#even when you know they can't know the future

[obsessivefangirl]

We need to acknowledge Fiddleford cult era because as fun (and true) as "man who's scared destroys himself" is, he absolutely was a villain and I fucking love him for it.

Oh of course his heart was in the right place! He's absolutely sympathetic and meant no harm on others. He was trying to help. But also, the perspective of regular townsfolk on that is so fascinating because he is a open and shut case of a crazy bad guy. He's a man who erases people's memories by force and has a whole cult and knowing him he probably seems so hospitable which draws people in but if you say or do something he thinks endangers the Blind Eye he'd turn on you in a moment and erase your mind.

Imagine being a member of his cult as this sweet man who offers services starts forcing them. As he goes from well adjusted to forgetting he needs glasses and frazy hair and his shoes falling apart and his temporary fixes "until I get it repaired" turns into his normal appearance. When you realize this isn't okay, you can't leave. You can't voice concerns. Because he refuses to hear them and offers bullshit promises or a hit of the memory gun to console you, and traitors get their brains wiped of the blind eye. As your friend/boss/leader turns from a friendly man to a kinda unstable man to a man who's scary (he was tall af I would not want him to look at me with that disheveled look and crazy eyes asking me if I'm going to betray him?? Fuck that) to someone who doesn't even know his own name.

Fiddleford from his/a future perspective is a tragedy and deserves love and a second chance, but Fiddleford from a present outside perspective drives me insane. We don't get enough cult Fiddleford from his own perspective where he has to grapple with him decaying but it's too late and losing everything, but an outside perspective is nonexistent

[thethronezone]

Primarchs and baby's first word

It had been an complete accident. Mortarion were overseeing some neophytes training and had been less than impressed with what he saw, growing more and more agitated by the moment. When one of the neophytes got knocked on his ass, Mortarion growled deep in his throat. "Idiot", he grumbled. "Idiot" repeated the infant in his arms that he had completely forgotten about. He looked down, expression morphing into one of mild surprise. Oh. "Was that your first-?" he started before shaking his head, trying to force down the smile that was threatening to appear. Instead, Mortarion patted his child's head softly. "Good to know you are listening."

Every time Fulgrim saw his child, he made sure to only use 'good' words and he urged his legion and the serfs to do so as well. Words that sounded good, were impressive or had value. He wanted their first words to be something special, something that would define their future. But when their first word turns out to be "purble", well, Fulgrim can't help but laugh, his head thrown backwards. It's so cute, so incredibly charming, that he can't possibly feel disappointed. Purble? Oh, how delightful! Fulgrim will never let them live this down, doesn't matter if they are 5 or 500, he will always remind them that their first word was "purble".

Since Angron worries so about accidentally hurting his child, he spends most of his time with them at a distance. They might be in the same room but he's on the opposite end. He's mostly quiet, maybe polishing his weapons or sharpening a sword, keeping silent vigilance over the child. But one day, the baby starts to fuss in their crib and while they normally quiet down on their own, this time they won't. The baby is fussing, whining pathetically and Angron stares at the crib for a few moments, body tense and fingers flexing. Then, he heaves out a heavy breath, and steps up to the cot, peering down at the child in it. "What?" he questions rather gruffly, unsure what to do, not expecting an answer. The child whines. "Up!" Angron freezes. "What?" he repeats, this time more bewildered than gruff. The child frowns, frustrated by his response. "Up!" Hesitant, he grabs them under the armpits and lifts them up, keeping them at arms length. The frown on their face melts away and turns into a smile, one that he can't help but awkwardly mirror. "Up" they say, sounding more satisfied than they have any right to be. Still, Angron can't bring himself to be too mad about it, even when the nails dig into his head, making his nerves scream with agony.

Magnus had been trying to get his child to speak for some time now. Was it still to early in their development? Yes, but they were also the child of a Primarch and that meant that they developed at a faster rate compared to baseline children. Probably. But no matter how hard he tried, his child would not say a single word, instead they just stared at him with wide eyes whenever he urged them to repeat after him. Sighing, Magnus decided to give up for the day. Standing up, he scoured the bookshelf for a good book to read to his child, when a small voice suddenly spoke up. "That." Whipping his head around, Magnus saw his child pointing at the book he had paused on. "That", they repeated. Magnus laughed and, sitting down with the book in his hands, he came to terms with the fact that his child might do things their own way.

Perturabo had developed the habit of ranting in front of his infant child. He doubted they could understand him but it somehow felt better having someone listening. He really should have been more careful. During an outing (Perturabo had wanted to show his child examples of good architecture), they had happened upon a government official, one that Perturabo had ranted at length about before. Perturabo grit his teeth and mentally prepared for some useless banter before he could excuse himself, when the child in his arms suddenly pointed and, rather loudly, exclaimed "Annoying!" The government official could only sputter in indignation and Perturabo took the chance to offer a very insincere apology before leaving. As he left, he quietly praised his child while making a mental note to maybe be more careful with what he said in front of them.

Alpharius and Omegon had wondered what their child's first word would be, small hypothesizes and guesses shared between them in private. "An object" Alpharius had guessed with fair certainly. "A person" Omegon had in turn contested. Turns out, they were both wrong, as just a couple of days later, their child spoke for the first time. They had gone to see the child that morning and when they arrived at the nursery, the child had already been up, awake and waiting. The child peeked over the edge of the crib and said "hello". Alpharius and Omegon looked at each other, amusement in their eyes. "Ah, a greeting."

Every day Lorgar wakes up and hopes that this is the day that his dear child will grace him with their first words. But when it actually happens, he's caught off guard, as he's in the middle of a sermon for his legion. He's up there, baby in his arms (because every day is take-your-kid-to-work day when you're him), talking about the divine, when suddenly the baby looks up, sees the aquila on the wall, points and says "bird". Lorgar stops mid sentence. Looks out at his legion to see if they heard what he did. The World Bearers are staring at the baby, wide eyed. Smiles widely and addresses the legion with an emotional voice. "It appears my dear child has decided to join the sermon!" The crowd cheers. Lorgar is so proud of his little one. Will probably get them a pet bird or something, seeing it as some kind of sign.

It happens when Horus is spending some time with the Mournival. The baby is in his arms, half dozing off, and he's having a nice chat with is inner circle. Eventually he decides it's time to leave, that he need to put the little one to bed. "Say bye to the captians" he says, chuckling softly, only to go completely quiet and stare like an idiot, when the baby actually says "bye". Then he starts grinning, ruffling their hair, and the Mournival are smiling too, congratulating him and praising the child for being so smart and good. Horus still ends up putting the child to bed but immediately afterwards he sends message to the Emperor and all his brothers, telling them all the story. He's so damn proud.

Konrad wasn't sure if he wanted his child to learn how to speak. It scared him, the idea that one day they might use their words to tell him that they hate him. And he's only recently gotten used to holding them (he never wants to put them down), speaking feels like such a huge leap. But, like most things, Konrad has no real control over this. So when one day, while cradling his baby in his arms, they turn in his arms, nuzzle against him and mutter a soft "dada", Konrad feels like both his hearts have stopped. But it's not dread that makes him freeze up, not fear that makes his eyes water with unshed tears. It's an overwhelming sense of love. He curls over them, his long hair tickling their face, and wishes he could make this moment last forever.

Sanguinius was delighted when his child was born and they had wings, just like him. He would have loved them all the same if they hadn't had the wings but he's always wanted to have someone to share the skies with and now he can do that with his baby. Once they've grown up of course, right now they are much too young. Until then, Sanguinius will share that joy with stories instead. That's why he shouldn't have been so surprised when, during one of these stories, his child started flapping their little wings (still covered with soft dow) and started saying "fly, fly, fly!" Oh, the way Sanguinius had embraced them then, smiling like a fool and laughing softly with tears in his eyes. "Yes, little one, one day you and I shall fly together" he murmured into the top of their head, heart soaring with happiness.

Corvus doesn't talk a lot with his baby. Not because he doesn't like them! Because he does! He just doesn't know what to say. So his kid ends up ends up really quiet. Doesn't even babble like most babies do. And at first he's calm about it, just thinks his child is like him. But then time passes and the baby still remains absolutely quiet, not a single sound and that's when he realizes that oh oh, maybe this is not such a good thing. Straight up sits down in front of the child one day, looks them in the eyes and, once he's sure they're focused on him, practically pleads with them to make some sort of noise. Baby looks at him. Baby thinks. Baby sighs. "Ok." Then goes back to quietly playing with their toys. Corvus is so relieved. Looks like he's not a total fuckup of a father after all! Then realizes that, wait, that was their first word. Silently freaking out now because since when did his kid know how to speak?

It was bound to happen sooner or later. Ferrus hadn't really put much thought into what his child's first word would be, just that it would eventually happen. Maybe that's why he's so caught off guard when, one day, he goes to pick up his child and they flinch when part of his hand accidentally graces their skin, a single "cold" escaping them. Like an idiot, Ferrus just stands there, hands hovering awkwardly, staring at them. Then at his hands that gleam in the light of the nursery. He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from cursing. Slowly, carefully, he gathers the blanket around his child so that he doesn't accidentally touch them again. He holds them close, closer than he normally would, one hand cradling the back of their cloth covered head, and stares off into the distance. This doesn't bother him. He's stronger than that. It's fine. He's fine.

Rogal speaks to his baby like they are a fully grown man. He doesn't see the point in 'baby-speak' or simpler, easier words. He will instill in his child the importance of speaking clearly and with purpose. So when his child does not start speaking around the time he expected them to, he's confused and just a bit concerned. Time passes and the concern grows as the child refuses to speak. At this point, Rogal starts worrying that there actually might be something wrong. Then, one day, when he's considering what he might be doing wrong, his child suddenly tugs on his clothes. He looks down, seeing them staring up at him expectantly. "What is it, child?" he questions, not really expecting and answer and almost falling out of his chair when they respond with "Can you tell me a story?" Rogal, bewildered but fighting to retain his cool, asks them why they only speak now. Their answer? "I didn't have anything of importance to say." Fair point, Rogal concedes, feeling like he's age a hundred years in the last minute alone.

Vulkan talks to his child every day and he talks a lot. He keeps a running monologue, talking about everything from what he's doing, what's happening around them, where they are, the weather, some fun memory, what they're going to eat. Vulkan talks in hope that soon enough, his child will respond. He's in the midst of talking about the Salamanders training in front of them when suddenly, one of the astartes brings out a heavy flamer to practice with. And suddenly his child is leaning forward, eyes wide open and waving with excitement. "FIAH!" they shout, causing every Salamander in the training yard, plus Vulkan, to pause and stare at them. The silence only lasts for a second and then Vulkan is trembling with laughter. "That's right, little one, fire!" The Salamanders abandon their training to circle around Vulkan and his child, praising the Primarch's child for speaking so loud and clear. Vulkan is beaming with pride.

Lion didn't feel ashamed or embarrassed over the fact that, most days, he held his child in one arm while seated at his desk, doing paperwork. If asked about it, he would simply explain it was for enrichment. This way, they could learn about duty, about diligence. And if it also just so happened that he could spend more time with his child this way, well, who was going to challenge his decision? It was during one of these moments, where Lion was reading some reports, that some loud aspirants passed by his office door. Even muffled, they made quite a ruckus and Lion's brow furrowed in distaste. However, before he got the chance to do anything about it, the child on his arm huffed and grumbled. "Noisy" they said and frowned. For a moment, Lion could do nothing but stare. But then the corners of his mouth started to tug. "Noisy indeed" he muttered before quietly praising his child for being so sensible.

