#despite him not having one for years by that point

[dvchvnde]

when the earth starts spinning backwards

EXCERPT: GEORGIAN ERA AU. ARRANGED MARRIAGE. AGE GAP.

You've been told for most of your life that the measure of a woman's worth laid in the pedigree of her potential suitors.

And maybe that's why—on the eve of your birthday—the pool of your of esteem dwindles to a mere maudlin tear at the bottom of a weather-worn bucket. One swiped up by the trembling finger of your desperate father as he shakes his hand (and within it, the crumpled dowry he had expected to part with on the dawn of your eighteenth year inside his household) at the only man who seems keen to take the heavy burden from his white-knuckled fist.

A man named John Price.

Captain, they say, of the King's Army. Someone who led them to victory on several fronts before being called home year ago when his second wife had passed, marking him a widower with two children. A powerful man on the battlefield, unshakeable in his tenants and faith. A warrior. As fearsome as a wild bear, and hungry for flesh as one, too.

And it's this facet of his character that is given before much else, including the formidable temper that nervously follows when all points of fascinating esteem run dry.

His rage is as legendary as his exploits under the King.

And you're to marry him tomorrow.

A quick, decisive arrangement that brokered no room for negotiations, and likely couldn't since you're well past respectable marrying age and have been already ushered, quietly, into the encompassing title of a spinster. A blemish on your mutable reputation.

But despite the desperate lengths your father had gone to tuck away money for a dowery on the eve of your birth, it had been for naught. Everyone knows the debts your name carries, and any man stupid enough to take you on a bride would only inherit the devastating black hole of your crumbling finances.

Untouchable, it had seemed. Or so those were the whispers late at night.

It's unfathomable a man of his esteem would stoop so low in the social hierarchy for a wife, but from the stilted, haggard conversations you've pried upon, he's in need of a mother to his grieving children. The abysmal state of your family name doesn't matter much when all he needs is a nanny for his children and a pretty thing to warm his bed.

And, they offered begrudgingly, you are rather pretty.

Just much more suited to be the mistress of a Duke rather than a wife of significance to an important advisor to the King.

Envy, you realise, and this pitiless thing called social standing, leaves you very little room to weep over the ill-made match with a stern, ferocious man two decades your senior and twice widowed with three children desperate for comfort you have no idea how to give.

Then again, respectability is more important than comfort, isn't it? And perhaps this is for the best considering your second, and only, option is to agree to warm the bed of a Duke (or several) when he's away from his wife. Who would want to marry the daughter of a penniless estate drowning in so much debt, it's a wonder your father got to keep his flimsy title when the collectors started breathing down his neck, after all? When the jewels were stripped from your neck, the curtains, your clothes and pawned for recompense for a financial loss that happened when you were hardly old enough to feed yourself?

Such is life, you suppose.

And maybe you're giving too much credence to the feverish whispers about your soon-to-be bridegroom.

Two wives—both gifted to him from the kings pool of consorts—who died under strange, mysterious circumstances aside, he might be the polar opposite to the surly beast they make him out to be. One with a temper so formidable, enemies of the country write to air out their grievances after crossing paths with the savage Captain on the battlefield, lamenting the brutal nature of his warfare practises.

It might not be the cage you've been told it will be. Instead of squandering your youth under the thumb of a man so animalistic, they claimed he was birthed by a bear, it could be the escape you've been yearning for.

And perhaps—as silly as the notion is for women of your station—even love.

It's a thought that blots the unease inside your chest. A bandaid over uncertainty even though it's such a silly, silly thing because just what is love to a man thrice wed? Indignity, surely, to stoop so low as to pledge his heart to someone two decades younger than he when an heir has already been secured. Nuptials tied twice before. An old hat at this farce.

What room is left inside of him for a destitute bride with little more than a brooch to your name, and a contemptible debt that will surely ruin any burgeoning matrimony when he doles out whatever sum he agreed to when taking you on as a—

A nanny, maybe.

Pretty thing to warm his bed.

It'll be fine, you think, knuckles bulging from under the thin skin of your fist; so long as there is harmony between you and this man.

That's really all you can ask for, and even that seems overmuch.

He stands across from a man you don't recognise, dressed in a handsome black waistcoat and black breeches. The bristles of his beard—the sight of which gives your mother a terrible start when she sees the unkempt ruggedness of his appearance—brushes against the silk of his white cravat when he angles his chin in defiance at something the man says, arms folded over his broad chest, looking mutinous.

It's not the stance of a man eagerly awaiting his bride but of someone making idle, impatient chatter until the festivities begin.

But—

You can't deny he makes quite a striking spectacle.

His legs are thicker than all of the men in the room, breeches pasted tightly against his skin showing off the beastly appearance they whisper about. More bear than man. And you see it now when he moves. Arms barely contained inside the confines of a thick waistcoat, bulging at the seams. Flexing.

His hair is dark brown. His beard a seamless match to the umbre hue. It peppers along the span of his face, cut clean below the tip of his nose. Bedraggled comes to mind as you take him in. Then—

Wild.

His eyes flash. He rocks forward on the tips of his toes until his nose is a breath away from the man who stands opposite of him, swallowed up in the untenable bulk that threatens to collapse upon him like an unsturdy house. Heaving. The buttons along his jacket stretch taut around every ragged breath he takes, whining under the strain.

He's a beast.

A bear ripped from the wilds and shoved to ill-fitting finery; told to behave.

It's breathtaking, really. All that raw power forced into the shape of a man, one that buzzes with a frenetic energy around the edges as if the potency of it is too much for mortal flesh to carry. Crackling through the air like a whip. His snarling rejoinder clashing against the stained glass mosaic of Mary and Joseph readying their inn for the arrival of baby Jesus, the echo trembling through your bones.

You hadn't realised they were quite so hollow until his growl bounced inside them like a stone tossed into an empty bucket.

Beside you, your mother makes an impatient, contemptuous sound. That, too, echoes, and you smother a wince by burying your hands in the plentiful lace gathering at your thighs. Clinging to the old silks as the men blink from their churlish debate, turning towards the sound.

His gaze is purposeful. He doesn't linger. Doesn't meander. It slashes across the chest of the man standing in front of him like a clutched dagger, stabbing into the thin-lipped frown your mother wears more comfortably than finery with a slight tick of his brow. Settles there just for a moment. Taking her measure. Her worth.

And then it rolls over to you.

Dutiful bride to be.

Standing on fawnlike legs and drenched in a fine sheen of sweat under the swelter of dusty velvet no one expected to ever see the light of day, and jaundiced lace—the one thing your mother was able to convince the debt collectors was worth less than the meagre loaf of bread sitting on the dining room table.

A pittance.

And it's a dismal thing, really. The way he looks at you. Brows pinched. Puckering in displeasure. It's little less than a sneer, and even that feels like a kindness. A blessing.

But you suppose if a woman is fit to lay with the king, then she must be a thing of beauty. That must be the level of esteem he's used to. Lavishness. Sylphlike, pretty things the king is wont to imbibe himself on—a never-ending search for a faerie, or so the rumours go.

But these lissome beauties, the King's hand-offs, birthed this man's children—and rather quickly, you'd heard. Almost scandalously so. But had declared himself the father—at the hurried acceptance of the King—and the matter brought to the church in whispers had been silenced.

You can't help but wonder how you compare in his eyes.

It makes you so acutely aware of every inch of your body that it all starts to sting. Burn. From the way the shoulder of your grown doesn't quite sit tight—having been altered and hemmed over the years to account for your growth; a dress made at the fourteen under the assumption you'd be married away immediately. Extra fabric added at seventeen with illustrious care. There was still hope, you know. And each delicate stitch reflects that. But the ones that follow—twenty, twenty-three, twenty-five—are looser. Less attention was paid to the seam. The project was just that: an obligation. A duty.

Hope ended with the addition scrap of off-colour silk on your eighteenth birthday.

And with such hawkish, keen eyes, you know he must see it.

They dip along the curve of your throat, following a taut, intense line of oceanblue down the drape of it. Puddling at the base where a tear in the lace sits against your neck. Folded into itself because there simply wasn't enough time to mend it properly. A blemish.

Beneath the thick bed of wry, burnt umbre curls, his jaw clenches tight, muscles budging at the sides.

The intensity of endless blue is too much for you to wade through—his stare, the weight of his regard, a crushing thing—and you dip your chin in silent supplication, staring at the floorboards in a shameful display of cowardice to avoid the heat in those eyes. A searing fury hot enough to scald you from this far away.

He doesn't want you.

On the alter, John clenches his fist tight against his thighs as he devours the little bride too frightened to meet his eye, and wonders how much longer this nonsense will take before he can finally sink his cock inside of you—

[patchouii]

THIS SCENE…. I just have to blab about this scene for a minute. Pazzi’s history as a law enforcement officer who knew that Hannibal had framed an innocent man as Il Mostro and fled, how he continued to pursue him despite losing respectability and being dissuaded…. How Pazzi was willing to circumvent the law and do morally charcoal grey things to finally catch Hannibal. How Hannibal gutted Pazzi and threw him from a height to kill him…. Hannibal saying “You are alone because you are unique”, Will responding with “I’m as alone as you are”, Will saying “You shouldn’t be down here alone” and Pazzi responding with “I’m not alone, I have you”.

I really think that Pazzi saying “What are you going to do with him when you find him, your Il Mostro?” was a tipping point for Will in this situation and another stitch in the tapestry of fate that brought him and Hannibal together again and again until they truly understood themselves through each other and each other through themselves. What’s to be done about it? Pazzi is asking a question Will has already known the right answer to in various situations innumerable times already, but the right answer— as in the royal the, the answer that’s most widely accepted and would be most widely acted upon— is not the answer that feels right or is right for him, personally.

Your Il Mostro. Pazzi and so many others can so casually see to some degree what Will already has yet doesn’t want to really have to face in entirety. Hannibal is his just as much as he is Hannibal’s— and the fact that they both don’t want to want that as much as they do is the source of the conflict. Of course Will threatens Pazzi and leaves. He and Hannibal are both so, so desperate to have what they know they need and want at this point externalized through any means but themselves— whether through dialogues with others, through violence, or through metaphor.

When Pazzi hands Will Hannibal’s photo from his earlier years in Florence he is handing Will a common denominator. But it’s one that only Will can see in a certain light. It’s only right that the photo is passed to him. As Will said in front of the Primavera— their pasts and their presents have begun to blur. It’s too late to reject the transfusion.

Hannibal (2013-2015)

3x02 - “Primavera”

[chronicdelusionistsart]

Bernard Dowd and the Art of Recontextualization

I'm what you might call a "fake Batman fan" - that is, I've only watched most of the Batman animated series', all of the live action movies, most of the animated ones, played some of the video games... so, you know, probably thousands of hours of my life in Batman related media. But not the comics! Fake fan!

Frankly, I find the comics medium the way DC and Marvel do it to be really hard to follow. There's the fact that you can't really follow an individual solo character without them getting caught up in massive crossover events that ruin their arc and pacing, there's the soap-opera-iness that encourages cheap and revolving conflicts inherent to the longform monthly release schedule, the writer roulette, and there's also just that going back to try and thread a particular continuity or character is an exercise in frustration. Oh and the retcons. Everyone hates those. They've (basically) never been good. Don't remember this part it will never come up aga

But, you know, despite this - or maybe because of this - comics is a breeding ground for ideas. Because of the quick turnaround and the demand for novel conflicts, comics just churn out idea after idea. Good ideas, bad ideas, doesn't matter. Get it to print. Retcon it later if we write ourselves into a corner. Comics are often soooooo first draft coded. This is why I personally prefer adaptations - they often reimagine ideas and retcon them into new narratives where they can serve a more coherent plot. But what happens when a character is picked up for a second draft ... without actually contradicting the earlier material? While enriching the earlier material, even?

(SPOILERS for Tim Drake: Robin and uh... 20 year old comics under the cut!)

So, uh, quick disclaimer - because I have very little overall knowledge of DC's Comics continuity, there may be more interesting examples of times that what I'm going to point out was done. But I love Bernard and from a writer's POV I'm impressed with the way they did it so we're talking about Bernard lmao

The Beginning (Robin 1993) - Reading comics from the 2000s hurts in a way I can't describe

Okay so I heard Tim Drake is dating a guy now? (Penny Sonic voice) Whoa he's bisexual I didn't know that! I'm sure people on the internet are being very normal about this. Cool let's find out more about his new bf. I like starting from the beginning... so like yeah hold on while I crack open the Robin comic and take down what this guy's deal is.

😬

So basically the TL;DR of Bernard in his original appearances is that he seems to be an attempt to introduce some normal stakes teen drama into Tim's life. He has all the Funny Guy Friend Classics - he's got an inflated sense of his proficiency at pulling girls, he's inexplicably drawn towards the protagonist (who is cooler than him), he wants to date the most popular girl in school, and he wants to get down with older women!

This might just be me but while I was going through this I thought like, he almost reads a little uncanny, like he's been filtered through a Disney Teen Special. In practice he mostly serves to introduce Tim to the Real Plot, Darla Aquista, and be one of his ties to civilian life, which is, like, fine. He's ultimately just a background character and he's so unimportant that he only has one appearance after their school gets shot up(!!!), which is, again, to be more of an accessory to the Darla plot.

After this display of "wow this guy's kind of lowkey insane for offering to his resurrected bestie supervillainess to be her manager actually", he's dropped forever. Comics! We're not gonna unpack that.

The Sequel (Batman: Urban Legends) - We're Gonna Unpack That

Until almost two decades later when he calls Tim up for a date. And while I'm trying to skim over a lot to get to the point here and I don't really know the FULL context, it is notable that Tim is in the middle of an identity crisis / the cusp of adulthood when this happens (I think he just lost a spleen or something. That sucks dude). It's pretty implicit that part of the reason he's going to see Bernard is because he's someone familiar in a time when he's facing a lot of new and scary stuff.

And at first blush, he really does seem like the same dude. The familiar arm over the shoulder, the banter, it's all very casual and similar to the ribbing from high school -

- and I guess nothing has happened to Bernard in the interim haha he's just the funny friend guy right?

I really like the way they did this. I'm just unambiguously going to praise how good this is if you just came off the 2000s stuff. Comics have kind of breakneck pacing by nature but they really manage to condense down and then pull off a neat sleight of hand over the course of like four pages here. They re-establish Bernard as a silly guy and then wham you with the fact that yeah actually we ARE gonna unpack that. Fuck you Tim Drake life is ever changing and nothing stays the same

So the TL;DR on the rest of the Urban Legends storyline is that stuff like, HAPPENED to this guy while our focus was elsewhere. He learned martial arts, presumably so that he wouldn't be so helpless in the next school shooting level event, he got into a pain cult, he's just Not Doing Well. We find out, reading between the lines, that calling Tim on a date was probably one of his last attempts to reach out to someone when the cult stuff was getting really bad.

I've heard people complain that Bernard is uninteresting or not a character or entirely focused on his relationship with Tim, and I think that criticism is really weird considering that his entire re-debut focuses on the point that he's been having his own life and making his own (often wild) decisions - ones that really changed the course of his life - while Tim was gone. And it's also notable that this story is about how the fact that he's his own person and has changed and has made the nerve-wracking decision to take action and call Tim inspires Tim himself to take a leap and fling himself into the uncertain waters of young adulthood.

