#had visceral and physical reactions to both of these moments

[fangirls-just-want-to-have-fun]

this is the only thing I can contribute after burning through the new episodes of mismag

[illbegottenfaith]

Masterlist

all works are theodore nott x fem!reader

drabbles

the one where theo asks you out to a wedding (fluff)💙⚡️(Part 1)

the one where you make theo cry (fluff, comedy) 💘

fics

kiss me better, love 💘💙

“You never mean to, but here we are.” You cross your arms. “Third time in two weeks, Theo. This is getting ridiculous. Should I hire a nurse for our dates? A medic? Do you need to start taking my clothes off under medical supervision? Is that what we've come to?"

Theo glares at you (or the shadowy figure he was mostly sure was you), trying to pull his attention away from the stinging pain. “Oh, don’t start - ”

“You don’t think before you do things.”

Theo groans. “I think plenty.”

“No, you rush plenty. Really, it’s a miracle you still have all your limbs -”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, here we go.”

as the two of you stumble into bed after a Valentine's dinner date, theo realises it's not fair how much he loves you (fluff, bickering as foreplay)

you must have just read it in my eyes💘💙

Without looking back, you reached behind and wordlessly pulled Theo along so he wouldn’t lag behind, all while your conversation with Ivy continued unbroken and unfettered.

It was such a small thing. Thoughtless, instinctive. You hadn’t even glanced at him.

But Theo had looked at you, and for some reason, he couldn’t look away.

over the years, Theo realises just how much you mean to him, bit by bit (fluff)

for the rose and the pearl 💙 (Part 2)

For a moment, you let yourself sink into it.

For a moment, it’s easy to forget.

But then the thought creeps in—quiet, insidious.

I’m not that girl.

attending Mattheo's wedding with Theo makes you realise you're not the girl he could truly build a happy life with (angst)

sweet?! (Part 2)

"In short," Theo continued, as if you hadn't spoken, "you want me to treat her like I do you."

He tilted his head.

"Why is that? Do you feel...betrothed to me? Or, perhaps, you consider me your boyfriend? Since we're being honest, and all."

you may not be the one dating theodore nott but you'd be damned if you let anyone think of him as sweet (fluff, slight angst, unacknowledged pining)

unadulterated loathing (Part 1) ⚡️

"She's doing this to me and she's doing it on purpose."

Mattheo had creased his forehead.

"Like a...like a hex?"

"No," Theo had said, distractedly scratching the hive that had appeared on the back of his hand. "It's worse than a hex. My pulse is rushing, my head is reeling, my face is flushing..."

"...oh," Mattheo had said, realisation dawning upon him. "I get it. It's lo-"

"That's it, Mattheo." Theo had interjected. "You're absolutely right."

"I am?"

"Yes, exactly. Loathing is what this is. Loathing." He had swivelled around, hatefully fixing his gaze on where you were laughing over some undoubtedly inane subject matter over butterbeer with your friends. "Unadulterated loathing."

yours and theo's feelings for each other evoke a deeply visceral physical reaction in both of you, for which there can be only one explanation (enemies to lovers, banter, mentions of injury)

for cryin' out loud! (miniseries) (ongoing)

...and a bruise underneath* (Part 2) ⚡️

His eyebrows disappeared into his hair.

"Didn't want me to get mad?" Theo echoed incredulously. "Honestly, L/N," he said sharply, looking more than a little peeved, "what did you think I was going to do?"

"I don't know," you wailed, closer to tears than ever, "break up with me?"

Theo opened his mouth to respond before closing it again. He furrowed his brow, mouthing indecipherable half-words as if trying very hard to wrap his head around what you were saying.

you can't help becoming distant as your relationship with theo starts feeling like an open wound (angst, happy ending, comfort)

walking away with your kiss on my cheek... (Part 1) ⚡️

"So...two weeks."

"Mhm." You weren't the type of couple to explicitly express affection, especially of the vulnerable kind. You'd miss him, of course, even if you didn't say it. Would he miss you? You shook your head internally. No, you decided, you wouldn't ask. You'd only seem clingy and that wasn't the kind of couple you were. "Be good, have fun."

He adjusted the strap of his duffle bag. You fixed the collar of his jacket. You wondered if he'd tell you about Katherine before he left. From somewhere else in the Great Hall, one of his friends called him over. He pressed a final chaste kiss to your cheek. You watched him walk away with a hollow sort of feeling in your stomach. Merlin forbid you express any kind of attachment to your boyfriend.

He glanced back at you one last time, fidgeting with the strap of his bag, and just like that, he was gone.

Gone.

He didn't say a word about Katherine.

your relationship with theo starts to sour as you begin to suspect him of keeping secrets from you (angst, miscommunication, established relationship)

in sweetness 💙⚡️

"I'm fine, really," he had repeated, as he dragged your hand down to his chest, eyes lidded. "I'll sleep it off."

You had pressed your lips into a thin line, highly conflicted over how much you wanted to argue with a clearly sick patient. Your other hand had drifted to his scalp as you had distractedly started raking your fingers through his hair. Theo's lips had parted as he sighed in relief, melting further into his pillow.

"Just...just stay. For a while." His eyes had been fully closed by then. "I get the worst dreams when I'm sick."

You had run your thumb along your clasped hands. "What do you dream about?"

Theo had paused. "Terrible things," he had said after a moment, in a pleasant, light voice, as if you were merely discussing the weather. "Terrible things that I can't change."

He had no idea.

visiting theo's childhood home grants you a deeper understanding of his inner workings (angst, happy ending, friends to lovers)

merry christmas, please don't call ❄️

"I just - I just feel like lately...all we do is fight." You hated how small your voice sounded. You flinched as the memory of your last fight insistently pressed on barely-healed wounds. I don't hate you, you had said. I don't - I could never. No. I could never hate you, Theo. Over and over, you had repeated it like a mantra. What had you done all that for? Why did you care so much?

"Tough luck, Y/N," Theo said, his voice bouncing off the marble walls. "This is what couples do. They fight."

You drew your knees to your chest, trying to regulate your breathing. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. "I'm sick of it, Theo. I really am. Aren't you sick of it?"

one year on, you look back on the fight that ended yours and theo's relationship (angst, no happy ending)

can I take your order? ❄️🎂

Ivy paid, and the two of you found a table in the middle of the shop to wait at. You couldn't stop kicking yourself over the interaction. That was twice you'd made a fool of yourself in front of him now. Once your drinks were ready, Ivy fetched them. When she handed you yours, you turned the cup around in your hand. It felt like any other drink. You turned it a little more and your heart skipped a beat. There was your name scrawled in black ink, and at the end was a slightly untidy, yet unmistakable, heart.

"Aww," Ivy crooned, peeking over, "he likes you."

"Shut up," you mumbled, trying to hide your burning face. Still, when she wasn't looking, you ran a thumb over his writing, memorising every careless flick of his marker.

you get off on the wrong foot with the new barista at your hometown's coffee shop, but even your off-putting behaviour isn't enough to deter him (coffee shop au, fluff, one-sided reluctant acquaintances to lovers)

maybe stay here forever ❄️ 💙

"Don't," you whined, dragging his hand back to where it was a moment ago. "Let Enzo do it. We don't get to see enough of each other as it is."

Theo sighed. "So you're just never going to let me leave?"

"I can't help it," you said, "I like the way you speak. I love hearing you talk." You rested your forehead against his, your eyes fluttering close. "Promise you'll never quit talking to me."

"Done," he murmured against your lips, a hand sliding to the small of your back.

the holidays have you feeling sentimental over yours and theo's relationship (established relationship, domestic bliss, descriptions of grief and anxiety, angst)

spend your cookie dough dough dough ❄️⚡️

"Right," Theo said tersely, once he had planted you firmly back inside the tower, with a look that told you he thought you were being absolutely ridiculous, "I'll just give this to my other girlfriend, then."

"Theo -"

"No, no, I get it. Maybe I've misunderstood our relationship. I'll just shower all my love and affection on some other girl."

You frowned at him impatiently. "Don't sulk, Teddy. I love it, really, I do - "

"Then what's the problem? It's my money to spend as I see fit, Y/N. Maybe - maybe - it's a little pricey, but so what? A guy can't spoil his girl for the holidays?"

you have a hard time being spoiled by your boyfriend, even if it's the holidays (established relationship, fluff, gift-giving (theo's version))

handwritten (miniseries) (ongoing)

Look, he was the one who showed up at the window on his broom, drunk out of his mind.

Drunk??

I know! What was he thinking, risking his neck all the way up there at the Ravenclaw dorms?? It was like he didn't even notice too. I thought I was hallucinating at first, but then I opened the window and nope, that was him, and then I screamed and he nearly fell off his broom so I hauled him inside. He practically faceplanted on the floor. I was terrified - I thought he was poisoned or something, but then I tried to prop him up and he had this dopey look on his face and he reeked of firewhiskey. Ugh, it was so annoying. I don’t want to talk about it.

You know what he said to me? After all that?

I thought you didn’t want to talk about this?

Uh-oh.

Uh-oh?

Uh-oh. Like a goddamn Looney Tunes character.

yours and theo’s story as told through notes passed in class (estranged friends to lovers, newstudent!theo, fluff, slight angst) Part 1 | Part 2

symphonia ix 💙

"What are you doing here?" Theo asked conversationally, keeping his tone light, as if he found strange girls fully-clothed in bathtubs every day. You continued staring at the tiled wall in front of you. You felt rather than heard him crouch closer to you and tentatively hold your wrist, preparing to sling your arm over his neck.

“Let’s get you out of there, hmm?”

You twisted your wrist out of his grip and you felt him retreat minutely. “Get away from me,” you rasped, your voice brittle with disuse.

Theo was no longer able to disguise his stricken tone. "Tesoro, please. You'll feel better once you're dry and warm-"

theo helps you recover from a terrible case of burnout at his family’s lakehouse (brother's bsf!theo, hurt/comfort, descriptions of burnout, self-loathing)

lucky (miniseries) (finished)

“But - why? How? If anything, I’d say you hated me.”

Your lips parted as your brow furrowed. “What gave you that idea?”

“What gave me the - I don’t know, all the scowling? The glaring? The snide remarks? The bodily harm?”

You flushed at the memory of the Potions storeroom incident. You could kind of see his point. “That was one time.”

“You owe me new pants, by the way. New pants and a new di-"

a tussle over a vial of Felix Felicis proves to be strangely enlightening (academic rivals, enemies to lovers, slight angst/yearning) Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

2001*

“Or maybe it’s something else entirely. Perhaps you like having me run after you. Is that where you get off, hmm? The thrill of the chase? Being a tease?”

“I am not a -“ you began hotly, before you caught the mischievous twinkle in his eye. You rolled your eyes. “You’re too cocky for your own good,” you muttered. 

“I thought you like me cocky,” he teased.

theo doesn’t understand what’s holding you back from taking things further (fluff, softcore smut)

bad day ⚡️💙

“Hey, doll.” His nose nudged yours and you finally relented, wrapping an arm around his neck as he kissed you. His face felt cool against your warm forehead, and he smelt pleasantly of some non-descript yet refreshing soap. 

“My neck is killing me,” you mumbled against his lips as you broke apart. Theo leaned back to get a better look at your wan face, distractedly running a hand down your spine.

a visit from your boyfriend perks you up even on the most frustrating of days (established relationship, fluff, comfort)

❄️ - xmas fics 💘 - valentines fics 🎂 - birthday fic! 💙 - author's favourites ⚡️ - top fics

[incarnadinedreams]

This isn't really new or anything but the more I reread random passages the more convinced I am that there's something very unique about the way Jiang Cheng reacts to Wen Ning and it's just so interesting!

I'm convinced it's more than just being angry. It's more than just hating him, or blaming him for Jin Zixuan's death or his sister's life. It's more than being a Wen, and it comes long before so many of those tragedies unfold anyway.

There's a sort of urgent, visceral reaction to Wen Ning's presence that just has this different feeling to it than how he reacts to any of the other characters. Even characters he has strong emotional responses to, it's never with the same panic or recklessness. It's not the same as the whole "vengeful wrath, fathomless hatred, or raving ecstasy" situation he's got going on with Wei Wuxian (sexy as that might be).

When it's Wei Wuxian, it's all "...well, well. So you're back?" and "Haven't you got anything to say to me?" Even when he's not being very nice, even when he's throwing teacups and furious at Wei Wuxian, there's still an edge of calmness in the way he lashes out. He's fucking mad but he's had more than a decade to think about this and he's got things to say and he's trying so hard to get a reaction from Wei Wuxian that he just won't give him.

But he can't tolerate having Wen Ning anywhere near him. Much of the time he instantly lashes out, physically, in ways to create space between them. He's mean to Wen Ning, but he doesn't really have much to say to him; he just wants to get away from him.

It really stuck out to me how instinctive and instantaneous and emotional that reaction is when I was reading this passage from chapter 81 (ExR translation since I've got it on hand in digital text form), when Jin Ling returns Zidian and rushes back into the fray during the Second Siege:

When Jiang Cheng was unaware, he stuffed Zidian's ring back into his hand and sprinted toward the crowd, all the way up to the most dangerous area before the mouth of the cave. Jiang Cheng was about to chase after him when he managed to slice a few corpses, staggering. He felt that Sandu was no lighter than hundreds of pounds. Two female corpses threw themselves at him from both directions.

Jiang Cheng cursed. As he lifted his sword again, another pair of hands tore the two corpses into pieces, "Sect Leader..."

Jiang Cheng lost his temper as soon as he heard the voice. He kicked Wen Ning away and cursed, "Get the fuck away from me!"

Obviously that is not very nice and poor Wen Ning didn't deserve a kick for being legitimately helpful there, but the point is that not only does he lash out - the reaction happens even when he's clearly got higher priorities going on in a chaotic situation. Throughout that entire event he reacts in a somewhat more even-keeled way to almost everything except Wen Ning being in his vicinity.

And it's not just after Wen Ning's death, not just after he became Wei Wuxian's greatest weapon, not just after he was forced to kill Jin Zixuan - it's specifically a pattern established from the moment he woke up in the Supervisory Office without a core:

Before he could say anything, those sun robes reflected against Jiang Cheng's eyes. His pupils suddenly shrunk.

Jiang Cheng kicked Wen Ning, toppling over the bowl of medicine. The black liquid all spilled onto Wen Ning. Wei WuXian wanted to take the bowl of medicine. He pulled up Wen Ning as well, who had been shocked speechless. Jiang Cheng roared at him, "What's wrong with you?!"

At this point he doesn't even know how he was rescued, since he was unconscious for all of that, and thinks they're in a Wen trap and likely going to die (or worse). But there's so many echoes of that interaction again, and again, and again between them.

And combined with Wen Ning's remarks during the scene just before this, where he tells Wei Wuxian about the discipline whip injuries and how Jiang Cheng 'should have other injuries as well', the way the narrative is so deliberately ambiguous on what exactly occurred, it all makes me want to crawl up the walls and gnaw on the light fixtures wailing WHAT DID YOU SEE, WEN NING?! WHAT DID YOU SEE?

At a minimum, Jiang Cheng knows that Wen Ning was there at Lotus Pier prior to his capture by the Wen guards, because they'd both seen Wen Ning examining Jiang corpses on the training field before they fled for Meishan.

But everything after that is only implication and subtext and suppositions and speculation, not directly stated in the text. But based on his reaction, you can pry my headcanon from my cold dead hands that that Wen Ning probably witnessed all or much of what happened to Jiang Cheng after he was captured, and Jiang Cheng knows it.

I've also posted before how I think there's an at least nonzero chance that Jiang Cheng was never directly told that Wen Ning wasn't actually there with Wen Chao when they saw him early on, but came later to try to help (because when Wen Ning gives Wei Wuxian that information Jiang Cheng isn't conscious, and nobody tells Jiang Cheng anything. I don't think that headcanon changes much either way, but there is a slight difference, at least emotionally, between 'I helped you while I was there to slaughter your clan and destroy your life' and 'I came when I heard my crazy cousin was slaughtering your clan and tried to help you' and I think it's a juicy thing to add to the pile of misunderstandings they each have of the other's motivations and actions).

Which, if I go with these two ideas together, really drives home what a bespoke and specific nightmare the way the Golden Core reveal played out - not only the substance of the reveal, but the fact it was Wen Ning who revealed it.

He was already furious that they were even there at Lotus Pier, particularly Wen Ning. But the way it all happens it feels like it's not just echoes of the amplified emotions of the confrontation with Lan Wangji & Wei Wuxian in the Ancestral Hall, it's not just Wen Ning being a Wen, or even Jin Zixuan's death, the way the narration calls out. It feels like there are deeper layers to it.

I also feel a bit stupid for not noticing before this probably extremely obvious to literally everyone else who isn't a dumbass like me parallel of Wen Ning getting a gruesome scorching whip mark across his chest at Lotus Pier in the course of saving Wei Wuxian (more or less, sort of - we know as readers Jiang Cheng was intentionally trying not to hurt them with Zidian, but I don't think Wen Ning knew that when he jumped in).

Jiang Cheng looked to find that the uninvited guest was Wen Ning. Immediately, he raged, "Who let you inside Lotus Pier?! How dare you!"

He could manage to tolerate others, but definitely not Wen Ning, the Wen-dog who put his hand through Jin ZiXuan's heart and ended both his sister's happiness and her life. Just a look, and he felt the urge to kill him right there. How dare he step foot on the earth of Lotus Pier—he really was looking for his death!

Because of the two lives and many other reasons, Wen Ning had always felt guilty, and so he'd always been somewhat scared of Jiang Cheng, consciously avoiding him all the time. Right now, however, he blocked Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi as he faced him, taking the hard lash. A gruesome scorch climbed across his chest, but still he didn't flinch.

I don't know that it actually means anything but it's making me FEEL THINGS incoherently at this specific moment, so. Also I find it legitimately sad that Wen Ning has to live with guilt over things that happened when he was controlled by someone else, though the scene before the Ancestral Hall when Jin Ling starts crying on the boat is probably a better example of that. Anyway.