Now, Leman hadn't been all that concerned about urging his kid to speak. He figured that they would pick up on the words used around them and, whenever they felt ready, they would speak up. That, coupled with the fact that neither him or his legion mellowed out their language when the baby was around, eventually led to the quite comical situation where, upon accidentally dropping their favorite toy, the child's first word ended up being a very loud "FRACK!" Howling with laughter, it had taken Leman minutes to calm down enough to praise his pup for saying their first word. He then picked them up, determined to show his legion the funniest thing he's ever seen.

Jaghatai wasn't surprised when his child's first word turned out to be "faster". It had, however, surprised him when it was quickly followed by "too slow!" Not one, but three words? Ha! His child really didn't to things halfway! Smiling widely, Jaghatai tossed them high in the air, his smile only growing wider when they laughed and squealed with glee. "That's my kid!" he exclaimed before placing them back on his shoulder, a hand on their back to hold them steady. "You want to go fast? Well, who am I to refuse the next great Khan!" His child continued squealing with glee as he ran though the compound, urging him to go faster and faster. The White Scars grinned at the sight and likewise, urged their Primarch to go as fast as he could.

Roboute is at his office, late in the evening, doing the last of his paperwork. He's holding his baby in one arm, preparing to finish work and getting them to bed. They are yawning, stretching, whining a little, clearly tired. Roboute bounces them a little, shushes them softly. "I know, little one, just a few more minutes, then straight to bed." His baby grumbles and turns over, covering their eyes with their hands. "Sleepy..." the mumble and Roboute almost snaps the pen in his hand. He stares, and stares and then stares some more at his child. Then he chuckles, his chest feeling all warm and fuzzy with pride. "Alright then, no more work." He stands up from his desk and, smoothing one hand over their head, takes them back to the nursery, a slight smile on his face the whole time.

[mofongomuncher]

𝘼 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙧

POV: Telling Ekko you’re pregnant

Im gonna be posting a bunch of lil Ekko oneshots on Wattpad, I feel like this man doesn’t get enough stories and it irkssss me sm. So if you’d like to read more the link is at the end!!

I'm not all that good at writing, I’m also doing this for fun so please go easy on me. I'm hoping to get better as I keep writing. But I still hope you guys enjoy it!! :3

.

The Firelight base, hidden among the green thick fogs of Zaun, was Ekko's haven. A quiet—peaceful place from the chaos of the Undercity.

His little room at the top of his tree was where he could think, when the weight of leadership felt too heavy—he could sit, take a moment for himself for a little bit.

His room was filled with unfinished projects, blueprints and tools scattered all across his workbench, The lanterns and candles cast a soft, wam glow over the space, giving it a calming, almost ethereal atmosphere.

But tonight...tonight felt different.

Tonight, there was something heavy in the air.

Y/N sat on the edge of his bed, She had something she needed to say. Something that had been on her mind for days now. But the thought of how Ekko would react to it made her heart race like hell.

Ekko was seated at his workbench, tinkering with a device, his brows furrowed in concentration. When Y/N finally spoke, her voice barely rose above a whisper, it stopped him cold.

"Ekko," she began, and when he turned, the look on his face shifted. His precious brown eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, she saw his guard come down, just a fraction.

He stood, his usual cool confidence flickering for just an instant. "What's up doll? You've been acting different... is something wrong?"

Y/N hesitated.

Fuck This wasn't easy.

How do you tell someone you love so much that their life is about to change forever?

But she couldn't keep it to herself anymore.

"Ekko...I'm pregnant."

Ekko froze. His expression was unreadable for a second before his eyes narrowed, brows drawing together. His mind that was always fast, was now working overtime, processing what the hell she just said.

For a second, the silence felt like a punch to the gut, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on both of them.

"You're... pregnant?" He repeated, his voice low, almost to himself, like he wasn't sure whether to believe it or not. He just stood there, trying to find something to say but was unable to form the words just yet.

Y/N nodded, swallowing hard.

"I found out a little while ago. I just didn't know how to tell you. Hell, I didn't even know how to process it myself."

Ekko rubbed his forehead, He was silent for a moment longer before he spoke, his voice rougher than usual, but it was tinged with concern. "I... I'm not sure what to do with this Y/N...Fuck...I didn't even expect to see this coming.."

Y/N's heart clenched at the uncertainty in his voice. She had been afraid of this, of him not knowing how to react.

she took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "I didn't expect this either. I'm scared too Ekko. But I don't—I can't to do this alone. I need you."

Ekko didn't move right away, his gaze still locked on her. His hands fidgeted with a loose gear on the workbench, his mind was clearly in a battle between his responsibilities and the unexpected future baby unfolding in front of him.

"Damn..." he muttered, shaking his head, his usual confident demeanor cracked for a moment.

"...I—I don't even know what kind of father I'd be. I barely have time to think straight with everything that's going on lately." His voice softened, but it was raw, honest—Ekko was always the kind of person who wasn't afraid to show what he was feeling around me, even if it made him vulnerable.

"But I'm not gonna back down from it..."                   "Not from you."

Y/N felt the tension in her chest start to melt away as he spoke.

She stepped closer, her eyes softening, the relief obvious in her expression.

Ekko's eyes softened as he took a step closer, his hand gently cupping her face. "Whatever happens next, we'll figure it out..Like we always do." His smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

He leaned in a little closer, their foreheads brushing together. He seemed to take a moment to just soak it all in, before speaking again, softer this time.

"I love you Y/N."

Y/N's smile softened, feeling her heart swell. But before she could say anything, Ekko's voice had that hint of excitement. "And I'm gonna love our baby too. I'll teach 'em alll the important stuff."

He leaned back a bit, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Can you imagine? A little mini us running around just causing all the trouble, and I'm the one trying to keep it all together while you just—well, you'll be egging 'em on won't you?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful grin. "Oh absolutely! That little ball of happiness is gonna have all of your genius and a whole lot of my sass... We'll have a little firecracker on our hands."

Ekko's grin grew, the playful energy between them settling into something warm and steady. "They'll be perfect." He stepped in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, then slowly brushing his lips against hers in a gentle, lingering kiss.

When they pulled away, he smiled, his hand gently resting on her cheek. "And if they're half as amazing as you, we'll be just fine."

Y/N's heart fluttered, her smile growing as she met his eyes. "I love you Ekko."

"I love you too Y/N"

[oblivious-aro]

This was pretty much my exact same thought process a week before I made this post. I do get where you're coming from, but here's a question: when does the episode explicitly condemn Danny for cheating? Does TUE actually say “cheaters deserve to watch their family die”?

Furthermore, consider this line from the end of the episode:

Remembering this line was my turning point. Clockwork is a very wise character (he was literally just established to be omniscient right before saying this), and he’s the one teaching Danny the lesson TUE wants him to learn. If the lesson is supposed to be ‘cheating is bad’, wouldn't that be completely undone by having Clockwork immediately turn around and, by his own admission, and in those exact words, “cheat”? It’s a very prominent line with a lot of attention called to it, too.

“Cheating is bad” is the kind of moral you’d expect this kind of kids cartoon to make, so I think a lot of us preemptively filled in that blank without truly listening to what the episode was actually saying. I get it, I watched my sister struggle through the public education system while getting practically no help or sympathy from it, and I'm sure a lot of viewers were in the same boat as her. Academic pressure can be a sensitive subject, especially if it looks like a character is being chastised for struggling, but that's not what’s happening here. We jumped the gun. The text doesn’t look down on Danny for wanting to cheat. He’s in a difficult position, and being forced further and further into a corner is a feature of the story, not a bug. Danny's situation feels unfair so that the audience understands why he wants to cheat:

"OK! I get it! You're brilliant, I'm stupid, and I'll never be able to get as high a score as you."

"Guys, come on. I'd love to have spent the last month studying, but I was fighting ghosts! Besides, if you two think this test is so meaningless, why do you even care if I cheat? Why shouldn't I open this up and study the answers, huh?"

TUE’s stance isn’t that “cheating is evil”, it’s “cheating isn’t worth the risk”. Despite what Danny’s been led to (erroneously) believe, he’ll have other chances and opportunities if he does badly on a test, even one this big. There are people in his corner looking out for him (Mr. Lancer gives him to come forward even when he knows Danny stole the answers, and literally offers him a make-up test. Clockwork messes with the timeline just to tell Danny that he’s a good kid who deserves more than one chance), but getting caught cheating really could screw up his future. You could still say that’s an anti-cheating message, but the writers do show more sympathy for Danny than people give them credit for.

I don't think the concepts are that abstract. Everything that happens in the present is presented directly, and the main idea you need to get out of the future stuff (bad stuff happened because Danny got caught cheating) is pretty simple and clear. Everyone I've heard talk about the episode seems to get the basic idea.

As for all these events caused by Clockwork… yeah that's 100% true. But given that Clockwork is all-knowing, the master of time, and clearly sympathetic to Danny, it can only be assumed he’s doing what he can to help Danny. Omniscient/psychic characters are kind of weird like that. They make the stories they’re in a bit messy, and you can't really judge their actions by typical standards (ie. Garnet from Steven Universe). Same with time travel, but I won't go into much into detail, because this post is long enough and discussing rules around time travel can get overly technical, but the gist of it is Clockwork is on Danny’s side, but he’s working under some very specific restraints, either from The Observants or from the natural laws of the timestream.

Danny isn’t being taught that cheating makes him bad, he’s being taught not to place such unhealthy (and unrealistic) importance on his academic performance. Sure, this lesson isn’t explicitly stated in exact words, much like the themes in Teacher of the Year, but I don’t think it’s fair to say that the writers were just trying to condemn Danny in either intent or execution.

And as was the original point of this post, the episode really speaks for itself:

"Maybe that's all anybody needs…a second chance."

"I guess the future isn't as set in stone as you think it is."

"And here we are with you, a fourteen-year-old child, risking everything to save the people you care about. You've given everyone else a second chance. Why not you?"

Me for years: I can't believe The Ultimate Enemy is telling kids they deserve something as horrible as watching your entire family die for cheating on a test!

the Ultimate Enemy:

[directdogman]

Dialtown is the most USA-core game I've ever played. It's so fucking American that it's scary, and I've lived there my entire life! Like, this feels fundamentally tied with the game's themes and narrative, that's how extreme it is. And it's not even alienating OR nationalist?? It makes such genuine commentary? And then there's so much other shit to think about too; Dialtown has a very real identity outside this that anyone could love?

One: I am VERY impressed that you have done the USA and its people this well. I am actually astounded, bewildered, and chuffed. I've never felt so seen by a video game, culturally-speaking. I didn't even know there was a culture to see.

Two: WHY did you do that. Dialtown is like USA Culture Absurdified: The Visual Novel. What drove you to make a game this rich with American culture and ideas???

Hello!

It would've been odd for an outsider (non American) who enjoys reading up on history to make my setting nationalist or alienating. America is a country with a lot of serious issues. You can't really study how America is (and has been) internally run without facing glaring and obvious systematic issues. DT's setting is one of scarcity and most of the main characters you follow in DT are kinda just scraping by without much hope for true mobility/advancement. A lot of Americans (especially younger generations) would agree this sorta encapsulates the national mood of the country right now.

Of course, the systems that run a country don't define its citizens - many of the finest people I've ever known are American and are victims of the whims of those with power, not willing participants in this system. I could be wrong, but that's why I think the setting connected with a lot of people. We all know Randys, Olivers + Karens, people who've fallen through the cracks in some way. To them, America's spirit of self-determination isn't about individual identity - it's more "you're on your own."

Why I chose to set DT in America would be a novel length answer in of itself, but it mainly came down to history + narrative opportunity. I wanted to set the game in the epicenter of where the phone-revolution came from and Crown likely couldn't have pulled his plan off anywhere else and probably not during any other time. It had to be 1960's America.