Me when I have my bi awakening and call to get out of a rut simultaneously because Cute Insane Guy Inspired Me. iconic

So that's how Bernard has changed. But that's not recontextualization, that's just the writers taking a guy and making him do another, cooler thing. Well hold the fuck on because we're not goddamn done.

What did he mean by th-

The Recontextualizerrrrr (Tim Drake: Robin) - Bernard is the funniest person in Gotham City. I'll not be taking constructive criticism on this

Tim Drake: Robin is the followup to the Urban Legends story and Tim is the main character fr. Obviously. but Bernard is also a major character. Later, he even gets to be a POV character. But they don't do that for several issues, instead treating us to his shenanigans from Tim's point of view as he solves a bizarre serial murder case and like, they're cute! And neither of them are normal in the slightest. I love that for them.

Again, TL;DR, there are a lot of interactions where Bernard talks to Tim both in and out of costume, but we don't get to see his POV until they go out to a restaurant and meet Bernard's parents there by accident and Tim has to run off to do Robin stuff. And like... a lot of stuff happens in this one bois. Whammy after whammy

We're suddenly introduced explicitly to a lot that was only implied or just completely unavailable before. Bernard's parents are ragingly homophobic. Probably were never great even before that. He suffers from depression. All that is a lot to. wait. hold on a second

he knows?????

HE KNOWS????

Okay so if you stop at this point and reread the entire run so far you find out that Bernard is in fact the biggest troll in the entire universe. This is the moment that cemented him as my favourite, by the way. Like I had a feeling that he knew and I was just laughing my ass off when my suspicions were confirmed.

But this is really interesting on top of that because Bernard has been revealed to be, at this point, a guy who you should look deeper than the surface to understand. Someone who masks his true self and whose true motivations you can only uncover if you're really looking past the facade. Even with Tim, he sort of offers Tim and Robin half the story each, taking advantage of Robin's "distance" to give out information he wants Tim to think about but that he's reluctant to talk about frankly while at the same time almost daring Tim to open up about his identity.

Absolutely most normal way to tell your bf about your cult trauma. You'll always be famous to me Bernard Dowd

This is a really neat trick by the writers. It makes Bernard a multifaceted character who got to quietly develop while we were mostly focused on Tim, and there's some clever clever foreshadowing they set up in this run to achieve this. If it were just this, I would call it good writing.

But it actually goes one level deeper than that and becomes something really really special. because as we all know, Bernard was not conceived to be this way, he was a one-off guy who was kind of annoying and he was essentially retconned to be, like. Gay? Have depth? Be funny? All of those things?

The Seamless Retcon (Robin 1993 Again) - We took your guy and we gave him gay subtext and it worked astoundingly well

This is not a new observation btw, I've seen a ton of posts to this effect. But oh my god. Some of these panels really hit different with the new Bernard lore. Like holy fuck just read this back to back

There are tons of moments like this. There's SO MUCH that the revelation that Bernard is queer adds to his initially extremely underwhelming tenure in the Robin comics. A reread almost begs the question of what Bernard must have been thinking at any given moment! BRO YOU SAID YOU WANTED TO FUCK HIS STEPMOM. That's completely believable as a next-level closeting move and goes from kind of annoying to turbofunny.

Like yeah of course he's acting like a douche. His father is a status-chasing asshole and he's five racks deep in the closet. Of course he gravitates towards Tim - his gaydar is pinging and he thinks Tim is cute. And it's also pinging that Tim is like. You know

None of this would hit as hard if the writers had not set up Bernard as someone who masks so much. They worked it in that character trait to mean that you could always glean information deeper than the surface from his top level interactions.

Because of this, Bernard is really fucking interesting and he's a good character and he's one that gets better on reread. Like I said, that's a set of observations that are not new to me. But something that really gets to me is how seamless and intentional it is. It really feels like the writer sat down and took their time devising a guy that is believable as that other guy, but only if you read back with certain context.

The conclusion - Comics. Man.

So is this just about how Bernard is really fucking interesting and he's a good character and he's one that gets better on reread and that he can exist independent of Tim and all the haters are wrong. Yeah of course. 💖

But also like, I have thoroughly proven to myself that I was kinda wrong to just reject the published comics medium out of hand. I see now that there's room for the writer's roulette to hit the jackpot and that something I mistook as an outright flaw, the winding and unfocused and often improvised nature of it, can be ridden like a wave if you're skilled enough to do it. Meghan Fitzmarten is a goddamned genius.

I guess I have to read comics now. Fuck

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

For someone who had fought a war for the better part of 15 years your monster husband sure didn’t seem like it now. (gn!reader)

————

He was large, at nearly 8.5 feet tall he towered over you and boasted an impressive set of long, elephant-like tusks that jutted straight out from between his lips. Light colored scars ran across most of his body in sharp contrast to the rich blue of his skin and his shaggy mane of leafy green hair. He was quite a striking sight, if not a bit intimidating at first.

Now though he laid across the bed, both of you still naked after a bath together, his head on your lap and a long, pointed ear sticking up, wincing as you poured a little of the salt water solution over the fresh piercing. Your husband was the odd one out amongst his species: never dressed flashy, never wore jewelry, never got any tattoos. However, now as the two of you were spending more time back in his village and away from the capital city he was slowly dressing a bit brighter and his best friend had convinced him to let him pierce the top of his ear.

It was just a small gold hoop, at it barely even bled when his friend did it, but you would have thought it was the worst injury he ever had gotten now.

“Hold still so I can clean it” you reminded him yet again like how you had to every time you helped him clean it the last few days.

“It stings” he whined back at you.

“Haven’t you stitched yourself up before?”

“That was different, and a long time ago” he defended.

“You’re literally covered in scars from fighting, how is this making you squirm so much?”

He didn’t answer, he just tilted his face up to look at you with big, sad eyes, doing his best wet house cat impression.

You sighed and affectionately scratched his head. Despite everything you knew he was a soft soul. He was a great fighter, empowered by the gods of his people, and looked to as a leader for his people, but none of that was really in his nature.

No, this was much more him. Snuggling into your lap and pouting. He playfully nipped at your thighs as you finished with his ear, his tusks digging in a bit as he hinted at what he wanted. He wasn’t the most forward, but something you doting on him always seemed to get him going.

He rolled off the bed to kneel in front of you, placing his hands on your knees to gently nudge your legs apart and the tucking his tusks under your thighs so he could get close. If you let him, he could spend hours with his face between your legs, happily purring while coaxing as many orgasms he could from you.

He looked up at you, waiting until you gave him a nod or otherwise let him know he could start.

The moment you felt his tongue against your sensitive skin you heaved forward and tangled your hands into his hair. “Good boy” you cooed at him and pulled his hair a bit.

He moaned against your skin, basking in your praise and enjoying you getting a little rough with him. It seemed like how you were going to spend your evening was decided.

[withwritersblock]

Just You and I

~Just You and I (acoustic) by Tom Walker~

Author's Note: requested! This is not how I exactly wanted this to end up but here it is! Summary: Quinn returns from a roadie to see Y/N overworking herself and plans to take care of her. Warnings: nothing too serious Word count: 2,677 Quinn Hughes x fm!reader

It has been a difficult few weeks. Quinn was gone on a road trip that lasted for nine days. He was practically impossible to get a hold of. Work was starting to become unbearable. Her hours were starting to run deep into the night. She was practically working twelve hours a day, rarely seeing the sun.

She was sitting at her office, trying to finish the stack of paperwork beside her when Quinn called her. A wide grin formed on her lips as his contact photo popped up. It was a photo of her kissing his cheek, he had a wide grin on his lips. She pulled her phone up against her ear.

“Hey love, getting on the plane here soon. We’ll be back in a couple hours,” he explained. She smiled to herself as she leaned back in her chair. 

“That’s good, I can’t wait to see you,” she let out happily. Her heart began to slam hard against her chest. Nine days without seeing him, holding him, feeling his lips on hers.

She wished it was all on her mind. But she was so busy and overwhelmingly busy at her job. There was barely a minute where her mind was not on work. She had three weeks left of these endless hours. She was the only one that was putting in this many extra hours; but she had the biggest role.

“Are you still at the office?” he asked as it sounded like there was shuffling on his end of the phone. He was mumbling something, probably to a teammate.

She let out a long dramatic sigh, “Unfortuntely,” she mumbled as she rubbed her eyes harshly. Sleep was starting to consume her frame. Reluctantly, she stood up from her chair and began to wander towards the small kitchen area where she could make some coffee.

“Will you be home when I get back?” he asked softly, almost begging. 

“I should be,” she explained while she popped open the Kurig lid, “What time would that be exactly,”

He laughed while rolling his eyes playfully, “Should be back around eleven. Which means you should definitely be home. You should actually be home right now, right?” he asked, his tone suddenly getting serious.

She let out a long sigh. “Yeah, I know. But I’ll definitely be home waiting for you,” she offered as she tilted her head against the wall, watching the coffee pour into her paper cup.

“Promise?” he asked breathily. 

Her lips slowly curled upward. She nodded as if he could see her. Her heart was slamming so hard against her chest, almost as if it was the first time she would be seeing him. Despite them being together for years.

“Promise, have a safe flight, my love,” she expressed as she continued to stare towards the coffee slowly dripping into the cup. 

“Please leave the office soon, yeah?” he asked as he tilted his head back against the headrest. He dragged his tongue across his bottom lip as he glanced towards Conor beside him. 

“I’ll do my best,” she offered as she stole the coffee and began walking back towards her cubicle. 

“Baby please,” he begged slightly.

“I will, I promise. I love you,” she sing-songed as she sat back down in her chair.

“I love you too,” he mumbled before he pulled the phone from his ear. He took a shaky deep breath. 

She had a bad habit of overworking herself to find perfection. Maybe that’s why they were perfect for one another. But she’s had this habit since he’s known her. She would isolate herself in her dorm room or the corner of the library to finish an assignment. There was a period in her life that if she didn’t get a perfect score on an assignment it would send her into a spiral.

There were a few times he found her shaking with tears streaming down her face. Her breathing was so out of control, it was scary to watch. It’s been a few years since she’s reached that point, but all of the signs were pointing to it happening again. 

She swore that she had better habits but recently her habits were slipping. For a while it was the goal to leave exactly at five o’clock a day. But without Quinn’s constant reminders, she was slipping into the never stop working mode. 

Glancing at the clock on the wall several feet away from her, she saw that it was 7:42 p.m. 

She promised Quinn that she would be back by eleven. All she needed was another hour of work. Then she would head home, shower, and wait for his arrival.

The plan was perfect, until she started losing track of time. 

Every new paper she picked up was necessary to the next and the cycle continued. Not a single moment went by where she checked the time, she continued to work and read and reread each word that was shown on the papers.

The words were starting to blend together. Her hand was starting to cramp worse than it was several hours ago. The thought crossed her mind to stop but she swore the hour was almost up. She swore that she only had a few minutes left. Out of no where, the stack of papers was cut in half. It didn’t seem like it would take too long to finish. Since the first half of the stack didn’t even take an hour. 

She took a deep breath, reaching for her coffee cup only to realize it was empty. A sigh left her lips as she took a hold of the cup and tossed it towards the recycling bin across from her. It missed and landed a foot in front of the can. 

A sigh left her lips as she reluctantly stood up from the office chair and walked towards it. Y/N leaned down and took a hold of it, dropping it into the can in front of her. 

Spinning around, she glanced towards the clock. She squinted her eyes slightly as she couldn’t believe what it said. “No,” she mumbled as she took fast steps back towards her desk. 

She pulled her phone out from her desk drawer to see it read 11:08. 

“Oh no,” she let out, her eyes starting to brim with tears. Suddenly, there was a sound of someone walking towards forced her to spin around. Her hand tightened into a fist, preparing for the worst. Her mouth fell open as she saw Quinn walking towards her. Her lips fell into a pout as she began to feel the tears become worse.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Quinn instantly shook his head as he took faster steps towards her. Without an ounce of hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her frame. Delicately he lifted her off of the ground. “I had a feeling,” he mumbled into her hair as she finally wrapped her arms around his neck. 

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” she let out as she rested her face into the crook of his neck. He hummed as he carefully put her back down onto the ground. He kept his arms around her, holding her securely against his chest. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered as he continued to run his hand up and down her back soothingly. “Let’s head home, yeah?” he asked softly. She tilted her head back, looking into his softened gaze. Her mouth fell open as she glanced towards the papers still on her desk. “It’ll still be there next week,” he tilted his head to the side, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“Next week?” she let out as she pulled away from him, “I have work tomorrow and Friday,” she began walking towards the desk but Quinn took a hold of her waist. He stepped behind her as he carefully pulled her back against his chest. Delicately, he pulled her hair away from her shoulder.

“You are calling off tomorrow and Friday. We are spending all day together, while you take your mind off of things,” he whispered into her ear.

“I can’t,” 

“You can and will,” he whispered as he slowly began to walk her towards her desk, “Grab your stuff, so we can go home,” He pressed his lips against her neck for a second before he let her slip from his grasp. She let out a dramatic huff of air as she started to reluctantly collect her things. Quinn walked beside her, carefully running his hand along her lower back.

She put everything into her bag and shoved her papers into the middle drawer in her desk. Y/N spun around, letting Quinn’s hand sweep along her frame. Delicately, he rested his hand onto her hip. Tilting his head to the side, he scanned her features. She pouted her lips as she looked into his eyes. 

He leaned towards her, delicately running his hand along her side. She took a hold of his cheek, kissing him for a few seconds. “I’ve missed you,” she mumbled as she pulled. The corner of his lips curled upward as he pecked her lips.

“I’ve missed you too,” he let out as he reached for her hand, “Let’s get home,” he expressed while dragging her out of the office. 

~

Stepping into the apartment, Quinn dragged his suitcase against the bookshelf. He dragged her into the apartment, she let out a long dramatic sigh. She kicked her shoes off near the door. Quinn followed in pursuit before he walked towards the kitchen.

“I can make you some food or we can order something,” he explained.

“It’s almost midnight, Quinn,” she said while walking toward the couch. 

“When was the last time you ate something?” he questioned peeking his head out of the doorway in the kitchen. She didn’t respond as she flopped down onto the couch. She let out a dramatic groan. “That’s what I thought,”

“You’re exhausted,” she let out as she leaned up and leaned back on her elbows. 

“You come first, you know that,” he offered while he was opening the fridge and different cabinets. He began pulling out items to make a simple box of mac and cheese. “It’ll take me like fifteen minutes,” he explained. 

“Can I help?” she asked as she slowly stood up from the couch. A small huff of air leaving her lips. 

“It’s okay, go lay back down,” he offered. She leaned against the door frame as she watched him pull out one of the pot and brought it towards the sink. He turned on the sink and began letting water pour into the pot. He shifted his gaze towards her, a soft smile on his lips as he scanned her tired frame. 

“I can make my own mac and cheese,” she offered teasingly. His face scrunch together as he was holding back a laugh. “What’s so funny!?”

He walked back towards the stove, turning it on. He tilted his head to the side, squinting his eyes slightly in the process. Pursing his lips forward, he walked away from the stove. “Your mac and cheese is like watery,” he offered teasingly. 

“It’s what the box says to do,” she countered, resting her hands onto her hip. A chuckle fell from his lips as he reached towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist. He pressed his lips against her cheek, teasingly. 