It's just there's so, so many layers to how uniquely horrible it is for Jiang Cheng that he not only finds out about the Golden Core transfer this way, but also that Wen Ning, specifically, directly witnessed this life-shatteringly huge deception and sacrifice too - while Jiang Cheng was unconscious, no less.

And, well, we know how everything got capped off in that scene...

Obviously the shock of the information was going to get a huge reaction no matter what, no matter who or how he found out. Even without the Wen Ning element, it already hits every one of his deepest weaknesses and insecurities and fears.

But to come from the guy who'd witnessed his family being slaughtered, who'd witnessed who-knows-what humiliations heaped on him (who also happens to be the same fucking guy that Wei Wuxian thought it was worth leaving Yunmeng Jiang for, breaking his promise for...), the guy he blames for his sister's tragic fate (whether that blame is misplaced or not), the guy he exhibits a panic response towards even decades later, and goddamn.

There are just so many layers to this perfect little nightmare reveal on so many different levels aren't there?

There's just SO much meaty stuff for these two to dig into post-canon and all we get is an extra with a 'oh yeah sometimes Jiang Cheng yells on night hunts and Wen Ning is there' about it?!

I should probably just shut up and go read some Jiang Cheng and Wen Ning focused fics or something (whether romantic or platonic that's probably an area I really haven't explored enough vs. the amount of sheer interesting hints and material the novel gives to work with! If by some miracle anyone made it to the end of this beast feel free to drop any recs that explore them, especially that 'what did Wen Ning see?!' aspect of the whole situation because that is the current little brain worm haunting me right now).

[milkfordragons]

On Hannibal Lecter's Frozen Heart. Tell me when you hear my heart stop, you're the only one that knows.

Is it fair to say that Hannibal loved Mischa? A child’s affection may be pure, but it is immature, untested, lacking the depth of experience. It is often conditional, fluctuating with the small emotional scale of youth. What makes more sense is to say that Hannibal loved the imago of Mischa, the idea he created of her. It is easy to love something that died before it could hurt you, before it could break your heart and test the true limits of your unconditionality. Mischa was the one thing in his life that required no struggle to love, no effort to understand. As her older brother, she likely idolized him, and in that, he found comfort. But Mischa is not Hannibal’s true first love. Love, as he describes it, is a force of nature, an entity beyond rationalization or control.

Hannibal claims that he ate Mischa to forgive her for making him betray himself. But this is not an act of divine absolution, nor an assertion of dominance. It is delusion. It is a fragile narrative constructed to hold his fractured psyche together. The truth is simpler, more human: he ate her out of shock, out of trauma. He was a child who had just experienced an unimaginable horror, and in that abyss of grief and hunger, he consumed the last remnant of what he had lost. The idea that he could, at such a young age, rationalize this act as a philosophical exercise, "I love you, and your existence made me vulnerable, therefore I will consume you to absolve us both" is absurd (unless he came to that conclusion later*). This is not the mind of a god, but the defense mechanism of a broken boy.

Hannibal does this often, twisting reality into something more palatable, more controllable. His mind, though dazzling, is held together by little more than spit, not even glue. For all its intricacy, it is fragile. And what is fragility if not the unwillingness to face truth? He can endure physical torture without screaming, but at the first taste of true emotional pain, he collapses inward. He tried to kill Will not because Will betrayed him, but because Hannibal felt affection for him. He risked everything for Will, long before he ever had to. That is not the reaction of a man in control. That is the reaction of someone shattered at their core, a child who never healed, who buried his heart so deep within his own mind that even he cannot reach it.

But love, as he puts it, is a force. And that force came in the shape of Will Graham. Will, without realizing, reached into the frozen well of Hannibal’s heart with a sharp blade and left a gaping wound, a hand-shaped burn engraved upon it. Hannibal is capable of love, but only in the way that a starving man is capable of devouring a meal. He does not love with gentleness, but with desperation. His heart, abandoned after Mischa’s death, was left to wither. Starving, yearning, ravenous. Only someone with an emptiness just as vast, a hunger just as profound, could awaken in him the capacity to love again. Will Graham, who embodies a lack of love so deep it is almost a void, became the only vessel worthy of receiving Hannibal’s devotion. Hannibal needed to fill him, to pour into him every starving impulse he had suppressed for decades, not out of malice, but out of sheer, visceral starvation.

Hannibal is capable of care and affection, as we've seen. And he is capable of loving. But is Will? * If that was never his thought process in the moment, but a later construction, an intellectualization born from the need to shape his own history into something he could live with, Hannibal is still a master of self-mythologizing, and this is perhaps his grandest illusion. The truth, raw, unfiltered truth, would be much harder to accept. Because to admit that it was not a conscious decision, not a deliberate act of absolution, but rather the response of a terrified, grief-stricken, and starving child, would shatter his carefully curated sense of self.

To say, I ate her to forgive her is poetic, grandiose...it transforms an act of desperation into an act of power. But to say, I ate her because I didn’t know what else to do, because I was afraid, because I was lost, because I was just a child who couldn’t comprehend the enormity of what had happened, that is something Hannibal Lecter could never allow himself to believe. It would mean admitting that something did happen to him, that he is not the godlike, self-created entity he claims to be. And so, as with all the wounds he refuses to acknowledge, he seals this one with a story, one where he was not weak, not helpless, but merely enacting some grand metaphysical truth.

But beneath the myth, the reality lingers. Mischa was not consumed as a philosophical statement. She was consumed in fear, in grief, in an unbearable solitude that Hannibal has spent his entire life trying to outrun.

[claramelooo]

CRIMSON REVERIE

Guys, appreciate Clarita here cuz I'm having to read abt quantum physics again just to write for you ahahah

Love language: acts of disruption hehehe

Enjoy it <3

Pairing: Dark!Witch Wanda x Fem Reader

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Summary: The witch inside Wanda can't help but feel the spark in you.

Read here: Prologue | ENVY | MULTIVERSAL ANCHOR | FUEL

Spark

Working with Wanda Maximoff was an emotionally crafted torment. From the moment you stepped through the office doors until the instant you left, exhausted, she made it her mission to remind you that she was in control.

"You're late," she'd say, even when you arrived five minutes early. "Is this the level of commitment you think is acceptable?"

Or: "Is this the best you can do?" as she reviewed your painstakingly polished work with disdain.

Every word, every look heavy with contempt, felt like a needle piercing your skin. You wanted to scream, to throw the stack of reports in her face, and leave for good. But you couldn’t. Your future career depended on this job, so you swallowed your pride, suppressed the anger, and allowed her to push you to the limit.

But there was something else. Something that irritated you even more than her brutal demeanor. The look. That look.

Wanda had a habit of watching you with an intensity that felt almost predatory, her eyes trailing every inch of your body as if she were deciphering a riddle only you held the answer to. Sometimes, it was so overwhelming that heat rose to your face, but at the same time, there was something... addictive.

You hated how your body responded to that gaze. You hated how your heart raced when she drew near, how the idea of defying her both thrilled and terrified you. It infuriated you that her mere presence could elicit such a visceral reaction.

That day, everything seemed to reach a breaking point.

"I need these reports revised in an hour," Wanda said, not even looking at you as she placed a thick stack of papers in front of you. "And by revised, I mean flawless. If I find a single mistake, we’ll have a very serious conversation."

You stared at the pile, then at her. "An hour? Do you have any idea how much work that takes?"

She raised her gaze, her face a mask of icy authority. "Do you have any objections?"

You opened your mouth to retort but decided it wasn’t worth it. You pulled the papers closer and began to work.

The clock seemed to work against you, the pressure suffocating. When you handed the reports in, your head throbbed, and your fingers ached from typing.

Wanda reviewed everything in silence, her eyes scanning each line. Then, with a dramatic sigh, she looked at you.

"This," she said, spinning the report with her fingers and pointing to a specific phrase, "is unacceptable."

You leaned in to see what she was pointing at. There it was: a single word in the middle of a sentence—comfortable.

"Comfortable?" Wanda repeated, as if the word itself were a personal insult. "You're describing a scenario of critical analysis and use comfortable to characterize the impact of a strategic decision?"

You blinked, confused and already exhausted. "Well, it was meant to demonstrate—"

"It doesn’t matter what it was meant to demonstrate," Wanda cut in, her voice cold as ice. "What matters is that your choice was... inadequate."

She slid the report back to you, not even bothering to disguise her impatience. "Redo it. And this time, choose words that actually make sense."

You grabbed the papers, your fingers gripping the edges so tightly you nearly tore them. It was the third time redoing the same work, each time over a detail only she seemed to find relevant.

Wanda walked back to her desk, leaving you alone with your wounded pride and mounting frustration. You worked quickly but carefully, then handed the reports back. She read them in silence, her eyes moving over each line until another exasperated sigh escaped her lips.

"Again," she said, spinning the papers back in your direction. "Here, you used significant in a way that sounds redundant. Redo it."

That was it. You’d had enough.

"Maybe you should just do it yourself, professor," you snapped, dripping with sarcasm.

The silence that followed was deafening. Wanda looked up, her eyes glinting with something between fury and fascination.

"Repeat that," she commanded, every syllable laced with crushing authority.

Your heart raced, but you forced yourself to keep your chin up. " I think you heard exacly what I said." Your pride seemed to override your sense of self-preservation. "Surely, your hearing is still intact."

Wanda stood slowly, walking toward you with deliberate steps, every movement radiating power. When she stopped in front of you, she leaned down just enough for your eyes to meet.

The office was silent, the tension so thick you could almost touch it. Wanda’s gaze bore into yours, like knives cutting through the walls you tried to put up. Then, she smiled.

It wasn’t a warm smile. Nor one of pleasure. It was calculated, a smile that said she knew exactly how much power she held over you—and how easily she could unravel you with a single word.

"If I were you," she said, her voice low and dangerously controlled, "I would choose my next words very carefully, dekta."

That word echoed in your mind like distant thunder. Dekta. She said it so casually, as if it were something small, trivial. But you knew it wasn’t.

It was Russian; you knew that much. Since meeting Wanda, the language had piqued your curiosity, but not enough to delve deeper. Now, however, you felt the weight of that small word each time she uttered it, the way it made your heart tremble. It wasn’t just a nickname—it was possessive, electric, and it made your skin tingle in ways you hated to admit.

And beneath the glacial control Wanda displayed, something wild roared inside her. Each word that escaped her lips felt like a spark, igniting a fire she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—extinguish.

It was fascinating—and exasperating—how young you were. So young. Almost pure, but with a spark of fire she wanted to extinguish and reignite at the same time. The witch inside her whispered constantly, like a hypnotic song, insisting that you were a rare prize, something that needed to be claimed, molded, possessed.

Your heart was beating so fast you thought you might faint. But at the same time, there was something incredibly thrilling about that exchange, something you didn’t want to admit even to yourself.

That was when you realized: you didn’t know if you hated Wanda Maximoff or if you wanted to kiss her right there.

And that thought terrified you.

The silence in the office was palpable—only broken by the rhythmic tapping of Wanda’s nails against the wooden desk. You sat across from her, hands resting on your lap, but your eyes boldly challenged hers, glowing with an intensity that contradicted the shy image you projected.

“You’re so smart,” Wanda began, her voice low and dangerous. “And you really think it’s acceptable to turn in work... of this quality?” She slid the paper across the desk.

You ignored the flicker of warmth in your chest at her direct compliment.

You hesitated for a second, trying to gauge the intensity of the situation before responding. “I thought the content was what mattered. But it seems the presentation is what impresses you, professor.”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you could almost swear you saw a flicker of surprise painted red in her gaze. It didn’t last long. The surprise quickly gave way to something darker, a careful calculation that seemed to weigh each of your words as if they were pieces in a game she had already won.

“Are you saying my evaluation is superficial?” she asked, her voice controlled but charged with a force that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” you replied, leaning slightly forward. “I just think your expectations are... unrealistic.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Then Wanda laughed. It wasn’t a genuine laugh but a short, cold sound that seemed to mock your attempt to stand up to her.

“Unrealistic expectations?” she repeated, rising to her feet. Each step she took toward you felt calculated, as if she were marking her territory. When she stopped behind you, the heat of her presence was almost tangible. “Do you know what I think?”

You swallowed hard but maintained your composure. “No, but I imagine you’re going to tell me.”

She leaned closer, her voice just near your ear. “I think you’re petulant. A stubborn little girl with a sharp tongue who likes to test limits to see how far she can go before someone tames her and puts her exactly where she belongs.”

“And where would that be?” your whisper was hoarse, almost painful from the tension you felt between your thighs.

Wanda laughed again, a softer sound this time, almost indulgent. Leaning closer until her lips were nearly touching your ear, she replied, “Right beneath me, looking up at me with those doe eyes, begging for my mercy.”

Your heart raced. You could feel each beat like a drum in your ears, but you managed a short laugh, more to mask your nervousness. “If that’s what you think, maybe you need to watch me more closely, professor.”

That’s when something shifted. For a brief instant, you saw something in Wanda’s eyes. It wasn’t just anger or disdain but an indecipherable glimmer, almost dangerous. Fascination? Interest? It was impossible to say, but it stirred something in you that left you unsettled.

“Closely?” She repeated, as if tasting the word. Returning to her chair, she crossed her legs with controlled elegance and rested her chin on her hand. “Interesting. Perhaps I should. After all, you seem to have a lot to learn about respect and discipline.”

The tension between you was stifling. Every word seemed laden with hidden layers, messages no one dared to decipher. “And you seem to enjoy talking about it,” you replied, trying to regain some control. But there was a tremor in your voice, a small hesitation Wanda surely didn’t miss.

The smile she gave you was devastating. There was nothing friendly about it—only a dark pleasure in seeing you falter. “Be careful with your words, darling. You might not like what happens if you keep provoking me.”

You knew she was in control. But what intrigued you the most was how she seemed to be fighting something within herself. You couldn’t ignore the subtle glow starting to form in her hands, tiny red sparks dancing in sync with her uneven breathing. Wanda quickly clenched her fists, as if trying to extinguish it, but the glimpse was enough to awaken something in you.

What was that? Power? Anger? Or something deeper, something visceral she didn’t want to reveal? Your curiosity was piqued, a spark igniting somewhere inside you. Perhaps it was dangerous, but for the first time, you wanted to understand what lay behind the absolute control Wanda so insisted on displaying.

Her fingers tightened into fists at her sides, and a crimson glow began to appear in her eyes. She realized too late that red sparks were dancing at her fingertips, small flickers of long-dormant power now awakened by you.

“You...” Her voice was a low growl, laden with something more primal than words could express. “You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

Heat radiated from her body, and Wanda had to fight the overwhelming urge to let her powers fully manifest. She wanted—God, how she wanted—to wrap those hands around your neck, not to hurt, but to feel control, to see you bend under her.

But she knew she couldn’t. Not here.

Wanda took a step back, trying to regain control. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, but all she saw was your expression: defiant yet vulnerable. So maddeningly perfect.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” she finally broke the silence, her voice low and loaded. “You think your sharp words and rebellious attitude will get you anywhere?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The intensity of her gaze left you frozen in place, and the small part of you that dared to confront her was now silent.

“You irritate me,” Wanda continued, her voice a dangerous mix of frustration and something darker, something she herself didn’t want to admit. “And at the same time...”

She stopped, swallowing the words before they escaped. No. She wasn’t going to give you that satisfaction.

But what she couldn’t hide, what was as clear as the red glow still flickering in her eyes, was that there was something about you that called to her, that provoked her in a way no one ever had before.

You were a spark. A wildfire. A slow, inevitable destruction.

And Wanda knew, deep down, that she couldn’t extinguish you.

She stared at you for another moment, her crimson eyes still glowing. “Leave,” she ordered, her voice firm but not as steady as before. “Now!”

You obeyed, but each step toward the door felt like it led you deeper into a maze you knew you couldn’t escape. As you left, the sound of Wanda’s controlled breathing still echoed in your mind.

Inside the office, alone, Wanda finally allowed herself to relax. But as she looked at her hands, still trembling with residual energy, she knew the truth: there was something about you she couldn’t ignore. Something that pulled her to a place she wasn’t sure she wanted to explore.

“She’ll be my ruin,” Wanda murmured, the red glow finally fading. “And God help me, because I want it more than anything.”

[...]

One more night, when you would go to sleep with your thoughts fixed on one another. The night was an escape for both of you, though neither of you truly understood why. When your eyes closed, the world around you dissolved, and there you were.

The setting was simple: a kitchen bathed in the warm light of sunset streaming through open windows. The sound of children’s laughter echoed in the background, and the air was filled with the aroma of something delicious baking in the oven. You sat on the couch in the living room, a serene smile on your lips as you cradled a small, green-eyed baby.

Seline.

You had never seen her before in real life, but in the dream, she was yours, and it made sense in an inexplicable way. She was warm against your chest, nursing with a strong, satisfied rhythm. Every movement she made was familiar, natural, as if it were a moment you had always known.

In the corner of the room, Wanda stood. Her figure was a blend of strength and gentleness as she used her powers to stir a pot on the stove. The red glow danced in her hands, and she seemed calm, almost happy. From time to time, she glanced away from her task to look at you.

Wanda watched you from afar, her eyes capturing the serenity on your face as you held the little one. The scene was so intimate, so natural, that it made something inside her tighten. She didn’t understand how, but she knew she had lived this moment before.

It was always the same scene, the same dream, yet each night it felt more real, more alive.

“Are you comfortable, my love?” Wanda asked with a tenderness that made both your hearts ache.

Your smile was her answer, but you confirmed it with a simple, “Yes.” It wasn’t just a response; it was an absolute truth, and Wanda felt it deep in her chest.

As she knelt by your side, her touch was both reverent and familiar. Her fingers, still warm from her magic, skillfully worked to ease any tension you might have felt. It was an act of care that transcended the moment—it was a promise.