Of course, some parts of DT are sorta universal and were inspired by the the Great Recession and what followed. I remember there was an area not that far from my house that was full of green fields when I was born and when I was a kid (and when real estate boomed), stuff started being built there. Parts of it looked really nice, not quite like anything nearby. Like the future was coming. Then the economy crashed and stuff was left sitting there, half-built for like a decade. Skeletal, unfinished buildings. DT is much the same.

There's a feeling that the city could've been something better and while things could be more equal, it does feel like there are no easy solutions to fix everything - unless someone very smart and determined somehow bypassed every safeguard that was set up to halt radical change and enacted a genius plan to somehow eliminate scarcity. It happened once and might never again.

I don't think most people understand the intricacies of stuff like global commerce all that well (myself included), but when you're sitting looking at a half built neighbourhood mere hours after speaking to a friend who just kicked out of rented accommodation and doesn't have a stable family unit to fall back on, you'd have to be a real dolt not to understand that things aren't great right now. Most people are scraping by and feel if they could just get affordable housing locked down, if they had maybe one good opportunity - maybe there's hope that things could change for the better.

The end of DT isn't really utopian, things don't massively change for the better and indeed, the town has a lot of rebuilding to do. But, a collection of lonely people are now looking out for each other and through the relationships they have, now feel like they have a place in this world. That no matter how bad things really get - they aren't truly by themselves anymore. Most individuals don't have the means to significantly advance change on their own - but you can live your life, love those around you and support others and plan for when the opportunity to affect change comes about.

I guess that's what life is, in America or anywhere else. Sorry I rambled for so long. Hope this answered the question!

[enbyfvcker]

["Merry Christmas, Honey Badger!"]

𝙒𝙖𝙙𝙚 𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙇𝙤𝙜𝙖𝙣 (𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙩!𝙬𝙤𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙚)

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 0.6k

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮/𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩: Wade sets a Christmas Party.

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙨: Fluff, comfort, just them being all cute and domestic and Logan not being used to affection.

Wade always made a point to decorate the apartment on holidays and celebrate them properly. He didn't had that on his fucked up childhood, so it's important to him. Althea told Logan that, so he was playing along even though he didn't really care about those things. He cares about Wade.

Wade gave him really cheesy matching Christmas sweaters with their faces on them, and he hated them. But he wore it anyway. Logan wearing the one with a little Deadpool and Wade wearing one with a little Wolverine.

It was stupid, but it made Wade happy. Logan liked him smiling, even if he wouldn't admit it.

"We look so cute, peanut! Don't you think, Al? Oh, right, you can't see."

"Fuck off, jerk." The old lady spat.

"Well, I wish you could smell how adorable we look right now."

Logan grinned and shook his head. He was doing this more often, he realized. Smiling.

Mary Puppins walks in with her tongue out and Wade quickly scoops her up, the dog licking his face excitedly.

"Come to daddy, baby!"

"Oh, god. You got one for the dog, too?" Logan scowl when he sees dogpool wearing a little Christmas sweater just like them.

"Of course I did! She's our daughter!" The merc replies, holding Mary Puppins up as she wiggles. "Aren't you the cuttest little thing? Yes, you are!"

...

Wade invited the whole gang over: Laura, Yukio, Ellie, Peter... other side characters who didn't have any lines... And he may have cooked a feast - wearing his little "Kiss the cook" apron - and got gifts for everyone. He's cheesy like that. He's got a family now, and he doesn't take them for granted.

It was opening gifts time, and everyone was exchanging presents and there were a lot of "thank you's" and hugs.

It was still all foreign to Logan. He lived the past years all alone, and holidays like this used to be all the same to regular days where he would just drown himself in bottles of whiskey and be miserable.

But this family was nice. He felt like if Wade did, then he could belong, too.

Maybe he wasn't the Wolverine he should be, but Laura still seemed to like him and wanted to bond with him despite how fucked up he is. Wade adored him, and his friends were all kind to him.

Maybe he didn't have to be miserable forever. Maybe he could put his past behind and make a future in this new universe.

"For you." Wade announced, holding out a small wrapped box in front of Logan who was sitting on the couch. "Open."

Logan took the box and Wade sits beside him, tapping his fingers excitedly on his knees.

He unwraps it and when he opens it he sees dog tags that looked very alike the ones he had. He lost them in his universe while he was black out drunk.

But as he grabbed to examine them, he noticed this one's different.

On one side, it read: 𝙇𝙤𝙜𝙖𝙣, and when he turned it around, it read:

"𝘽𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙒𝙤𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙚"

He could feel his heart aching as he grabbed the tags tight.

"Did you make this?"

"Yeah! I didn't really know what to get you, so I- Oh my god- Are you crying?!"

"No." Logan lied, fighting back an insistent tear.

"Oh god, I can't believe I made Wolverine cry!"

"Shut up."

"Come here, honey badger." Wade coos, hugging Logan in a soft embrace.

Logan doesn't hug back, but he also doesn't pull away. He wouldn't admit, but he needed it a bit. So he just sniffed as he let Wade hold him.

And he may hide it under his shirts, but after that, he never took the tags off. Rubbing them affectionately like he used to do with his old ones. Except these were so more meaningful.

[End.]

Hope you liked it! I wanted to make a cute poolverine holiday fic, so he ya go! Them being all cute and domestic it's so important to me.

[minisugakoobies]

It's You - Choi San | All Yours

Pairing: San x Reader Genre: smut, crack, fluff, angst, roommates to lovers, BFF’s Lil Bro!AU Series Rating: M (18+) Drabble Warnings: sneaking around continues, this is just a very soft little holiday gift from me to you, San remains the sweetest and OC remains fully whipped for him Word Count: about 900 words Disclaimers: SFW, obviously I don’t own ATZ - they just inspire me

Summary: He was only supposed to be a temporary roommate. Your best friend’s little brother, crashing on your couch for a few weeks. That’s it. How did this happen?

A/N: All San wants for Christmas is Noona 🥰 I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season if you celebrate and if you don't then I hope you have a lovely day ❄️

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment, or send me an ask to be added! You can also send me any ideas/thoughts you might have for a future scenario - who knows, it might end up in a drabble! 💕

It’s You Masterlist 🐈‍⬛ ATZ Masterlist 🐈‍⬛ Main Masterlist

It's late on Christmas Eve when the last of your family finally leaves, and you can excuse yourself from your parents and lock yourself in your bedroom. It's late, so late that you consider for a moment not calling, but you're pretty sure San's still up. He'd made you promise him several times that you would call him today. But you've been too busy dealing with nosy aunts and loud cousins at the family party to do it any earlier.

It's late, but it doesn't matter. He's as happy to see you as you are him, his dark eyes crinkling in delight, and then his smile turns shy, like he's embarrassed at how much just the sight of you lights him up inside.

There's no reason for him to be embarrassed. Your glow mirrors his.

You don't want to hang up long enough to wash your face, so he joins you at the sink. You glance at the screen while drying your face to see him delicately scrubbing his skin with sudsy fingertips, and he sees you and pulls a face, making you giggle. It almost feels like a normal night, hanging out together. Almost. You sigh.

"I miss you."

San surprises you by looking surprised at your admission.

"What? Is that news to you?" It shouldn't be. The two of you haven't stopped texting since you'd left the apartment three days ago to head home for Christmas. San and his sister had left as well to have a quiet holiday with their parents. Since then, you've had to invent a million excuses to slip away from your family and disappear into your phone. The device has barely left your hand, every alert making your heart jump, knowing San is thinking about you as much as you're thinking about him.

"No," San scoffs, face relaxing into a pleased expression, a soft half-smile that fully melts your heart. "Of course you miss me. I'm amazing."

"Nah, I changed my mind, I don't miss you," you say, pretending to frown, and San plays along, pouting dramatically, and you can't help but sigh again. "Okay, fine, I do."

"You always give in to me so easy, Noona," he informs you, that spark back in his eye, the one that makes your stomach flip. "I think I’m your weakness."

He's joking, except maybe he's not, and you both know it. You settle in your bed, burrowing under the layers of covers, shivering because your personal heater is several hundred miles away. San does the same, lying on his side as he gazes into the phone, humming lightly. If you close your eyes, it’s like he’s lying right beside you.

The two of you chat a little about your days. His was spent watching holiday movies with Hanuel while his parents prepared a big dinner together for the four of them. You talk a little about your extended family and the chaos they brought to your house today. 

This is the happiest you’ve felt all day. Even when having fun with your family earlier, you’d felt a little off, like something was missing. Making San laugh now, watching those delicate lines around his eyes crinkle with joy, fills you with such a strong contentment that you can’t stop smiling. 

San’s laughter turns to amused hums the longer you talk, and he nestles lower and lower into his pillow until his eyes are struggling to stay open. You don’t even bother to finish your story, too busy adoring the sight of him. 

"Go to sleep, San. Or Santa won't bring you what you wanted."

“Mmm,” he yawns, pressing one hand over his mouth, “but Noona, all I want is you.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” you roll your eyes, giggling.

“It’s true,” he protests, quickly growing serious, “it’s true, though. I wish you were here right now.” 

You sigh. “Stop making me miss you so much.”

Both of you fall silent, watching each other through the phone. There’s a tension now, and it makes you nervous for some reason, and there’s only one thing you can think to say to clear the air. You’re not sure if it’s the right thing to say, but it’s the truth and you really want to share it all of a sudden.

“You already have me, you know.” 

You’ve known for weeks now. Weeks full of longing glances, lingering touches, and hurried kisses -  and sometimes more, in the rare moments the two of you had the apartment to yourselves. It’s time to admit it.

San takes your confession with a long silence of his own. Just when you think you’re about to have a cardiac event waiting for his response, he speaks. “I do?”

You nod. “If you want me. I’m all yours.” Can he hear your heart pounding through the phone?

San exhales quickly. “Mine.”

It’s an agreement. A declaration. 

He traces his finger down his screen, pretending he’s stroking your cheek, and your skin buzzes from the mere suggestion. A warmth like you've never felt before spreads over you, soft and tender, so like the man gazing at you through the phone. 

Tiredness begins to tug at you. Only one more sleep ‘til Christmas, then one more ‘til you’re back home.

And back in San’s arms. 

"Merry Christmas, San," you whisper.

"Merry Christmas," he echoes softly. "Sweet dreams, Noona."

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

Taglist: @sweetnspicy-noona @krystal-a @jennylychee @hiefisch

© 2023-24 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[minaharkerdailymirror]

MIna sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on her socks and then her boots, tying up the laces.

When he talked about his future plans with her as his wife, she beamed brighter, "I can't wait for everyone to meet you. Okay, I'm not entirely sociable, I know but there are people I would consider friends and acquaintances that I'd like you to meet eventually. Perhaps you could even make friends if you wanted."

The idea that he could have a world beyond just his partner was something she wondered if he ever considered for himself

"I will say, 'this is my husband, Armand.' and they will be so jealous that i'm so lucky."

Mina got all bashful and blushy and hid her face in his neck when he told her she was a rare priceless treasure, "You did. I shouldn't get into all the details though. I'm saving those for my vows."

She covered him in kisses, "I love you so much, Armand. I've not been so happy and excited in a long long time."

But she had to get dressed. She held him tight for one moment before she got up and started changing. After bathing each other last night, her shyness at her body was pretty much gone. She smiled brightly at him as she pulled on jeans and a sweater to get his ring.

[wishfulsketching]

Holy SHIT i hadn't even considered potential nsfw art but now I've gotten a taste I'm obsessed. I totally understand your hesitation, people can be dicks and not think before they speak. But like, I can also bet my ass there are so many people that would absolutely ADORE your nsfw art. Hell, I know myself I would, I'd bloody pay for it!