“Whatever you say, baby,” he let out before he kissed her cheek one more time. “Go get ready for bed. This’ll be done by the time you’re back,” Slowly, she ran her hand along his jawline. He smiled softly before he began to shove her slightly out of the kitchen.

“Okay,” she let out as she stumbled out of the kitchen. 

Quinn watched her walk away with a small chuckle leaving his lips. He ran his hands across his eyes. Y/N was right. He was exhausted but over the last few days he’s seen and heard how exhausted and overworked she has been. It clouded his thoughts, he needed to take care of her. He needed to take care of her before she reached her breaking point.

He leaned back against the counter crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for the water to boil.

The whole cooking process took twenty minutes. He made her a bowl and rested it onto the counter, the exact time she re-emerged into the kitchen. His eyes widened as he saw her leaning against the door frame. He smiled softly. 

“Hey beautiful,” he let out as he slowly slid the bowl towards her. She chuckled softly as she walked towards him. 

“Thank you, love,” she muttered as she rested her hands onto the base of his neck. He looped his hands around her waist. 

“Don’t have to thank me for taking care of you,” he said as he tilted his head to the side. Her liips fell into a pout as she glided her thumbs along his jawline. “Go eat,” he leaned towards her, pressing his lips against hers for a few seconds. “I’m going to go shower, and then you better be in our bed; ready to sleep,” 

He stared towards her expectantly. She took a deep breath, “Is that really what we're gonna do?” she asked as she fought off a grin. He chuckled as he pulled away from her.

“That’s what the morning is for,” he offered with a wink before he slipped away from the kitchen. She tossed her head back while laughing. She reached towards the bowl and took a hold of it. 

~~~

Quinn had been awake for an hour. It was ingrained in him to wake up before seven, no matter how late it got. Even when he stayed at the lake house, he would be extremely hungover and awake at six in the morning. But right now, he was happy to see that she was relaxing for the first time in weeks.

She told her work that she would not be coming into work for the rest of the week. Very reluctantly but Quinn made sure she hit send. 

Quinn delicately glided his fingertips along her arm slowly. He leaned down, and pressed his lips against her shoulder. Carefully, he brushed her hair away from her neck. Leaning back, she began to stir beside him. 

She leaned back, rolling onto her back. Quinn looked down towards her, a soft smile on his lips. “Good morning,” he whispered. 

“Hi,” she let out barely above a whisper. Quinn leaned towards her, kissing her delicately. “I’ve missed waking up to you,” she mumbled against his lips. Slowly, he glided his hand across her cheek before he kissed her for a few more seconds.

“I’ve missed it too,” he mumbled as he scanned her features. He glided his thumb along the apple of her cheek. Y/N leaned into his hand as she ran her hand along his arm. “How are you feeling, beautiful?” he asked as he glanced towards the clock on the side table. There was an optional skate in ninety minutes, he had to be there. But he was willing to push his luck on showing up on time.

“Happy you’re home for a few days. A little guilty I’m not at work right now,” she explained.

Carefully he climbed on top of her, a giggle falling from her lips in the process. He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers delicately. Slowly, he began to trail his lips down her jawline.

“How about I take your mind off of a few things?” he whispered into her ear. The corner of her lips curled upward as she ran her hands along his shoulders. Carefully, he pressed his lips beneath her ear. Quinn began to trail wet kisses down her neck. 

She couldn’t form words as she tilted her head back, biting her bottom lip. He smiled as he toyed with the ends of her tank top on her body. Her hands found his hair tugging the strands as he continued to climb down her frame.

[heartfullofleeches]

Always the Bridesmaid

Male Ghost Darling Prologue

Word Count: 1.7k

[Major Character Death, Angst, Darling is a male who wishes to dresses and hinted to appear more feminine]

-

Stolen words sow seeds of resentment and hatred in an affair never meant to be. 

In school, the pretty ones received the most attention. 

Friends, admirers, confessions hidden between the pages of their books and in their lockers. The old you would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous, but the spotlight was not what spoke to you in whispers.

“Oh my god- Oh my god… Y/n… He asked me to be his date for prom! He said I was the prettiest thing he'd ever laid his eyes on…” 

Pretty…

Within the sanctity of your mind, just one time - you dreamed that someone out there would use the same words to describe you. 

Beautiful. 

Angelic.

Irreplaceable. 

All the lyrics sung by the infatuated heart of your best friend's secret valentine. The mystery of his identity was solved after the first note. It wasn't your intention, but you couldn't help but point out how similar the writing looked to a boy's that sat behind you in math. The two of you hardly ever spoke, but after passing his tests to the front for a quarter of the year, you wouldn't mistake that handwriting for anyone else's. 

You'd later find out your best friend had had a crush on him since her family moved into the house next to his. It stung to witness how protective over him she was, but after pinning over the same person since you were small - you guessed you'd be a little overbearing if your feelings were reciprocated after all this time. 

-

It was like a fairytale. Your best friend as the common maiden transformed into a princess for one evening, and her prince waiting with bated breath at her arrival. 

“If your feelings for me are the same, meet me in the corner of the auditorium. I'll be waiting for you with baby's breath.” 

You'll never forget the look as you both walked into together. Like he had seen the stars for the first time in all of his years. The twinkle in his eye dwindled as your friend rushed forward to embrace him. Still, he welcomed her with open arms. 

As the night ended, she left with him on her arm, while you stood alone with his jacket draped over your shoulders. He had noticed you shivering even with that puffy jacket of yours and offered it to you as they left. 

You begged on your hands and knees for the teachers to give you a minute along while you searched for something you had forgotten. Ensuring that you were the only soul in that auditorium that night - the stuffy hoodie you wore the entire night was ripped clean of your body and tossed into the ether.

It wasn't much. A cream shirt dress your friend had lent you for the occasion. In the dimmed light of the room, the dress almost appeared white. It wasn't much, but in that single moment - swirling to your heart's content til the stage lights above you sparkled the same as a starry night sky-

You felt…

“Gorgeous…”

The voice was barely audible over the music blasting in your ears.

“Forgive me… Think my keys are still in the pocket of my coat… It looks like you're having fun in here all by yourself… Would be nicer with company.” 

Your heart hammered in your chest. Your best friend was the only one who knew. You didn't know him. Despite what he said, there was no telling what he would say tomorrow with his boys. 

“May I have this dance?” 

His outstretched hand may as well been a dagger to you - a bundle of the same flowers he gave your friend rested in his palm. She wasn't with you, so why had the light returned to his eyes as he gazed endlessly into yours. You were scared. To this day, that fear lingers deep in the trenches of your chest. 

Collecting your discarded hood, you rush out of the auditorium as quickly as your feet will carry you - never looking back.

-

The events of that night were not a blip on your relationship with your friend's new boyfriend. As a matter of fact, the three of you were practically a trio. You were often the third wheel on their dates. If he bought her something, you frequently received a duplicate- sometimes before she received hers. The gifts were primarily sweets and stuffed toys, but there were a few outliers.

“This skirt is for me?... You know I'm a guy.. Right?” 

“Well aware.” 

You figured he was just being nice. After the whole fiasco at prom, there was no hiding from him. He knew your exact measurements and everything. She must've helped him. 

-

With college rolling around, it appeared as if their bond was growing by the day. Upon the confirmation that you all would be attending the same school, your best friend took the big leap herself and proposed to her boyfriend of almost two years. He never looked at her once as he spoke. You were standing right behind her. 

“I'd give my very life to spend even a day more with you. To have you by my side forever would be a dream come true.” 

You couldn't be happier for the two of them.

Venue hunting, cake testing, dress shopping. As the brother she never had, and the second most important man in her life, you joined her for it all. As you were out shopping for a day centered entirely around herself and her groom to be, your friend had one big surprise for you. 

“Pick one.” 

“I….I can't.. What if?...”

“If anyone says a word to you or even looks at you the wrong way I'll drag them out myself if I have to. You're not just my best friend, Y/n. You're family. And you deserve to be with us, comfortable in your own skin.” 

You already knew she accepted you as you were, but it was the first time you felt seen.

The pleasantries didn't end there-

Spirits high from the touching moment between you and having found the perfect dress for her on only the second day of searching, your friend had one more gift for you. 

“Try it on.” 

“W-what? But it's your-”

“And someday you'll wear one on your big day. That's what you want, isn't it? A glimpse into your future won't hurt, will it?”

It wouldn't. Even if there's no one waiting for you at the altar, you've always wanted to be that picture perfect bride on top of wedding cakes.

With tear eyes, you sit before her vanity as she dresses you - styling your hair for the veil's crown, painting your lips with a glossy shine that bleeds through the cloth’s transparency, shading your eyes with a shadow that would steal even the toughest hearts with a single glance. 

“How do you feel?” 

You don't just feel it. 

You are beautiful. 

“You could've been the one marrying him instead of me. Just thinking about that makes me so jealous…” 

Her words fly overhead as you gaze longingly at yourself in the mirror. 

“I….I think I have some jewelry in the basement that would suit you nicely. I'll be back in a minute!” 

Jewelry?...

Rising up from your seat as she departs, you dig through the contents of your book bag - fingertips lacing the plastic band of a fake ring you won months prior during an outing with your friends. You had an inkling the games at the arcade were rigged which is why you were lacking in tickets. It was between that and a piece of candy. Your best friend's boyfriend thought it was the funniest thing if he proposed to you with it in front of everyone. 

Slipping the ring onto your ring finger, your image is complete. No greater amount of jewelry would change how ethereal you were. The veil hid your insecurities, imperfections that with emotional growth and age you'd come to accept and love about yourself. Once you love yourself, perhaps you'll seek a love like that shared between your friend and her soon to be.

Your heart swells in your chest, it beats as if its readying to burst-

Enriching the blood that streams down your torso like the tears of a bride abandoned at the altar. 

It hurts.

Your legs give out before the pain fully registers. 

You gasp, every ragged breath growing wetter with the blood filling your throat. Through the veil's mask, you cannot see your attacker's face. You can hear it- The virtual rage and anger in their snarl, poison seething through their clenched teeth. 

“I can't stand the sight of you.” 

They grip the veil’s crown.

“For two years I've lived this lie. All while he's been right next to me this whole time.” 

Your hands perch over your chest in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding - a foretelling of your impending fate. 

“Did you really think I'd ever be happy with you?” 

Your vision flickers as the veil is torn clean - your worst suspensions proven true. You couldn't forget that voice. 

“....”

“....Y/n?” 

All the anger, the bottled up spite and disgust depletes from his body as he crumbles to the ground behind you. The additional pressure to your wounds does little to stop the bleeding. It's already too late.

“Y/n?.... Y/n?! No, no, no! What are you doing here! It was supposed to be her! It was supposed to be her….”

It's raining. Droplets rain down on your palling face as he slips his fingers between yours - a puzzle that fits perfectly in place. His finger rolls over the cheap, fake ring on your finger - the droplets increasing in frequency. 

“It was always supposed to be you. Ever since I saw you from her window. I've always… but she… she took every note. Even ones I didn't write. Everyone knew how beautiful you were.”

That can't be true…

“Am I… Am…I still….?”

“Yes, my love. You are, and always will be - the most beautiful person anyone has ever seen.” 

With those words you could die in peace. 

But there is someone who will never let you rest.

For as long as his soul still resides on this earth without you by his side.

His everything. 

His bride.

[etherealrin]

ᯓ★ thinking about academic-rival!rin

“you…you’re my rival!” an angry, red-faced itoshi rin had foolishly declared in second grade, after you’d scored a perfect 100 on the latest math test—he’d only received a 98.

rin hadn’t seriously meant it back then, but you took it very much personally. over the ten years which ensued, the two of you had developed an odd dynamic. it was intense, to say the least. you took the competition very seriously, taking every advanced course your school had to offer, and rin followed right alongside you. the obvious result was matching schedules; each year you’d chosen virtually identical classes. you’d decided to hate him, and your rivalry was no secret either, with your and rin’s name always occupying two of the top three spots in class rankings. despite that, he’d never done anything to suggest dislike for you. even the teachers had taken to teasing the two of you, they seemed to love pairing the two of you for group projects, watching you both struggle to outperform the other on presentation day.

“not again,” you groan as you realize that rin was your partner. rin mirrors your displeased expression from across the classroom. your english teacher smiles at you both, thoroughly entertained.

“you two will be assigned romeo and juliet,” she says, feigning indifference. you swear she’s trying not to laugh. the rest of your class inevitably snickers: of course the two who hate each other would have a blast presenting the iconic love story!

“no, no, no, no!” you find yourself telling rin as you pace around his room, pointing at his computer then back to him, anger evident in your tone. “juliet is not stupid, she’s only trying her best to save herself from never seeing romeo again, and inevitably divorcing paris,” you exhale. of course rin couldn’t be trusted with the character analysis of juliet—he was so cold that he probably couldn’t comprehend the idea of love. in your fit of annoyance, you’d walked closer to rin, fully invading his personal space. to be precise, your faces were barely inches away, but you only continue your rant. “you probably don’t even get what love is, just let me do the analysis!” you huff, arms crossing.

you’re met with his clear azure gaze, and, weirdly, he laughs, low and melodic.

“do you really think that?” rin asks, leaning in just a bit closer, breath tickling your nose. “that i’m not capable of love?”

“well-“ you falter, unsure of your answer. and why the hell was he so close to you? why did his cologne smell infuriatingly good, was it le labo santal 33?

“why do you act like you hate me?” he whispers. there’s no hint of mockery in his voice, it’s genuine.

“because i do?” your voice shakes. you’re not even confident of that—but wasn’t he supposed to be your rival?

“hmm, but i don’t think so,” he breathes. his fingers move to ghost up your face and cup your jawline. you’re hesitant to move away; honestly, you don’t want to move. the tension in the air is thick enough to slice and you can’t help but indulge in the enigma of itoshi rin—what would be his next move?

maybe it was all just a ploy to make sure you failed english?

“here, let’s pretend you’re juliet and i’m romeo,” he says suddenly, still hovering above your face. “since you think my analysis is so bad, maybe i’m a hands-on learner.” his hand trails down your waist as he speaks, his touch dizzying. you were probably malfunctioning, because you should have seen the red lights and sirens in your head. yet you’re frozen still, all you can do is stare back stupidly wide-eyed at him, letting him slot his lips against yours and you hate how perfect he feels, how he tastes faintly like the peppermint gum that you love.

it feels like sparks rushing through your veins, you feel high on something else entirely. you feel him smirking into the kiss, like he’d known all along that you would fold the second he tried something. because you had never truly hated him, not one bit.

you give into his touch, into the kiss, as rin pulls you closer, fingers skimming through your hair. rin was the smarter one, unfortunately. he’d known that your little rivalry was only a product of misplaced feelings, because how could the second grade him tell you that he liked you, admired that you were smart?

“you win, rin,” you admit once he lets go of you, gasping for air.

“…i thought so.” he replies. “is now a good time to mention that i might’ve bribed our english teacher for this project?”

“you what?”

a/n: i never forgot when lya posted ab this omg. ooc rin probably but idc! ugh i’m sorry this isn’t the best

masterlist.

[lilacxquartz]

your hunger is mine (only mine);

vampire!hunter suguru geto x vampire f!reader

plot: tasked with killing you, vampire hunter suguru is driven mad with infatuation instead — themes: vampire au, slight plot, blood feeding, possessive behaviour, yandere, smut, p i v — w.c: 4k+ • masterlist • on ao3

For Suguru Geto, every day was the same.

He would wake up, hunt, eat, then sleep.

This was simply just the life he knew; from the moment the first light filtered in, he’d rise to sharpen his blades, dip the silver into holy water, and rehearse his prayers to pardon the dead. Suguru was what was expected of him, a man driven by a sense of duty that he felt he owed to the world—operating as though on clockwork—closing his eyes only when the cycle finished.

Only to repeat it all again.

For him, this was normal. Just like every other hunter that walked the world, he too, led a lonely life, married instead to the prospect of chasing whatever it was that lurked in the shadows, all so that those living in the settlements could have a semblance of peace. He’d push on, simply because he had to.

Though, then something changed. He woke up just like usual, he hunted, and that much stayed the same. But he didn’t eat, and he certainly couldn’t sleep—not when he was so captivated by what he had set out to destroy.

(You.)

