest one count at a time.

For a heartbeat, they moved like they used to. Unstoppable. Seamless. Together.

And then it ended.

The final beat cut. The tension snapped. The spell broke.

“Better,” the choreographer said.

Taeyeon stayed still. Didn’t glance sideways. Didn’t let her breath hitch even as Y/N stepped away like she couldn’t get far enough fast enough.

She didn’t look back.

That was the part that hurt the most.

Because Taeyeon wanted her to. She wanted Y/N to break the silence, even if it was to yell. To say her name, even if it was laced with anger. Something.

But she didn’t.

Because Y/N had finally stopped waiting.

And Taeyeon… she had no one to blame but herself.

She’d chosen to protect her.

And in doing so, she’d lost her anyway.

____

The studio had emptied slowly.

One by one, bodies shuffled out, weighed down by exhaustion, still buzzing from adrenaline and the low thrum of friction that had colored the final run. The air was thick with the remnants of heat, the scent of sweat and worn rubber, and something else—unresolved tension that clung to the mirrors like fingerprints.

Y/N stayed behind.

She moved like she was packing up, half-hearted and distracted—tying a hoodie around her waist, dragging her tote closed. But it was all delay. She’d waited until the shuffle of bags and shoes and tired jokes disappeared down the hallway. Waited until the overhead lights dimmed slightly and the silence stretched thin.

Then, with a quiet breath, she slipped the weed pen from her bag.

She sat low against the mirror wall, knees drawn up, hoodie sleeves pulled over her palms like she could hide the guilt if she tried hard enough. Her fingers trembled slightly—not from withdrawal, not even from the desire—but from the hollow place in her chest that the dance hadn’t managed to fill tonight. Not like it used to. Not like when they were okay.

She stared at the pen for a moment longer.

Then she brought it to her lips and took a slow, shallow pull.

The vapor curled through her lungs like a balm, slow and immediate, a soft buzz in her skull. The world didn’t stop, didn’t shift. But something inside her eased.

She closed her eyes.

That’s when the voice came.

“You’re kidding me.”

Y/N’s head snapped up so fast it knocked lightly against the mirror behind her.

Taeyeon.

taglist + @gtfoiydlyj @sewiouslyz @xen248 @mineige @yjiminswallet @saysirhc @pandafuriosa60 @yeri-luvr

[yanicidal]

It always starts the same way—soft, almost tender, like the caress before the guillotine falls. A whisper of knuckles along the jawline, a thumb dragging lazily across a vein that pulses, desperate and stupid. It’s not love. It’s not even lust. It’s desecration wearing its Sunday best, a mockery of affection that makes it taste sweeter when it curdles into something hideous.

The blade isn’t rushed. No. It’s introduced like a secret, a promise murmured into fevered skin. It kisses first—an icy peck that blooms a hot, angry red a second later. Skin parts like it’s grateful. Like it’s been waiting for this inevitable betrayal all its pitiful life.

Control is everything. Not just of the hand, but of the breath, the whimper, the fucking heartbeat of the thing beneath you. It’s not enough to carve into them—you have to make them want it. You have to fold their will into something soft and pathetic, make it beg to be stripped away. And you do it beautifully, don’t you? With words that slip into the cracks of their mind, words that make the knife seem merciful by comparison. There’s an art to it—the way you tilt your wrist, the way the blade pirouettes across collarbones and the tender, trembling underbelly of the throat. Blood comes easy after that. Sticky ribbons tracing your intentions down their chest, their stomach, soaking into the places they’ll never clean properly. They’ll smell like you forever. They’ll carry you in the places no one else dares look. It’s not enough to watch them break. You have to taste it, dip your fingers into their suffering like it’s communion wine. Smear it across their lips, force it into their mouth and down their throat until they choke on it. Until their body doesn’t know whether it’s fear or worship making it shudder like that.

You murmur things while you work—not sweet things, but things that slip into their bones and rot there. Promises of ruin. Praise wrapped in barbed wire. Little truths no one has ever dared say to them, truths that feel like blades pressed under their ribs. You become a god, a devil, a sickness they crave.

By the time the knife bites deeper—slow, deliberate—they’re yours. Not because you broke them. No. Because you rewrote them. Blood is just the ink you used to scribble your name into whatever soul they thought they had left. They don’t scream anymore. Screaming is too clean. They whimper, low and broken, gasping like they’re trying to survive the ecstasy and the agony bleeding into one another. They’re past the point of knowing the difference. Past the point of wanting to.

And you—hands steady, heart pounding in slow, measured beats—you smile like the cruel thing you are. Because there’s nothing more sacred than this. Nothing more honest. No lie in blood, no pretense in the way flesh gives under a blade it trusts more than it trusted life itself.

You don’t kill them.

That would be mercy.

You are not a merciful creature.

You keep them. As reminders. As trophies. As proof that something so wretched, so broken, could still make something so viciously, obscenely beautiful.

And you never, ever stop carving, or craving.

[iwashie]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑!|𝙱𝙻𝙻𝙺

📌 itoshi sae, itoshi rin, barou shoei, mikage reo, chigiri hyoma, aryu jyubei, karasu tabito, bachira meguru, ryusei shidou

･ﾟﾟ･｡ warnings- gn!reader, established relationship, 18+ characters, pro players(20+), fluffy. Synopsis: Things they do as your bf.