Tumblr doesn't allow it in the first place but idk, perhaps a patreon would work? It would both be a viable platform, and give you what you damn well deserve in cash, and also possibly serve to filter out all the dum dum people who can't behave themselves.

Sincerely, a big fan who will support you in anything

Adsgsj thank you!!

I don't think I have the energy to maintain patreon. I am most comfrotable with occasional commissions. I draw for the love of it, always nice when people drop by my ko-fi but I also really wanna draw what I want to draw in the moment. Monthly art rewards would stress me out,hah.. Who knows about the future, tho

the reaction to the nsfw art has been extremely positive ahsjdkso I will now seriously consider making a bluesky account for them.

I don't make thaaaat much nsfw so it wouldn't be the most active account there

[mr2swap]

Late Christmas gift

I looked at the kitchen clock again, “6:36PM” It had only been 2 minutes since I last looked, after that I looked at the phone just to confirm that the time was correct, Maybe Grandpa Greg's flight had missed. Delayed? We hadn't seen each other, I placed my grandfather's glasses over my eyes, which I had easily gotten used to always having at my side.

I hated these stupid glasses, Grandpa's eyes work as much as his tiny, wrinkled cock, it's been over a year since me and Grandpa swapped bodies, I'd forgotten to buy a damn gift for Grandpa Greg, I didn't even know he liked me. To old people before I became one... I should have given him a foot massager. This huge belly makes my feet so tired that I prefer not to move from the couch for hours.

Anyway, I didn't have a gift, so I just wrote on a piece of paper “Valid for any gift.” How the hell was I supposed to know that what I wanted for Christmas was to be young again?”

The day after Christmas we simply woke up in each other's bodies and the worst thing of all is that we can't say anything about this ridiculous body swapping! Every time I try to tell my parents or one of my friends that I'm trapped in my grandfather Greg's obese, disgusting decrepit body, those thoughts just disappear from my mind and I start talking like I'm a 60-year-old old man. The last time I tried to tell my ex-girlfriend Stephanie, I “woke up” at the racetrack showing off my enormous stomach with a pipe in my lips and several empty beer cans around me.

But all this would end soon... or at least it was supposed to. We had tried everything to swap again, we even watched a long marathon of body swap movies to try various methods, but nothing worked... the only solution was to try to recreate what caused this problem in the first place, I just had to give him the same gift, and he would write “my body back” or something like that.

My family was preparing for dinner when suddenly a sound that came from my cell phone made me put the beer I was drinking on my huge belly.

“I'm sorry kid, but I didn't know how to tell you in person, I decided to leave things as they are for a while, I still have things to do with your body, but don't worry I'll be back for the new year... maybe, I just met a guy incredible on the beach and I wouldn't want to ruin it”

Hey guys! happy holidays!

This is a little story I wrote last year for my Ko-Fi page, thank you all so much for another wonderful year, if you like bodyswap and stories you can support me on my Ko-fi page to access my archive of over 250 bodyswap stories, from my old patreon and discord…

oh! And join my discord server, if you like RP or if you have any ideas that you would like me to write in a future story, I'm taking suggestions for ideas and images.

[star-reaper]

Arcane Silco x Reader One-shot - I Trust You

Synopsis: After the incident with Vander, you find what remains of the Silco you left at The Last Drop the night before. Now heart shattered, terrified, and close to death, he grips on tight to the only thing he has left as you try your best to comfort him and aid his wounds.

Young!Silco, Pre S1, Implied Fem!Reader but could be read GN, mentions of injury, blood, typical canon violence, knife mentioned, Hurt/Comfort, angst, established relationship, Medic!Reader

I've been inspired after wasting DAYS reading Silco fics, thank you fellow Arcane fanfic writers ❤️ Maybe I'll write more for the fandom?????

The cracked cobblestone paths of the cramped Undercity clack loudly under the worn soles of your boots. Your medic bag hangs loosely over your shoulder, the parched leather splitting at the seams as you toy with the fraying material between your nails.

You don't need to be told that tonight's highly-anticipated Uprising was a failure. You can judge its success based solely on the amount of rioters you saw in your office today; chipped teeth, brutal burn wounds, broken limbs, concussions. The unrest between Zaun and the ever-oppressive Piltover thickens with each passing minute, Enforcers becoming more violent and Zaunites only more angry.

Tonight's rally was meant to be the turning point, Zaun would fight back and push past the bridge, securing their futures with an iron grip and hearts full of hope. Vander spoke of it just yesterday evening, eyes gleaming with ambition saccharine sweet as he raised his glass of ale high in cheer. Silco, your Silco, with a smile so sure, so wide, you were certain you'd never seen him so excited.

"You're sure you can't make it?" He's asking you, shoulder jostling your own as he slides into the seat beside you at the bar. The cacophony of cheer around the bar following Vander's inspiring speech seems to die down and reduce to a droning chatter of voices and clinking dish ware.

Your eyes peel away from Vander — who is serving patrons left and right with an energy so radiant you can't help but shake your head at him, a small smile gracing your features — to meet Silco's sea-foamy green ones, peering down at you from the slant of his nose.

"You know riots mean people tend to get hurt. I'll be more needed at the med center, that's where I can do my part." You say, and it's true. The Undercity lacks in abundance, especially lacking in individuals with medical knowledge, much less an affordable one, or even a doctor you can trust. You've become an important addition to The Children of Zaun, and even more important to the citizens you look out for.

Silco nods, understanding, albeit disappointed that you won't be by his side. He wraps an arm loosely around your shoulders, pulling you in so he can press a chaste kiss to your temple.

"I know. This will be a big one, an important one. We'll be needing you down here."

You smiled softly, "You'll be careful, won't you?"

"As careful as I always am." Silco smirked.

"Great, so I'll be seeing you tomorrow night in my office is what I'm hearing?"

"Well, when you make it sound so scandalous I couldn't possibly miss out, my dear."

You're rolling your eyes at him, nudging him back with your adjacent shoulder as he chuckles. A peaceful silence overcomes the two of you as you soak in your surroundings at the bustling bar. Felicia is bickering with Vander at the counter, her vibrant purple braid flicked over her shoulder and Vander is laughing at her playful scowl.

"What will you do, if you succeed?" You ask suddenly.

Silco doesn't hesitate a second, "Not if. We will. We must succeed." His brows furrow for a moment, "I don't know what I will do. I'll come back for you, and then I suppose we will figure it out together like we always do. You trust me, don't you?"

You can't help but grin at that, "Of course I trust you."

Trust has always been one of the most important values holding you and Silco together. No matter what, you would always trust each other, to the ends of the earth. And you'd never stop reminding the other.

Your next thought is interrupted by Benzo, at least six ales down.

"There will be celebrations all through Zaun tomorrow night just you wait! In just another twenty four hours we will be commemorating our victories with each and every Zaunite throughout the city!"

But, as you make your way home it becomes blatantly apparent that there are no celebrations raging through Zaun tonight, there was no victory, and instead just an evening full of shattered hearts and broken bones.

Needless to say, Silco never did make it to your office tonight, and now as you walk back home on tired feet in the early hours of the dawn you find yourself wondering what state he could be in.

Silco may not be the strongest, but he's quick, and he's so painfully smart you can bet he hadn't been caught by Enforcers — but then if not carted away to Stillwater, why hadn't you seen him at the med center as you usually do after a riot? The nerves bite at your system, and you can only hope he is safe and sound at The Last Drop where you left him yesterday night, waiting for you to find in a few hours. First, you know you need to sleep off the fatigue of tending to the injured all night long.

You turn right into the alleyway that cuts through the block of stacked houses and cross the street to your home. As the door comes into view it is then that you feel a prickling sensation of unease creeping into your very being. You remove your hood from your head, peering at your surroundings cautiously in an effort to calm yourself. There's no one around. Nothing to explain the worry woven into your deepest instincts as you quicken your steps to the entrance of your abode.

The single key fished from the pocket of your med bag rattles in the rickety doorknob before the lock unlatches. The wood swings open with a creak.

There's water everywhere. Puddles of the polluted brown liquid spreads from the front entrance. It trails through the house where cabinets and drawers are left ajar and furniture lies knocked over on the uneven floor. You freeze in horror at the state of your belongings before spotting the streaks of blood on the floor and the counters of your kitchen. Whoever had trespassed had done it in a panicked struggle, things haphazardly left out all around the property. You huff a swear before dropping your bag as silently as you can at the front door, your tiredness suddenly swept away and replaced with unfiltered adrenaline. Survival-mode kicks in, and you're creeping with predator-like stealth to the kitchen. A peek into the open drawer confirms your suspicions, and whoever had broken in had stolen the large kitchen knife you stored and was likely wielding the weapon somewhere in your home.

You go for the next best thing, a rusted but still sharp pair of cooking scissors which you grasp tight in your palm, blade poised.

Following the trail of blood and water, your head swiveling vigilantly in every which direction, you make your way up the short flight of stairs to the second floor. Your bedroom door is wide open, a handprint of blood smeared across the edge of it in a rush. You take a deep, shuddering breath before slipping through the threshold.

The bed is left tidied and made, moth eaten sheets folded over the top of the frayed duvet and curtains billowing softly from the cold breeze which spills through the crack in the window. It's all in the state that you left it in. Your brows furrow in confusion before spotting the faint light which emanates from the crack under the adjoining bathroom door.

Your hands tremble as you creep towards the door, wondering if what lies behind it is the means to your fateful end. Teeth wearing into the flesh of your bottom lip, you stop and lean against the wall beside the bathroom. You listen, ears straining hard to hear through the barrier before you catch it.

It's the faint sound of someone crying, notable only by the quiet, shuddering breaths and wet sniffling that periodically breaks the whimpering noise.

It's then that you hear the low whisper interrupting the soft sobbing, the voice tinged with abysmal pain and fear, "Fuck—,"

Silco.

You're not even thinking as the scissors fall from your grasp, hitting the floor with a metallic clang before you wrench open the door and burst inside, heart thrumming viscously in the cage of your chest as you recognize your lover's voice.

Your breath catches hard in your throat at the sight before you; Silco, curled tightly in the basin of your bathtub, head to toe in soaking wet clothes stained with blood which drips from his face. His wet black hair hangs disheveled over half of his features, cloaking him in the raven locks. Your missing kitchen knife is clasped rigidly in between both hands, blade sticking straight out and bobbing with his labored breaths. His one visible eye widens in what you think is fear and his whole body freezes up at the sight of you, his legs scramble against the edge of the tub like he's trying to get away from you but all you can think is, he's hurt. You have to fix him.

"Silco," you rasp, reaching for him frantically with tears brimming in your eyes but before you know it he's yelling, pointing the blade of the knife at you and waving it around haphazardly.

"Stop—" He's crying, but the syllable comes out guttural and hoarse, "Don't touch me!"

You freeze, hands up to show you mean no harm and falling back on your knees to be eye level with him.

You swallow before you try to say anything, but the lump in your throat only grows ten-fold.

"Silco," you try, tentatively. "What happened?"

"Felicia's dead." Is what he manages to gasp, teeth gritting hard and eyes squeezing shut, another stray tear falling down his face.

You don't realize you're treating him like a patient until you're halfway done examining him with just a glance. His nails are bent and broken like he had scratched desperately at an unrelenting force, the torn collar of his jacket reveals blooms of a deep purple encompassing the surface of his throat and neck, blood pours from what you could see of his cheek, down his jaw and off the point of his chin. His eyes are swollen and bloodshot and his nose is definitely crooked— likely broken and the bruising is beginning to swell beneath his eyes. It doesn't take a genius to tell he had been asphyxiated, and beaten, hard.