~~~

The mission in itself was a simple enough affair; it was yet another tired night, guided by the cold glow of the moon. Missions often led him to blighted manors, which were once thriving residences, that now smelled like death itself. After a while of storming in and clearing such places though, they all started to blur and even look the same. This home wasn’t anything special.

Swiftly, methodically, Suguru purged the interior of a once noble family and its workers who scurried away like fleeting rats upon entry. Typically, vampires would rest in groups, huddled in a small room for both security, but also if they were simply dormant. Everything was going as planned, but then, he heard something deep into the heart of the house that made him pause.

A woman crying. Softly. Devastatingly.

As a result, he couldn’t help but investigate further, even while knowing that it could all be a trap. Sometimes, variations, as they were called, could make their way into a regular nest. If this was as he suspected, then he would have to turn in his base mission as it was, but something about those deeply mesmerising wails prevented him from turning around and leaving—despite every fiber of his being telling him otherwise—to investigate instead.

Slowly, carefully, Suguru tentatively extended his hand and pushed a dusty old door inside, his eyes falling over a pile of broken mirrors, one of which was held up by you, crying in the corner. Streaks of claw marks that peeled against the rotten walls marked up the area, leaving an unsavoury taste in his mouth. All of his senses told him that he stumbled upon something outside of his pay grade here, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. This, otherwise, was different, after all. You didn’t run when confronted, and much like every other variation that he had come across in his career, you didn’t lunge for his throat either.

Perhaps it was a bad idea then, but Suguru took upon the decision to approach you. His reflexes were fast, so he didn’t quite concern himself with you potentially catching him off guard, and as you turned, he once again hesitated. Your face just looked so… human? So fevered with peril and genuine anguish, as if ravaged by a sickness rather than a lapse of fading humanity.

For the first time in years, he felt something that he hadn’t felt for a while for these creatures. What was it again? Pity? Empathy? Whatever it was, it had been a feeling lost to him for a while, sending him back to the days of his first hunt, when he was torn between what made someone human and what didn’t.

All of the signs pointed to you being one of those things, so with that struggle in mind, he tried to push past his initial thoughts and try at least to finish the job. Suguru, as if locked in a trance, reached for his blades to strike you down, but then you did something that he hadn’t seen in all of his years on the job that made him freeze—that made his eyes grow wide—that made the blade clang onto the floor.

You… spoke.

Your voice, so human, so soft, whimpered out a stammered line, laced with genuine fear, “H-help me.”

Suguru gulped, allowing his eyes to drift to you.

In all of his years, he had never seen something like this. To him at least, these creatures—these things—these monsters, were anything but human, and yet, here you were; capable of communication. Initially, he tried to justify his reaction as a fear response, his hand desperately searching the floor for his fallen weapon, ready to banish you for good, but then you repeated yourself.

“Help.”

“Help me.”

“Don’t do this.”

For some reason, this was what it took to break him. Being a hunter was a lonely job; he had no idea if this was similar to humans technically, but he had also been isolated since the day of his training. Hunters could not operate in groups, let alone pairings. These abominations, also, would never go as far as to show fear, to beg for their lives, so he had potentially stumbled upon something new here that would be a waste if killed—at least in his mind.

His voice was tight as he tried to navigate this problem, grunting out a curt, “How?” when he finally succumbed to a reply. His eyes were narrowed, portraying an unreadable glare to conceal what he was truly thinking. If you were capable of speech, after all, then who was to say that you wouldn’t be capable of understanding too?

You tried to answer, letting the handheld mirror shatter on the ground like the rest. You turned to him, with your eyes wide and glassy, strained with pain and perhaps, also, a hint of hysteria. “I-I had recently been turned,” you falsely revealed, shooting out a clawed hand to clasp over his clothed arm, “I… I think I have to feed, but I really don’t want to…”

That wasn’t the whole truth for you, and you knew it. You had been here for more time than you knew, it’s just that you were still in touch with your old self. You could, technically, settle just like all of the others similar to you in the settlements, but there was something deeper that you craved. Your hunger was almost parasitic, and if luck would have it, you led your potential host right into your trap.

Suguru—the hunter before you—continued to regard you warily all the same, as though studying you to determine just what sort of personal threat it was that he was dealing with. He took note of how twitchy you were, betraying erratic undertones to your otherwise deceptively calm (for a vampire) demeanour. Something about you wasn’t entirely right and you were hiding something. You could have been someone recently turned, but you also could have been one of those new-age variations, that were even more difficult to detect.

Those types of things were always changing, after all, that’s something you both knew without needing to communicate it. The older, and even middle generations of the variations were capable of at least some kind of intelligence, which was what led to vampires huddling into groups rather than individually roaming. Perhaps the latest strain had adapted to become more human, evolving to potentially lure in hunters like himself into manipulated sympathy to spare him.

If that was it—he understood—every creature that occupied this cursed earth, for better or for worse, was just trying to survive. He couldn’t fault you for that, but also, at the same time, he could. Vampires and humans couldn’t coexist, at least, that’s what had been told for as long as he knew.

Still, despite being a hunter, he was still human; much against his better judgment, curiosity won out.

“How recently ago were you turned?” he asked, chancing a theory.

Predictably, your face went blank. You didn’t know the answer. It couldn’t have been that recent.

Suguru’s chest tightened as a result, a wave of unease spreading through his body. You were a variation that was capable of not only communication and understanding but playing a particular role that didn’t result in immediate violence. As a result, his mind briefly flashed over the possibility of turning you in for enough gold to last a lifetime, but for some reason, the thought didn’t linger. His violet gaze locked onto yours again, attempting to gauge something in particular from you. For a vampire to turn someone, there had to be an incubation period; variations happened from hastily turned occurrences, since for the last century or so, bite attacks happened more out of desperation than to feed.

Humans, as far as he understood, were simply just a delicacy—vampires were indeed still a threat, but, they didn’t exclusively target them. Just like how humans hunted to feast upon wild game or kept livestock, it wasn’t that unheard of for a hunter to report something similar back.

Therefore, you couldn’t have been starved—surely not—especially when the forest was so abundant with animals that passed through the trees.

His mind went back to the potential coin he could cash in, just for a brief moment, though. Suguru in theory, could cash you in and finally live within the settlements in peace. He could finally find someone special and adopt a peaceful life, but something at the same time begged for him to reconsider. Not only were you a pretty thing, but you were capable of holding back. You had an ethereal sort of look that was absent in humans, which would likely catch the eye of a brothel that would try and pedal your worth for as long as they could. Such instances had occurred in the past, too, with enough restraints in place.

Another possibility was that a research institution could try and get their hands on you, belonging to one of those laboratories that loomed in the dead center of the settlements. This too, would be a waste, because they would likely try and dissect you, subjecting your cadaver to autospies that wouldn’t necessarily mean anything until they’ve had at least a dozen few like you.

Suguru sighed.

What a predicament.

It wasn’t something that he could particularly control, but he wanted to be selfish with this. He wanted to study you for himself, as a hunter, his base job be damned. If you were truly self-aware enough, then he could potentially utilise this to favour his benefit. Vampires, after all, could read their own signatures, no matter where they were, whereas hunters had to go off based on intuition.

Calmly, Suguru drew up the sleeve of his shirt, unbuttoning the cuff so that he could offer you better reach, presenting you with a choice.

“How much would you need?” he asked, unable to quite believe that this was something he was truly considering.

“Not too much,” you murmured out, your response immediate, “just… just enough to take the edge off.”

Suguru nodded. “And, will I turn if I let you feed?”

You shook your head. “No, no… if I can avoid the veins, then you should be fine. It’s if the venom enters the bloodstream, that you will turn.”

(Wait. Venom? That was new information.)

Suguru’s eyes drifted down to meet with your lips, observing the pale blue tint to their complexion. You were as starved as you claimed, but you were also holding back. For what? He had given you plenty of opportunities to catch him at a vulnerable position, so you could have indeed lunged and doomed him at any given moment, but you didn’t. You also seemed to be aware of how turning worked, and what was needed to be done. All of this shared hesitation led him to believe that this could potentially result in a mutually beneficial outcome.

Just as you were about to take his offer, too, you held back, suddenly blurting out a panicked spiel of words, your fists tightened and tears streamed down your cheeks, your voice spiked with anguish and terror, “I-I hate what I am, you know,” you breathlessly confessed, “I hate myself—what I am—but I can’t just… let go of my life. I was like you before. Normal. But, you understand, don’t you? I can’t just stop living – not when it’s all I have left.”

Suguru sighed as he listened to your tortured words. Realistically, he knew that he was potentially giving into something that he shouldn’t, especially given his profession. He knew that he should have killed you to be done with it, earning his keep from your dragged-out corpse left to evaporate in the sun, or at best, left you alone to be dealt with at the hands of another hunter.

But he stayed.

So, whatever happened next, was on him.

“I’m going to help you,” he assured, steeling himself knowing that this was going to hurt, “but only because I’m curious, not because I care about you. Now, you can do this in two ways. You can take what I give you and listen to me, or you can flee and pray that the next hunter you come across, is even half as kind as me.”

He waited around for your response, but you didn’t respond with anything immediate. Your eyes were locked onto the contours of his inviting flesh, drawing your lips closer to his offering. Suguru’s breath hitched, expecting you to lunge, but you were excruciatingly slow. In a way, he supposed that the display was sensual, which made sense, knowing that vampires were supposed to be alluring to reel in the trust of their food. For a moment, he considered that he was a victim of such a thing; tricked into being fed upon by a new variation, who played into being more human than they truly were—

—Suguru hissed in pain.

The bite finally connected.

A sharp, pulsating shock traveled through his system, focusing right on his arm. He grunted as he tried to breathe away the pain, seething through his teeth as he tanked the sensation. Suguru’s jaw clenched as you sank your fangs into his aching skin; turning his head away before whipping it back to focus on you. A new feeling radiated just seconds after, letting him fall slack and relax against the wall. Just as quickly as the pain rose—pleasure did too, erasing all of the hurt—replacing it with something warmer.

Without even thinking about it, he allowed his free hand to drift and wrap around your scalp next, aiming to secure you into place while you fed. On occasion, you would blink up and catch his gaze, almost as if to confirm that his focus was planted directly on you. He paused at the sight, feeling something else within him stir, perhaps desire. His blood was being actively stolen, so through the dizzying rush of you feeding upon his very life essence, he couldn’t quite tell where the rest of his blood was rushing.

One thing was abundantly clear though.

He liked this.

Suguru released any tension that he ever had, leaning even further back as he led you to feed. Your soft lips felt like silk against his skin, feeding from him in teasingly slow gulps. For a moment, he lost himself in the blissful allure, understanding that there was no such human within the settlements that he could ever find to replicate the surreal reality of what he was experiencing right now. It was as if you had unlocked an addiction for him, leading him down a darker path when he should have been following the light—awakening something possessive within him—doomed to chase the newfound drug he sampled.

A thought crossed his mind, though.

You needed him to live, didn’t you?

If you were starved before, then he was your lifeline; your source of food—

—It was as swiftly over as it began, though, leading him to choke out a pained grunt as you pulled away.

You kept your promise, not bleeding him dry, not turning him—but in the heat of the moment—he wished for you to not stop. Suguru bit back a scoff, realising that had you potentially not kept true to your word, then he might have let you empty him for all that he was worth.

Sanguine red gloss coated your lips, dripping crimson down your chin. You stared at him with the very same lingering hunger he now desperately craved, but held back on advancing further. You were being just as careful as he was, getting him dependent to being around you, just as you felt around him. You tilted your head as you observed him, taking note of how his once murderous eyes melted into something betraying vulnerability instead, as if a chasm had been opened in his core, forming a void deep within.

You were sated, but he was not.

You studied him, indeed, as he forced himself to relax his hand and let go of your scalp, plucking his arm away. His body tensed as it came down from its painful high, a flush of rouge spreading across his cheeks as he tried to sit upright to conceal his arousal. His legs trembled, and his breath shuddered; the venom didn’t have to be exchanged, for your plan worked despite it, you secured a hunter again to protect your worth.

Suguru’s mind spiraled in the meantime, finding this situation abundantly frustrating. The hunt had changed, but for some reason, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. Though he couldn’t help but feel that he was tricked somehow, fearing that now you had fed yourself, you might attempt to flee. He was damned if he was going to let you go, though, feeling the darker feeling return. The thought of you feeding upon someone else was upsetting, and he couldn’t for whatever reason, let you do that.

He drove himself mad for the rest of the night, unable to sleep. Such a longing need to be your only food source persisted to ravage his mind as you both recovered. Suguru pulled you in closer, tightening his arms around you. He looked down at you with half-lidded eyes, overcome with a rising hunger that was uglier than your own; where you lusted for mere sustenance, Suguru craved you on your own.

And as the morning finally arrived, Suguru’s eyes snapped open just as he felt himself doze off, revealing you attempting to sneak away. He whipped out his arms, wrapping his fingers tight around your wrists before you could truly flee. His reflexes were uncannily sharp, honed by years of hunting your very own kind. Suguru held onto you like a man crazed, pulling you flush against his chest, forcing his limbs to entangle with his own.

“No,” he simply stated, his breath running hot against your ear, “you will stay.”

Your lips parted as you thought of what to reply; in all of your years of manipulating hunters, they had never once been so possessive. For once, you felt as though you were as equally in danger as he must have felt when he first laid eyes upon you. You tried to relax regardless, trying to thaw your rigid state into the heat of his warm body, but the lingering unease remained all the same.

“You’re going to need only me from now on,” Suguru emphasised, “only me—just me.”

You tried to speak with him, only to be cut off, “I—”

“—you’ll let me sate your hunger, won’t you?” he asked, tracing his fingertips along your icy skin, “you won’t take your fill from anyone else.”

You fed him a look as a result, attempting to secure a promise within his crazed awakening. You were telling the truth, at least partially from before. No vampire enjoyed their life, so who were you to deny, that you perhaps wanted someone alive to make you feel if not, equally the same? To be treasured as a life, to be wanted, lusted for, just as one would with a living, breathing thing.

“I’ll carry on your burden,” he continued to promise, his voice a tone softer now, “you will not bear it alone.”

Suguru meant every bit of vowed promise that left his tongue and thoughts, too, his mind swirling with infatuation winning over logic, such a decision that would soon cling to his very state of being. As the nights came and went, you would on every other occasion ask to feed and Suguru would let you, the intense desire to let another sort of hunger claim him, claim you growing stronger with each passing hour.