☆ BACHIRA- Matching clothes!! He thinks it’s cute this thing of couples wearing matching clothes, signaling that they’re each other’s and he’s always wanted to do that. He bought the most extravagant, horrifying shiny outfit for you to wear and the worst thing is that it’s wearing on the street, and you don’t want to make him sad.... Oh, he also bought you two bee pajamas!

☆BAROU- He likes to keep his things clean and organized. He’s organized and clean so everything has to be in order for him to be at peace, but you’re kind of disastrous and forgetful, but he doesn’t get so angry - pure pretense on his face of bravo. He understands that this is your way, and that’s why he fell in love with you, and also, he knows that there are days you don’t feel like being organized or can’t and so he does it for you.

☆ TABITO- Gossip!! He grew up surrounded by women gossiping here and there, and he doesn’t deny that he loves gossip. “A prestigious man is a gossiper, yes!” Don’t think about leaving him without the daily gossip or continuation of gossip. “Who’s pregnant?!” or “Did you get the rest of the gossip? No? But I have one for you!”

☆ RYUSEI- He’s kind of crazy, so when you came up with the idea of him getting a tattoo with your name, he accepted it without a second thought! And now he has your name tattooed on his left chest, right next to his heart. And yes, he loved the idea because unlike what most think; he is a one-person man, if he dates it is to marry.

☆ CHIGIRI/ ARYU- Beauty care!! He doesn’t want to know if you don’t have money for that expensive treatment. He’s your boyfriend and has a black card... Just accept the night of care while he finishes your hair and the face mask takes effect. If he takes care of himself, so will you!

☆RIN- Movie night!! You both watch movies at night almost every Friday and then evaluate the movie, serious conversations as if you were cinephiles. The joint account on Letterboxd is the key point, a mix of horror movies with the genre you like. (Teammates follow this account just to poke fun at him)

☆ REO/SAE- His car is a place he likes to have absolute control over, but every time someone hitchhikes with him, he always finds your belongings like makeup, high heels, perfume, charger, keys and he just puts it all away, with a smile on his face or “this is where they left it.” And the main thing of all, the passenger seat, which is your throne, has the position that you love and if someone tries to change he does not let them, he can tell the person to get out of the car.

© iwashie 2023, please do not translate, modify or republish my works

[urialnathanonwright]

Trump's 'Energy Emergency' Is a Fraud: A Disaster for the Planet, the Economy, and Basic Common Sense

Let us be clear: this is not leadership—it is lunacy. Donald Trump’s declaration of a so-called “national energy emergency” is not only a fabrication; it is a malevolent act of self-serving deceit that endangers the lives of every American, the stability of our economy, and the future of our planet.

An energy emergency? Let’s cut the nonsense. The United States is not only energy self-sufficient but also the largest producer of oil and natural gas in the world. If there’s any emergency here, it’s that this administration is using the pretense of crisis to gut critical protections, kneecap clean energy innovation, and strap future generations to the ticking time bomb of climate disaster.

The facts couldn’t be clearer: Earth’s temperature is already 1.5 degrees Celsius above pre-industrial levels. Entire ecosystems are collapsing. Hurricanes are leveling communities. Wildfires are burning cities to the ground. And while real scientists, experts, and economists are shouting from the rooftops that we need to act now to save both lives and money, Trump is on a mission to turbocharge the very policies that got us here in the first place.

This isn’t policy—it’s profiteering. Trump is playing lapdog to fossil fuel executives, feeding their bottomless appetite for profit while throwing the rest of us to the wolves. Forget clean energy. Forget protecting Arctic lands or coastal waters. Forget transitioning to wind, solar, or anything remotely resembling a sustainable future. No, Trump’s priority is doubling down on outdated, polluting, and economically reckless fossil fuel expansion.

And what’s his justification? Rising energy costs? Gas prices at the end of 2023 were cheaper than when he left office in his first term. This is a con, pure and simple. He’s hoping you won’t notice the wildfires that cost $200 billion, the hurricanes that obliterate entire towns, and the droughts driving up food prices. These aren’t flukes; they’re the direct consequences of ignoring climate science.

Even his own supporters, the ones who chant his name at rallies, are getting burned—literally and figuratively. These policies won’t lower costs for them. They’ll increase insurance premiums, devastate supply chains, and raise prices across the board. Trump’s so-called “energy emergency” is a Trojan horse designed to dismantle the progress we’ve made toward clean energy and drag us back to the dark ages of environmental neglect.

The gall of it all! This man is looking climate disaster in the face and saying, “Bring it on.” He’s actively choosing to make the planet hotter, the storms stronger, and the economic damage more severe—all while mocking the very idea of accountability.

We have a choice to make, and it’s not just between Trump’s twisted vision and Biden’s policies. It’s between hope and despair. Between a livable future and one where our children ask, “Why didn’t you stop this when you had the chance?”

This isn’t just policy failure; it’s moral bankruptcy. It’s a betrayal of humanity itself. And if there’s any justice left in this world, history will remember Trump’s “energy emergency” for what it truly is: a con, a farce, and an unforgivable crime against the Earth.