Felicia. Felicia is dead. You're trying to hold onto your resolve, face relaxed as to not alarm him any further but your heart wants to cry out in agony. Another good soul, lost to a helpless cause. Another loved one, gone. You want to ask where Vander is, where Benzo is. Whatever it is that happened at the Uprising has clearly shaken Silco to the core, nearly unrecognizable with fear and shame and you worry that if you break down now nothing will be left to hold the rest of him together.

"I don't know where to go. I don't have anyone else." Silco is rambling now, voice sore and body shaking. "I can't go back. I can't go back, he'll finish me off."

"Silco, who? What's happened to you? I don't understand—" You can feel the tears spilling over and you choke on a sob, terrified for the man you love.

Silco shakes his head rapidly, he opens his mouth like he'll try to explain but is cut off by a cry so anguished you feel your own soul shattering. His shoulders tremble and you realize he must be freezing, his clothes saturated and the chill of the night air permeating his figure.

"I'll be right back. I'm going to get you a blanket and I'll come right back." you say gently.

He nods and hangs his head low, avoiding eye contact.

You retreat to the bedroom and pull your duvet right off the bed, also grabbing the forgotten glass of water left on the nightstand from the night before. You stand at the threshold of the bathroom peering in as non threatening as you can before taking a deep breath.

"I need you to put the knife down." you whisper.

Silco glances at the object in his hand and stares at it in shock for a split second, like he had not even realized he'd armed himself with your household items.

"I would never hurt you, Silco."

He takes a deep breath, and flips the blade before handing it over to you, handle out.

"Thanks," you whisper, placing the knife on the bathroom counter across from you. You trade it for the glass of water. "Here. Can I touch you?"

Silco takes a deep breath, eyes shut before nodding and wiping crudely at his cheek with the back of his hand, the skin pulling away wet with his tears.

You sit at the edge of the tub and pull the thick duvet into the basin, pausing over Silco's soaked figure.

"Do you want to take your clothes off? We can get you dry and warm."

He shakes his head no, but does pull off the bulky jacket, the wet fabric slapping against the surface of the porcelain bathtub. You drape the blanket over his shoulders, wrapping it around to his front and tucking it around him the best you can manage. He takes a long sip of the water, grimacing as he swallows and you try to catch a glimpse of the bruising on his neck.

"It's okay, I got you." You whisper. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it, but I need to know what's wrong so I can fix it. You can even just point." You say, hand massaging tenderly over his blanketed shoulder.

"I-I can't see out of my left eye," He says, voice low and gravelly, "it hurts."

"Can I look?"

Silco lifts a hand and runs it through his long hair, pushing most of it back out of his face but a few unruly tresses fall back over his forehead. You can't help the gasp that falls from your lips as you survey the gashes running across his eye and mutilating the whole expanse of the area. Blood oozes from the wounds and the flesh swells bright red and pink and you know it's already infected. You can't save the eye, that much is evident.

"I need to clean it before the infection spreads any further, I'm sorry." You cringe, "It's going to hurt but you could die if I don't treat it now."

He nods. Silco seems to be of sounder mind now. Not relaxed by any means, but his breathing is controlled, his good eye is focused and he's understanding you.

You turn around to retrieve your personal medical supplies in the linen closet and find the bottle of antiseptic and gauze, when you turn around you meet Silco's gaze, his brows pressed together with worry and mouth pressed into a deep frown. The blood from his eye drips on the fabric of your blanket and stains it the color of rust.

"It was Vander." he says.

You freeze up, nearly dropping the bottle, "Vander did this to you?" you ask incredulously.

Silco nods. "I didn't mean to get her killed. I didn't mean it, none of this was supposed to happen, I—" he breaks off into silent tears again and you gently hush him.

You've never seen him cry in the many years you've spent together, now to witness it so many times in one night you have no idea how to handle it.

"It's okay, you can explain later. I trust you." You assure.

You tilt his chin to look at you and wipe the tears from his face.

"I trust you." You say again.

"Okay." Silco appeases, "I trust you, too."

It takes nearly an hour to clean out his wounds, by then the sun is beginning to rise, a blue haze filtering in through the windows and casting a glow on everything the light touches. Silco has stripped from his wet clothes and showered, but had asked sweetly if you would wait for him in the bathroom to which you comply.

He changes into dry clothes he had left here ages ago and now lies in your bed, curled up on his side. The blankets are tucked over him and he lays silently beside you while you card your fingers through his hair. His sighs against the skin of your shoulder.

You know he wants to sleep but fears the playback behind his eyes of the events of the failed Uprising, but his body can't physically stand to move anymore. His injured eye is packed under gauze and medical tape and you can only hope you did all that you could.

His eyes flicker up to yours, "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I owe you a proper explanation. Thank you, for caring for me."

"I'll always care for you, Silco. You don't owe me anything, this is what I'm here for. You can tell me when you're ready."

"Okay." He replies, stroking your cheek with the backs of his split knuckles before tangling gently in the hair at the nape of your neck. You lay like that together for a while, you drifting in and out of consciousness as the adrenaline wears off and the chaos of the day becomes a memory. You trace the sharp angular features of Silco's face lovingly, pressing a sleepy kiss to the corner of his mouth. Your mind wanders to Vander, to Felicia, to Felicia's two beautiful children and Benzo and The Last Drop.

You wonder if things will ever be the same again and your heart aches at the silent answer. You know you'll never be able to forgive the man who hurt Silco like this; destroyed him at his very core and you know he will never be the same again.

"We can't trust anyone now. Only each other." Silco says, voice thick with pain.

"I'll always trust you." You reply softly, "Sleep, Silco. You need to rest. We will figure it out in a few hours."

Your eyes drift closed after that, the last of your sentence trailing off as you succumb to your exhaustion. The last thing you see is the pretty green-blue eye of your lover, half lidded and glistening in the light of the sunrise.

"I love you."

[singemall-stayallnight]

The history of the song Lana is quoting:

“He Hit Me (and It Felt Like a Kiss),” The Crystals (1962)

In light of her later reputation as a beacon of female empowerment, it's jarring to realize that (Carole) King had a hand in creating this notorious paean to abuse, which makes "Chains" scan like a feminist anthem by comparison. Even more troubling is that the song has its roots in reality. Eva Boyd arrived at Goffin and King's home one night covered in bruises after a visit with her boyfriend. The concerned couple questioned her, but, as King remembered in her 2012 memoir, "she sort of smiled before she went to her room, and she said, 'He really loves me.'" Boyd and her boyfriend would reportedly marry by the end of the year.

Eva Boyd with Carole King and Gerry Goffin.

Disturbed and dumbfounded by Boyd's response, Goffin attempted to write lyrics that gave voice to a problem that didn't yet have a name.

"He was like, 'Really?' King explained in a 2012 interview with NPR. "It wasn't speaking for me, but it was something that Gerry wanted to write because he felt the same and [this] was his way of getting it out there. Maybe he had a little irony going in his mind because he was really intelligent. … So maybe that's why it got written."

Whatever irony might have been intended was lost in the song's chilling arrangement. In a macabre twist, "He Hit Me (and It Felt Like a Kiss)" was produced by future convicted murderer Phil Spector, who insisted the Crystals sing the song with utmost sincerity. The women had a hard time summoning the emotion. "That was weird for us," confirms La La Brooks of the Crystals in a 2011 issue of Mojo. "We were thrown aback by the song. I'm a teenager at the time. [Crystals singer] Barbara [Alston] was a little uneasy doing it. And I was trying to figure out the song and why Phil would record something like this. Barbara was so turned off because she was singing the lyrics and can't feel anything. So in the studio Phil was telling her, 'Don't be so relaxed on it.'"

The Crystals, 1962. From left to right, they are Patricia Wright, Dolores 'La La' Brooks, Barbara Alston and Dee Dee Kenniebrew.

"He Hit Me (and It Felt Like a Kiss)" was met with an immediate outcry when it was released that July. Few bought it, and many radio stations refused to play it after fielding angry calls from listeners. Spector, rarely one to back down, ultimately withdrew the single. Even as an album track on the Crystal's 1963 LP He's a Rebel, the song remained infamous.

Half a century later, King has an uneasy relationship with the title. "I wrote the music to 'He Hit Me (and It Felt Like A Kiss).' Obviously, I'm complicit in having written that song. I kind of wish I hadn't written any part of that song, but Gerry wrote that lyric. … And I think in some ways – I'm only speculating – that for some women that may be the only manifestation of what they perceive as love. And that's certainly true for the woman in that song. And you know, that's all wrong. So, again, that's one song I kind of wish I hadn't had any part of writing."

He Hit Me and It Felt Like a Kiss - In popular culture

Lana Del Rey uses the line "He hit me and it felt like a kiss" in her 2014 song "Ultraviolence" from the album of the same name. Prior to this, she used it in her unreleased song "Beautiful Player."

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

one step closer

cw. f!reader (no pronouns or specified anatomy), pre-canon, pre-relationship, childhood friends, slightly(?) obsessive behaviors, slight angst

pairing. tartaglia x reader

synopsis. your mothers always swore one of their children would marry one day, making them both officially sisters. but for now, they'll take ajax escorting you from mondstadt to sumeru to pursue your education

notes. a christmas present for my good buddy @hash-slinging-slasher-trash. an unexpected comradery was built up between us both this year, so let's have fun in the new year! they recently got into genshin this year and, unsurprisingly, they've been bagged by mr. 11th fatui harbinger himself hehehe

"You didn't have to come all the way here for this."

"And break my promise to my beloved aunt? Perish the thought!" Ajax gasps aghast, clutching his invisible pearls. "Besides, why would I miss a road trip with my future wife? The two of us. Alone." Playful blue eyes glance your way accompanied by an equally playful smile. You give him a pointed look and Ajax raises a hand defensively. The red insignia pinned to his shirt glints in the sunlight at the movement. "I kid, I kid. Just a joke. We can save that stuff later."

"Or never," you reply without missing a beat.

"I draw the line at waiting until after our wedding night."

"You're incorrigible," you groan.

Ajax can only laugh, eyes closed and grin wide. When he's like this, he's like the Ajax you remember from when you were children. The boy who unabashedly declared he'd marry you in one of your earliest memories. Your mothers were only too happy to indulge him, long since having their own jokes about how one day their children would marry and make them officially sisters.

That had been how many years ago now?

Too long ago to recall. You simply know it had been the first time Ajax's family had come to visit your own in Mondstadt. It became a yearly tradition from before either of you were born for your families to visit one another.

According to your mothers, they became friends your mother's first trip to Snezhnaya. You'd been raised on a healthy diet of your mother's travels, your mother telling them to you much like they were old folktales. She told you about the various shades of the thunder sakura of Inazuma. How she spelunked in Natlan with a few friends you can't remember the name of. Even regaled you with dramatic stories of Fontaine's Opera Epiclese where she witnessed trial and opera alike and what she swears was a love story bubbling under the surface between the Hydro Archon and her Iudex.

All of those stories paled in comparison to her most harrowing tale of surviving a month long blizzard that ended with less importantly, your father, and more importantly, your mother's now lifelong friend.

That was all took for their future families to be intertwined and for Ajax to be a present as constant in your as the bards of your homeland.

A summer in Mondstadt here, a winter in Snezhnaya there.

A Ludi Harpastum there, a Krsnik Noc here.

You distinctly remember Kaeya's first Windblume Festival after the Ragnvindr's took him in. He was more quiet and would cling to the figures he found most familiar, you included. Ajax hated it. Unfortunately his complaints and intense nature only led to your coddling Kaeya more, scolding the ginger for being insensitive. Presently, Kaeya and Ajax's relationship has improved little.