He sat back all the same, yet this time, his mind was in a frenzied, almost feral state. He savoured the sensation of your fangs nestled in his flesh, of your lips brushing against him. He would cradle you, reeling you in tight against the core of his body, holding onto you with such want that it was completely maddening. Suguru quickly became a man, crazed, refusing to hunt for his keep, instead sustaining himself with a hunt for his lifeline, to feed you.

(What was his job again?)

(Who was he again?)

He watched you lap up his blood, just like he was used to by now, but tonight in particular, he let his arousal show and as if spurred on from your lack of complaint, he reluctantly pulled back from you, averting your blood-lusted gaze to meet with his own. He pulled you up, allowing your lips to crash against his—kissing—tasting himself with his tongue, driving him into unhinged heights of realisation alone.

He wanted you more than anything else.

Suguru’s fingernails dug into your hips, leaving behind bloodied half-moon scratches into your skin as he drew you in even closer. A part of him knew that he should be pulling away before this threatened to spiral even further, but you weren’t fighting him back on this either.

You wanted this too.

You were admittedly turned on, you couldn’t even deny it. You lost yourself in the same way that he had been losing himself from the very moment he laid eyes on you. Your fangs sank into his lips, grazing at the tender wet flesh; your fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt too, as if to tether yourself to him in rising need.

A sharp sting pulsed through him as a result, a bead of blood that became mixed in the mutual kiss shared. Suguru shuddered, as a result, his violet eyes dark with something raw, perhaps even consuming.

“You’re…” he trailed off, unable to keep his eyes off of you, staring at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world, “you’re the most dangerous thing I have ever come across.”

Realistically, he knew should have been afraid of what was about to happen—but he wasn’t—neither were you. The two of you might as well have both been too far gone. And so when you leaned in again, feeding him that same sultry look again, Suguru understood one thing in particular; he had to let you take him under because in the heat of the moment, he wanted to drown.

You straddled him in a rising frenzy, making quick work of the fabric that had both concealed your obvious arousal. Suguru, who was maddeningly hard, sought out your slick warmth with pained intensity. And as soon as he was able to do so, he plunged into you with frenzied ease, shuddering at the intoxicating intensity. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his arms pulled you in even closer and when he opened them again, he stared at you with a wild, close to hysterical light, finally understanding the true extent of his obsession with you.

“Fuck, you feel… so… good,” he grunted as he felt your hips roll with the buck of his rhythm, his words rutting out in tune with his thrusted impact.

You parted your lips away from him at the same time, seeking out his neck instead, knowing that you also shouldn’t, but when lost in a haze of lust, who were you too, if not a creature driven by pure instinct? Your teeth sank in, hitting his pulse point, feeding off of him as he impaled your heat, lost in a world of your own.

Suguru threw his head back with a strangled moan, feeling your teeth sink into his flesh, not quite fighting you back either. This sort of new pain was freshly intense with no pleasurable recovery, but he didn’t care, too lost in his possessive stupor to bring himself to stop you. Instead, he pushed you in even closer; entangling himself around your scalp, shuddering out gasps of fevered anguish from every little pull of your lips, from each swallow of his blood.

“Shit,” he gasped out, unable to quite control his reactions anymore. He drove himself into you with manic fervour, slamming himself with a ferocity that bordered on violence as he drowned in rising waves of dark ecstasy pulsing through his veins. His pace was relentless, almost punishing and painful, but he was too lost in the crazed pursuit of passion to even care.

Indeed, Suguru, with you, had managed to surrender himself utterly and completely to you, unable to even fight back against his life force slowly fading away with each passing draw of your lips. He held you tight, encouraging you to feed off of him deeper, encouraging you to take more as he pumped himself into you with heedless abandon; his own hips giving out, leaving you to guide his way to meet with the release he so desperately craved

Suguru held on, lulled into a tranquilised, if even overjoyed (at last) state, muttering out merely whispered instances of pleading mantras, “don’t stop,” was one you heard, “give yourself t’me,” was another; a man completely obsessed with keeping you right were you were.

You finished feeding soon though, needing him to stick around, even if the damage potentially done to his bloodstream was irreversible. Feeling himself come back too, Suguru held on tight against your hips, crashing himself into your cunt with a hurried frenzy, letting slip of a ragged gasp as he finally felt you come undone, with his sought-after release following suit just as quick. He continued to hold on, feeling himself pulse and twitch and empty into your battered sex; draining all of the pent-up tension, all of his anger, of his never-once-appointed passion, deep into your now-tight, spent core.

You fell over him as a result, finally relaxing as you melted atop his body. Suguru couldn’t help but shudder at the intensity of the afterglow, not even feeling angry for the changes he felt. He lost himself, after all, from the very moment he gave you a chance; so this was on him, not you. If not slightly dazed, he managed to lift his head and look at you, his eyes glazed and bloodshot, exhausted with possessive satisfaction.

Suguru kept you plugged up for the time being, unrelenting on his hold over you as if letting go of you would mean the end of the world. His breathing refused to calm and his thoughts raced with obsessive mania. The high lingered too, never once subsiding, not like before. Even as his vision blurred and faded to black, he knew he was going to be fine, because the look you gave him back was just as possessive in return.

You were his as much as he was yours and neither of you would allow another to state one another. You belonged to each other now. You were beyond what could have been codependent, perhaps even working as one.

A parasite you were, indeed, he not only carried your burden, but even in his potentially changed form, he would seek to still sustain you.

You watched on as he sighed, as his eyes finally fluttered shut, as his body sank further into a dreamless sleep, with his hold on you never once relaxing.

You followed suit, just as soon, content that you had found a solution for your hunger.

While Suguru finally had found a solution to his madness.

Perhaps this would be his undoing. Maybe even yours too.

(But maybe that was just meant to be.)

[psychemochanight]

Whenever I see this scene it makes me imagine similar situations and how fun it must be to explain things afterwards.

Imagine a situation where they are at a gala and there is an attack. They are all more than trained and accustomed to reacting not as heroes, but as civilians.

But, idk, think about Dick having a broken rib from an incident the night before where there was a complication in the raid. He's fine despite that, a little drugged with painkillers during the gala, but all in all, fine.

Bruce is not.

Bruce is the one who is most accustomed to these attacks, he is the one who best knows what to do and how to help without losing his facade of a clumsy rich boy in front of the cameras... But he has in mind that his son is hurt.

And he doesn't even think when he lifts Dick, who although not as big as him or Jason, is still a relatively tall adult man and a muscle mass that definitely does not make him light... And he picks him up as if he were as light as when he was still an eight-year-old boy, and carries him away from the commotion.

All of her children are between shocked, upset that if they did that they would be scolded to the point of exhaustion about appearances, and holding a fit of laughter; especially since the panic on Bruce's face was so genuine over something so simple, and because Dick couldn't even react and just stood there like a cat.

They just know that the next day they'll have a great time watching Bruce try to explain how he was able to lift his oldest son (and why he lifted the oldest instead of the youngest, lol).

[luiluvr]

all the stars || luigi mangione

first non-request fic :p …😓😓 this may be more than one part idk idk LMK IF U GUYS ARE INTERESTED!!! this is also highschool!luigi so it’s sfw :3

WARNINGS: none! just a fluff fic 🤍 female!reader, uses of y/n, alternates between luigi’s & reader pov.. proofread but if there’s mistakes lmk! :D

SUMMARY: on a field trip, you happen to bump into some prestigious, all-boys school. one of those boys has been admiring you since you stepped inside, and it’s probably love at first sight—for him.

Luigi’s efforts of staying single and focusing on graduation had been excellent. Sure, he pondered the wonderful world of love his buddies described- as they spoke on their loving, gorgeous girlfriends. He never got to that point, even when a girl did try and talk to him, he was too nervous—despite his occasional, cheesy pick up lines and natural charisma; deep down he didn’t think he was a good ‘other half.’ His friends encouraged him to meet someone, or go on a blind date with one of their girlfriend’s friends, but he refused. It wasn’t a waste of time rather it was his own nerves kicking his ass when he actually liked someone.

And oh boy, were those nerves kicking in now.

He was still in high school—specifically his senior year. It may not be much to other students; but he sees it as his final opportunity to excel and show his potential to the colleges he wanted to attend. No time for a relationship in that chaos, right?

Wrong.

He was staring down the prettiest girl he’d ever seen in his entire life. Right now. On this field trip. He wasn’t sure if it was the gray zip-up sweater, or if it was really warm inside. All he knew was he saw you.

You were so pretty with your knitted sweater and maroon-colored skirt. If he could he would’ve just dropped to his knees right there in front of you. He was in over his head, he didn’t know your name, but he already fell in love with you. Just by your smile you flashed to probable friends, the way you inspect the paintings in the museum, the way your eyes flutter as you listen intently to the tour guide.

Everything about you is perfect.

He exhaled shaky, he felt like a creep for staring so hard. He might’ve gazed a hole in the back of your head if he kept on. His buddy Grady noticed—he grins and elbows Luigi, “Staring’s considered rude, Luigi.” He laughs quietly as to not disturb the tour. “Oh shut up, Grady.” Luigi mumbles. Grady was an A-Class, nosey-ass; but Luigi liked him. He could be fun to have around sometimes. “She’s just really pretty.”

Grady pointed at you, with your little clutch in hand, “The one in the sweater?” Luigi nodded. “She looks like she fell right out of a painting.” He says.

Grady chuckles, bumping him again, “You’re whipped, dude.”

“So what? I can like a pretty girl if I want.” He says defensively.

“Never said you couldn’t. It’s just odd for you.” Well he wasn’t lying… Luigi sighed, “I know.” He continues walking forward, then Grady leans next to his ear as he’s inspecting some little archive. “You should go talk to her. The tour’s gonna end soon, she isn’t gonna notice if you don’t say something.”

Unfortunately, Grady was right. Very right. Luigi pushed forward, shoving his hands in his jean pockets—trying to reach where you were near the front. He did. You weren’t even a foot away, you looked so beautiful. His mouth went dry, he rubs his arm as you’re reading over the description of some rock or fossil, whatever. He clears his throat softly, moving a tad bit closer to you.

You take notice, assuming he wants to read as well. “Sorry.” You said quietly. He shakes his head, putting a hand up, “No, no worries, you’re not doing anything.” He flashed a gentle smile, you nod, glancing back at the text. Come on Luigi, get it together! He breathes out and reaches a hand out, nervously. “I’m Luigi.”

“Y/N,” you replied. He was pretty cute, he had a firm handshake that showed confidence and his hazel eyes glimmered. “I hope I’m not bothering you, I wanted to talk to you before we all leave. I think you’re—absolutely beautiful and I’m hoping.. maybe if you’re okay with it, I can have your number and we could hang out the rest of the tour?” He grins anxiously. It was so endearing to you. It was rare for a high school boy to be this nervous and giddy to ask for your number; and to be so respectful about it too?

“Sure, I don’t mind, That sounds nice actually.” You returned a kind smile and he handed you his phone discreetly for the tour guide’s sake and you punched in your contact info. Saving yourself as Y/N—what else would it be? “Awesome…” He murmured. “So, Y/N, how old are you?”

“Seventeen,” you state. “You?”

“Same—seventeen. I turn eighteen in May.” He says proudly, “Happy early birthday. Even though that’s… Four months away.” You chuckle, the two of you begin walking along with the groups, he had his hands in his pockets, while yours were folded behind your back.

The conversation continued, friendly banter and getting to know each other. He attended an all-boys school out in Maryland. Far from here. He was incredibly smart too, he spoke high of his achievements and he wanted to attend UPenn — a very impressive school. It made sense for him though. Looks and smarts aside, he was a realistic guy — for a teenager anyway. It was a relief talking to someone the same speed as you, who was just enjoying life and working to achieve what satisfies them.

He was also into robotics, he even complained a little about how his robot lost a recent competition and that he told the coach he should’ve been given the remote — but no one listened to him!

“That’s inspiring.” You say, and he just grins. He has such a sweet smile too. His cheeks have little dimples, the way his eyes squint and crease at the corners, he shrugs nonchalantly, “It’s nothin’ really, just trying to stay caught up.” He states, glancing around, he thinks before motioning you closer. “Wanna see something cool?”

“What do you mean?” You questioned, he tips his head to the side, gesturing to follow him. However, you don’t think it’s the smartest idea to wander off from the group in a building like this; but Luigi insisted. “I’ve been on this tour a bunch of times, trust me, we’ll be fine. Come on now.” He ushers you, grabbing your hand as the other kids walked on without second glances. You both share a bit of laughter as you moved briskly in the direction he lead you — subconsciously squeezing your hand every now and then. As he slowed down, he pushed open a door, you got distracted reading a flyer outside and he immediately tugged you inside, the door shutting behind your back.

He watches your expression intensely as you look around, it’s a planetarium. The ceiling was casted with a starry sky, although—most likely—not real time stars, it looked gorgeous anyway. It cast a soft light, the room mainly dim.

Luigi admired you as you admire the stars. “Even if it isn’t the sky right now, it’s fascinating to think that all the stars can look like this.” You murmur, finally looking at Luigi, who’s still watching you with a big, dorky smile. “What?” You laugh.

“Nothing. Just admiring the view.” He replies.

“The one up there’s nicer, you know”

“Yeah, but the one right in front of me is better.”

[nana-luvy]

. 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞 (p.1)

warnings: fluff, playboy!Luke, fem!reader, daughter of Athena!reader, swearing

In which he has to prove his love,

Or,

The 5 ways Luke tried to show you he was sincere.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Your patience had reached its limits, whatever your heart tried to convince you off: you’d had enough. Which was the reason behind your presence on the porch of the Hermes cabin at 8 in the morning, knocking away at the door until someone, anyone, would deign opening it.

Fortunately, it was someone you knew who stood on the other side when the door finally opened, so you didn’t even try to sound fine.

“Travis, where’s Luke ?” you immediately asked, dryly.

“Wow, maybe you can start with hello, sunshine ? It wou-”

“I don’t have time for whatever smart comment you have. Where. Is. Luke ?”

The boy’s lips pursed, suddenly fidgety, more used to your joking, easy-going side, rather than the cold glare you were currently throwing him. So he went straight to the point. “He’s taking a shower,” Travis squeaked, motioning to a door on the side of the cabin.

“Well, that’s perfect,” you muttered, not bothering to thank Travis before pushing past him and into the Hermes cabin, eyebrows practically knitted together. It only took you a few steps before you resumed your banging, on the shower-room door this time, hearing the water shut quickly and steps following closely.

“Stop ba- What the fuck ?!” Luke exclaimed, stumbling back and tightening his grip on the towel barely covering him as the first thing he saw when stepping out was the death glare in your eyes that practically pierced through his head.

“Yeah, exactly my words. Can we talk ?” Your teeth were gritted, face more than obviously displaying upsetting and probably more of those unpleasant feelings, which was far from your usual demeanor, and Luke was fully confused.

“Um, maybe I can change, first ?” he said, quirking an eyebrow in disbelief.

“You got one minute before I barge in.”

The rest of the cabin had fallen silent, save for the small whispers of incomprehension running through some confused campers, and they had all reasons to be.

First of all, this display was in nothing resembling anything you’d ever do: you were the cliché, the level-headed daughter of Athena, the wise beyond her years who had a thought behind her every actions, the sympathetic girl that always took care of her younger siblings, who made sure any problem she’d hear of would be quickly resolved; you were the sweet, picture perfect daughter of Athena.