“You make it look so easy,” Wanda murmured, her eyes fixed on Seline, who nestled against you with complete trust.

“Because with you here, everything is.” Your answer was simple but laden with something Wanda couldn’t quite name.

These moments always ended the same way: Wanda leaned in to place a kiss on your forehead, her fingers brushing your skin with the lingering warmth of her magic. Yet there was something in her gaze, something deep and unwavering, as if she were looking at a home she had both lost and found at the same time.

Wanda woke with a jolt.

Reality hit her like a cold bucket of water. The room she was in wasn’t the house from the dream. It was the bedroom of this universe, shared with Vision, but as empty as a cavern.

She closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her temples. What was that? Why did she keep reliving this scene with you, someone she could barely tolerate in real life?

It was impossible. Wasn’t it?

But the more nights passed, the more Wanda was convinced there was something between you that defied the laws of time and space. Something that transcended multiverses, as if you were two pieces of a cosmic puzzle, always destined to meet, yet doomed to lose one another.

And somewhere within her, a certainty grew: these dreams weren’t mere figments of her imagination. They were fragments of something greater, something her soul recognized even if her mind denied it.

But the truth was more complicated. Wanda knew she didn’t hate you.

At the same time, you woke up.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your heart pounding. There was Seline again, a name that seemed to echo within you like a forgotten memory. And Wanda... The gentleness in her eyes, the careful touch, the way she seemed so at ease in that dream world...

You hated yourself for it. Hated that a woman like her could leave you so vulnerable, so desperate for something you didn’t understand.

Back at the office the next day, Wanda was different.

The shell of the unshakable, cruel woman seemed cracked. Her eyes lingered on you for too long, something indefinable passing through her gaze. And her powers, long thought dormant, began to peek through the cracks.

Every time you spoke, every time she grew irritated by your presence, the red glow threatened to surface.

And Wanda didn’t know if it terrified her... or excited her.

The soft light of the setting sun filtered through the window, reflecting off perfectly arranged bookshelves and furniture that exuded authority. You sat across from her, your posture a mix of defiance and nervousness.

Today, something was different.

Wanda didn’t speak much, but her eyes… they were sharp, as if peeling back layers, analyzing every part of you. She had prepared a stack of reports and exercises, each more complex and tedious than the last.

“I want you to review all of this in one hour,” Wanda said, her voice low and cutting.

“All of this?” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “You want me to do alone in an hour what your students do in a week?”

“Yes,” Wanda answered simply, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “Unless it’s too much for you.”

You gritted your teeth, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing you hesitate. Picking up the first sheet, you began to work, but the questions were deliberately vague, almost impossible to solve.

“This doesn’t make sense,” you muttered, more to yourself than to her.

Wanda looked up, her fingers tapping on the desk. “What was that?”

“This,” you said, holding up the sheet. “The question is poorly written. It doesn’t make sense. Not even the brightest professor could solve it.”

The corner of Wanda’s mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Perhaps the problem isn’t the question but the person answering it.”

Blood rushed to your face. You knew she was provoking you, testing how far she could push you. But you were tired of it too.

“With all due respect, professor,” you began, your tone sour, “if you’re trying to humiliate me, maybe you should try harder. This isn’t difficult; it’s just poorly done.”

Wanda’s eyes narrowed. The room seemed to grow warmer.

“Repeat that,” she said, her voice so calm it was chilling.

You hesitated, but her gaze dared you, as if saying you wouldn’t have the courage.

“I said,” you continued, your voice trembling, “that maybe... maybe you should—”

Before you could finish, something in the room shifted. The air around you seemed to vibrate, as if charged with electricity. The temperature truly rose, and a red glow began to emanate from Wanda’s hands, now resting on the desk.

Her eyes... They glowed in a way that seemed impossible.

Time stretched thin, like a taut wire on the verge of snapping. You stared at Wanda, the scarlet glow dancing around her hands like something alive, pulsing. Sparks floated in the air, illuminating the room with a supernatural crimson light, almost hypnotic.

You told yourself you should be afraid, but fear never came. What replaced it was a deep, unsettling curiosity. Powers? Was this real? It seemed impossible, yet there she was, almost divine in her presence, her eyes burning like stars with an intensity that made you forget to breathe.

Wanda seemed less human in that moment — more like something beyond flesh and bone, beyond anything you could comprehend. And yet, you couldn’t look away. Her beauty, already disarming before, now seemed amplified. It was as if the power radiating from her was an extension of everything that made her irresistible.

“Perhaps I should what?” Wanda asked, her voice dripping with irony and danger.

You froze. The red glow intensified, forming tiny sparks floating in the air. Papers on the desk began to slide on their own, and the bookshelves groaned, as if adjusting to an invisible weight.

“I…” you tried to speak, but your voice faltered.

Wanda rose slowly, every movement deliberate, her eyes locked onto yours. The crimson aura around her was mesmerizing and terrifying all at once.

“Why does she challenge us like this? Doesn’t she know what she’s playing with?” A darker, more instinctual voice echoed in Wanda’s mind. End it now. Show her who’s stronger.

But then, a quieter voice, almost a whisper, countered. What if that’s what she wants? What if she isn’t just challenging us, but trying to reach us?

Wanda’s eyes flickered as she struggled to maintain control, red energy pulsing around her hands. You, so small and yet somehow imposing, stood frozen in place. Your bravery was foolish, but there was something in the way you looked at her �� as if you saw beyond the raw power, beyond the unshakable façade.

“Why do you keep testing my limits, detka?” Wanda asked, her voice low but sharp as a blade. “Don’t you see how this could end up hurting you?”

You didn’t know what to say. Fear and adrenaline mixed inside you, but there was something else… something darker, more intimate. You were fascinated by her, by the power she exuded with every fiber of her being.

“I… don’t know,” you finally murmured.

“She doesn’t understand,” the cruel voice insisted. "She doesn’t know what she’s risking."

"She knows exactly what she’s doing," the gentler voice argued. "She’s seeing what no one else sees."

“Don’t know?” Wanda repeated, stepping closer. The red energy around her seemed alive, pulsing with each beat of her heart. “Maybe I should teach you not to meddle with things you don’t understand.”

Suddenly, the crimson glow burst in a flash that illuminated the entire room. The walls vibrated, and you instinctively shrank into your chair, shielding your face with your arms.

When the light dimmed, the office was a mess. Papers were scattered everywhere, books had fallen from the shelves, and Wanda’s desk bore a deep scorch mark.

You looked at her, your heart pounding in your chest. Wanda was still there, but something about her seemed different. More alive. More dangerous.

She was breathing heavily, as if she’d just run a marathon. For a moment, her eyes met yours, and there was something there that left you speechless.

“Get out,” Wanda finally said, her voice low but filled with an authority that brooked no argument. “Now!”

You stared at her figure, and she looked like a goddess — the incandescent red glow surrounding her gave her a unique aura, leaving you captivated.

With clenched fists and inexplicable courage, you answered, “No.”

The word echoed through the office, charged with a boldness you didn’t know you possessed. Wanda stopped in her tracks, her bright red eyes fixed on you. For a brief moment, the world seemed to freeze.

“She’s crazy,” the dark voice commented.

“Or extremely brave,” the other voice countered.

Wanda tilted her head slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile forming on her lips. She took a slow, deliberate step forward, the energy around her dimming but not disappearing.

The glow around her intensified, almost blinding, and the air in the room grew dense and suffocating. She looked like a storm about to break, every muscle in her body tense, as if on the verge of destroying everything around her.

“Do you have any idea what you just said?” Wanda asked, her voice low and dangerous, like the rumble of distant thunder.

You swallowed hard, but something inside you refused to yield. “I do.”

Wanda’s gaze narrowed, and the red glow around her flickered, like an unstable flame. She stepped closer, and you had to fight the instinct to back away.

She stopped inches from you, the heat of her magic almost tangible. Her eyes were like portals — intense and deep — and for a moment, you felt completely vulnerable under her gaze.

“She’s fascinating,” the gentle voice whispered in Wanda’s mind.

“She’s dangerous,” the cruel voice replied.

“Then why do you keep staying?” Wanda murmured, her voice laced with both threat and genuine curiosity.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding, but you held her gaze. “Because deep down, I think you want me to.”

That answer hit Wanda like a wave. The voices in her mind fell silent, and she took a slight step back, the red glow around her diminishing even further. She turned her back to you, her hands trembling slightly.

“She saw beyond us,” Wanda thought, confused. "She saw something even we don’t understand."

At last, Wanda spoke, her voice softer, almost broken. “You have no idea what you’re saying.”

But the smile you gave in response was full of a certainty that disarmed her completely. “I think you don’t either.”

“You’re just an insolent girl,” Wanda said, her voice laced with disdain and something else you couldn’t quite identify. “You have no idea what you’re doing or who you’re dealing with.”

“Maybe not,” you answered, lifting your chin defiantly. “But you don’t seem to know who I am either. Or what I’m capable of enduring.”

The red glow intensified, casting her face in an ominous light. You could feel her anger, palpable like a wave of heat, but there was something else — a sort of fascination that seemed to disturb her as much as it did you.

“You’re playing with fire, little girl,” Wanda said, her voice low, but full of promise.

“Maybe,” you retorted, your own voice steadier than you expected. “But it definitely seems like you are too.”

For a moment, Wanda was silent, simply staring at you. The glow around her began to fade, but her eyes still burned with an intensity that made you tremble.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” Wanda murmured, more to herself than to you.

“Then show me,” you challenged, the words escaping before you could stop them.

Wanda took another step, now so close that you could feel her warmth, the soft scent of something sweet and spicy that seemed uniquely hers. The red glow around her disappeared completely, but the intensity in her eyes remained.

She tilted her head, a dark smile forming on her lips. “You’re really not afraid of me, are you?”

“Should I be?”

Wanda let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, you should. But something tells me you don’t learn until you feel it firsthand.”

Before you could process what was happening, Wanda raised her hand—not to touch you, but as if she were trying to summon something. Her eyes glowed intensely for a brief moment, but nothing happened. The power seemed to dissipate into the air before reaching you.

She frowned, confused, and tried again. Nothing.

“Interesting,” you remarked, trying to hide the tremor in your voice. “Seems like I’m not as easy to control as the others.”

Her irritation was evident, but there was something else in her eyes—a mix of fascination and frustration that made your heart race.

“You’re insufferable!” Wanda muttered, her voice laced with disdain but also a strange warmth that sent a shiver down your spine.

“And you’re a tyrant,” you shot back, knowing you were treading dangerous ground.

“A tyrant?” she repeated, letting out a quiet laugh. “If I were, you’d already be begging for mercy.”

“Maybe I want you to make me beg,” you replied without thinking.

Wanda fell silent, just staring at you. The red glow returned to her eyes for a moment, but she quickly suppressed it.

“I already told you to leave,” she said again, but this time her voice carried something deeper, more intimate.

You let out a small growl of frustration—like a puppy—and Wanda found it... endearing.

“And I said no!” You stepped closer to her. “I want to help... I’m pretty sure it’s not normal to see a woman throwing red energy balls around.”

As you rambled on, Wanda noticed something in your eyes that made her power waver, even weaken.

Wanda arched an eyebrow, the crimson glow fading momentarily, replaced by a sharp, cynical look. “Red energy balls?”

“Yes, red energy balls,” you retorted, crossing your arms. “That’s not exactly a typical classroom occurrence, is it?”

Wanda didn’t respond immediately. She leaned against her desk, arms crossed, as if assessing you. Despite her casual posture, her eyes dissected every movement, every nuance of your voice.

“And what do you suggest we do, little know-it-all?” she asked at last, her words dripping with sarcasm.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, holding her gaze with a determination that seemed to irritate her even more. “But pretending it’s not happening won’t solve anything.”

Silence filled the room again, and Wanda realized she was holding her breath. You weren’t backing down, and that unsettled her—not because you were annoying, but because she liked it. More than she should.

“You’re so irritating,” Wanda finally said, her voice low and controlled, as if trying to convince herself.

“You’ve already said that. Repeating yourself today, aren’t you?” you quipped back.

Her eyes flared red again, a flash of intense crimson that made the air around her heat up. “Watch your mouth, brat,” Wanda warned, her voice taking on a dangerous tone.

But you didn’t back away. Instead, you leaned in slightly, as if testing her limits. “Or what? You’ll throw another red energy ball at me?”

Wanda let out a short, humorless laugh, but something in her gaze faltered. It wasn’t fear or anger—something darker, more unspoken.

“You really have no idea what I am, do you?” she asked, a mix of exasperation and admiration in her tone.

“I’m waiting for you to explain.”

Wanda narrowed her eyes, tilting her head slightly as if weighing how much you really wanted to know. There was something in your defiant tone, in your unwavering gaze, that made her almost... trust. But trust wasn’t something Wanda Maximoff offered freely.

She sighed deeply, walking slowly toward her desk. Stopping beside it, she placed a firm hand on the wooden surface as her eyes wandered, searching for the right words to begin.

“I’m... more than I seem,” she started, her tone serious. “Much more.”

Her eyes locked on yours again, scrutinizing you, as if deciding whether to reveal what she was about to say.

“There’s a name some people have given me,” she continued, her fingers twitching slightly against the desk. “A name that, in other worlds, carries more weight than you can imagine. Scarlet Witch.”

You blinked, confused but intrigued. “Scarlet Witch? That sounds... conceptual.”

Wanda let out another short, humorless laugh. “It’s not just conceptual. It’s a prophecy. A myth. Something I never wanted, but somehow, I was forced to accept.”

“And what does it mean?” you asked, taking a small step forward.

“It means I’m a Nexus Being,” Wanda replied, her eyes beginning to glow faintly red again. “A unique entity across the multiverse. Someone with the power to alter realities, to shape the very fabric of time and space. But that... that power shouldn’t exist here.”

“Why not?” you asked, feeling a chill run down your spine as her tone darkened.

“Because in this universe, I wasn’t supposed to have powers,” Wanda admitted, her voice carrying a mix of anger and frustration. “I was meant to be an ordinary woman. A teacher. A mother. A wife.”

She paused, her gaze piercing.

“But something changed,” she continued, her voice growing rougher. “Something awakened in me. And I’m almost certain you’re part of it.”

Your heart raced, but you fought to keep your composure. “Me? What did I do?”

“It’s not what you did,” Wanda replied, stepping closer. “It’s what you are. Your presence here... it’s like a catalyst. Every time you challenge me, every time you confront me, it’s as if something inside me is trying to break free.”

“And what exactly is trying to emerge?” you asked, your voice quieter than you expected.

Wanda leaned in slightly, her eyes glowing with that burning red again. “The power. The control. The Scarlet Witch herself.”

She took a step back, distancing herself from you as if trying to regain control.

“In other worlds,” she began again, her voice calmer but still tense, “I was a figure of destruction. I did... unforgivable things. I manipulated entire realities. Created a perfect world for myself, where I had everything I wanted. But it all fell apart.”

You could tell she was speaking about something deeply personal, something that haunted her.

“And then, I was confronted. By other heroes. By people who believed they knew best. In the end, I had to undo everything. I had to destroy what I loved most.”

“What?” you asked, feeling a tightness in your chest.

“My children,” Wanda said simply, her voice trembling slightly. “Tommy and Billy. They were real to me. But not to the rest of the world. So I lost them. And I’ve lived with that ever since.”

You stayed silent, unsure of what to say.

“And now, here I am,” Wanda continued, her voice hardening again. “Trying to be something I’m not. Trying to be normal. But you... you’re making that impossible.”

“I don’t understand,” you finally said, your voice hesitant. “What did I do?”

“You challenge me,” Wanda replied, her eyes glowing again. “You force me to confront things I’d rather forget, because I can’t make you forget—I can’t manipulate you. And now... now, I’m not sure if I can control this anymore.”

The air around her began to vibrate, charged with energy.

“You should be afraid of me,” Wanda said, her voice low but intense. “Because if I lose control again, I don’t know what might happen.”

But you, with that stubbornness that seemed to both irritate and fascinate her, stepped forward and replied:

“Maybe I’m not afraid because I see something in you that you don’t see. Maybe I see someone who still has a choice. Someone who can be more than this... Scarlet Witch.”

Wanda remained silent, her eyes glowing with something that seemed like a mixture of admiration and frustration. And, for the first time, she didn’t know how to respond.

She stood frozen, your words echoing in her mind, reverberating in a way she couldn’t ignore. She felt your persistent gaze on her, but she couldn’t meet it. She needed to maintain control, to step back from the internal abyss that seemed to open every time you were near.

“Go, girl,” she finally said, her voice quieter than she intended, tinged with both farewell and warning. “And tell no one.”

You hesitated for a moment but eventually obeyed. The sound of the door closing behind you left Wanda alone in the room, the silence filling the empty space around her. But inside her, there was no silence.

She pressed her hands against the desk, her knuckles turning white from the effort.

“You’re losing control,” a seductive, low voice whispered in her mind. Wanda knew exactly what it was. It wasn’t someone from outside—it was a part of herself, a side she had buried long ago.

“No. I’m in control,” Wanda replied softly, as if trying to convince herself.

“You call this control?” the voice mocked, a soft laugh resonating in her mind. “Look at you. Trembling. Afraid. That girl got to you in a way no one else ever has, hasn’t she? Do you really think you can resist this? Resist me?”

Wanda stepped away from the desk, walking to the office window, trying to find a fixed point on the horizon to anchor her thoughts. But there was no escape.

The Scarlet Witch was there, inside her, drawing closer, growing stronger.

“I am you,” the voice continued, this time more primal, almost animalistic. “And you know you want me back. Stop fighting what we are. What we can be.”

“I don’t want you,” Wanda replied, closing her eyes tightly.

“Liar.” The voice was a whisper, but it seemed to fill the entire space around her. “You feel it, Wanda. The power. The freedom. You’ve never been more alive than when I was in control. And now, that girl... she’s the spark. She’s calling us back.”