Ajax has been there for many a life event.

Now here Ajax is, your official escort on the first day of your own journey. It was the only way your mother would relax about your finally leaving the nest. You find it absurd your mother could travel the whole of Teyvat with nothing but a knapsack slung over her shoulders and a pack of cigarettes but Celestia forbid you decide to do the same. It isn't even exactly the same!

At Ajax's insistence, your things were already waiting for you in Sumeru. "My men can take it ahead," he boasted proudly, reminding you of his recent promotion. "It's no problem at all, honest. Save your money!" Your protests were promptly ignored, your mother more than happy to save on the mora she would have had to spend mailing it otherwise.

"Ajax, I'm serious," you remind him for the millionth time as the Dawn Winery slowly but surely grows more and more distant. Even with Diluc and Kaeya's strained relationship, they both insisted on having a celebratory breakfast before early in the morning before you left for Liyue. You wanted your quest to be on foot as much as possible before boarding a boat that would take you from Liyue Harbor to Port Ormos. "I don't want you guys in uniform when you move my things in. I don't want to be known as the Fatui girl at the dorms."

"Relax, relax," his words due to little to soothe you. "Seriously," his tone shifts from impish to straight-laced. "I know better than anyone how the Fatui is viewed abroad. I know you worked hard to get into the Akademiya, so I don't want to ruin that for you."

You hold each other's gaze for a moment longer before you sigh in relief. "Thank you." Another beat passes before you say it again, "seriously, thank you. You didn't have to take time off to come all the way to Mondstadt. And it means a lot to Mom too. You being here helped her calm down a lot."

His lips relax into a smile that's small, "of course I'd be here for something like this. It's a big deal! You've wanted to go to the Akademiya since we were kids. Is Erna going to be there or is she still in Fontaine researching water vein flowers or whatever?"

You nod excitedly, "yeah, she said she wants to show me around when I get there. She's gonna meet us at Port Ormos." Another piece of the puzzle in helping your mother acclimate to your studying in another country. "She's only staying for the week though."

Erna, a cousin of yours had gotten in years ago leaving little Springvale behind to see the world beyond the wind-caressed hills you grew up. Busy as she'd become after getting into the Amurta Darshan, when she was able to come home it was her turn to tell you stories about a world you couldn't imagine for yourself.

The fanciful cafes with their majestic fountains, the smell of spices of a place called Treasures street. It's hard to believe you'll finally be seeing it for yourself after so long.

"Think she'll be happy to see me?" Ajax asks suddenly, observing you carefully as you

Your cheeks hurt as your smile becomes something forced. "Well," begin.

Ajax barks out a laugh immediately, "you don't have to lie, I know she's not happy I'm in the Fatui." He sighs as the last of his laughter leaves him, nonchalant and unsurprised. You wonder, not for the first time, what would be enough to make Ajax the young man shocked or hurt. Considering how you heard his enlisting in the Fatui at the young age of 14 had gone, you doubt anyone's reaction to his being an agent can get under his skin. "Not that Auntie is thrilled either. I suppose these are the struggles of those in the pursuit of strength."

You refrain from affirming his suspicions. Your mother isn't thrilled but she refrained from expressing the opinion knowing she had little to stand on when her former husband had been a Fatui agent once upon a time. "If that boy's own father couldn't keep him from enlisting, I doubt anything I say will make him change his mind." The next time you saw your old friend after his enlisting, he surprised you for a visit when work led him to the land of freedom.

For the second time in the past ten minutes, your eyes look at his the red insignia pinned on his shirt. He's a lieutenant now.

He's moved up the ranks faster than you can blink. It's expected, you believe, with how many of his letters recounting his many assignments and achievements he'd sent.

"Staring at your beloved so shamelessly?" Cheeks warm, you push him aside. The movement does little to make him budge and he laughs when you try again. "Sorry, snookums, that's not going to work on me anymore. Don't let my acknowledgment stop you. Stare away! I'm pretty popular, y'know. Someone'll steal me off the market if you're not careful! We should have the wedding the moment we get to Sumeru! Why wait actually, we should turn back now and head to the Church!"

Your eyes roll into the depths of the Abyss, "we're not going back to the City for a wedding. We're not even dating."

"Yet."

"And I wasn't staring at you," you ignore his jest. "I was just looking at your badge. You have a new one every time I see you." A new insignia with a new scar or two or dozen to match. He has a story for each one, remembering every occasion he's earned a battle scar with crystal clear memory.

You remember how he's the same boy whose father would take the both of you ice fishing, telling you stories of heroes. Stories of his own adventures before he settled down to have a family. You never had the patience for fishing but you loved that man's tales.

The hobby has lost its magic since your friend became a soldier for the Cryo Archon. Ice fishing is simply another form in which he trains, reflecting on battles past as he endures the bitter cold. Now there are no more stories.

Ajax gestures at your the chain around your neck where your Anemo vision hangs with pride. "It's a badge of honor, much like the one you have yourself."

It's not quite the same, you want to say. "We're already almost to Liyue," you announce instead, pointing at the small bridge in the distance. "It's hard to believe it's always been so close to the Winery." You remember how it was a test of courage when you were younger. Diluc leading the charge, he dared the rest of you to see who could walk the furthest into Liyue. He'd always been the winner, you, Jean, Kaeya and Barbara unable to match Diluc's bravery.

He's a far cry from the rambunctious troublemaker he used to be.

"One step closer," Ajax notes warmly, accepting your change in topics with ease. "There's a tea shop at the Stone Gate you'll like called Pop's Teas. We should sit there a while, you can see the whole of the Dihua Marsh and the inn we'll be staying at."

That brings a genuine smile to your face, "I look forward to seeing it."

A thinly veiled comfort of silence falls over you both grass and gravel crunch underfoot. Your hands swing between you both and from the corner of your eye, you see blue peering at you. The back of your hand burns and you ignore the feeling swiftly.

It's Ajax, simply Ajax.

Soon enough after you arrive in Sumeru, you'd be going your separate paths again. You studying the stars, him on whatever harrowing assignment he is given. A far, far cry from the children you once were.

"They're going to make me a Harbinger."

The silence shatters much like ice and you blink, blood suddenly as cold as the waters of your friend's home country. "What?"

He says it as casually as one addressing the state of the weather. You halt your steps right at the edge of the bridge that connects the land between Mondstadt and Liyue, staring at Ajax's back. "This isn't ambition talking either," he halts, chuckling as he turns to face you. "It's official. Once I go back to the motherland, there'll be a ceremony and everything. You're the first I've told."

"A Harbinger," you repeat incredulously. "A Harbinger?"

The young man nods, "the youngest in the history of the Fatui." It's said with subdued pride, only a dash of satisfaction. "Of course, this was all part of the plan to conquering this world so it's not that big a deal. I'm just one step closer."

You open your mouth only to close and open it again. Your hands clasp together, fingers fidgeting as you search for the correct words to say. Congratulations? Wow, you really will be wearing another badge the next time I see you. You're really moving up the ranks!

"Not happy for me," it isn't a question as Ajax observes your furrowed brows and hunched shoulders. You lower your head, finding a nearby cryo slime bouncing on the water's edge grounding. "It's alright, you don't have to be. It doesn't change anything between us."

"When is it going to be enough, Ajax?" Your question is quiet. "What happened to you?"

'Ajax went missing for three days this month. He had the entire household in a tizzy, that boy of mine!'

You remember receiving that letter after you recently turned 15 from Ajax's mother.

Ajax has wrote you religiously since he could hold a pen. That was the one month he didn't.

The letters that followed have never quite been the same. He's never been quite the same. His eyes are duller than you remember. His lust for adventure had turned bloodthirsty.

How could someone change so much in three days?

"This has always been me," Ajax tells you without much else of a reaction. "You know me, I've always wanted to go on an adventure."

"An adventure, yes, but never this," you shoot back, fervently. Back then, Ajax happily brandished a wooden sword and would declare he'd be the world's greatest adventurer. He'd join the Adventurer's Guild and make a name for himself, fight a dragon and give you all the mora he gained. "I just," you pinch your sinuses.

The only sounds between you are ones from nature.

The croak of a frog, the gushing of a waterfall.

Ajax breaks the silence, head on as he always has been. "We're still friends, aren't we?"

You look up at the man, looking at you with eyes a mixture of familiar and unknown. You used to be able to read them as easily as breathing. Sometimes you feel as if you still can. That he's still your Ajax, face round with innocence and wonder. Now he is as mysterious as the heavens themselves.

Still you release a breath and nod, "of course we are. You're still Ajax."

A smile spreads across his face again and he looks familiar again. "Yeah," with that sorted holds his hand out for you much like a knight. He always said he'd be yours, you recall as you accept his offer like you're children again. "I'm still me."

[notbecauseofvictories]

50/50

Well, 2024 sure did...happen.

Anyway! I didn't set any sort of goal to watch 50 films and read 50 books this year, but that's where I ended up. Neither number is exactly accurate, and I'm leaving out television, revisiting what I've already read/watched, and all the ridiculous novels I pick up when I'm hungover, but still. I'm kind of impressed with myself. I didn't get to 50 books last year, and I don't think I've watched 50 movies in a year ever---but the more I watch them, the more I explore what they can do and communicate, the more I want to see. As a lifelong reader, it's interesting to explore a new kind of art, to try and intuit your way in through a strikingly different form of communicating the exact same humanness.

TOP FIVE 2024

FILMS

The Florida Project (2017)

Crimes of the Future (2022)

M (1931)

Something in the Dirt (2022)

We’re All Going to the World’s Fair (2021)

It's been months and months since I saw The Florida Project, and I still think about it. The bright and artificial sherbet coloring of it; the dank and mold and shadows that linger around the edges....Actually, I think of all these films in terms of their aesthetics first. Not that there wasn't a story there, but because they all represent such a marriage with form. Consider Crimes of the Future with its fading decay, its browns and rust; M with its stylized, refined cityscape even in the greyscale of 30s cinema; Something in the Dirt where every shot is mundane, or fantastical or both; and We're All Going to the World's Fair, with the particular blue-grey loneliness of the internet age. Surely the benefit of watching a movie (as opposed to anything else) is being presented with something to watch, and I like when directors and creative teams understand that.

Honorable mention to American Psycho (2000) since I'm still a little insane about it---or maybe Corsage (2022) because whether or not it was a good movie, it was nevertheless the most uncompromising, brutal portrait of a historical figure I've seen.

BOOKS

The Rehearsal, Eleanor Catton

Big Swiss, Jen Beagin

Vintner's Luck, Elizabeth Knox

Wylding Hall, Elizabeth Hand

Diavola, Jennifer Thorne

Some people may try to tell you that horror is a discrete genre---I am here to tell you that it's not. All great novels are horror stories, and those listed above especially. From The Rehearsal's self-important artistes, to the therapy-speak Millennials of Big Swiss, to the musicians of Wylding Hall (who miss every sign that Something Is Happening) and the Pace family of Diavola (who deny that the signs mean anything, even after fleeing their vacation home in the night)....all these novels are a study in people experiencing something painful, even terrible. And yet, that provides incredibly fertile territory for their authors to explore the things that come with horror---complicity, desire for closeness, narration and performance, the open wound of family, the thin netting of modernity that keeps us from plunging into something older and darker than we can comprehend.

The only exception might be Vintner's Luck. Not because it's not there as a theme, but because the novel itself spans the narrator's life. By the time he's middle-aged he's committed so many errors, he can't judge too harshly when others do. In this respect it's almost an answer to the questions horror poses---not just how do you survive this? but how do you go on, having survived that?