Second of all, your anger seemed to be coming out of nowhere, directed towards one of the last person it should’ve been. Despite your current mood, you were usually a joyful demigod, always trying to lighten the mood and ease the tensions, and despite the hole you currently burned through the door with your eyes where you imagined Luke to be, you were never one to lash out at him. Rather, you’d spend the night throwing him your most genuine smiles, laughter filling your conversations, innocent touches of fingers and not so innocent hands brushing thighs, but never had anyone seen hatred in your gaze when you looked at him, not with the usual obvious heart eyes you saved for him only.

So that was new.

Sure enough by now it had been over the said minute, and you turned to Travis, the boy still trying to gauge what was happening. “Is the room soundproof ?” but you clearly already knew.

“Not really, why ?”

“Great, that’s just great…” you grumbled, hand latching on the doorknob. “Everyone ? Please, sorry, I know it’s early, I’m sorry i barged in,” you started, turning around to look at the campers already eyeing you weirdly, your usual smile plastered on your face. “But I am probably going to make a little noise for the next… 3 minutes or so. So I’d suggest you go and eat breakfast now.”

The tight smile etched on your lips clearly said it was all but a suggestion, fire still burning in your eyes, and except for a few heavy sleepers, the others quickly found an occupation outside the cabin, not wanting to have to deal with whatever would happen, curiosity not enough to risk it.

You quickly spun back to the door, barging into the shower-room and shutting the door loudly behind you. The fire inside you had been burning all night and morning, hence your mediocre manners until then, but now that you stood alone with Luke, your throat felt tight, your resolve wavering at the view of him.

The boy turned around ruffling his hair with a towel to dry it casually, seemingly having recovered from the previous surprise, before throwing you the charming smirk he always used. Always.

“Well hey, what’s got your claws out this early in the morning ? Missed me ?”

“No, really not,” you flatly answered, pursing your lips, feeling tears already gathering in your eyes. No, no no, control yourself. “Or rather yes, but that’s just worse.”

“How is it worse ? Now I’m here.” The laugh in his voice threatened to turn you in a puddle, and at the same time you couldn’t help but find it utterly annoying.

You took a deep breath, hoping to have a structured speech rather than break into screams and blurt out everything on your mind. “That’s the problem, Luke, or at least partly.”

His usually cocky mask vanished for a second, leaving space for the confusion etched on his features, like he couldn’t even understand what you were talking about, and it only deepened your resentment. “I…am not sure I follow here, bunny.”

“I can’t believe I ever let you call me that…” you mumbled to yourself, and his eyebrows frowned when he caught your words. “I… We can’t continue whatever is going on, okay ?” you said, avoiding his gaze purposefully.

“Bunny, I don’t-”

“No. I don’t want to argue, I don’t want to have to explain myself, I just don’t want any of this thing that’s happening, okay ?”

“Uh, not okay ? You can’t just flee like that ?” he instantly replied, annoyance replacing his usual well-crafted mask as he threw the towel on a pile in a corner of the room.

“Why do you care, Luke ? Seriously, why do you care ? It’s not like you ever did before.” You had to give it to him, he was a nice actor, his face contorted in incredulity, a brow quirked up and his mouth slightly open, like he didn’t know what to do. But you could see right through it. “I get it, I was easy: the stupid daughter of Athena, the wise girl who can’t even listen to her intuition when a certain handsome face passes by. And I didn’t care, I was having fun, I could talk to you and you would listen, and I let myself believe it was real. But that’s over, i can’t-” A sob you didn’t even feel coming bubbled up your throat. “I can’t do this, okay ? I like you, you knew it, you played with it. I should’ve listened to them, it was clear you only like the chase, I don’t know why I ever believed I could have more…” You mumbled the last part, looking down at your shoes, the dirt stains on the wet floor where you’d stepped, feeling the tears pushing to come out.

“What- what do you mean ?” His charming smirk had returned, flirty as ever, and this time you couldn't help but see it like a mockery, tinted in contempt. “I don't- I like you too, bunny I- I can't believe I'm having to say it like that…”

“No! You don't get to act like you like me back! You don't get to toy with me anymore, I'm not a yo-yo that's gonna come back with a single pull from you, not this time.” You shut your eyes tight, trying to regain control over the storm that threatened inside of you. “I don't- This is not happening, this is never happening again, got it ?” You tried to keep your voice clear and steady, devoid of the conflicting emotions fighting inside of you. You turned your back to look eventually, stepping towards the door. “This is not a negotiation, I’m just telling you, fine ?”

“Not fine ? Can you maybe let me speak ?” The smile on his face this time was one of pure disbelief and confusion, not exactly getting when had things escalated like that.

“No, you’ve said way enough already. See you around.”

He didn’t have time to catch your wrist or get your attention again before you shut the door behind you, quickly walking out of the cabin and of the whole situation. One you finally stepped foot on the pebbled path right outside the cabins, you let out a shuddering breath, making your way to your own bed and flopping down on it the instant you reached its side, almost knocking your head on the top bunk in the process.

On the bed right over yours, the commotion from your heavy footsteps in the fairly silent cabin got Annabeth out of her reading, eyebrows creasing with a small sigh as she looked over the edge right at you.

“You wanna talk about something…?” she queried, hesitant, not entirely wanting to know but still feeling it might be better to ask.

“No, don’t worry, it’s okay…” you replied, and Annabeth let out a soft sigh of relief. But oh, what a short relief. “You know what, actually I do wanna talk about something.”

The younger girl closed her book reluctantly, putting it away at her side and listening to you. “That fucking jerk-”

“You mean my brother ?”

“I- he’s not your biological brother so whatever. That fucking jerk, I don’t know how I could’ve been so… so blinded !”

“Mmmh, I think I remember you jumping on your bed and saying to anybody that he was ‘so charming and so handsome and so wise’, and then you-”

You cut her off with an annoyed groan, running your hand over your eyes. “Let’s not go there, okay ? It’s just… I’m sorry to say it, I know you love him, but he’s an absolute ass! I mean, his fake humbleness alone should be absolutely annoying, but… it’s like the player behavior is in his veins…” You sighed, defeated. “And I… I fell for it… And then I see him all close and personal with this little b-” you halted, taking a deep breath in, “this other girl. I don’t even know how I persuaded myself it’d be different with me…”

There was an instant of silence, one Annabeth took as her cue to talk. “I don’t th-”

“You know I even yelled at him? That’s not me, I don’t do that, and yet I did, at 9 in the morning inside the Hermes cabin’s shower room-”

“What the hell were you doing in the shower room?”

“-like, what the heck just happened to me, you know ? He’s just… he pushed me to the edge of my patience with his- his-” You searched for your words, hands flying around like it’d help clear your mind when it was so clouded. “His…” You trailed your words, knowing more would only lead to a pathetic voice crack and tears streaming out of your eyes, but you shook your head, decided, sliding your fingers under your lower lashes to brush any escaping tear away. “Nah, no more Luke talk, it’s over. Over. O-ver.”

Annabeth silently climbed down the little ladder on the side of your beds, carefully stepping in front of you, unsure of what to do as you looked so… not like yourself. “It’s… Yeah…” She tentatively pat your shoulder, to try and comfort you in a way so unusual to her, before speaking up again. “Wanna play Risk ?”

You gaze immediately flicked up to meet hers. “You bet i wanna play. I’m gonna hand you your ass, little sister,” you teased, getting up and ruffling her hair with a smug smirk.

Unbeknownst to you, in the Aphrodite cabin, Luke was having a conversation of his own with friends. Well, your friends.

“No, I don’t need honesty, Clarisse, I need ideas,” he sighed, trying to keep his voice level as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Stop trying, Castellan: you had your shot, and you wasted it.”

“But, Riss-” Silena chimed in.

“No, he should leave her alone. Being yelled at wasn’t enough, little hero ?” Her smiled was wicked as she looked up at him, tongue passing over his lips and fire in her eyes. “Maybe I should really drill it in your head…”

“I’d rather not ?”

“You already signed yourself up for my fury the day you talked to her,” Clarisse threatened through gritted teeth, taking a step closer to the boy with a hand on the dagger at her thigh.

“Wow! Can we all, collectively, calm down ?” the other girl intervened, getting between the two with her hands on Clarisse’s shoulders. “Maybe we can just…talk ? In a civilized way ?”

The daughter of ares threw her friend a an annoyed look, rolling her eyes before raising her hands in surrender. “Whatever…”

But the weirdest part was how Luke didn’t even pull out that cocky smirk he plastered on his face with every win, even the smallest; no, instead, he just kept that gloomy annoyed look, and it really confused the two girls —not that Clarisse really cared, she just hoped he’d give her more reason to press her fist to his jaw.

“Soooo… Luke,” Silena continued after a short moment of silence, cabin empty as it was breakfast time. “You needed help with ideas, is that it ?”

The boy let out a gruff groan, hand sliding over his face in discomfort. “Yes. Yes, because I don’t- I don’t know how make her come back to me.”

“Well, you c-”

“You absolute prick! Just leave her alone, she told you to, can’t you understand a simple fucking ‘no’ ?” Clarisse roared immediately, the girl at her side sighing in disbelief as none would let her speak.

“Can you shut up and get lost already ?”

“Wow, incredible, golden boy with his claws out. Does the truth in my words hurt your ego, little hero ? Maybe it’s time you understand that you’re one to play, so go fetch a new toy, yeah ?”

“Clarisse, you don’t wanna go down that slope…” Luke only answered, his anger flaring by the second as they got closer again.

She looked him up and down with a nasty glare. “Can’t believe you managed to make the only good thing in your life run away from you ? Well, weirdly enough, I can believe it,” she taunted, and hurt flashed in the boy’s eyes for a second there, a second Silena caught from the sidelines.

“Stop! My gods, you children, can’t you just use your mind for a second and not get into a dick fight over who deserves her most ? Unbelievable…” the daughter of Aphrodite girl spat, shaking her head in disbelief. “Listen to me. Luke, what do you want from her?”

The tension started to subside, startled by Silena’s unusual reaction, and Luke worked to get his smirk back in place, instantly going back to joking territory.

“You sound like you’re her dad or something, it’s stressing me out.”

“I’m not getting in your game Luke, so you better give me a straight answer or I’m kicking your ass out by the door.”

His hands raised in defense with a soft laugh, though his eyes didn’t carry the same emotion. “I don’t know…” Lies. “I just… I liked how things were before, I guess ?” Lies.

This time, when Clarisse spoke first, her friend could only agree, nodding her head to every word. “Oh-ho, you’re a fun one, aren’t you ? Not happening. You’ve fed her scraps for ages now, we’re not helping you carry on with your bullshit.”

There was turmoil behind Luke’s eyes, and Silena could feel it. Maybe it was her amokinesis, maybe it was just how obvious he might’ve looked, but she knew there was much more.

But she didn’t say anything, only staring right at him, hoping her look alone, heavy as she could muster it, would untie his pursed lips. And it didn’t miss.

The words just tumbled out of his mouth, not even thinking about admitting them. “I lied, I totally lied, okay. I-” Luke ran a nervous hand in his hair, messing up his curls in the process. “I don’t want casual, okay ? That’s enough ?” he said, voice slightly raised in defensiveness, ears turning almost beet red as he tried not to say words burning his lips that he couldn't even start to comprehend.

But while Clarisse was ready to fire back, something about his ‘fucking insolent attitude’, Silena only laughed at her side, feeling how he was trying so hard to tame his emotions right this instant. “Yeah, yeah, that’s enough,” and the teasing lilt in her voice was all but reassuring to Luke. “So you want to… get her back, yeah ?”

“Yeah, that’s very much what I’ve been saying for five minutes.”

“Cut down the sass or she’s not helping,” Clarisse automatically spat, and Silena put a calming hand on her arm.

“It’s fine, Risse. Just take a real look at him and see: he’s just really shy and thinks being defensive is gonna hide anything,” she teased, her sweet gaze tinted in amusement, and Luke could only grit his teeth, knowing it was a lost cause to defend.

The daughter of Aphrodite turned around, going to sit cross-legged on her bed, Clarisse throwing the boy a challenging smile before following her friend, and he waited a second before trailing behind them further into the cabin.

“So…?”

“Ideas, ideas, ideas…” Silena muttered, raking her brain to find anything. Matchmaker at heart, she was thrilled by all the possibilities unfolding in front of her, and could barely hide her excitement at the idea of finally using her talents on her own best friend. “You could take Mr Brunner’s boombox and show up under her window,” she started with a beaming smile. “Or... Or! Write her a serenade and sing it through the aux all around camp so she has to hear it. Or… you can build her a personalized mixtape, that always seems to work…”

The more she spoke, the more Luke’s face fell, absolutely horrified by the thought of any of those 80’s romcom grand gestures. “Uh…”

“Or just talk to her? Just remember to wipe that smirk off your face before you do, it’s infuriating,” Clarisse answered, acting nonchalant as always.

The boy hesitated for a second before replying, eyes darting to the floor beneath his feet. “Except she doesn’t exactly want to talk to me, you made that pretty clear…”

“Huh ? Well, seems like a you problem to me, little hero.”

“You’re a real help, Clarisse.” Luke crossed his arms over his chest, exuding his usual charisma instantly, his eyes narrowing defensively. “You know what, I don’t know why I even asked. I’ll just… Whatever.”

And as he left the cabin with heavy steps, Clarisse sat down next to her friend. “He’s gonna…”

“I hope he doesn’t-" But looking into the eyes of her friend and back to the disappearing figure through the door, Silena pursed her lips. "Yeah no, he’s gonna blow it.”

I. So I can’t help with training, now ?

Yoooooow i like thisss heh

More seriously, it's gonna be about 4 parts, this one, then two ways per chapter, and then the finaleeeee can't wait (i haven't written it yet, i'm that deep into procrastination.)

Hope you liked ittttt now who wants part 2 ?

Love, Nana -

[manyu-ten]

Stans of all kind are lowkey a curse upon oneself because how are you gonna just be like "he isn't the only one who died young" but another person will say "its a trauma response not a temper tantrum".

Now, y'all. Both can be true. A temper tantrum can be a part of one's trauma response when the trauma in question is "I died at 15 and was lowkey catatonic before being pushed into a magical pit of green water". No shit the kid has shitty emotional regulation 😭. How many of us were happy with our families' versions of help when we were teenagers who felt like no one understood us?

Yeah, a temper tantrum is a clear sign of Emotional Dysregulation. Its also a sign of trauma. Thats two things that are both true, even at the same time.

As for Jason's actual death:

It was literally a turning point for Comics in general. I've tutored students from classes where DitF was taught in curriculums concerning the development of media and pop culture. Where it—in context of DC's pre-crisis, Infinite-crisis and post-crisis lineup AND in the context of the actual climate of DC Comics/real life fans in the 80s—was dissected.

Him dying young, as Robin, as an associate of Batman and the newly minted Nightwing, as a character explicitly shown to not want to give Rapists compassion—that was a big deal at the time. Not a mind bogglingly big deal. But it meant something to a lot of people one way or another. Tim's creation, from his background, to how he is associated with Dick to him eventually having his very own Robin run is a testament to what DC felt like they had to do after Jason was killed. Haunting the narrative for the character development of Bruce, Dick, Tim and even to a limited extent, Cass's relationship to Bruce during her og Batgirl run.