Wanda took a deep breath, but it didn’t calm her. Her hands were trembling, and the air around her felt electrified. She knew her powers were awakening again, harder and harder to contain.

“Stop fighting me,” the Scarlet Witch insisted. “Accept who you are. Who we are. You know I’m right.”

“No,” Wanda murmured, but her voice sounded weak, almost pleading.

“You’re afraid,” the voice observed, amused. “But not of me. You’re afraid that deep down, you like this. That you need this. The freedom, the power, the intensity. And, most of all... her.”

Wanda opened her eyes, now glowing with a threatening red light. She stepped away from the window, walking to the center of the office as if she needed to move to escape the storm brewing inside her.

“She’s not part of this,” Wanda said aloud, as if trying to assert her authority over the voice within.

“Oh, she’s everything,” the Scarlet Witch replied, a light laugh escaping her. “She’s the key. Every time she challenges you, every time she gets closer... you feel it, don’t you? The heat, the energy, the desire.”

“Shut up!” Wanda shouted, her voice reverberating through the office. A wave of red energy pulsed around her, the furniture trembling under the force of her power.

The silence returned, but Wanda knew it wouldn’t last. The Scarlet Witch was there, waiting, like a predator patiently circling its prey.

Wanda sank into the chair, pressing her hands against her temples. She needed to think, needed to find a way to regain control. But the dilemma remained: the more she fought the Scarlet Witch, the more she felt herself slipping into her.

And deep down, what scared her most was the possibility that maybe—just maybe—she didn’t want to fight anymore.

[...]

The Sanctum Sanctorum was quieter than usual. The air was filled with the occasional sound of pages turning and the rustling of the Sorcerer Supreme’s cloak as he inspected a series of ancient artifacts spread across a table. At the center, the Eye of Agamotto glowed faintly, pulsing in shades of green and gold as Strange carefully traced a line between dimensions on a holographic map of the multiverse.

“Finally,” he murmured to himself, his fingers tightening around the artifact. His expression was more tense than usual, a shadow of worry flickering in his eyes.

Wong entered the room, carrying a hefty grimoire. “You found her?”

Strange nodded, his demeanor grave. “Yes. The Scarlet Witch is hiding in a universe we can barely access. She’s weakened, but she’s still dangerous. If she regains her strength, she could become a threat worse than before.”

Wong crossed his arms, his expression wary. “And how exactly do you plan to capture her? I doubt she’ll come willingly if we call.”

Strange gave a brief, humorless smile. “I don’t plan to capture her. I know someone who can.”

~*~

Mommy is coming back!!!

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[hollandorks]

haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter one

Summary: After the sudden deaths of your mother and grandmother, you’re forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke your heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, you vow to get to the bottom of your former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what you’re expecting. a

a/n: look a new series! Two things inspired this (besides my everlasting love for the Batman): @bellaxgiornata's angsty Daredevil fic All These Years, and @neutron-stars-collision's Waiting For the Night (which also features an investigative reporter reader, but is set during the film). If you're here because you loved motn, welcome back! If not, check out my other battinson fics here!

(side note: I know this is a reader insert and Dory is canonically white, but reader could be adopted. I never clarify that)

Series Masterlist

word count: 3k

“Both of them are–?” Y/n choked on the last word, unable to get it past the back of her throat. But she thought it anyway. Dead. 

It was early, too early, her pajamas and hair still rumpled from sleep. Three hours until her alarm would go off. The faux hardwood floors were cold beneath her feet. The warmth of her bed was a thousand miles away. Her heart still pounded from being woken by a harsh knocking at her door. When she’d checked the time on her phone, she had four hours of missed calls from Alfred and two from an unknown number.

Alfred put a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezed. He was the last of her family now, though he didn’t share her blood. “I’m so sorry, darling girl.” 

Y/n’s grandmother, Dory, the woman who raised her, gone. Along with her daughter, y/n’s mother, the woman who abandoned her as a child. Both gone in one fell swoop. She can’t find it within herself to grieve too much for the woman who gave her life. She’d already abandoned her, over and over, the grief lessening each time. 

But her grandmother–A strangled noise passed her lips and Alfred hurried to step in to embrace her.

“She had a great life,” he said gently. “She lived long and lived well.” 

And somehow, it helped. Alfred had been in her grandmother’s life longer than she had, and therefore knew her better. She had lived well, her life long and full. She was eighty-five years old and had still been in relatively good shape, physically and mentally. 

Alfred held her while she cried, the minutes stretching long yet sharp. They pierced her over and over, each one a moment in which her grandmother no longer existed. She didn’t know how long she cried, only that it was nearly impossible to stop. 

“Bruce is covering all expenses, of course,” Alfred said as he released her. 

The name raced through her like a bolt of electricity. Bruce. Of course she had to see Bruce. Dory had worked for his family for nearly fifty years, after all. Her mind flashed back to her last conversation with Bruce, almost three years ago to the day. Hurt washed over her all over again. This one was different than the grief but just as sharp.

“That’s…too kind.” It’s the best she could do. Besides, her income as a journalist in Bludhaven wasn’t exactly enough to cover one funeral, let alone two. So she couldn’t tell Bruce to take his money and shove it. She knew it was a gesture of obligation not of goodwill. 

“You know you and Dory are our family,” Alfred said, his familiar accent a balm to her nerves. He hadn’t missed the almost visceral reaction to Bruce’s name. He had always known, even though he hadn’t ever said a word. 

She almost scoffed at the word family, but held it back at the last moment. Alfred was her family. Just as Bruce had been her family, once. 

I don’t have time for you, he’d practically snarled the last time she saw him. 

The words still ached. 

“Do you want to drive back with me?” Alfred asked, his voice pulling her from thoughts of the past. “Or I can get a hotel for the night if you need time to pack.” 

She hesitated. Part of her wanted to refuse, to wait until the absolute last minute to leave, to delay seeing Bruce again for as long as possible. But she owed it to her grandmother, at least, to be present for the plans honoring her life. And she was sure she needed to sign some paperwork to have the bodies released. 

Bodies. It’s a shock to think of them that way. Two people, two souls, reduced to shells in one accident. 

Her mind jumped to her last conversation with Dory, the previous Sunday. Four days ago. Now she was simply…gone. Had she told her she loved her? She couldn’t remember now, no matter how hard she tried. 

The ache was back, the tears flowing without her express permission. 

“No, let me just–grab a bag and we can go now. I’ll call work on the way.” It helped to have a manageable list of things to do. Pack. Go with Alfred. Call work. Sign papers. One step, one breath, one moment at a time. Which would be the same way she would handle seeing Bruce again. 

Thankfully the editor of The Bludhaven Tribune was more friend than boss and would completely understand. Besides, if it came down to it, she had a couple of weeks of unused vacation time saved up. Dory had always made the trip to her–at least for the past three years. She had understood the need to stay away from Gotham and the man who had broken y/n’s heart. So her vacation days were rarely used. 

Within an hour, y/n’s bags were packed and a fresh cup of coffee was waiting in the cupholder of Alfred’s car. The cold air was a shock to her overloaded system. Her chest was too tight, her breathing labored. She couldn’t tell what was hurting worse–the grief for her grandmother or the anxiety of seeing Bruce again. 

A silly, hopeless crush, he’d said three years ago. 

A silly, hopeless crush that still hadn’t gone away, despite the fact that he’d effectively ground her heart to dust beneath his heel with the words. 

A few minutes into the drive, another question bubbled to the surface. “Alfred…” she began, unsure how to find the bravery to ask. “Did she suffer? Did they suffer?” Because, as many times as her mother had broken her heart, she was still her mother. 

Alfred was quiet so long that she feared the worst. But then, finally, “I don’t believe so, no. Your mother was driving. Dory was the passenger, where the impact was. And before you ask, your mother was clean.” 

She did flinch this time.

It had been her first thought. She was glad of the answer though, twisted as it sounded. 

She knew exactly why they were driving together. Because she used to take her grandmother to her appointments, but after leaving Gotham three years ago…it became harder and harder to make the time in the middle of the week. 

And, surprisingly, y/n’s mother had stepped in. She wanted to make amends, her grandmother had told her. She’d scoffed at that, but couldn’t deny the relief that had washed over her. She loved her grandmother, but having to pick her up from Wayne Tower was a particular kind of torture. The place held too many memories, both good and bad, now so inextricably linked that the pain bled into the happier memories. 

“How long has it been since you’ve been back?” Alfred asked quietly, as if reading her mind. 

Her hands knotted in her lap. “In Gotham or…?” She let the rest of the question hang in the air. Or at Wayne Tower? Or in Bruce Wayne’s presence? Because all three had slightly different answers. 

Alfred gave her a look before turning his attention back to the road. 

Y/n sighed softly. “Three years, give or take a few weeks.” 

“You never came inside when picking up Dory?” 

“No.” Her heart clenched with pain. “That’s why my mother…” 

Alfred nodded in understanding. “Maybe this can be…a new beginning,” he finally said. “Things are different. I think he needs you more than either of you realize.” 

No need to ask who he was. She wanted to roll her eyes, but Alfred meant well. Of course he wanted her and Bruce to make up, to go back to the way things were. 

He didn’t know how thoroughly Bruce Wayne broke her heart. 

“Then Bruce can apologize.” She crossed her arms. Because, as much as she still loved him, Bruce had been in the wrong, not her. It had taken him a long time to turn his anger on her, but he finally had…right after she had confessed her feelings for him. 

Y/n spent the rest of the drive in silence, the grief for her grandmother numbing her inside and out even as it warred with the anxiety gnawing at her gut. 

She thought about how it would feel to step into Wayne Tower again. How it would feel to step inside and not be greeted with a warm embrace from her grandmother. With her love. With her understanding. With her gentle manipulations to get her to help her with the housekeeping duties for free.

A few tears slipped out. God, she was gone. Y/n would never again hug her or speak to her or have her tell a story to help her fall asleep–something that happened even as an adult. Something she had done to help ease the heartbreak of three years ago.

She startled as a hand took hers. Alfred said nothing, merely squeezed. 

When she looked up, the city of Gotham was spread before her. She saw the neon lights from Gotham Square Garden near the city center, bright despite the early morning hour. Fog wound its way through the streets, a proper gloomy Gotham welcome to suit her mood. 

Though Bludhaven wasn’t far, it was much sunnier than the city of her birth. 

In the past year since the flood, Gotham became even gloomier. The streets were dirtier, darker, half the streetlights still broken. She remembered suddenly, vividly, the fear she’d felt upon hearing the news. She’d been called into work late at night last November. The office had been chaotic, frantic, Gotham’s nearest big city neighbor gearing up to help but also to tell the stories. 

Y/n is ashamed to admit that her first thought hadn’t been of her grandmother. 

It was of Bruce. 

Alfred, she had known, had been safe in the top floors of the hospital. She’d returned from a visit only the day before. The panic from the news of the explosion, caused by a serial killer, had barely worn off. Even after seeing Alfred was okay with her own eyes, she felt a lingering panic. Even after Alfred told her that Bruce hadn’t been home at the time and was perfectly fine.  

But Bruce–and by extension Dory–were unknown variables in the flooding. Had they been evacuated? Had either been present for the new mayor’s event? Had they remained safe in the tower, partially blown up as it was? 

She had waited sixteen excruciating hours before finally hearing that they were safe. Unharmed, even. 

The air around y/n suddenly darkened. While she was daydreaming of the past, they had reached their destination. Alfred pulled into the private, street level parking garage reserved for family only. There were several other cars there, including Bruce’s favorite classic sports car. The sight of the car alone made her chest ache. 

Y/n stared vacantly at the car. She startled as Alfred suddenly opened her door with her bags in his hand.

She blinked slowly, dazed. 

It was too much to deal with. Losing her family, coming back to Gotham, back to Bruce…She wanted nothing more than to go back to bed. It felt like eons since the Alfred at her door woke her, though it was only a couple of hours at most. 

As she followed Alfred to the private elevator, she wondered if Bruce would avoid her. If he would hide from the uncomfortable as he so often did. Part of her hoped he did. Part of her hoped she could get through everything without seeing him. But that was stupid. He would be, at the very least, at the funerals. 

Another wave of grief nearly knocked her over. She had to bury the last bit of blood relations she had. Had. The past tense was another unavoidable wave threatening to drown her. Her mother and grandmother both only existed in the past now. 

Y/n suddenly realized that that was how Bruce had been feeling for two decades. The feeling of being utterly alone in the universe, no one but himself left with his family name, his family legacy. But his was worse, so much worse. She had, at least, had her family for twice as long as he had. And that counted for something. 

The elevator ride was long and slow. Or maybe that was grief and panic warping time until she had no idea if the ride had just started or was about to end. Despite getting almost seven hours of sleep from a rare early night, she was exhausted. Her limbs were made of lead, her eyes heavy, her brain begging to be switched off. 

The smell alone, the particular blend of dust and old paper, was enough to make her knees weak. Ten thousand memories flooded back all at once, so many of them that she couldn’t fixate on any single one. 

The doors slid open and Alfred stepped out with her bags. 

But she had to press a hand to the wall of the elevator to steady herself as a familiar deep voice rang out in the silence. “That was fast,” Bruce said. God, his voice. “Did she decide to stay until the last moment then?” 

Alfred didn’t answer, because y/n’s presence stepping from the elevator was enough. 

Her heart was somewhere in her throat, or maybe her knees. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t. She couldn’t bear to look at him and see the indifference he now felt for her. She couldn’t look at him and hold a thousand more memories. 

She couldn’t look at him and love him, knowing he didn’t feel the same. 

The silence was deafening and finally, finally, she tore her eyes from the floor and looked up. 

There was a rush in her ears as she beheld him for the first time in three years. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of a pair of dark, well-worn jeans. His shirt was too big for him and his hair–his hair was longer. Her eyes skipped over him hungrily, noticing more and more differences in the person she used to know better than herself. 

He was taller, for one. She thought men stopped growing at twenty-five years old, or something like that. Or maybe it was the way he held himself, like he was more sure of his place in the world. And his shoulders were more broad, his arms more muscular. Bruce had all at once become…a man. Not that he hadn’t been a man three years before, but something about him was…more.

There were heavy bags beneath his eyes, like he hadn't slept. And, she supposed, if he was the one who had answered the call about her grandmother and mother, he likely hadn’t. 

She realized that they both had been staring at each other in silence. Alfred half-stepped out of the foyer like he couldn’t decide whether or not to give them privacy or stay to make sure they wouldn’t tear out each others’ throats. She wondered what Bruce had told him about their fight. Had it been the truth? Or had he played it close to the vest, like always? 

“Hi,” she finally said. Her mouth was dry and her voice cracked on the word. There was so much she wanted to say to him. Thank you and I’m sorry and I still love you even if you hate me were all warring to be first. 

“Hi,” he said back. His blue eyes pinned her to the spot. They seemed bluer, or maybe she had forgotten the exact shade of them. She wanted to close her eyes and sink into the familiar comfort of him, but those days were far gone. Three years gone. 

“I–” She wasn’t sure what words would come out but the need to fill the silence was too great. 

He beat her to it. “I’m so sorry,” he said. She knew he meant about her family and not about three years before. She knew it in the way she knew most things about him, born of the sheer amount of time they spent together throughout their lives. Even with three years separating their last interaction, she could still read him. Maybe not as well as she used to but still well enough. 

She couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She couldn’t say It’s okay, because it wasn’t. Or, I missed you, even though she did. Or even Thank you, because he hadn’t done anything other than offer to pay for the funerals. 

“Your old room is ready,” Bruce said and his eyes flickered away. Was he so tired of her already? 

I don’t have time for you and your silly, useless crush. The words seemed to echo in the air. Was he able to hear them too? 

“Who–” 

“She kept it ready for you,” Bruce said and his voice softened, easing the blow. 

A stray tear escaped.

Of course she had. Y/n’s grandmother was nothing if not optimistic. 

She had to take a breath and close her eyes against the wash of pain. Dory had kept her room ready for her, even knowing that Bruce Wayne broke her heart, even knowing she wouldn’t step foot inside Wayne Tower again unless absolutely necessary. 

As always, y/n’s grandmother had ensured that she always had a place to come home to. You’ll always have a home with me, she had said the day y/n left Gotham. 

She stepped away, eyes still closed, feet knowing the way by heart. When she opened them, she saw Bruce’s hand fall, as if he had reached out, perhaps to comfort her. 

The pain of that missing touch was too much. 

She simply nodded once. 

And then she fled. 

Her childhood bedroom was exactly as she had left it three years ago, free of dust, the linens on the bed so fresh she could still smell the detergent. 

She threw herself onto the bed and finally let herself cry. 

Next Chapter

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[aeb-art]

Memory of Face

Loop & Siffrin

Rating: T Summary: Loop has a bit more of a visceral reaction while watching Siffrin and the King attempt to say the name of the forgotten country and they fail to reign in their emotions before Siffrin returns to the Favor Tree. CW: past injury, self-harm, mutilation, self-mutilation, body horror

(ao3 link)

Act 3 - Loops 56 and 57

You were watching when it happened. Of course you were watching!

Stardust was just getting so fixated with talking to the King… Sure, you were learning new information, but in your opinion, none of it sounded useful in actually breaking the loops themselves. You couldn’t talk them out of trying so you just had to watch instead.

You just daydreamed and watched the birds and clouds for the majority of the loop. There was nothing new to see and you couldn’t feel as though stardust was very distressed, so you waited for the end, for when it mattered.

Admittedly, you weren’t actually listening as hard as you should have after you started watching in the King’s chamber. If you had to listen to everything that vile waste of oxygen had to say every single time, you’d go more insane than you already felt.

But then…

There was blood.

You jolted upright, almost falling out of the tree as you snapped to attention.