Honorable mention to Dead Inside, by Chandler Morrison, because it was stomach-turning in the very best way. Echoes of Cipher by Kathe Koja---when an author really knows, really understands, how to wield grossness without shirking or apologizing for it, the result is delightful.

Books of 2020 | Books of 2021 | Books of 2022 | Books of 2023

[peachylynnie]

old

word count: 800 (unintentional)

synopsis: in which you ask rafayel a question he isn't prepared for.

contains: rafayel x mc!reader, established relationship, they're at the beach, reference to rafayel's lore (the part where mc doesn't remember him), fear of age, fluff to angst to even more angst (not a bad ending), and kissing.

a/n: this is a result of me listening to algernon by yorushika on loop, especially the part, "we're losing our memories slowly." enjoy! reblogs and comments are always welcome. do NOT copy or translate my work. rafayel does NOT endorse plagiarism.

"will you still love me when i'm old?"

"what kind of question is that?" rafayel pouts at you, scrunching his nose. "of course, i will."

you chuckle mirthlessly. bringing your knees to your chest, you don't look at him. instead, you stare off into the sun who is eager to finally embrace the waves after a long day. sighing deeply, you wonder if it is happy even though it no longer shines. "i'm serious, raf. i'm going to have wrinkles and all."

"pft, did i ever tell you i have a thing for wrinkles?"

"raf!"

"okay, okay!"

with a bright smile, rafayel cups your red cheeks and turns your face towards him. you can't help but tear up when you meet his eyes. no one has ever looked at you with so much love. there is no doubt he loves you now. but what about in the future? will he still look at you like this when you have aged? grayed? no longer able to hold a candle to a ripe rose?

shaking your head, you try to turn away, but rafayel doesn't let you. he turns you to face him again. "yes, i will still love you when you're old."

unable to stop the tears from flowing, you bury your head in rafayel's chest. you don't deserve him. no one does.

but rafayel wants to convince you otherwise. he wants you to see what he sees. he wants you to trust he will love you until your dying breath. he wants you to know he dreams of a moment in the future when he can truthfully tell you he lived a good life thanks to you and draw his last breath in your arms. he wants to grow old with you.

"cutie," he calls for you, trying to pull you away so he can look at you properly. "look at me. please?"

you could never say no to rafayel. you tilt your chin up, allowing him a peek at your swollen eyes. he can't help but giggle at how adorable you are. "there you are, cutie."

"it's not funny, raf," you whine as you tilt back down. "i won't be beautiful to you anymore. heck, i won't even be able to talk or move anymore. how could you possibly still love me then?"

"woah, woah," the lavender-haired man reacts as he pulls you by the shoulders. "you're afraid of a natural process all humans go through and not the terrifying, monstrous wanderers you face every day?"

"yes." you grumble.

rafayel chuckles and kisses your forehead. "trust me on this, cutie," he kisses your nose. "no matter what you look like," he kisses your cheek. "or what you do," he kisses your chin. "i will always love you." he kisses your lips, finally saving them from the cold ocean breeze. "always."

he deepens the kiss, wrapping a hand around your nape and the other around your waist. shutting your eyes, you relish in his lips and allow your tears to fall. as the sand beneath you grows wet from your tears, your fingers find refuge in rafayel's clothes, with you desperately hoping this moment could last forever. two lovers, seeking each other's presence on the beach and promising to love each other no matter what the world throws at them, including time—the very thing people fear yet want.

as your fingers tighten around his attire, rafayel can't help but push himself more into the kiss, causing you to fall backward with him on top of you, his arms planted at each side of your head. opening your eyes, you gasp at the sight above you. there he was, panting with his sweet lips parted, his cerulean and coral eyes dazed, and his broad arms trembling.

he wants more. he always does. but there's one more question you have to ask.

"will you still love me," you swallow shakily. "even if i forget about you?"

his breath hitches.

"r-raf?" you stare at him in concern, raising your hands to hold his face. flinching at the chill of his skin, you rub his cheek with your thumb. why is he so cold? he's never cold, ever. his evol makes sure of that. and his eyes… there was a flash of sorrow in them. "are you okay?"

rafayel inhales deeply before burying himself in the crook of your neck, his arms now tightening around your waist. his voice muffled and the wind strong, you don't hear what he says. "raf?" patting his head, you ask him to repeat what he said.

slowly, rafayel rises, his now-watering eyes meeting yours. you immediately return your hands to his face, trying to wipe his tears away. "raf? what's wrong?"

"nothing," he replies hoarsely. "it's just…"

you gaze at him worriedly, your eyes imploring him to answer quickly so you can take away whatever was paining him. but rafayel doesn't say anything. instead, he brings a hand to your face and strokes your cheek with his thumb. "it's just?" you repeat softly.

a moment of silence passes before he finally answers.

"yes, i will love you even when you forget about me, my beloved bride."

[koyagifs]

𝓭𝓲𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓪 𝓼𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓮

pairing: yeosang x reader x seonghwa au: werewolf | non idol | genre: angst word count: 3.8 k synopsis: everyone thought you had it easy, the alpha's daughter, bound to be mated to another alpha. If only they knew your mate was with another. warning(s): - merry christmas eve everyone ~

" i'm so sorry yn - but we can't. I mean - Harin is pregnant,"

Yeosang's words echoed in your mind, haunting you in quiet moments when the world slowed down. Harin is pregnant. The phrase carried weight, crushing the hope you'd once held for a future with him. You had poured your soul into that bond, only for it to splinter in an instant.

Even when he searched for you—his scent lingering in the air like a bittersweet memory—you kept your distance. He didn't deserve to see the pain he had caused reflected in your eyes.

Now, as you prepare to take over your father's role in the pack, the shift in your focus feels like salvation. The burden of leadership is heavy, but it keeps your mind from straying to the ache in your chest. Your pack needs you strong and unwavering, not caught in the pull of a love that could never be.

Gratefulness fills you as you pour yourself into your duties. The training sessions, council meetings, and scouting runs leave little room for sorrow. Each decision you make for the pack reinforces your resolve. They are your family, your responsibility, and the anchor you desperately need.

You sat at your desk, the stack of paperwork before you doing little to ease the weight on your shoulders. The reports from neighboring territories, requests for resources, and the endless lists of pack concerns blurred together, scattering your thoughts like leaves in the wind. You pressed a hand to your temple, closing your eyes briefly to gather yourself.

The sudden knock at the door made you jolt, a soft gasp escaping before you could stop it. Straightening your posture, you called out, "Come in!"

The door creaked open, and the familiar scent hit you before you even turned to look. Your wolf stirred instantly, its excitement thrumming through your veins as your beta stepped into the room.

"Beta Seonghwa," you greeted, masking the small smile tugging at your lips. The title felt formal, but it was necessary with how you needed to maintain composure, especially in moments like this. Your wolf, however, had no such qualms, howling with unrestrained joy at the presence of one of your closest confidants.

Seonghwa’s sharp eyes scanned the room briefly before they settled on you. He looked as calm and composed as always, but the slight quirk of his lips gave him away. "You look like you’ve been drowning in paperwork again."

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. "That’s because I am. Do you know how many pack disputes I’ve had to settle this week? And don’t get me started on the border patrol reports."

Seonghwa chuckled, the sound light and comforting. "It comes with the territory, Alpha. But maybe you should take a break. Even the strongest wolves need to catch their breath."

The teasing glint in his eyes made your wolf perk up even more, and for a fleeting moment, the stress seemed to ease.

"Don’t tempt me," you said with a soft laugh.

Seonghwa’s gaze softened, his presence steady and grounding in a way that reminded you why he was your beta. He moved closer, placing a small stack of files on your desk. "I thought I’d take some of the load off your plate. Patrol reports and council updates—sorted and summarized. No need to thank me," he said with a sly smile.

Your wolf rumbled with approval, tail practically wagging in your mind at his attentiveness. You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms as you gave him an amused look. "Is this your way of bribing me into taking a break?"

"Bribing? No," Seonghwa replied, feigning innocence. "Strategic delegation, maybe. I know you won’t rest unless someone gives you a reason to."

You shook your head, a chuckle slipping past your lips. "You know me too well."

"I’d like to think so," he said softly, the humor in his expression dimming just enough to let something more genuine shine through. "You carry a lot, Alpha. More than anyone realizes. Letting someone shoulder a bit of it doesn’t make you weak."

His words struck a chord, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to let the weight of his sentiment settle. It wasn’t often someone reminded you that strength didn’t always mean going it alone.

"Thanks, Seonghwa," you murmured, your voice quieter now. "Really."

Seonghwa hummed softly, his eyes still fixed on you. "Y/N..."

The way he spoke your name made something in you falter. Even though you were the Alpha, the authority in his tone sent a ripple of unease through you, your wolf pacing anxiously within.

You gulped, straightening your posture as if to reassert control. "You're not here to help, are you?"

He shook his head, his expression unreadable, as his fingers sifted through the pile of files in his hand. He lingered on one, pulling it free and placing it on your desk with a deliberate motion.

"I thought it’d be better to tell you in person," he said, his voice calm but carrying an edge that made your wolf’s ears perk.

Your eyes dropped to the folder, the pack emblem embossed on the cover. Slowly, you reached for it, but Seonghwa’s voice stopped you.

"Before you open it," he said, meeting your gaze, "I need you to promise me something."

Your brow furrowed, your instincts immediately on high alert. "What is it?"

"Don’t act on impulse." His voice was firm now, his beta tone fully taking over.

You clicked your tongue in irritation. "Tsk, I would not—"

Seonghwa’s sharp, knowing look stopped you mid-sentence. He raised an eyebrow, and you felt your resolve falter. Letting out a sigh, you leaned back in your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Fine," you muttered. "What is it?"

Seonghwa hesitated for a moment, as though weighing his next words carefully. Then he placed the folder fully in front of you, his expression unreadable. "It’s Yeosang," he said, his voice even but tinged with something you couldn’t quite place.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you managed to keep your face neutral, though your wolf stirred restlessly. "What about him?"

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened before he continued. "He’s requested a pack transfer."

The words hit you like a slap, the air rushing from your lungs as though you’d been struck. Your wolf stilled for a moment, stunned, before growling low in your chest, a mix of confusion and anger.

"A transfer," you repeated flatly, the word tasting foreign on your tongue.

Seonghwa nodded, his gaze steady on you. "He submitted the request through the southern pack’s Alpha. It came in this morning."

You sat there in stunned silence, your mind racing. After everything—after the heartbreak, the silence, the distance—Yeosang wanted to leave the pack entirely?

"Did he give a reason?" you finally asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Seonghwa hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. "He didn’t include much detail, but... he said it was to 'start fresh.' To sever old ties."

Your wolf growled again, louder this time, the sound reverberating in your chest. "Sever old ties," you repeated, your voice hardening. "Is that what we are to him now? Just... ties to be severed?"

Seonghwa didn’t respond immediately, letting you process the storm brewing inside you. He finally said, "Y/N, you need to think this through. If you deny the transfer, it could escalate tensions. But if you approve it..."

You stared at him, the unspoken weight of his words hanging between you. If you approved it, you’d be letting him go—for good. You grabbed the file, reading the transfers notes before you reached for your pen.

You grabbed the file, your hands steady despite the turmoil swirling in your chest. The transfer notes were brief, devoid of the warmth or sincerity you once knew from him. Your eyes lingered on the words "to start fresh" before you reached for your pen.

"Y/N—" Seonghwa’s voice broke the silence, firm yet laced with concern.

You didn’t look up, the tip of the pen hovering over the signature line. "I know what I’m doing," you said, your tone sharper than intended.

Seonghwa stepped closer, his presence grounding, though you felt his hesitation. "Do you?" he asked quietly, his words careful but probing.