I think (this is a flexible opinion than can be changed and or added upon. Have comprehension y'all) the most significant (and truly, that may be stretching it a little) death of an underage hero in DC's lineup before Jason might have been Terra and part of the reason her death was so significant was because of the characters it introduced: Deathstroke, Jericho and Dick becoming Nightwing.

Modernly, we are influenced by our thoughts and behaviors concerning these characters by not just the actual comics, but the social climate (economic, political, parasocial, the avenues of trends in media) permeating the time in which each of these storylines were presented. We have predisposed notions of characters and their archetypes, as well as the facets of human sociability that they represent.

Implicitly, or with full discretion, we're inclined to give certain narratives, certain characters, more or less leeway than others. It doesn't matter which way you skew, we all tend to fall somewhere on the spectrum.

On Jason's standoff with Bruce:

He explicitly states that he knows Bruce loved him. What he wanted proven was does Bruce still love him, despite what he's done and if he shoots the Joker through the head.

It should also be noted, Jason says he doesn't care for the World in Lost Days, but, because we all have enough comprehension, we understand this isn't true, as he is shown still caring for other people.

Saying that he rejects every hand offered: yeah, he does. He probably doesn't feel like they are offering because they care about him specifically, only that they gotta save him from himself like some paradigm of their moral codes. Sometimes, he's just being a bitch. Which, real. Y'all do shit rationally all the time with no impulsive influence of emotion? Give me your tips. People on the internet in their 30s, with fully developed frontal lobes still irrationally react to things all the time. Why are you guys expecting a fictional, died and got resurrected 19 year old to have proper emotional regulation? The bitch didn't even graduate high school like guys, yeah he's wrong about shit. Yeah, he can throw a temper tantrum. But. He's also rightfully angry about some stuff.

Is rejecting the offered hand of one only worth criticism when the person is an obvious danger to others? When Dick places the blame upon all wrongdoings on himself (unfairly so) and chooses to walk the path alone, when Cassandra does the same (equally, unfairly so)—are they not dangers to others too? They are. It doesn't matter if it works out for them in the end—the point is that they WERE a possible danger. Self-flagellation or perceived guilt doesn't absolve you of possibly risking other peoples' lives and or livelihoods. As the saying goes, the dog that cries after the kill is no better than the dog who does not. (Kill is metaphoric here. Please understand this y'all 😭).

(Another aside: Everyone is so quick to call a character sociopathic 😭. Sociopathy isn't a diagnosable mental disorder, but more than that, in real life, one must have actually had a Conduct Disorder in order to fulfill part of the criteria to be diagnosed with ASPD as an adult. You could argue Jason had CD, but in most cases, you could also say the same shit as Dick. If Jason has childhood CD, so did Dick. People misunderstand antisocial behavior as a symptom of other disorders as stark evidence of sociopathy or psychopathy. Jason was antisocial in his New-Earth run in Lost Days and UtRH (and anything else predating BftC) but, arguably, so was Bruce and Dick to an extent. The only reason people are so adamant to point it out with Jason is because of his alignment and his stance on killing. I'm sorry guys, but some of the most antisocial, diagnosed with ASPD, literally psychopathic or sociopathic people I have ever worked with are Surgeons—especially Surgeons who work with convicted felons. They will save your life, put their all into the care of a patient and guess what? They still antisocial as fuck. Doing good things doesn't excuse you of being antisocial nor having other traits of psychopathy or sociopathy. You don't have to be a murderer to be antisocial and caring about the lives of others doesn't inherently mean you aren't antisocial. When you hear 'disregarding the rights of others' that doesn't pertain just to acts of abuse or violence but to the rejection of others' autonomy, their opinions and even their expertise in their own field.)

Anyway.

You kin to a character and a narrative that means something to you while disregarding or undermining another character—especially when that character breaks the mold of what fits your narrative.

It be like that sometimes.

Jason died at 15 and that is tragic, but the real tragedy is that when he returns he is stuck in a teenage temper tantrum the likes of which have never been seen. He's cold and calculating until something doesn't go his way and then he's lashing out and slamming doors. Except he's vigilante trained and has access to guns so his temper tantrum is realized in lives lost not new doors.

[princessofghosts-posts]

People always talking about Percy and Jason parallelism as if Nico and Percy don't have the same thing.

Let me explain:

Both are a child of the Big Three,only difference is that Percy is the forbidden one while Nico isn't.

Both are extremely powerful and were ostracized by the other demigods for this,only difference is that Percy's mistreatment wasn't as bad or long as Nico's.

Both were in the Lotus,only difference is that Percy stayed for a couple of days,Nico for years.

Both are extremely skilled with swordsmanship,with Percy being at the top.

Both have a very unique sword with a feature of being able to always be with them. Raptide is a pen that will always come back to Percy,while Nico's sword can appear from the shadows with his command.

Both have a sister that they will die for, without a second question asked.

Both were ready to end themselves for their sibling. During SoM,when Percy thought that Tyson died with Clarisse's ship being destroyed,he wished he could drown but couldn't because he's a son of Poseidon. During BotL,Nico tried to switch his souls for the one of his sister (only good thing Minos did was to tell him that Hades won't accept it) knowing full well the consequences.

Based of the point before,both are extremely suicidal. Percy wished he could drown multiple time,and went along with Polybotes's poison only because he thought he deserved to die. Nico doesn't see the value in his life and go on the most suicidal solo-quest ever with the awareness that he might die,and he doesn't care or think the others don't.

In HoO Hazel think how both Percy and Jason are just waiting for a monster too strong to defeat,that can kill them. Nico isn't to far off from this vision too,since in BoO he was ready to end it all,be it by his travel of wanting to kill Octavian.

Based of the other point,they are probably both depressed,with Percy masking his with humor (similar to Leo) or avoiding thinking about it,and Nico is carrying it on his sleeves,fully accepting it.

Poseidon and Hades tried to keep their family safe,proposing to build palaces in their domains,basically the same place where their wives lives with them,so that they can live in peace and Zeus wouldn't know about them.

Sally and Maria rejected the idea,deciding to raise their children with them despite the difficulties and dangers.

Both have a good relationship with their mother,the problem is that Nico can't remember much of her.

Both are scared of their father domains (all of the kids of the Big 3,both romans and greeks,are). In MoA,when Percy was visiting the aquarium with Frank and the tank broke,he thought he was going to drown (ironic,isn't it? The guy that wanted to drown now is scared of it) before remembering he is a child of Poseidon (again,ironic.). His fear was caused by Gaia,when during SoN,she made him sink into quicksand and Hazel had to save him before they got to the boss battle. In BoO,during their trip with the Statue,Nico was actively fading away (and dying),to the point that mortals and demigods could pass through his body. He almost become one with the shadows,the same shadows he use every time he has to travel. Untill then he was comfortable in being in the shadows,because of CHB attitude regarding him,but after that? He didn't saw them in the same way.

The romans don't pay homage to,or don't respect that much,their fathers. Both the temples of Pluto and Neptune at the CJ are in very bad shape,even with a daughter of Pluto living there.

Both are an active part of the two Great Prophecies,with Percy being the prophecy child and a part of the Seven,while Nico does the heavy lifting on the sidelines as a support character. (Both of the time they won thanks to his help).

Chronos wanted them both (and Thalia) on his side. He tormented all of them,but Percy and Nico (and Thalia) stayed loyal to their fathers no matter what.

Both can get along pretty well with their divine families.

Poseidon and Hades have rooms in their palace only for them,when they stay with them or came for a visit; Amphitrite and Persephone (and Demeter) don't mind their presence that much when they are in the palace.

Both are ready to kill for their loved one,especially their partners. (also Annabeth and Will being blond,when Percy and Nico hair's black>>>>>)

Both are prince of their fathers's kingdom (same for the others Big 3 kids) but noble titles aren't a thing in the demigods world (I will forever be pissed about this)

Both Poseidon and Hades care about them in their own strange and limiting ways. At the same time they both fucked them up with their horrible communication skills (The price you pay for being alive??? Bianca should be alive instead of Nico??? Fuck them both for this).

Nico and Percy are the only one with a good relationship (for demigods standard) with their divine parent and families,both in the Big 3 kids club and for the rest of the demigods's population. (the children of Dionysus and Apollo too).

Both went to Tartarus and had their mind fucked up by the gods that were there (Nico needs to see Dionysus on almost a daily basis otherwise he will go insane??? Percy was ready to kill a goodness???). Nyx appeared to both of them (get her away from Nico-) and their powers evolved.

Lot of trauma from all the prophecies and wars they went through.

First impression of their divine sibling was horrible. Triton was extremely judgmental of Percy,without even knowing him,while Melinoë was straight up trauma for Nico.

Both were betrayed by their teacher. Luke gave Percy sword lessons before he left for his first quest,so much so that during SoN,even without memory,Luke's voice reminded him what to do during the war games. Minos was ready to sell Nico to the enemy after he taught him everything he knew about the rituals to invoke the spirits,and went in the Labyrinth with him.

Both lost their memories,Percy because of Hera and Nico because of Hades. Only difference is that Percy memories returned,while Nico will never have all of them back (like Jason).

In their own POVs they don't talk really highly of themselves,and most of the time think about how they messed up certain things,and how other people could do better than them. The few times they feel confident about their abilities? Bad shit happens.

Ragarding the point before of this,both have a low self-esteem.

In the other characters POVs,we see how people actually see them. Hazel almost mistakes Percy for a god because of how handsome,loyal (probably also why Annabeth,Nico,Rachel,Calypso and Reyna fell for him) and powerful he is. Reyna think that Nico's surname give him justice because he looks like an angel (he also pulled Will Solace with being rarely at CHB during that time) when he smile,and is extremely powerful.

Do I need to continue? There are probably so many other similarities between them but I think you get the point. While Percy and Jason might be two faces the same coin,Nico and Percy are basically the same face.

All of the Big 3 children have similarities or have parallelism to each other: Thalia and Hazel (both come back from the dead and had to readjust to the years that passed, everything they know was now a distant memory); Jason and Bianca (both died when they were starting to figure out their life,after their memory loss); and there are others matches too: Thalia and Percy,Jason and Hazel,Jason and Nico,Bianca and Percy,Thalia and Nico,etc...

But Nico and Percy are just so similar to each other that sometimes it's hurt. They can't even have a good interaction most of the time because trauma is part of their relationship.

[yara0546]

୨୧ Unexpected Sparks ✦ Lee Haechan  .    .    .    한 번의 샷   ;   ୨୧

୨୧ Pairing : lee haechan x fem!reader

୨୧ Genre : Romance, Drama, Slice of Life, Developing feelings, media scrutiny.

୨୧ Word Count : 4,000 words

୨୧ Note : English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any grammatical errors, because I sometimes use a translator in some sentences.

୨୧ Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction from our imagination. It is not intended that the plot, theme, original characters, idols, etc. portray any real-life events/people. Plagiarism is NOT tolerated on this blog. If you believe we have copied an existing authors’ work, please message us privately. thank you and enjoy :)

Masterlist

The entertainment industry was a whirlwind of schedules, lights, and endless interactions. Yet, despite working in the same field for years, you and Haechan had never truly crossed paths beyond a passing greeting. That was, until fate or rather, a production team decided to throw you into the same reality show.

A new variety program had gathered multiple idols from different groups and agencies, pairing them up in teams for various challenges. When your name was announced alongside Haechan's, you barely had time to process it before the cameras were rolling.

You sat beside him in the van, staring out the window, unsure how to start a conversation. Haechan, on the other hand, seemed entirely at ease, scrolling through his phone.

“You’re quieter than I expected,” he commented suddenly, making you turn toward him.

“I don’t usually talk unless there’s something to say,” you replied honestly.

“Ahh, so mysterious,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows. “I thought you’d be more talkative.”

“I thought you’d be less talkative,” you shot back, and he gasped dramatically.

“Wow, I see how it is.” He placed a hand over his heart. “I was planning to be extra nice to you, but now you’ve ruined it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn't stop the small smile that tugged at your lips. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

The producers sent you both to an outdoor survival challenge. The task? Build a shelter and cook a meal using limited resources. The sun was setting, and you were both failing miserably.

“I swear, this isn’t working,” you groaned, dropping the half-built tent pole.

“You’re just not believing in it enough,” Haechan joked, trying to tie two sticks together with a shoelace.

You gave him an unimpressed look. “Yeah, because belief is totally what’s going to keep this thing from collapsing.”

He grinned. “Exactly! It’s all about manifestation.”

Despite the frustration, you couldn’t help laughing. There was something about him his energy, his unwavering playfulness that made the exhaustion feel a little less unbearable.

At some point, as you both sat by the fire, eating poorly roasted potatoes, he looked over at you, his face illuminated by the glow.

“You’re actually pretty fun,” he admitted, his voice softer than usual.

“You sound surprised,” you said, raising a brow.

“I am,” he confessed with a small chuckle. “I thought you were cold. But you’re just... guarded.”

The comment hit a little too close to home. You looked away, focusing on the flames. “Maybe.”

Haechan nudged your knee with his. “Well, you don’t have to be with me.”

And just like that, something shifted.

As the show aired in real-time, fans picked up on the growing chemistry between you and Haechan. The way he teased you, the way you rolled your eyes but always ended up laughing it didn’t go unnoticed.

Even the staff whispered about it.

“You two have amazing chemistry,” the PD commented one afternoon. “You should work together more often.”

Haechan smirked, shooting you a knowing look. “You hear that? We’re a dynamic duo.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you replied, but your cheeks felt warmer than usual.

The show was wrapping up, and soon, you’d go back to your separate careers. The thought made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t expect.

After the final shoot, Haechan found you outside, staring at the city skyline.

“Hey,” he called, stepping beside you. “We survived.”

“Barely.”

He chuckled before turning serious. “I don’t really want this to be the last time we talk.”

You met his gaze. “It doesn’t have to be.”

He hesitated, then smirked. “So, does that mean you’ll go on a date with me?”

You laughed. “Are you always this forward?”

“With you? Yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I like you. A lot. And I don’t think it’s just because of the show.”

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding. “Me neither.”

His grin widened, and without thinking, he reached out, lacing his fingers with yours. “Then let’s see where this goes.”

And just like that, what started as an unexpected pairing turned into something real.

After the final episode aired, the response was overwhelming. Your names trended on social media, and clips of your interactions flooded fan edits.

"[Y/N] and Haechan have the best chemistry!"

"Why do they look like a real couple???"

"I swear if they're not dating, I’m suing the producers for emotional damage."

You scrolled through the comments, biting your lip. Truthfully, you missed the easy back-and-forth with Haechan. The past ten days had changed something—filming was exhausting, but he had made it fun. Now that it was over, you weren’t sure how to go back to… whatever you were before.

A message popped up on your phone.

Haechan [8:42 PM]: Saw a clip of us. Damn, we look good together.

Haechan [8:42 PM]: Wanna give the fans what they want?

You rolled your eyes.

You [8:43 PM]: And what do they want?

Haechan [8:44 PM]: Me as your boyfriend, obviously.

Your heart did a weird little flip.

You [8:45 PM]: I think you want that more than they do.

Haechan [8:45 PM]: Exactly.

First Date Or Was It?

A few days later, Haechan invited you out. Not a date, he insisted, just two coworkers hanging out.