Blood splattered from stardust’s throat. They hacked it up violently with tears forming in the corner of their eye. His dagger clattered to the floor as his one hand gripped tight on his shirt over his heart and the other came up to his throat. Stardust’s family were surrounding them the next second, crying out for them to stop and trying to protect them, thinking it was the King himself doing this, as if the King wasn’t coughing up that same shade.

Wait- the shade- how did you not realize it… Was that a… color? The others had read a book or two in the House about it, you think. It hurt to look at. It made you physically recoil after you focused on it for a moment too long.

Stardust’s fingers gripped their throat tighter. They couldn’t dig into it with their gloves still on. They couldn’t claw the name out.

But you... You felt… pain.

Your body mimicked stardust’s own body without you realizing it. The tips of your fingers sharpened like claws and, as you gripped your neck tighter and tighter, you sank in. As he coughed and struggled to speak, you felt like you were burning. Just as stardust could not get the name of your country out, you could not…

GET IT OUT GET IT OUT GET IT OUT

Your claws dug and dug and dug into your neck and down. They would not find what they were looking for of course. You couldn’t stop what already happened, what was already done to you, what your selfish mistake had done to you.

The lightless grains of sugary craft making up your body flew and flew as you tried in vain to tear yourself apart.

You just made a wish for an escape, for an end, for help, for anyone’s help, but then… You only wanted their help and THEY… THEY-!

IT burned! The star meant to grant your wish boiled your insides! You wanted to take it back, to throw IT up, to pull IT back out! But it burned!

IT BURNED IT BURNED IT BURNED

THEY mutilated you! THEY took your mouth, the only escape for that stupid cursed star! Then IT blinding exploded! IT destroyed you, everything about you. IT made you unrecognizable and THEY just had to put you back together in THEIR image!

You were going to be sick.

Stardust tried to speak again and his throat tore open. It painted their cloak in that awful awful shade…

Your hand tore into your chest, grabbed that star you were forced to use now as a heart, and ripped!

And you’d screamed. You’d both screamed and screamed and screamed.

Although the loop reset, the phantom sensations from your “Change” [Ew.] never left. The feeling of your body being broken and forced back together was unbearable, even as a memory. Your chest expanded, your limbs stretched out, your bones were flung out of their sockets, and then it was all just sucked back together. THEY vacuum-sealed your “skin” tight around your mangled shattered skeleton just as your insides were completely consumed by sickening sweetness.

You grabbed your head tight as your entire body vibrated violently.

Calm down! You had to calm down! You couldn’t be seen like this! You couldn’t break character, right? C’mon, Siffrin, what if your friends saw you? You needed to get back to… to…

No, no, you’re not him anymore. You gave that up! You were literally reexperiencing the excruciating pain associated with leaving your own narrative, with damning yourself as you so expertfully had, right at this very moment!

You were Loop! helpful Loop! and that’s all you would be, ever again! That was all you were allowed to be right now!

So you needed to calm down, be normal, or at least good enough that… that he wouldn’t see… you… like this…

…

Stardust was looking at you. Right. Now. He was already at the tree.

You lost track of time. It normally took him an hour to get to you. Had he run here…? Or did you really lie here with your claws embedded in your neck [for the second time now] for all that time?

“L-Loop…?” Stardust sounded… scared? What? Why would he be…?

!!!

Your light was out! You normally lit yourself up when stardust got close, but you hid in the dark otherwise so nobody [especially a certain party member that was usually nearby] would see you.

You didn’t know what you looked like. Stardust drew you a couple loops back and it… Well, you didn’t want to think about it! You specifically forced away all thoughts about your altered appearance. You didn’t need to know! It didn’t matter! Why would it?

But why was stardust staring at you like that? What did your head look like? What awful visage did your glow normally keep hidden away?

Did your face look anything like it used to?

You wiped the stinging tears from your eyes and sat back upright on your usual tree root. As you started to glow at your usual brightness level, you forced cheer into your voice. “Oh! Why, welcome back, stardust!~” You tried smiling too, even if he couldn’t see that. You didn’t really have a jaw or lips anymore, or at least you didn’t feel them. “How can I help you on this wonderful new loop?”

They blinked at you. They did not sit on the ground in their usual spot. “Loop, you’re… You’re bleeding…” His voice wavered. One of his hands reached up just a little, but they did not come any closer to you. Hypocrite.

You brought a hand back up to your neck. It came back wet. The lightless fluid sparkled and you had to restrain yourself from glaring at the little stars in it. It mocked you. “Huh… So I am!”

“Can I…? I could heal you?” He cringed and took a step forward finally. His leg trembled. You realized his throat sounded raw and you wondered if he’d woken up still screaming. “I’m not on Mira’s level with healing craft, but-”

“No.” You said a bit too fast and with too much bite. He flinched and you tried not to feel bad about it. “I can do it myself, thank you.”

You still weren’t calm after you healed yourself, but you did feel a little better. The cool wave of healing craft filled you with an energy that almost made you nostalgic. You hadn’t been injured nor healed in a long time now.

You moved your still bloody hand away and waved at him with it. “See? All better! Tee-hee!”

“I’d offer you something to wipe that off with, but…” They trailed off, their face scrunching up as they cringed a bit, and finally went to sit down across from you. Their hands gripped the grass tight and they leaned back against a big tree root. They didn’t look at you.

Or they couldn’t look at you, not after that. What did he see? Was he really that scared of you? of a monster like you who gave up their humanity because they were so blinding selfish!?

“But all you have are your clothes and you can’t let your family members see them with weird blood on them, yes, yes.” You closed your eyes and crossed your legs, your sticky [Ew.] hands clasped in your lap. “It’s the thought that counts, I suppose…”

You could not breathe so you could not soothe yourself as you did in another life. You rubbed your buzzing arms and hoped that was enough… It wasn’t.

“But thank you anyway.” You waited for them to look at you. “Let’s talk about something else.”

They gave a sympathetic nod. Your shoulders relaxed, just a little.

Even if talking about the King or stardust’s family made you feel like you were being stabbed, it wasn’t about you! Can’t have stardust seeing behind the curtains too much after all. You actually managed to not flub too much for the rest of the interaction and had genuine cheer in your voice by the time stardust finally got up to leave.

…

[Stardust.]

He stopped walking and looked back at you over his shoulder. You closed your eyes.

[You got Memory of Face. When equipped, +5 Luck for every loop you’ve visited your dearest companion- which is me, Loop, obviously- buuut -25 Defense.]

[It did catch you off guard- you certainly looked startled- so naturally there’d be a negative side effect.]

You opened your eyes to look at him. He had fully turned back toward you.

[Maybe learn to knock next time? Tee-hee!~] You winked.

Stardust shook his head with a soft laugh before waving goodbye and finally leaving. You almost forgot to wave back.

Once you were alone, you felt… cold.

The wind hit you through the tree branches and a shiver ran through you. It felt like your skin was sticking together like glue… You cringed. It was a disgusting, vile, and overwhelming sensation.

You stood up and put your light out to be safe once again before you headed into the dark woods. You needed to clean this blood off of you before you started panicking for different reasons from before. The sensation of the grains being wet and drying together all crusty was going to make you vibrate until your body tore itself apart.

Still, this wasn’t going to go well, was it?

Your only ideas for your appearance were from stardust’s little drawing and what you could see when you looked down. You had no idea what your face looked like, but you already knew you weren’t going to like it.

You were walking toward the river, but downstream as it ran through the thicker parts of the forest. You’d never wandered this far from town before, so you just had to hold on hope that there wouldn’t be any people foraging or hunting back here. This area wasn’t frozen by the curse yet, there was still food to be found, and the people of Dormont, from their perspective, would be getting desperate for food sooner rather than later.

For old time’s sake, you piou piou’d back at the birds you passed.

The ground was dry and hard beneath your feet, you could see the earth cracking in a spot without grass. Because the curse messed with the weather, you couldn’t recall it having rained much in Dormont for a couple weeks before your party arrived. The ecological damage the King was going to cause Vaugarde by the time these loops ended and he was finally truly dead was going to be devastating. It would likely take years to recover.

There were no fish in the water when you got to the river. The person fishing in town mentioned all the fish were frozen far up and down stream, you think. The water level was very low and the flow was unnaturally slow. You couldn’t understand how it flowed at all; where was the water coming from if the source was frozen in time? You shook those thoughts away as you kneeled at the river’s edge. Hm. It was more like a stream now, wasn’t it? or a creek? Ah, but that wasn’t very important.

Okay, moment of truth. This was the first time seeing your reflection in… Stars, probably since the morning before the loops began. You hadn’t looked at yourself in five years. That was… a lot.

You steeled yourself, best as you could, and closed your eyes. You leaned forward over the water and gave yourself a mental countdown. Normally you’d do three, you picked threes for everything, but the pit in your gut said to make it longer, so seven felt right this time. Slowly, you opened your eyes and…

Ah.

You understood stardust’s reaction now. If you had a mouth it would be gaping.

You thought your head looked vaguely like a skull, but it was the same sparkling lightless sugar as the rest of your body. You were missing a jaw and lips like you’d first thought. What would be the top of your mouth, where teeth would be, was just smoothed out, which was probably a blessing, it would look weirder with them there and not the rest, you thought… How could you speak?

The softness of your old face was mostly gone now. You ran your fingers along your sharper cheekbones with a grimace. There was hardly any give at all. Your ears were different too. It looked like the cartilage had burned so hot they melted and were flattened against the sides of your head, leaving only bumps that vaguely hinted at what used to be there. There were still holes though, so you didn’t have to question how you could still hear. You pressed your palms against the bumps to block the sound and yep! The muffling of the babbling brook in front of you confirmed that you still heard through them! That was some consolation, you supposed, some thread of normalcy.

You still had your nose surprisingly. That made no sense considering you could no longer breathe. It looked out of place without the rest of your face. The bridge looked like it’d been broken at some point, curving a little toward your left side. You booped it and it seemed to be the only part of you that was still just as squishy as you vaguely remembered it used to be… Not that you were regularly booping your own nose or anything, but you thought your whole head was squishy back then, your baby fat had never fallen off. That was always a little weird to you considering the fact that you were struggling to find food for about a decade, right up until you met your friends, especially after Bonnie joined and started making you all gourmet meals. The rest of your body was pretty gangly and you were always happy your cloak hid it… It was embarrassing.

Your gaze came to your eyes now. They were different shades, just like stardust said. Your left eye’s shade lightened, as if your blindness was some prolonged natural cause and not from sacrifice. The grains shifted around your eyes like skin might so you could still make expressions, but it certainly looked wrong, and the uncanniness only worsened the longer you stared at yourself.

Okay, you’d seen yourself now. That was enough for at least another five years. You’d gotten a teeny tiny bit of closure on exactly one thing. That had to count for something, right?

You washed the blood from your hands, face, neck, and chest after that without much fanfare. You didn’t have access to soap or a sponge, but it was good enough. It would just reset anyway.

The grains of craft still clumped together, but somehow you knew it would all dry without having that awful feeling you had before. You’d just have to lie in the sun before it set… Then you looked up through the canopy to see it had actually already set and you groaned. It seemed you lost track of time yet again, not that it mattered very much now. You didn’t have anything else to do until the next day and that was really only if stardust called you.

Hm?

Stardust was calling you right now actually. Huh? Shouldn’t they be at dinner? Or on their little stargazing date? Hah… The thought of them calling you instead of silently looking at Isa with heart eyes alone together in that field… The “skin” over your stomach frizzled uncomfortably.

[I’m surprised to hear from you again so soon, stardust!~ Are you really that lonely without me? You’ll make me blush!]

(Where are you? You aren’t at the tree.)

Huh???

[Shouldn’t you be at the clocktower?] You shook the excess water off of you and stood up. You might as well head back to see what he needed of you. [Don’t tell me you’re willingly ditching them to hang out with little old me again? and so soon after the last time!]

(No, that’s…) You heard them gulp, even though this wasn’t really a verbal conversation.

(Dinner’s over already. I told them I wanted to go on a walk.)

[Too antsy to be stuck in bed just yet?]

(... Something like that.)

[Well, I’m almost back. I just had to freshen up a bit.]

The call ended just like that and only a few minutes later, you were back at the tree. You lit yourself up once more, but kept yourself a bit dim. It was dark out now, you didn’t want to have bugs completely swarming you.

Stardust was standing up, leaning their back against the Favor Tree and looking up into the pitch canopy. You purposefully walked with louder steps so they’d hear you approach.

“So, what do you need from me, stardust?” You asked when he’d looked over at you. As you got closer, you were forced to realize that… he was shorter than you. You knew your body was strange now, wrong, but the height difference was wholly unexpected. You kind of liked that change actually. You were a full head taller… Were you still shorter than Odile? You pushed that thought aside for now.

They smiled warmly and pushed themself off the tree. Then from under their cloak, they pulled out… “Flower for you.”

You blinked at it. What? Seriously?

“Seriously, stardust? You came back out here just for that?” You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “How many times do I have to say no?”

You’re supposed to give flowers to people that are important. You didn’t fit that description.

“Not even as an apology?” Their face fell into the most pitiful, disappointed pout you’d ever seen. If it was an act, you must admit that it was a very good one.

“No.” You grimaced down at them. “And…” You groaned and looked away. You tried not to glow any brighter, but from how your light hit the leaves around you, you knew you were failing. “You don’t have to apologize for… That. There was no way you could’ve known about that.”

Their hand holding the flower fell back to their side after a beat of silence, at least you assumed from seeing vague movement in your periphery. “Is there anything I could do…?”

“Just don’t…” Your hands gripped onto your upper arms, perhaps too tight. “Don’t bring it up again.”

“Okay…” You could hear the defeat in their voice. Good.

“You could probably still give the flower to one of your family members I’m sure,” You sighed and looked at them once again. “Or you could, I don’t know, maybe pin it to your cloak or something?”

Their eyes widened just a fraction before they fumbled with one of the pins on the collar and the flower. Then they held them up to you, eye sparkling. “Can you do it?”

Well… He wasn’t making you take the stupid flower for yourself, so you considered this a win. You took the items and ignored how giddy he looked as you reached up to pin it. It wasn’t a difficult process by any means, though you worried about the pin stabbing them. You didn’t exactly have the gentlest touch. You took a step back afterwards and… Oh, huh. That looked cute actually. Why hadn’t you ever done that before?

“Awww, stardust, that looks sooo cuuuuuute!~” You cooed and pinched their cheek, tugging on it until they were slapping your hand away. You giggled and backed off.

He was blushing darkly as he rubbed his cheek. “Thanks…” They dipped their head into the collar of their cloak before you could see any more and tilted their head down so their hat’s brim would hide the rest.

That certainly wasn’t a reaction you got out of them very often, so you decided to push it. “Aw, can my dearest stardust not take being told how adorable he is?”

“You know I can’t!” They whined and pulled the brim of their hat down further with their hands.

“But you admit you are cute?~” You bent forward, trying to move so you could see his face again. This was too much fun, you couldn’t help yourself.

“Ugh, good night, Loop!” They hurriedly backed away.

“Good night, cutie!~” You just kept laughing as you watched them skitter off into the night.

Oh.

You actually felt better now.

Ehehe… Hahahahaha!

You were… You were glad you had stardust around for company. You didn’t really get to appreciate that in earnest yet. Finally you had someone to talk to, someone who, to an extent, understood what you went through [even though they didn’t know you went through it].

Not only that, but… You got to genuinely joke around again. You’d been stuck repeating the same lines so long that every joke was hollow and meaningless. You used to annoy your friends with bad puns at every opportunity, playing the comedian was basically the core personality trait you adopted, but you lost that. For so long, you’d lost that part of yourself. You didn’t know if you’d be able to make puns anytime soon, if ever again, but at least with stardust you could have a little fun. You could tease him like it was second nature to you. It made the weight on you a little more bearable.

And if that also made his own load lighter? Well, that was simply an added bonus.

If you had someone to talk to from the start, you- you…

Hm. Well, you immediately soured your good mood with that one. Great job, Loop.

You shook away your thoughts and looked for a comfy patch of grass in the dark brush. You might as well try and sleep. You didn’t have much else to do anyway. You supposed you were back to your regular schedule now. There was supposed to be a script to follow and a play to watch. You were nothing if not a stickler for following the order of things, even when you no longer wanted to.

It was a big day tomorrow, you could feel it. Despite living that day thousands of times, you felt… an inexplicable dread.

You didn’t sleep that night.

[tobiasdrake]

Ranma 1/2 episode 3. I can't be the only person who somehow, despite not thinking about this series seriously in a long time, still hears "YAPPAPPA YAPPAPPA II SHAN TEN hashagu koi wa ike no koi" in their head when starting up the reboot series.

Where did you come from? I thought I forgot you.

By contrast, the new OP hasn't grown on me as much. Can't imagine why. It couldn't be that I've heard the new one twice but heard the old one eight billion times over the course of three decades, such that any new music in its place is going to inherently sound like an imposter.

Nah, it's probably just that the song isn't good. That's a reasonable thing to conclude.

(In seriousness, new OP is fun.)

Uhhhhh, part 1 because I had a lot to say about Nabiki, my fave from back in the day who gets to be in the spotlight for the first time this episode.

Speaking of the OP, this is my favorite shot.

I don't know what it is exactly but every time I see this, there is a haunted look in Ranma's eyes. I don't think that's on purpose. I think he's just supposed to look like he's happily jogging.

But I see a thousand-yard stare on this boy. The look of a person who has seen things that can never be unseen.

Which.

Is fair.

For Ranma.

Rejected so hard. This is a misunderstanding but it's still hilarious how quickly Nabiki nopes the fuck out of this shit.

To be fair, she's seen the way Kuno treats the women he's interested in. If I were her, I would want no part of that.

Ironically enough, Nabiki/Kuno is IIRC the most popular ship for both of these characters. Though, given that being physically strong enough to beat the shit out of him at martial arts is such an important quality to Kuno, I'm not sure he and Nabiki are really compatible.