You forced a smile, though it felt brittle even to you. "He’s moved on, Seonghwa. And so have I." The words hung in the air, sounding hollow in the stillness of the room.

Your wolf stirred uncomfortably, a faint whine echoing in your mind, but you ignored it, pushing aside the ache clawing at your chest. You signed your name with a flourish, sealing the decision.

"There," you said, setting the pen down with finality. "It’s done."

Seonghwa didn’t respond immediately, his gaze heavy as it lingered on you. You could feel his unspoken words, the questions he wanted to ask but wouldn’t dare voice. Finally, he nodded, though the tension in his shoulders remained.

"Very well," he said, his voice quieter now. "I’ll ensure the transfer is processed."

You nodded curtly, not trusting yourself to say anything more.

As Seonghwa reached for the file, his fingers brushed yours briefly, and the contact sent a jolt through you. He paused, his dark eyes searching yours. "Y/N," he said softly, "letting go doesn’t mean you have to carry it alone."

You pulled your hand back, crossing your arms as a shield. "I’m fine, Seonghwa," you replied, though the crack in your voice betrayed you.

He studied you for a moment longer before stepping back. "I’ll leave you to it, then," he said, his tone neutral but his expression far from indifferent.

When the door closed behind him, the silence returned, louder than ever. You leaned back in your chair, staring at the folder now absent from your desk, as if its removal had left an invisible mark.

You leaned back in your chair, head tilting toward the ceiling as you tried to hold it together. But the dam inside you had already begun to crack. Tears welled in your eyes, slipping down your cheeks before you could stop them.

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that could block out the pain, but it only made it worse. Images of him flashed behind your eyelids: the way he used to smile at you, his laughter filling the air, the warmth of his presence that once felt like home.

Your breathing hitched, uneven and shallow as you fought to suppress the sobs building in your chest. "Get it together," you whispered to yourself, though your voice trembled, breaking apart like a fragile thread.

But it was no use. The weight of everything—the transfer, his words, the memories—crushed you all at once. A broken sob escaped your lips, and then another, until you were crying uncontrollably.

You buried your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking with the force of your grief. The wolf within you howled, mourning a bond that had been severed beyond repair.

~

You clasped hands with your old pack member, offering her a warm smile despite the lingering heaviness in your chest. "Congratulations," you said sincerely, your voice steady. "Finding your mate is a blessing, and I couldn’t be happier for you."

Her cheeks flushed as she smiled back, her new mate standing proudly by her side. "Thank you, Alpha," she replied, her voice filled with gratitude. "I’ll miss being part of this pack, but I know this is where I’m meant to be."

You nodded, squeezing her hand gently before letting go. "You’ll always have a home here, no matter what."

The words felt familiar, almost rehearsed—you’d said them before to others leaving the pack for similar reasons. But this time, they carried an odd weight, one that made your wolf stir uneasily.

As the couple turned to leave, Seonghwa’s presence behind you became more apparent, his quiet support a constant. His scent, steady and grounding, gave you something to anchor yourself to as you watched them go.

His scent, steady and grounding, gave you something to anchor yourself to as you watched them go.

"Ah, Alpha Y/N. Beta Seonghwa."

The voice froze you in place. Your wolf tensed, letting out a soft, mournful whine as your body stiffened. Slowly, you turned around, your breath catching when your gaze landed on him.

Yeosang.

And beside him, his mate. Her hand rested lightly on his arm, her smile polite but distant. In her other arm, she cradled a small child—a toddler, their bright eyes and soft features a perfect blend of the two standing before you.

Your wolf howled in agony, clawing at your chest, but you held your composure, every ounce of your strength poured into maintaining your Alpha façade.

"Yeosang," you greeted, your voice calm and even, though it felt like shards of glass cutting through your throat. Your eyes flickered briefly to his mate and the child, then back to him.

"Sad to see you go, as well as your family," you said, the words carrying a bittersweet weight that you disguised beneath a professional tone.

Yeosang stiffened slightly, his jaw tightening at your choice of words. His mate offered a polite smile, though the subtle tension in her shoulders didn’t go unnoticed. The child in her arms squirmed again, letting out a soft babble that made your wolf whimper.

"Thank you," Yeosang replied, his voice formal yet cautious, as if walking a tightrope. "It wasn’t an easy decision, but it was the right one for us."

For us. The words echoed in your mind, cutting deeper than you anticipated. You swallowed the lump in your throat, keeping your expression neutral as your wolf clawed at your resolve, begging to lash out or flee.

"I hope your new pack welcomes you warmly," you said, folding your hands behind your back to keep them from trembling. "And that you find everything you’re looking for."

There was a beat of silence, heavy and awkward, before Yeosang’s mate stepped forward slightly. "The Alpha has been gracious," she said, her tone smooth but firm. "We’re grateful for your blessing."

You nodded, your eyes briefly meeting hers. "It’s what’s best for everyone." The words felt hollow, but you forced them out anyway.

Seonghwa, sensing the tension, shifted slightly closer to you, his steady presence a shield. His sharp eyes assessed the situation, his body language relaxed yet ready, as though anticipating the need to step in.

"You’re always welcome on pack grounds," you said, your voice steady but devoid of warmth. The words came easily, like a practiced response, but they felt foreign coming out of your mouth.

As Yeosang stood there, the faintest flicker of something like regret flashed in his eyes, but before he could say anything more, Harin leaned in close, whispering something into his ear.

You felt a tightening in your chest as her voice, soft and intimate, broke the fragile tension. The sound was enough to make your wolf whine quietly, a mix of jealousy and pain stirring deep inside.

Yeosang stiffened slightly, his gaze darting toward his mate. She gave him a look, something almost apologetic but resolute, before slowly stepping away. Yeosang remained behind, his face etched with emotion, and you could feel the weight of the unsaid words hanging in the air between you.

"Y/N, look, I’m sorry," Yeosang said, his voice low, hesitant. He took a step forward, though he didn’t quite close the distance between you.

The rawness in his voice caught you off guard, and for a moment, it felt as though everything was slipping out of your control again. You clenched your fists at your sides, refusing to let the flood of emotions overpower you.

"I didn’t mean for it to end like this," Yeosang continued, his eyes searching yours as if hoping to find some understanding. "I never wanted to hurt you, not really."

You swallowed hard, the words getting stuck in your throat. You knew he was trying to explain, but it didn’t make the reality any easier. It didn’t undo the decision he made, the bond that had unraveled between you two.

"You don’t have to explain," you said, your voice soft but firm, a little colder now. "You’ve made your choice, Yeosang. And so have I."

His face fell, the guilt clearly visible as he reached out, his hand hovering in the air like he was unsure whether to close the distance. The hurt in his eyes matched the ache in your chest, but you couldn’t allow yourself to falter.

"You’ve moved on," you continued, the words tasting like ash in your mouth, but they had to be said. "And so have I. It’s done."

Yeosang looked at you, his brow furrowing in confusion. "You have?"

You nodded, your gaze unwavering, though the rawness in your chest threatened to spill over. "I have. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, but seriously, I meant what I said, Yeosang. You and your family will always be welcome back whenever."

The words felt like a double-edged sword, cutting deep but necessary, a way to acknowledge the reality of the situation without fully breaking down.

Yeosang’s confusion shifted into something else—perhaps disbelief, perhaps regret—but whatever it was, it made your heart tighten. He seemed to want to say something more, but the silence stretched between you two, heavy and thick.

"You’ve moved on so easily, Y/N?" His voice trembled slightly, and for a brief moment, he looked like the man you once knew. The one who used to be everything to you.

You scoffed, shaking your head, the bitterness rising in your chest. "I am not doing this with you, Kang," you snapped, the weight of his words pushing you to the edge. The last thing you wanted was to revisit old wounds you’d worked so hard to bury. "Seonghwa, please."

Seonghwa, ever observant, immediately stepped forward, his presence like a shield between you and Yeosang. "That’s enough, Yeosang," he said firmly, his voice calm but authoritative, knowing just how to keep the peace without allowing anyone to cross the line. "You’ve said your piece. Y/N has made it clear."

Yeosang seemed to hesitate, his eyes flickering from Seonghwa to you, a mixture of pain and frustration clouding his features. That’s when Yeosang noticed the marking on your neck, and then Seonghwa’s. His gaze hardened, his anger flaring as the realization hit him.

"You fucking—" Yeosang’s words caught in his throat, his voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and fury. His eyes locked on the marks, the ones that now tied you and Seonghwa together in a way that couldn’t be undone.

Seonghwa’s reaction was immediate, the growl low and threatening, a deep rumble that vibrated in the air between you and Yeosang. The ferocity in Seonghwa’s voice cut through the tension like a knife, his protective instinct flaring to life. "Don’t," he warned, his tone sharp as his eyes narrowed on Yeosang.

You could feel Seonghwa’s presence behind you, a solid wall of strength that shielded you from Yeosang’s volatile emotions. Your wolf stirred, a growl of its own rising in your chest, mirroring the protectiveness you felt.

Yeosang stepped forward, fists clenched at his sides, as if trying to decide whether to confront Seonghwa or say something else. "This is what it’s come to?" he spat, his eyes flashing with raw emotion. "You’ve marked her? After everything?"

You turned to face him, your expression hardening. "You have no right to question me, Yeosang," you said coldly, your voice cutting through the tension. "You made your choices. This is mine."

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. Yeosang seemed to recoil at your tone, the anger fading just slightly, replaced by something deeper—regret, perhaps, or pain. But it was too late for that now.

Seonghwa stepped closer, his hand still firmly placed on your shoulder as he positioned himself between you and Yeosang. "We’re not doing this," he said firmly, his voice unwavering. "You don’t get to come here and question our bond. It’s done."

Yeosang’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath, his emotions swirling beneath the surface, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the tension of his posture. "I never thought it would end like this," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

You looked at him one last time, the pain of the past bleeding into the present. "It’s over, Yeosang. You’ve chosen your path, and I’ve chosen mine."

The finality in your voice settled the matter. Yeosang’s lips parted, as if he wanted to say more, but nothing came out. With a last glance at you and Seonghwa, he finally turned and walked away, his family in tow.

As they disappeared from view, the silence between you and Seonghwa felt different—heavier, but somehow also more secure.

"You didn’t have to say all that," Seonghwa said quietly, his hand giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "But I understand why you did."

You exhaled slowly, your chest still tight, but you didn’t break down. You couldn’t. Not now. "I meant it," you said softly, your voice quiet but firm, as though you were trying to convince yourself as much as anyone else.

Turning to Seonghwa, you couldn’t help it. You shoved your face into his chest, seeking the comfort and grounding you desperately needed. The softness of his shirt against your skin was a small but welcomed relief. As you inhaled his scent, the familiar warmth and steady presence of him filled your senses, your wolf purring in contentment as it finally began to ease.

Seonghwa’s arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you close as you pressed into him, your heart slowing with every deep breath. "You don’t have to carry all of this on your own," he murmured, his voice low and soothing, as he gently ran his fingers through your hair.

You didn’t say anything in response, just letting the weight of his words settle in. For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to feel vulnerable, to let go of the defenses you had built up over time. With Seonghwa, you didn’t need to be the Alpha, the leader, or the person who had to hold everything together.

You were allowed to simply be.

His hand stroked your back, the touch gentle but strong, grounding you further in the moment. "I’ve got you," Seonghwa whispered. "Always."

The words were simple, but they were exactly what you needed to hear. They wrapped around your heart like a promise, and for the first time since everything had gone sideways with Yeosang, you let yourself feel that fleeting sense of peace.

Your wolf settled completely, the storm within you quieting as you stayed in Seonghwa’s arms. For now, that was enough.