But the way he showed up at your doorstep with a smug grin and an iced coffee in hand told a different story.

“Gotta keep my girl energized,” he said, handing it over.

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m not your girl.”

“Yet,” he corrected, then held out his arm dramatically. “Shall we?”

You sighed but couldn’t fight your smile.

The night was… easy. No cameras, no scripted interactions, just you and him. He took you to a cozy, hidden restaurant where no one would recognize you. Over dinner, he kept stealing bites of your food despite having the exact same dish, and when you called him out, he grinned.

“Yours tastes better,” he reasoned.

“That makes no sense.”

“Neither does liking you this much after ten days, but here we are.”

You froze, chopsticks halfway to your mouth. He said it so casually, yet your heart went into overdrive.

“Why do you say things like that?” you muttered.

“Because they’re true.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Do you want me to stop?”

You hesitated, then shook your head. “No.”

His smirk softened into something more sincere. “Good.”

The Industry Complication

Dating in the industry was never easy. The second time you met after filming, a paparazzi shot of you together surfaced online.

"NCT’s Haechan and [Y/N] spotted late at night dating rumors?"

You saw the article just as your phone rang.

Haechan.

“Don’t panic,” was the first thing he said.

“I’m not,” you lied.

He chuckled. “You are.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “What do we do?”

“What do you want to do?” His voice was calm, reassuring. “We could deny it, say we’re just friends. Or…”

“Or?”

“Or we don’t say anything and let them believe whatever they want.”

You chewed on your lip. The easy route was denial. But something in you didn’t want to. You liked spending time with him. Liked the way he made your world brighter.

“…I don’t want to lie,” you admitted quietly.

There was a pause. Then, his voice came through, warm and teasing.

“Guess that makes you my girlfriend then.”

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

“You kinda did.” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “But don’t worry, you’ve got time to officially confess.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Wait—”

Click.

You stared at your screen, heart pounding. Maybe the sparks between you weren’t just for the cameras after all.

Dating in secret was fun stolen moments, late-night calls, the thrill of almost getting caught. But the industry was relentless, and rumors never truly died.

One evening, after an exhausting rehearsal, you got a call from your manager.

"We need to talk," they said, voice tight. "Now."

You arrived at the company’s office, only to find Haechan already there, sitting across from his own management team. He looked up at you, his usual playfulness absent.

Your stomach twisted.

The higher ups wasted no time. "We know you’re dating," one of the executives said bluntly. "Dispatch has photos. It’s only a matter of time before they release them."

You inhaled sharply. This was your worst-case scenario—losing control of the narrative.

Haechan leaned forward. "So what now? Do we deny it?"

"No," his manager said, exchanging glances with yours. "If we do, it’ll only make things worse when more evidence surfaces. The best option is for you both to confirm it on your own terms."

Silence.

You clenched your fists. "So we have no choice."

"It’s better than being exposed without warning," your manager reasoned.

Haechan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He turned to you. "What do you want to do?"

You looked at him. This wasn’t fair. But you knew how the industry worked. If you had to confirm it, at least it would be on your terms.

“…Fine," you said quietly.

Going Public

A joint statement was drafted. Both companies posted it at the same time.

"Haechan and [Y/N] have recently developed feelings for each other and are currently getting to know one another with good intentions. We hope fans will support them."

Within minutes, the internet exploded.

"[Y/N] AND HAECHAN ARE DATING???"

"My heart is broken, but I will support them."

"THEY WERE FLIRTING ON THAT SHOW, I KNEW IT!!!"

"I'm so happy for them! But I hope the companies don’t interfere."

Your hands trembled as you scrolled through the comments.

Then, your phone rang.

Haechan.

"Hey," he said, voice softer than usual.

"Hey."

"You okay?"

You exhaled shakily. "I don’t know. It feels… weird."

"Yeah," he admitted. "But you know what?"

"What?"

He chuckled. "At least now I can flirt with you in public without getting side-eyed by our managers."

You laughed despite yourself. "You’re impossible."

"Yeah, but I’m your impossible."

And somehow, despite the chaos, you knew you'd be okay.

Going public changed everything.

Fans dissected every interaction, analyzing past moments for “clues” about your relationship. Some were supportive, some weren’t. Hate comments filled your notifications, alongside heartfelt messages from those who genuinely wished you happiness.

Your company sent out a strict set of rules:

No excessive public displays of affection.

Keep interactions “professional” in group settings.

No talking about the relationship unless approved.

In short, they wanted you together, but only on their terms.

One evening, after finishing promotions, you met up with Haechan at a quiet café, hidden from prying eyes. He was already there when you arrived, hood pulled low, a cap covering his hair.

The moment you sat down, he reached for your hand under the table, lacing his fingers with yours.

"Rough day?" he asked.

You sighed. "You could say that."

He tilted his head. "Hate comments?"

"Mostly." You looked down at your coffee. "It’s weird. I knew people would react, but seeing it… feels different."

His grip on your hand tightened. "They don’t know you. They only know what they think they know."

You gave him a small smile. "Easy for you to say. You thrive on attention."

He smirked. "Yeah, but I only care about your attention."

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest spread.

Then, his expression turned serious. "Are you happy?"

You blinked. "With you?"

"With… all of this. Us being public, the pressure. I know it’s a lot."

You hesitated. Was it hard? Yes. Was it overwhelming? Absolutely.

But was it worth it?

You glanced at his fingers still intertwined with yours. At the way he looked at you, completely unguarded.

"Yeah," you admitted softly. "I’m happy."

His smile was immediate, wide and bright. "Good. Because I’d hate to go through all this drama just to find out my girlfriend wants to dump me."

You snorted. "You're so dramatic."

"That’s why you like me."

"Debatable."

He gasped, clutching his chest. "See, this is why I’m dating you. I like the challenge."

You laughed, the weight on your shoulders feeling lighter.

Maybe being in the spotlight was hard. Maybe the scrutiny wouldn’t go away.

But as long as you had him, you knew you'd be okay.

[layeredshirts]

If the other dorms ran businesses on campus, like the Mostro Lounge, what do you guys think would they be like? I honestly only have ideas for Hearts, Pomefiore, and Ignihyde.

Personally, I think Heartslabyul would run one of those trendy bookstores with a small cafe. Other students mainly use it as a library and rarely buy the books, but Trey's baked goods sell well enough to cover the cost of the books. Students are routinely collared however for trying to read the books while eating, dirtying the pages, and trying to put it back. You cannot ruin one of Riddle's books, despite being inventory he needs to sell, they're precious to him by virtue of being books. As punishment for breaking whatever rule, Riddle would make the first years, adeuce, stand outside the mirror chamber, sign spinning and handing out coupons. Cater uses his expertise on all things cozy to make sure it's aesthetic enough for candid magicam moments. It's great for date nights too, Cater plays his mellow music there and sells CDs.

Pomefiore operates a day spa, and none of them are licensed or qualified to do the treatments they offer. But... they're just so damn good at them. While it makes sense that Vil would approve a spa for it's beauty treatments, he's a huge proponent of relaxation. They offer the typical spa happenings- seaweed wraps, mudbaths, massages etc. but with the added bonus that it might run into a celebrity. Because Vil, world class model and actor, technically is the owner as the dorm leader, it's much more popular than any other spa on sage's island. People line up down the block for a chance to take a picture of Vil, who's always tugging at his uniform, trying to make it more flattering. Why do they have to wear scrubs? It's not like they're nurses or anything 😒. He would run the spa with an iron fist, making sure everyone is on task. Epel is his successor, but he gets in trouble for playing in the supplies and making a mess. He's also not good for cleaning, or being delicate with the customers, and he doesn't have a head for business that doesn't involve apples... But he's really good at small talk and is endlessly optimistic. Rook doesn't go often, the spa is too fragent for his liking. When he is there, his over the top, intimate nature freaks the other students out. How do you expect them to feel comfortable taking a bath while Rook Hunt is reciting poetry about them outside the door? He's always muttering his unique magic name too... "I see you." Okay.

Ignihyde students run an internet cafe, with a heavy emphasis on internet. All of the food comes out of vending machines; the selling point is Ignihyde's servers, connection speeds, and cutting edge technology. Idia seems to always have something before it’s even available to buy. When he receives “normie” gadgets from his parents at STYX, he generously donates it to the cafe. His setup is already complete, no one adds anything to it besides him. Idia is extremely hands off with the equipment and business side of it, leaving it mainly to Ortho to oversee. Idia does suggest, every now and again, that cats might bring in more guests, and cat cafes are trendy and real. No dice, Ortho doesn't want them stepped on by clumsy first years, stomping around in VR headsets. Ortho would agree to other friendship building activities however, like trivia nights and karaoke. They're all perplexed by Ortho's trivia night win streak until Idia remembers that, while he is his little brother, he's still a walking computer connected to the internet at all times. He has to force him to sit out. I think, because he’s an otaku, they would also sell cute merch! :) Ortho’s in charge of ordering the merchandise, so it’s genuinely a surprise for Idia when the cutest Premo stickers come in.

[thebaldursmouthgazette]

Solas is not literally bound to Mythal.

If he was, he’d never have been able to rebel against her in the first place, and he wouldn’t have been able to kill her at the end of inquisition (debate all you want on her opinions of that, he went there intending to kill her and not imagining she ever would agree to it. If he was literally bound to her will he would not be able to do that). He also wouldn’t have been able to treat the crossroads fragment in the way he did, since she’s clearly not happy with that and definitely petty enough to force him to visit. Hell, he probably wouldn’t have been able to put up the veil in the first place. He also wouldn’t have had a problem drinking from the well of sorrows, because if he was already bound to her there would be nothing to lose, and it would save corypheus gaining the knowledge AND someone else from being bound to Mythal.

Not to mention, Morrigan holds Mythals memories and is literally working with us to stop him and not once mentions him being literally bound to the will of Mythal, despite that being vital information to Rook, if true. Him being literally bound to Mythals will takes away all of his agency as a character, but also is in direct contradiction to multiple events. I have no doubt their relationship was manipulative, but she does not literally control him.

Also, whatever Flemythals reckoning was going to be, it is clearly NOT the veil coming down. At no point does she offer any assistance in those goals (even if you read the inquisition epilogue as her willingly sacrificing herself to help solas, which I never have for many many reasons, including but not limited to the fact that if she wanted to help she didn’t need to die to do so, he’s been awake and plotting for two years at this point and not once has Mythal offered any assistance). Her own activities (namely gaining the soul of Urthemiel, cleansed from the blight) have absolutely nothing to do with the veil coming down. Her reckoning is her own plan, separate to Solas’ plans entirely, and at times even counter to them.

The ending where he gives up on bringing down the veil does not involve Mythal literally releasing him from literal bonds of control. If that were the case, she could have done that at any point prior to now and none of this would be happening. Even if you argue we need to convince her, she could have done that immediately after we convince her in the crossroads. And why can only that fragment release him, and not the one in flemeth and now Morrigan who has not supported his goals since at least inquisition, and is ready and available to free him literally whenever?

If you analyse that scene you’ll notice a few things:

1. he is physically and emotionally exhausted. He’s just finished a battle with Elgar’nans archdemon and he’s also been confronted by several of his failures. I’ve got a long post on the way the entire game deconstructs all of his manipulations and excuses so that at this point they’re all completely gone, but especially key are that Rook escaped the prison when he couldn’t (and he designed that prison to hold callous gods unwilling to acknowledge their crimes, with their callousness being the key. Rook is an actually nice person and the prison cannot hold them. It held him), and that he has made zero progress since rook was trapped and Rook was out the prison for all of five minutes and Elgar’nan is defeated.

2. When Rook tells him to bind himself to the veil he considers it. He’s tired, he’s on the verge of admitting it’s unnecessary, he considers it. If he was literally bound to Mythal there would be no consideration.

3. He then says he can’t, because it would dishonour those he had wronged to get this far. The inquisitor then comes out and tells him that those he wronged are the ones asking him to stop. Then he says he can’t because he needs to honour Mythals memory because it’s his fault she died and he needs to make the world she wanted (notice she is dead in this conversation. If he was literally bound to her then he wouldn’t be considering her dead). Then Morrigan and Mythal come forward to say that uh no, this isn’t what Mythal wants and if that’s what’s making him do this he should feel free of that obligation. In a metaphorical sense.

What is happening in this scene is not Solas being freed from literal bonds tying his will. It is Solas, who has spent his entire life making excuses and justifications for why he has to do what he’s doing, having every single one of those excuses systematically deconstructed. He cannot say it would be a dishonour to those he had wronged, because they are here telling him to stop. It cannot be a dishonour to Mythal, because she is here telling him to stop. He’s in a state of physical and mental exhaustion and every single time he comes up with an excuse as to why he needs to bring down the veil, he’s met with irrefutable evidence that not only is that excuse horseshit, but the people he’s claiming to be doing this for actively want him to stop.

He’s not being released from literal control. If he were, rook and the inqusitor wouldn’t have bothered trying to convince him, they’d go straight for Mythal. What happened is he’s run out of excuses. All he can do at that moment is admit he actually wants to do the terrible thing to placate his own conscience (the real reason this whole time) and do it anyway or stop. He chooses to stop, possibly because this is the first time he’s been forced to admit to himself that his reasons ARE selfish ones, and he realises in that moment that that’s not what he wants to be. But it was always his choice.

He was always the one deciding to take down the veil. He was always the one wanting to take down the veil. He just cannot admit to himself his reasons are selfish so he comes up with excuses and justifications, which he even convinces himself of. The whole “I wish I didn’t have to but sadly I must” schtick is a lie he tells both others and himself. He doesn’t have to. He never had to. That’s the whole point.

No, the veil did not need to come down. It never did.

Something that is extremely consistent throughout inquisition is that the tears in the fade are HURTING spirits. Spirit society, like mortal society, has adapted to having the veil present and just like mortal society it is being thrown into chaos by its weakening.

Something that is consistent throughout trespasser and the media between trespasser and veilguard is that taking down the veil would have harmed everyone and destroyed society as we know it, at the very least killing most (if not all) humans, dwarves and qunari (who have no less of a right to exist than the elves).

He says as much in trespasser, and then never denies it when called out. It’s always “do you truly believe that is my plan” and “I had plans to minimise the damage”, never an explicit “no, that would not happen”. He tells the inquisitor that tearing down the veil will destroy the world and then never denies it when asked, he just stops being so open about it. This is a man who uses careful wording so that he can say he rarely lies, what he doesn’t say is deeply significant.

The veil going up initially hurt people, but the world has since adapted and is now in a state where tearing it down would cause more damage for no reason. The veil being put up hurt elven society because they had buildings that relied on both places, but they no longer have that. Nobody is being actively hurt by the veil being up, bringing it down would just destroy everything to get a world that is different but not inherently better.

But Solas regrets putting it up. Solas wishes he didn’t put it up. He wants to take it down, not because it is actively hurting anyone, but because he feels bad about it. It’s something he regrets, something he wishes he hadn’t done, and taking it down will placate his conscience. And all the consequences can be justified under “i feel sad about it but it had to be done” even though it didn’t ever have to be done. This is how he has justified every crime before.

Rook has not doomed the world by keeping the veil up. They have saved this world, instead of dooming it to cling onto scraps of a culture long long dead and placate the conscience of a man who has never been able to handle the concept of “no”.