Makes perfect sense from Nabiki's perspective but honestly I'm pretty sure she's more likely to Black Widow him for his wealth than fall in love with him sincerely.

So begins Nabiki's career of being the absolute worst person in Ranma's life, in a cast that includes multiple people attempting to murder him. Nabiki is something far worse than a shonen rival. Worse than a romantic rival. Worse than a shonen rival who wants to surpass you at romancing your love interest.

She's a capitalist. And she has found a saleable product.

(My characters are always the absolute worst. Goddammit, Nabiki.)

There's something really interesting in Nabiki's reaction to that remark. Like. She gets back into gear pretty quickly after this moment.

But.

Just for a moment.

She had a visceral, kneejerk reaction of shock and disgust at the realization that Kuno was planning on pursuing Ranma and Akane at the same time.

Just for a moment, she had an emotional reaction strong enough to break her poker face.

I mean, she's still going to profit off it. She is a capitalist after all.

But it happened. That brief glimpse into the humanity underneath the cash register was there.

For those unaware of yen to dollar exchange rates, she's charging about $20 for Ranma's photos. Akane's are about $27. So we can actually quantify her feelings for Akane. She loves her sister exactly $7 more than a stranger she met a few days ago.

Don't take it personally. It's just business.

(I felt really gross saying that. Probably because it was really gross. In seriousness, Nabiki is an active participant in Akane's harassment, without Akane's knowledge.)

That said, she does still try to help this situation once she's done cashing in on violations of Ranma and Akane's privacy.

It doesn't take because Kuno aggressively refuses to learn the truth about the Pig-Tailed Girl throughout the series lest it compromise his delusions. But she does try. There seems like there's basically no reason for her to do this except to burst Kuno's bubble.

...except then she also does this when she realizes Kuno didn't get it.

She tried to burst Kuno's bubble and it didn't work so now she's making it worse instead. At this point, it's clear that Nabiki's just starting shit for funsies. She is the show's trickster. Her allegiances are to money and entertainment.

She was expecting a hilarious blowout the one way and when she didn't get it, she went a different route. Goddammit, Nabiki.

Of course, her troll antics eventually blow up in her face when they out her capitalist antics.

But she never really has to face any sort of consequences for it. Right when it seems like things are about to turn against her...

Ranma, rather than presenting a united front against their mutual abuser, decides to open his fucking mouth and insult Akane instead.

This is how capitalists win. They skate home with all the money and no comeuppance while their victims pick each apart.

[mystra-midnight]

— FOLIE À DEUX | chapter iii

pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen x atreides ! ofc (leiana)

tags: brief physical assault. political intrigue. arranged marriage. making out. some physical violence between brothers.

w/c: 3.1k.

a/n: I hope you all know how truly grateful I am for your love and support. Thank you to everyone who has commented, left kudos, bookmarked and subscribed to this story. I love and appreciate you all. <3 <3 <3

In the days following, Leiana had yet to see or hear from Feyd-Rautha.

The Baron had allowed her to sleep in her own chambers instead of the prison cells. And there she remained, granted a small measure of freedom but still a prisoner of war. There was not a single person within the estate that gave her the time of day. Leiana suspected this was because her only escape would be over the balcony rail, and she would not survive the fall.

So she'd kept herself busy by collecting her belongings, strewn about the room: here, there, and everywhere. It was strange, as though she was viewing the ruins of her life as a bystander and not living it. She felt disconnected from reality as she went through the wreckage, salvaging what she could.

Gifts given to her by her father were broken, as was the bodice dagger Paul had given her on their sixteenth birthday. It had broken that night, stabbed into the neck of a Harkonnan attacker. Tears burned at the back of her throat as she thought of all that was lost to the sands of time: late-night conversations and whispered words as they hid in the dark instead of sleeping. Training sessions with their mother, the uncomfortable echo of her voice in her mind as she prepared the twins for the Gom Jabbar. Dinners with their father, his terrible jokes and kind smile.

On the third day of her isolation, two guards opened the doors to her chambers without knocking, as though they had the right to intrude upon the only sanctuary she had left. Both were Harkonnan: pale-skinned and dressed in black, as though for a funeral. 

"The Baron requests your presence."

Leiana noticed his speech and lack of formality as though he was neither pleased nor upset with overseeing an enemy of House Harkonnan. From her perch on the small balcony, a book resting in her lap, she watched them. One of the guards had a tight grip on the pommel of his sword as though he was prepared for an attack. He did not need to speak; his actions spoke for him. He would not hesitate to kill her should she give him a reason. 

"May I inquire as to what for?"

"He is announcing your engagement to the Na-Baron."

This revelation made her hesitate, for she knew it would be the moment that sealed her fate. Though, in truth, the dinner with Feyd had already done that, and the kiss he'd forced onto her had been the nail in the coffin that forever trapped her. Leiana felt a visceral reaction to the memories, as if they were ghosts from her past, haunting her every step. Each had been seared unto her memory: the taste of his tongue as it explored her mouth, the strength of his fingers as he'd pulled her hair, the way she'd fallen under his spell, however briefly, as though she was a weaker woman, a younger, love-struck fool.

Her instincts waged war within her—fight or flight. Yet it didn't matter, for she had no say. Leiana swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. The guards waited for her response, but none came. Instead, she stood, sweeping from the room with haughty grace, expecting them to follow or be left behind.

The two men exchanged a quick glance before following. As she moved through the halls, she could feel the weight of their eyes on her back. She tried not to think about what this moment could entail or let her imagination run wild with possibilities. Still, it was hard when everything around her seemed so surreal.

All too quickly, they reached the throne room. Leiana hesitated at the threshold, surprised to find it filled with people. Her heart raced, thundering against her ribcage, as she looked to where the Baron sat upon his throne. His expression was stern and unreadable, and his gaze was distant as it swept across the room to her. At his side stood Glossu Rabban with a smug expression.

At that moment, she understood this for what it was: a political ploy.

Rabban did not know his brother was on Arrakis or that he had been disinherited. He still believed that when Vladamir died, he would inherit a kingdom. Worse still, he still thought that she would be married to him, and that dream was about to be shattered.

Her heart thundered, its beats akin to the sound of horses' hooves. For a moment, she met the Baron's eyes, spider-like and gleaming with amusement that did not show on his face. Leiana could not speak, not with so many present. And so, with her hands metaphorically tied, she bowed, taking low to the ground so that her dress flourished on the floor at her feet.

"My Lord," she said, her voice submissive and demure despite the tension crawling beneath her skin. As she stood, she was ushered to stand at his side and, much to her displeasure, Glossu Rabban's side. Her stomach churned uncomfortably. His fingerprint bruises lingered on her skin even now.

As the minutes passed, more people poured into the room. She sensed the Beast shift closer until his body brushed against hers. Leiana remained as still as stone, a statue carved from the mountains of Arrakis, unmoving. As though unaware of his nephew's actions or simply unfazed by them, the Baron spoke, his voice a thick rasp.

"Time and again, House Harkonnan has survived through strength and suffering," he began, though all too soon, his voice faded to static noise as her personal space was more deeply invaded. Rabbans' hand fell upon her body, thick, meaty fingers taking a greedy handful of her arse. Leiana bit into her cheek until she tasted blood, his nails dipping into her skin through the light fabric of her dress, his grip tightening to the point of pain.

She remained stubborn; having passed the test with the Gom Jabber, she would pass this one also.

His breath tickled her neck as he leaned in. "I have been waiting days for this moment, my Lady," he said, his voice so low that only she heard it, as though what he had to say was a terrible secret not meant for their peers. Leiana fought to hide how she shivered, how it twisted down her spine and left her skin textured with goosepimples, and instead focused her gaze on the doors across the room. She busied herself by imagining her escape: like a bird, she would flock from the room, lost in the desert winds, never to be caught again.

Rabban did not appear to have noticed. He seemed preoccupied with the curve of her arse as he began pawing at it. "Tonight," he said, his voice still low, dripping with salacious intent. "Tonight, I am going to come to your room and show you the desires of a man. You are going to be my whore, Lady Atreides."

"Is now the time for this, Rabban?" She answered, her voice even and calm despite the disgust worming through her limbs. Her every muscle was taut with tension, the set of her shoulders ridged, but a fire was blazing in her eyes. "Your uncle is speaking." Leiana did not lower her voice, allowing it to carry to those nearby and paint him as disrespectful, not her. 

She saw the Baron's eyes flick toward them, and the faint curl of his lip, yet his words continued. "I have the duty of announcing that Lady Leiana Atreides has renounced her allegiance to the traitor house she was born into. She has sworn herself to House Harkonnan." A murmur went through the gathered crowd, their attention flitting between her and the Baron. 

Her face burned with shame, and her cheeks flushed with anger. She wanted to run and escape this nightmare, yet it was not an option. Her gaze joined the Baron's, his spider eyes twinkling with malice. "To prove her loyalty, she has agreed to marry my nephew, the Na-Baron."

Rabban's hand clasped onto her hip, his fingers pressing so hard into her skin that she thought they might cut down to the bone. He dragged her against him, into the shelter of his body, so that she was pressed tightly against him. Her body shuddered as she tried to move away, unable to escape his grasp. Rabban was enormous, his broad shoulders enough to block her from view if he was to stand in front of her. He made her feel impossibly small. 

Leiana looked up at him, glaring hotly.

"Feyd-Rautha," the Baron said.

Once more, the crowd murmured, both Harkonnan loyalists and those who had betrayed House Atreides. Leiana felt the tension seep through Rabban's body: the way he froze, motionless, and how his fingers pressed harder, harder, harder, into her skin until she couldn't suppress the whine of pain that tumbled from her lips. She turned to him, pushing against the wall of his chest to try and distance him.

The doors opened wide, revealing Feyd-Rautha. He stood tall and proud, adorned in the blackened armour of House Harkonnan, a sword strapped to each hip, glittering dangerously. He looked immaculate, the pride of his noble house. As he entered, the murmurs of the gathered nobles hushed, all eyes turning to his imposing figure.

His gaze swept the room, cold and calculating, assessing each face. When he saw Rabban, his hand possessive on her hip, she saw his eyes darken, narrowing into a glare. He walked with purpose and grace, long strides carrying him forward until he kneeled at his uncle's feet. Leiana recognized the gesture for what it was: hollowed respect. He did not care for his uncle. In fact, she would go so far as to say he hated him. 

"What is this?"

Rabban's voice shattered the silence, earning an unamused glare from both the Baron and Feyd, who slowly rose to stand and turned to face him. Her eyes met with his, silent and pleading, and while her lips barely moved, her voice, the Voice, rattled uncomfortably within his skull. Fire flashed in the depth of his eyes, pure hatred, at her, at him, leaving behind scorched earth. He might as well have been carved from stone, for he did not move.

Leiana saw the tension seep through him like a snake, watched how it wrapped around his organs, how it strangled him. The Baron shifted to look at Rabban. It was a subtle gesture, yet his emotions were like knives glittering in the morning light, ready to cleave flesh down to the bone. It was as though he was offended by his nephew's audacity.

“Please,” her lips parted again, not a whisper but an exhale.

"You need to learn not to touch my belongings, brother," Feyd rasped, his dangerous growl reverberating through the room's silence. His eyes locked onto Rabban with a glare that promised retribution. Extending a hand toward Leiana, he left no room for defiance. Sensing the underlying menace in Feyd's tone, she took his hand without hesitation. The moment her fingers touched his, he yanked her away from Rabban's grasp with a strength that sent her stumbling.

She collided against his chest with a force that drove the air from her lungs, leaving her gasping in surprise. Feyd's arm, muscular and unyielding, wrapped around her waist with a possessive intensity, purposefully pulling her against him. His hold was firm, almost bruising, a silent declaration of dominion over her. His lips crashed down on hers, the kiss abrupt and demanding. She gasped, a small sound of shock that he effortlessly silenced, his mouth swallowing the noise. His lips were hot and insistent, a vivid display of his possessiveness.

His tongue slid along the edge of her teeth, exploring with a predatory precision. His taste was intoxicating, a heady mix of something dark and forbidden. Her own tongue responded instinctively, meeting his in a fierce dance. The intensity of the kiss left her breathless, her senses overwhelmed by the sheer force of his claim. She angled her head, opening herself to him further, leaning into his solid form.

Everything Feyd did was quietly calculated, yet he kissed like a starved man, uncaring who saw or who might try to intervene. Not that anyone would dare; Leiana would wager everything that the Na-Baron would slice down any fool brave enough to attempt it. His hand fisted in her hair, weaving through her dark locks. He tugged her head back, angling it to his desire, commanding her submission with a ruthless tenderness. 

The crowd whispered among themselves, their voices not registering in her mind as they should have. There was only Feyd—the taste of his lips on hers, the wet glide of his tongue exploring her mouth, the relentless strength of his fingers tugging on her hair, the way he swallowed her soft moan with a deliberate growl. Leiana melted against him, her fingers curling around the chest plate of his armour, clinging to him as if he were an anchor in a storm.

Rabban's expression twisted in something akin to disgust, perhaps anger. When Feyd pulled away, their lips separated with a sinful sound. Hers were glistening and kiss-bitten. A heavy silence stretched until Feyd finally spoke, his voice dripping with cold venom. He did not turn to face his brother. His eyes were on her, drinking in how she stared at him as though he hung the moon and stars. "Consider this your first and only warning. Next time, there will be consequences."

Rabban made a sound in response. "You always did have a penchant for dramatics, little brother," he sneered, stepping forward, his bulk casting a long shadow over them. Feyd's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing in their depths. 

"Careful, Rabban. You wouldn't want to start something you can't finish."

Rabban's eyes flashed red with anger, and without hesitation, he lunged at Feyd. The crowd, taken by surprise, gasped and instinctively stepped back, creating a wider circle around the two men. Feyd's grip tightened on her, his fingers digging into her skin painfully as he yanked her to the side, flinging her behind him with a force that sent her sprawling onto the cold, hard ground.

Feyd faced Rabban's charge with a poised and calculated stance, his movements fluid and precise. His eyes locked onto Rabban's, reading the fury and recklessness in his opponent's approach. As Rabban's massive form barreled toward him, Feyd's muscles coiled with anticipation. He sidestepped deftly at the last possible moment, his movements a blur of grace and speed.

With a swift, well-placed punch, Feyd drove his fist into Rabban's ribs, feeling the satisfying impact reverberate through his knuckles. Rabban let out a guttural grunt of pain, staggering slightly but quickly regaining his footing. His face twisted into a mask of rage, eyes burning with a desire for retribution.

The larger man swung a powerful fist, aiming for Feyd's head with all his might. Feyd, his reflexes honed to perfection, ducked just in time, the blow grazing the air above him. The force of the swing caused Rabban to overextend, leaving him momentarily off-balance.

The crowd watched in stunned silence, their collective breath held in anticipation. The tension was thick, a living thing that thrummed through the hall, making every heartbeat feel like an eternity. Rabban, undeterred, readied himself for another attack, his muscles bunching in preparation. But before he could move, a booming voice cut through the air, commanding submission. 

“Enough!”

Rabban halted mid-stride, his chest heaving, and turned red-faced toward his uncle. Feyd straightened, his eyes never wavering from his brother, but he remained silent, his demeanour cold and calculating. The Baron stood from his throne, suspensors hissing as they carried his impressive girth. “This petty squabble ends now.” His voice brokered no arguments. “You are both sons of House Harkonnan. Do not disgrace my name with such undignified behaviour.”

Leiana imagined that had the room not been filled with their peers then he would have gleefully watched his nephews fight to the death. As it was, Rabban clenched his fists, his anger simmering beneath the surface of his skin, and nodded reluctantly. Feyd bowed his eyes slightly in acknowledgement, his expression harsh. As the Baron moved to leave the room, he cast a final, warning glance to his nephews.

"Remember your place, Rabban. I have given you grace and time to prove yourself. And you have failed time and again," he said, his tone icy. "Feyd is to be my heir. He will marry the girl. And I will hear no more on the matter."

With the Baron’s words still echoing in the room, the crowd began to disperse, their hushed whispers and speculations slowly fading into silence. The spectacle was over, and the guests, ever mindful of the fragility of their positions and the prying eyes of the Baron, resumed their activities with a calculated nonchalance. Rabban exited after his uncle, leaving her alone with Feyd once more.

Feyd watched Rabban's retreating form, a small, triumphant smile curling at the corners of his lips. The encounter had gone just as he had planned, every move calculated to assert his dominance and undermine Rabban's authority. His eyes scanned the room, ensuring the immediate danger had passed before he turned his attention to the woman he had flung aside in the heat of the confrontation.

His demeanour shifted but was no less dangerous as he extended a hand toward her. "Are you all right?" he asked, his voice softer. She hesitated momentarily before accepting his hand, her fingers trembling as she rose. Her eyes, wide with relief and wariness, met his.

"Yes, thank you."

His hand was on her throat before she could finish brushing the dust from her dress. His thumb pressed hard against her windpipe, halting her breaths and silencing her voice as he dragged her against his chest once more. Leiana caught his wrist with both hands, clawing at his pale skin as she had done to Rabban days ago.

Feyd's grip tightened. "You think you can manipulate me with the Voice?" he hissed, his breath hot against her face, making her blink, making the first of her tears fall. "Try it again, and I will end you where you stand."

Leiana's vision blurred at the edges as she struggled for air. Her nails dug deeper into his wrist, desperate for release, drawing globules of blood to the surface, but Feyd's hold remained steadfast. She could feel the thrum of his pulse beneath her fingertips.

"Your life hangs by a thread, and I hold the scissors."

With a final, ruthless squeeze, he released her, watching with satisfaction as she crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath. Feyd stood over her, a dark silhouette against the dim light, a silent reminder of the peril that shadowed her every move.

—interested in being tagged in future chapters? send me a message!

[mana-jjk]

Mana.... Hows jjk 261 :3 (im bawling my eyes out)

hi babes <3 !

i’m coping so hard right now, but this chapter gave so much to think about in terms of characterization too.

spoilers under the cut !! i’m so serious y’all, you will be majorly spoiled if you keep reading

ok so first of all, i feel so vindicated that everyone is starting to realize how much of a crazy bitch yuuta is. i’ve been saying since day one that the boy is unhinged and i love him for it. i think it’s interesting how in general, the second years all fall under a different morality stance that impacts each other.

i don’t think the typical moral alignment chart really fits them, so let me ramble for a second.

maki is a bit true neutral to me in that she will turn her nose to the society set before her, because it’s wrong. she has strong ideals, but her behavior used to be very much of looking out for herself before much else. that means hurting others feelings, not giving into designated good behavior to make it easier for others, goals dedicated to breaking the glass ceiling rather than any passion to save anyone. her actions may lean to an objective good and evil stance, whatever may be necessary. i think her stance is definitely swayed by her comrades. the initial reaction to yuuta possessing gojo’s body was immediate refusal. it’s almost odd that she’s had such a strong reaction to it, considering her past attitude of doing whatever may be necessary. her real reaction stems from the danger that has the potential of impacting yuuta.

panda is definitely more interesting in that he’s not human. he’s most often shown as one of the more empathetic in the show despite his inhuman origins. yet at the same time, he’s very tactical and thinks of humans and their emotions as strange. there’s an almost juxtaposition of that kind nature in combination with a degree of separation that is visceral in nature. case in point, panda acknowledges that there is danger to yuuta in this case, yet he has the most subdued reaction to such. is this because he cares less? i don’t think so. however, another point is when yuuta is screaming about becoming a monster. panda shows little to no reaction outwardly. again, you have to ponder the choice in this. yuuta used to be the prime example of his inability to understand humans and their emotions. i do wonder if that’s still the case after masamichi was killed. they both lost a figure deeply important to them. the difference is that panda refrained from enacting vengeance and instead displayed his, perhaps most genuine, showcase of emotion. part of panda’s journey is about discovering where he stands in society. reacting to this in such a way feels like an acceptance of that journey coming to an end. he understands yuuta, because he had to become more in order to process these tragedies, with another on the horizon.

i think i’ve said this before, but i do see potential where toge would’ve been set up as the moral compass of the second years (if gege didn’t keep forgetting about him). out of all the characters, toge was set up to be one of the most self-sacrificial. silencing and isolating himself his entire life to prevent cursing others, trying to make yuuta stay back or run away when there’s danger, protecting megumi despite the damage to his throat, asking nobara not to kill one of the very few people who knows a dangerous weakness of cursed speech, protecting an entire civilian crowd by himself, and so on. but there’s smaller pieces too. stopping maki from bullying yuuta, protesting sending yuuji alone during the exchange event, always choosing non-violent commands on his peers if necessary, physically stepping in to stop todo from harassing megumi, checking in on the others well being. i’ve always seen that moment with maki and stopping her as indicative to their relationship. if he says she’s gone too far, she trusts him. his reaction to yuuta’s speech is also the most visceral, there’s a hint of horror on his face that you can’t see with anyone else. it’s a terror i only have to assume at the knowledge that yuuta cannot, will not be stopped. and for toge, who has so much of his character built around care, it must be so horrifying to know that you are helpless to save the one you care about most, as helpless as he was to prevent the decimation of the civilians entrusted to him in shibuya.

yuuta actually tickles my brain in the best way y’all. i have SO MUCH to say about this man and his morals. what is absolutely crazy is that you would think yuuta is being set up as the straight man (not literally, that boy is bisexual as fuck), but in that he did not grow up in their society. maki, toge, and panda were all groomed from birth to be soldiers. ready to do what is necessary to save civilians. megumi said it best, they’re not heroes, they’re jujutsu sorcerers. that means being deplorable sometimes, expecting not to save everyone, yet willing to die in an instance without cursing the world. despite this, somehow it’s yuuta who emulates these values the most. where others may protest the ethics of the body swap, yuuta intercepts with bone-chilling anger. where toge refrains from using permanently damaging curse words, the first one and most common yuuta uses is ‘die,’ where others might turn tail and run, yuuta digs in his heel and does what is necessary. likely this is a byproduct of growing up with the vengeful spirit of rika for five years. single-handedly, he was responsible for numerous injuries and deaths even before arriving at the school. we see this byproduct in his willingness in biting the faces off roaches, killing yuuji, and taking it upon himself to kill his mentor’s best friend not once, but twice. and then letting the copy of rika EAT HIM !!

were these all necessary at the time? of course, but the moral strain, the implications of his mental state in order to do so is one that is vastly underestimated.

yuuta killed yuuji.

with his own hand, he cut through flesh and blood and bone and dug through to the other side. he did it without a twitch in his face, he did it after chasing him through the city. yuuji did not lie down and take it, he ran and he fought for his life. the desperation on yuuji’s face, the terror, the chilling understanding that he would not survive this. he might have healed him, but what kind of person do you think it takes to go through with that? yes, it was necessary. but i want you to imagine yourself in that position. it’s not a moment to take lightly, especially if you’re not entirely sure if it will work. taking this all to the present day, if you were surprised at the lengths yuuta will go, i truly cannot imagine why.

gojo satoru is not being used as a weapon. he is a tribute. the very act in itself is an accolade, the only eulogy they can afford to provide. the act of desecration is a love letter, a legacy borne of blood soaked thorns and crumbling graves. the strongest, the one and only, the honored one. untouchable, unreachable, an unattainable monster. gojo describes others as the flowers that fester and grow, who love in theory but never truly understand. do you understand the gut-wrenching tragedy it takes for someone as blessed as yuuta to sink into the grime that no one dares venture, to foresake his blessings to become the decomposition, the nourishment of these roots, to take over like a parasite, a hive mind, if only to ensure the loss is not in vain?

no one is looking at this the right way.

yuuta isn’t disrespecting gojo by using his body as a weapon, he is honoring him in the only way he knows how. he’s taking his life, filled with blessings, friends that adore him, the chances for love and happiness, the journey it took for him to come here, and laying it out in offering. i see your pain, i see your endings, and to ensure you rest in peace, i will ensure that these hands finally lay to rest that which has taken so much from you.

yuuta loves gojo, he loves him so completely that he became a monster far before this act. he killed his best friend so he wouldn’t have to, he killed the parasitic host of his best friend so he wouldn’t have to, there’s so much blood on his hands it’s hard to tell where the devotion ends and humanity begins.

we can scream black and blue that this is wrong, that he deserves a proper rest, that they are abandoning the humanity in which they strive so much to save. to that i say, no shit, it’s almost like that’s the point. asking children to fight in a war they never asked for is wrong. training these children from birth and grooming them to be weapons before they even know how to define what it means to die is wrong. trying to execute teenagers with no knowledge or understanding of their abilities or place in this society is wrong. telling teenagers who will never experience a normal school life to engage in suicide missions, knowing they have no chance is wrong. demanding that they place priority over lives, especially over their own is wrong. outlawing their very existence, to which was groomed specifically for their society, is wrong. asking them to plan for their early demise, to greet death with acceptance rather than rage, is wrong. it’s all wrong, it’s all a product of a broken society that could never move forward. asking them to fight with amputated limbs, disfigured skin, and no one to mourn their existence beyond the circle of lives at the beck and call is wrong. but the end of sukuna is a potential turning point, the end of a generational transition cycle that continues to cog forward. gojo hated this society most of all, and i have no doubt that he has brought the end of it.

if not the death of the elders, it is the death of himself that spurs the same change that came with his birth. it’s almost tragic that gojo’s life mission was to ensure that the youth could live their lives to the fullest, yet he had to accept that their lives would be laid down regardless. gojo sacrificed his entire life, from birth to death to be a protector. yes he stopped executions, he gave chances to many who would have otherwise been ostracized, yet all in the same they lay down their lives and die all too soon. children he helped raise, children he would have done anything for, children who now face his death with their own bodies in the line of fire. in the end, he didn’t change a thing. prolonged death sentences maybe, yet what does it matter if they die by their society or by sukuna’s hand? that is why yuuta needed to take his body. because gojo is not done, he cannot be laid to rest until the final obstacle is out of the way. a last wish, the closing of a door, the balance of what was good and necessary.

as long as sukuna lives, they have failed. and yuuta, the one most blessed by the efforts of gojo, the one who had the most to live for, understands that more than anyone else.

the truth is that gojo was so completely adored by his student, in a way even he didn’t understand. children who were saved by him, the outcasts of the jujutsu world who were given a family because of him. megumi who was able to escape the zenins, yuuji who was given a prolonged execution, nobara who finally had people sitting in her chairs, maki who was fighting against the foundation, panda who was not even human, toge who’s very life was outlawed, yuuta who had long since lost all reason to live. they found each other because of gojo, they found reason to live in each other. because of that, they found the confidence to die too.

jujutsu kaisen for these very reasons is not for the faint of heart. the death of nanami was the tipping point of a decent into darkness in which children are not spared. there are no children in a war of this scale, only born and raised soldiers who will live and die a life documented only by the tragic losses unknown by the rest of society. the people who were everything, the people they would have done anything for, not even a smear in history. unnamed, unthanked, unnoticed in their absence to the rest of society. because even a happy story like yuuta’s is built on the knowledge that every blessing was only a prolonged sacrifice.

he would give up everything and anything, because that was the only way to ensure the people he loved, his everything and anything, lived to see another day. that is what becoming a monster truly means. the capability and willingness to become an ugly, wretched, and cruel being, if only to ensure you are the strongest.

however, yuuta does have something that gojo was never quite able to keep. the love and devotion matched in full by his comrades, unwilling to let him face these battles alone. therefore, even as tragedy trudges on, i truly hope this is where we can see the potential of the established bond in the second years.

i will continue being delusional, if only to believe my found family will not yet be ripped apart (like yuuta). so to answer your question, i too am suffering !! slice of life alternate universe when

[luckyroll3]

Unexpected Chapter 5: Hate to Admit It

Unexpected Masterlist Previous Chapter

Mia

The clamor of eager fans enveloped the arena as Mia and Lianna, with their front-row vantage point, took their seats amid a sea of anticipation. The air around them was electric, a buzzing hive of excitement that made Mia's skin tingles in resonance. The vibrant glow from the neon wristbands distributed to the audience painted their faces in a kaleidoscope of colors, adding to the surreal sense of being part of something larger than life.

"Can you believe this, Aunt Mia? We're actually here!" Lianna's voice shook with a blend of disbelief and exhilaration, her eyes alight with the sort of fervent joy that was contagious. “These tickets must have cost a grip!”

"Actually, I called in a favor," Mia replied. One of her record label clients owed her big time, and these seats barely covered what they still owe. She felt a surge of warmth seeing Lianna so alive with happiness, and despite any reservations about fitting in among the younger crowd, she couldn't deny her own excitement at the prospect of the show.

As if on cue, the lights began to dim, casting the entire venue into a hush of expectation. The murmurs and squeals of the audience crescendoed into a unified roar of cheers, which seemed to reverberate through the very foundations of the arena.

"Here we go!" Lianna squealed, clutching Mia's hand tightly, her nails digging slightly into her aunt's skin. 

Mia squeezed back. The stage, once brightly lit and revealing its elaborate design, now became a shadowy promise of the spectacle to come. A sense of unity swept over Mia. It didn't matter who she was outside this space; right now, she was simply one of thousands, waiting for the magic to unfold.

Lianna was already angling her phone to capture video of the performances.

"Are you planning to watch through your phone all night?! Live in the moment, kid," Mia encouraged. Lianna rolled her eyes and laughed. This was the new normal at concerts. Only old folks like Mia actually watched the show with their own eyes.

The stage erupted into life, the first notes of music piercing the anticipatory silence like a siren's call. Mia could feel the vibrations under her feet, a physical manifestation of the energy that was about to be unleashed.

"Look, look!" Lianna pointed toward the stage. "It's starting!"

Mia turned her attention forward just in time to witness the emergence of silhouettes against the backdrop of blinding lights. The crowd's reaction was instantaneous and explosive, a wave of sound that threatened to sweep them all away into the tide of shared euphoria.

Mia leaned forward, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and something more visceral. "Can you believe this?" Mia whispered, her voice barely audible over the crescendo of the music and the crowd going absolutely insane. The music transitioned into the opening beats of Get Lit.

Lianna didn't respond, but her grin spoke volumes. They were both ensnared by the spectacle unfolding before them, captives of the rhythm and the arrival of the group.

And then he appeared.

Chan burst onto the stage, a whirlwind of charisma wrapped in leather and confidence. His movements were fluid and precise, each step and spin meticulously crafted yet seemingly effortless. The powerful dance moves were an extension of the music itself, as if the notes had taken human form in him.

"Look at them move," Lianna managed, her voice tinged with wonder. “And Changbin has his arms out!” she squeed.

Mia could only nod, mesmerized. It was as though Chan spoke a language only her soul understood, his body articulating every word with an artist's precision. She felt drawn into the performance, each gyration, body roll, and pivot echoing in her own heartbeat.

"God, he's... incredible," Mia murmured, not realizing she'd spoken aloud until Lianna gave her a knowing smirk.

"Totally," Lianna concurred, her tone laced with amusement. "I told you he was something special."

Special was an understatement. Chan owned the stage, his presence a magnetic force that demanded attention. It wasn't just the sharp angles of his choreography; it was the intensity in his eyes, the fierce facial expressions, his crystal-clear voice, the passion that exuded from his very being. He was a man who loved what he did, and it showed.

"His energy is off the charts," Mia said, her voice a mixture of admiration and something deeper, an ember of desire kindling within her.

"Right? It's like he's not just performing for us, he's sharing a piece of his soul," Lianna replied wistfully, her own eyes never leaving the stage.

Mia couldn't argue with that. "Wow, just wow..." Mia breathed, the words lost to the roar of the crowd, yet carrying the weight of her burgeoning fascination. “And you said he writes and produces everything?” 

"Yeah. Him, Changbin, and Han. Unbelievable, right?!" Lianna yelled back while pointing out Han, her voice barely carrying over the crowd.

Mia had forgotten there were other people in this group. Seven of them. They were all talented… and beautiful. But her gaze remained glued to Chan as he hit every note with precision, his voice a seductive melody that seemed to wrap around her, pulling her in deeper. The way his hips swayed, the sweat glistening on his brow, the flash of taut skin under his cropped shirt—it was all too much, yet not nearly enough. She was mesmerized by the sheer talent and raw sexiness exuding from him.

After a few high energy songs, the stage dimmed, and traded pulsing beats for a delicate piano melody. Chan's usual vigorous energy receded, replaced by a stillness that quieted the crowd. Mia watched, transfixed, as he sat at a piano, center stage, his fingers poised above the keys. He started playing, I Hate to Admit. The spotlight painted him in an ethereal glow, revealing a vulnerability that was almost incongruous with the charismatic performer she'd been witnessing all night.

Mia's heart swelled in her chest, her gaze locked onto the man beneath the spotlight. Something about this quieter, shyer version of Chan stirred her more deeply than any of the high-octane numbers before. She leaned forward, elbows resting on the metal barricade, her expressive eyes softening with empathy. He was right; his music did make her feel. 

"How is he so different now?" Mia murmured, not taking her eyes off Chan. Lianna explained that they’re seeing Chan, Chris, and Christopher - all the different sides of him. 

Mia didn’t respond, but her silence spoke volumes. Her lips parted slightly, breath caught in the magnetic pull of Chan's presence. The rest of the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the poignant ballad and the connection she felt, inexplicably strong, to the man behind the music.

As the last note lingered, the audience erupted in applause, but Chan simply bowed his head in humble gratitude, a shy smile flirting at the corners of his lips before he stood and joined the others for the next set.

"He’s amazing," Mia confessed, more to herself than anything. The group moved into their next performance, Charmer.

"See? There it is again," Lianna whispered, nudging Mia's arm. "You're seeing Chan and then—Bam! Christopher takes over."

Mia tilted her head, observing Chan through this new lens. This was clearly a different persona from the one who just sat at the piano. Mia had no doubt that the Chan she was watching now, who was biting his lip, squinting his eyes as an eyebrow raised flirtatiously, lifting his shirt up to expose his sculpted abs, and growling, would throw her up against a wall and ravish her without a second thought. "I can't quite pin it down, when the change happens—the switch is so subtle." 

Lianna's eyes sparkled, animated by her passion for the subject. "It's like he's two different people. Off-stage, he's reserved, almost shy. But the moment he steps into the spotlight, he just... transforms. It's like he draws power from the crowd, you know?"

Mia watched Chan leap into the air, a kangaroo hop that looked to catch 6 ft of height.

Lianna bounced slightly on her feet, her voice barely audible over the cheering. "He owns that stage. But watch his eyes when the song ends, how he searches the crowd. It's like he's looking for validation, reassurance that he's done well."

Mia pondered Lianna's words, her gaze following Chan as the song reached its crescendo. The idol's face was a mask of concentration, every muscle coiled in the service of performance. And then, as the final beat dropped, his expression softened, his eyes scanning the audience until they were almost….vulnerable.

"Wow," Mia murmured, feeling a strange twist in her chest, a mix of empathy and fascination. 

"Right? But don't let that fool you," Lianna continued, her tone serious but her eyes gleaming with mischief. "He’s not just a pretty face. He's worked hard to get where he is—years of training, sacrificing, pushing himself. All those layers make up who he is."

"Layers upon layers," Mia repeated absentmindedly. She was transfixed. 

"Absolutely," Lianna confirmed, nodding sagely. "And each layer more intriguing than the last." She peeled her eyes away from the stage to look at her aunt. A smirk emerged on her face. “Admit it. You’re into him.”

A/N: Song: I Hate to Admit It Artist: Bang Chan

[plazmafields]

V's a living legend at the Afterlife, he's got a stylish new mansion, and his head is one consciousness lighter. And he's not handling it well. V knew Johnny had to go or they'd both die, but he wasn't prepared for how empty he'd feel. Emotionally and...physically? Psychologically? The turn around between Jackie dying and Johnny getting wiped was too quick, V hadn't had time to process all of it. Any of it, really. He could say he feels numb, but that's not right. He feels too many emotions all at once, but he can't express anything. "System overload" would be more accurate.

When a room is quiet for too long, V can almost hear Johnny's voice in the back of his head, an indecipherable murmur. When he's alone and hears a voice, he assumes it's Johnny's. He replies accordingly, often to the room's confusion. Sometimes he responds in his head, forgetting he has to move his lips and vocal cords for others to hear what he's thinking.

It's been a long and difficult adjustment, but Kerry understands. He remembers hearing Johnny's snide, critical remarks echo with every strum of a cord. He remembers staring at his guitar from across the room, listening to a repeating memory of Johnny's fingers on the strings. Distinct. Inimitable.

That doesn't mean it hurts any less when V calls him "Johnny" by mistake. After 50 years of trying to escape that Silver shadow that loomed over his life and career, and finally succeeding, it feels like a major step back. Kerry's been patient--something V has profusely thanked him for--but he's snapped more than once.

Kerry wonders if this is how V felt when they first met. He had such a hard time separating the two in his mind at first, despite being able to tell them apart easily. V's a rebel, an anarchist, an edgerunner to the bone, but not in the same way Johnny always was. V had expressed, when they started dating, that he didn't want to play second fiddle to Johnny. If there had been--or still was--anything between Johnny and him, Kerry ought to come clean. V tended to be a little sensitive to comparisons at the time, but since Johnny's removal, he hasn't shown any signs of insecurity.

Insecurity is now Kerry's burden to bare. He knows in the forefront of his mind that each time V uses the wrong name, it's simply an accident. The last person around him day in and day out was Johnny, so it follows that after moving in together, V occasionally uses the name of his previous "housemate." But Kerry's feelings of inferiority hiss and screech on instinct, like a bat brought to the light, each time he hears the late rocker's name. He's never held his tongue before, but he holds it for V. The marc apologizes ad nauseum each time it happens, and Kerry tells him it's alright.

And it is, he thinks. They've each gotten better; Kerry's reactions are less visceral now, and V is getting used to it being Kerry in his peripherals. Neither will ever be completely without Johnny, much to their dismay, but he's less a part of their daily lives now.

Life, as it were. They've adjusted well to living together. Both men are busy frequently; V's thievery is better done under the cover of night, and Kerry's shows run late due to multiple encores. But when they converge at home in the wee hours of the morning, the world stands still for them, giving them a precious moment to bask in what little time they may have left together.

V's still looking for a permanent cure. Kerry worries his lover won't outlive him. What an odd thing to hope for, he realizes, to die long before V. Before he finds his first grey hair; before he begins feeling the weather in his joints; before he starts groaning whenever he stands from the couch.

V's eyes catch on Kerry's from across the living room. He hadn't realized he'd been staring.

"Wha'cha thinkin' about?" V asks, inquisitive hazel eyes adjusting like a camera shutter around void-black pupils.

Kerry smiles as he replies without hesitation, "Thinkin' about how much I love you."

They haven't said it a lot, only when things get really bad. When V wakes up searching for Johnny, when he has nightmares of Jackie bleeding out and not being able to stop it. When Kerry gets another email from his custody lawyer, when he battles with his label to renegotiate ownership of his masters.

V rises from his seat and joins Kerry on the couch, kissing his forehead as he sits. "Everything okay?" He rubs his hand firmly up and down Kerry's thigh.

"Sure," Kerry lays his arm across the back of the couch, coaxing V to lean into him. "Just feel like I don't remind you enough, that's all."

V grins as he scoots closer. "Well feel free to remind me as much as you want." He grabs Kerry's free hand in his, interlocking their fingers and squeezing tightly, whispering as he leans in for a kiss, "I love you too, Ker."

[akria23]

Note: This is unedited and I think I missed a section, I haven’t had the best week so this is what it ended up with. I might not do one of these for episode 11, even though I try to only focus on the episode at hand and not what I think may happen or any possibilities, because PromNont typically only have a few scenes I’m starting to fear I’ll have to do a lot of repeating if I do an overall analysis at the end (which is usually my style). I don’t know, we’ll see.

PromNont Episode 10

This episode once again has two promnont scenes and as usual the first scene informs the second. Both scenes are about revelation and both feature big emotional breakdowns from Nont - the first being rage and the second being anguish. Unfortunately, Nant is still in the mix of both scenes.

Rage is defined as violent, uncontrollable anger and if there is one word to describe what takes place in the opening sequence it would be that word. The timing for this reveal couldn’t be any worse. In the matter of minutes Nont has emotionally gone from thinking he was gonna have a peaceful night with Prom to discovering a secret that went against everything he thought about Prom to seeing the news about the discovery of his brother’s dead body. That bit about Prom is very important because the thing that filled their relationship with tension, Prom’s love for Nant, was the same thing that made Prom feel like a safe space when it came to the case. Who better to understand Nont’s upset, his drive, than the man in love with his brother. Though the two had a mutually beneficial relationship, Prom hadn’t let down his twin the way the Baddies had - because he was in love with him there was no way he’d have hurt him. Yet, this reveal says otherwise. The video he had seen and had such a visceral reaction to because he perceived it as violent even outside the aspect of murder, says otherwise.

I feel in the moment Nont tried to keep his rage about Nant. About how the betrayal from Prom was upon his brother, rather than focusing on how the lie was a betrayal to him. He tries to distance himself emotionally by not focusing on what Prom has done to him. On the surface I’d even say he succeeded.

When he confronts Prom it is to ask how he could hurt Nant when he was supposed to love him. When Nont has sought revenge for his brother it has always been about matching what was done to his twin - sacrificing parts of himself to meet the necessary violence required. So when he attacks Prom physically it of course is somewhat comparable to the Mask Dog video. However, I say he only succeeds on the surface because when he drags Prom across the room to see the evidence that he was the last person with his brother, he makes it clear he’s not interested in hearing explanations, he’s not interested in being rationalized out of his rage. The thing about Nont and this case is that the violence has always been negotiable, you tell him what you know about what happened to his brother and you can come out unharmed because the violence isn’t something he desires, it's used as a tool to get to the truth about his twin. But here in this moment the violence is non-negotiable, even as Prom is offering an explanation Nont doesn’t want it because he may be able to give an explanation for the clip, for Nant, but that would do nothing for the offense against Nont. So though he tries to keep the focus on Nant, his own emotion about Prom and the announcement of his brother's body snowballs everything and makes it worse. Every hit has a bout of frustration behind it and Prom is on the receiving end for all of it.

Anguish is defined as severe mental or physical pain or suffering and I think this is how I’d describe the second scene between Prom and Nont. This time the focus is on letting Nont’s emotionalism be at the surface rather than him trying to repress them to focus on what Nant suffered. No matter if consciously or subconsciously, Nont shows up at Playboyy because he hadn’t heard Prom’s explanation - there's no way he thought Playboyy was the best place to communicate with / to his dead brother, he's at Playboyy cause Prom is at Playboyy. The thing about Prom and Nont relationship conversations is there's always a lot exchanged but very little actually spoken - this sequence is no different.

Prom explains that he didn’t hurt Nant that the video was just roleplay but he doesn’t get a reaction until he confesses that he was there when Nant made the video faking his death. Prom claims that he feared telling Nont the truth about the mask because he didn't want to be misunderstood and Nont’s response is a beat silence before saying that instead Prom had rather made him the idiot for the longest while. The silence held as much communication as his rebuttal because this was a lie Prom stuck to for months, months of Nont confiding in Prom that he was uncomfortable with the things he was doing, the things he was learning about himself while on the path to finding the truth of his brother. Months of Nont being honest with Prom about everything, thinking they were of a like mind, and Prom telling him little to no truth. There in the silence is a mocking of all of Prom’s most audacious moments. Moments like giving him the gun to confront Nuth, though he knew he hadn't harmed his brother. Moments like consoling him over a brother he knew wasn’t dead. In each of their own ways, Prom and Nant made Nont and everyone else a part of a sadistic game.

And when Prom tried to apologize about not telling the truth about Nant’s disappearance because maybe Nont wouldn't have wasted time, Nont cuts him off with a concise, “Never Mind.” Nevermind because he's not interested in having THAT conversation. Maybe is such a weighted word because maybe Nont wouldn’t have wasted time. Maybe Non’t wouldn’t have subjected himself to some of the things he did to get answers. Maybe Nant could've been found alive. Maybe, maybe, maybe…Never mind because what's done is done and can’t be undone. Never mind because it doesn’t matter anyway, it can’t matter.

There's no elation after these explanations because no, Prom hadn’t hurt Nant, he’d hurt Nont. If anything he'd shown himself to be abundantly loyal to his brother even in the face of Nont breaking. Nant has always held position between them but Nont thought the bond had atleast been authentic but even that seems a waste in the face of Prom never having chosen him, never having thought of the affects on him. Everything hes done seems a waste, Prom has made a fool of him, and his brother is dead. I think he blames himself for that last bit because it was bad enough when he thought Nant wnt into hiding himself but to learn that he asked for assistance from Prom but never felt comfortable mentioning anything to him, his twin. Again its one of those things where everything is rolling into one because not only is he finding out how deeply Prom an Nant were working together in these choices but also having to question how his brother must’ve of thought of him or felt about him to not not tell him anything, to go into hiding instead of flying out to him. How he must seem as a sibling in the eyes of his twin.

Nont is exhausted, he's worn down and he’s decided he’s done. He’s already told the Baddies that he’s booked a flight home for next week and now he’s letting Prom know he’s finished. The case is closed. Or atleast it is until Prom stops Nont and tells him that he doesn’t want him to think he’s the bad guy. It is at this moment that Nont decides to carry out the case and see what led to his brother’s demise.

I say that not only because this bit of dialogue is the only thing that happens between him saying he’s done and Zouey finding him digging into the investigation again, but because this is consistent with them. This isn’t the first time we’ve seen Prom convince Nont to stay the course, Nont himself having thanked Prom for helping him maintain that goal. And while I don’t think that was Prom’s motive behind what he says, it is the only due course to make it happen. Nont may not truly think Prom has anything to do with killing his brother but with the evidence of him being the last known person to see Nant alive, with only his story to go off of, and with the list of lies between them the only way to really erase the possibility of Prom having harmed Nant and of being the bad guy is to solve the case and discover the full truth.

Even though he doesn’t turn back nor respond to Prom, the decision to continue is made right there at Playboyy. They haven't reconciled, there's so much shit between them, and yet he knows he's gonna do this for Prom, for Nant, and yes in part for himself. There's exhaustion in that cry, no one wants this to be over the way Nont does. There's heartbreak in that cry. While Prom is left with his choices, once again watching someone he cares about walk out with only the certainty that things have irrevocably changed.

Nont goes through 3 stages this episode. He starts off high energy and very active with rage. In the midsection however, he’s almost catatonic, it’s like he’s lost all will to fight. He’s broken and in anguish. In the end he’s revitalized, refocused and driven to find ish the goal of finding the truth about his brother once again. However, if the truth is gonna be something cathartic or push him further past his breaking point has yet to be seen.

While Nant faking his death and going into hiding has been on my theory list from the get go and Prom knowing Nont wasn't Nant has been set in stone for me ever since the wine episode - it wasn’t until the release of the teaser photos that I realized I hadn’t considered the possibility of Prom having helped Nant. The possibility didn’t really coincide with how I thought Nant viewed Prom which was more of an afterthought. If I had to assume anyone that he’d choose to help him in a bind I would’ve chosen Zouey who he was said to have a tight bond with and understood him the best originally. However, we don’t know how Nant felt about anyone truly because we’ve only ever gotten third party opinions of who he was and how he may have felt. Even if he did actually see Prom as an afterthought, who better to help you and carry your secret than the man who fancied himself in love with you, the man whose nose was so open he’d do anything for you? Prom…my poor idiot baby.

I wanna sum up his lesson as playing stupid games and winning silly prizes but I don’t think that would be fair or do it justice at all. There's something to be said about the way one chooses to treat others when they are not emotionally connected to them because while I can understand the desire to cling to Nont with the hopes that he’d find his brother and even somewhat of using him as a temporary replacement at first, there's always repercussions to devaluing someone - def if you later come to actually value them.

That's where Prom is now, standing in the muck of it having to face the consequences of his own actions. He understands that though which is why he doesn’t fight back in the first sequence and why he doesn’t make any big declarations in the second. Prom was never gonna be honest and tell Nont the truth even outside the aspect of loyalty to Nant. He tends to try to adapt to the other person and fit where they need / want him and then go with the flow, taking anything the other person is willing to give while allowing his mind to build a fantasy to make up for the rest. That’s what he’d done with Nant and he was no different when it came to trying to take up space in Nont’s life. Prom thinking their relationship was only to be temporary (even after coming to the realizations of his feelings being stronger for Nont) isn’t outlandish when Nont has always set the precedent for it to be so. When he’s always drawn lines and set boundaries. Of course he didn’t speak up even when he knew Nont was gonna get evidence from his father’s connections because selfishly he wanted to ride out the relationship for as long as he possibly could rather than be forthcoming and end it weeks, days, hours earlier. He was gonna take what he could while he could.

A lot of people question why Prom doesn’t seem to care that Nant is dead & question if theres still a possibility of him being the killer - as someone who has a secret murder theory for every character including Prom and even Nont, I get it considering he did start watching the news like he was waiting for a body and seems to lack big emotional expression. However, I do think there could be character traits and elements that could explain his emotional choices somewhat, including the fact that Prom has always been somewhat impassive. I’d question which character’s perspective could be used to witness him emote said grief - he doesn’t have much time with the other characters as he doesn’t even seem close to anyone outside of Nant/Nont. And emoting said grief to Nont likely seems inappropriate and a terrible idea for now considering he desires Nont romantically and his feelings for Nant has and still continues to be a tension between them. Again I also think its that one track mindedness Prom has when it comes to interest in someone. The same one track mindedness that had him devaluing Nont in place of continued loyalty to Nant is the same one track mindedness that allows him not to make his grief the focus when trying to explain himself to Nont. Similarly to the others, his grief is likely also mixed with a bit of guilt, as is the recurring theme of how the actions and inactions of those around Nant may have contributed to his death.

Afterthoughts: I’m not surprised where we leave off with Promnont this episode. In the dream sequence analysis, I’d already settled on the possibility of Prom having more than one secret to reveal and the possibility of it bringing on the separation point of their relationship. Up until that point they’d yet to experience a break in their relationship the way the other pairings had.

The question is how do they reconcile - I’m sure it’ll be quick because no one in this series stands strong they're all “my man, my man, my man" and forgive without much effort. Idk if I want Nont to make him work for it or if I just want some happy PromNont scenes since were close to the end. I still worry about them in the long run because the Nant thing has been consistent and while Prom chose Nont subconsciously during the dream that hasn’t happened on a conscious level and now with Nant ``gone” how would Nont ever come to feel Prom is wanting to move forward with him for any reason other than Nant no longer being an option.

As long as Nont has that flight booked imma be worried…I NEED my PromNont endgame. Nont need to cancel the ticket or Prom needs to buy one. Are there more surprises and twist - I can think of a possible few but I actually hope not because I just want some Promnont scenes. We know the least about these two (and Nant arguably since everything we know about him is through 3rd party opinion) and haven’t gotten much of who they would be as a pair outside of the stressors of the case.

[starmapz]

if there’s anyone who has the patience of a god, it would be reader.

it’s a mix of deep compassion and mounting frustration, where she feels this overwhelming urge to shield him, to take on the weight of his fears, but every time she tries to guide him, his anxiety creates barriers, and yet, the way you described her steady presence and determination throughout the story feels so reassuring.. even when faced with frustration, whether it’s misunderstandings, resistance or the difficulty of the circumstances, she doesn’t waver. instead of pulling away she leans in with even more patience and compassion. it’s as though you truly understand the depth of what it means to hold space for someone who’s struggling. which is what helps me calm my senses, knowing that reader isn’t so easily deterred and won’t give up on sukuna without much effort. and as seen in sukuna’s most vulnerable moments, his panic attack in response to the harsh and cruel reality he’s had to face that day, where you’ve managed to capture the raw, visceral intensity of what it feels like to lose all sense of mind in the heat of the moment, the way you convey the racing heart, the suffocating sense of losing control, and the spiraling thoughts is both haunting and incredibly real. every sentence felt like a pulse, quickening and constricting, drawing you into the panic and holding you there. there was a brief moment of fear, where i wasn’t sure if either of them would say or do something that would leave the other out in the cold, but the realization and sense of assurance i got from both characters, such as sukuna working to control and tame his emotions and reactions, in order to stay composed in front of the person he respects and values the most, determined not to drive her away with the harsh words he’s used before and reader trying her best to hold herself up right despite the constant push she gets from him calmed my senses even if just a little.

it’s clear that sukuna’s actions are driven by deep internal conflict, not because he doesn’t recognize the help being offered, but because his pride prevents him from accepting it, and vulnerability does little to ease his discomfort. it’s almost as if he believes that by keeping others at arm’s length, he can protect himself from people viewing him as weak and pitying him. yet, beneath the walls he’s constructed, there’s a quiet desperation, a longing for connection he’s too scared to acknowledge. sukuna doesn’t want to admit that he needs help, even though he’s drowning in the very thing he refuses to accept. it’s what makes him a bit frustrating to deal with, which is why i’m saying that reader has the most patience out of everyone. they both so obviously need each other in order to stay grounded, preventing themselves from losing control amidst their overwhelming responsibilities and emotions.

your skill lies in not just describing the physical aspects, but also in conveying the emotional weight- the terror, the helplessness, and the isolation. it’s a rare talent to make such an intense, personal experience feel universally understood, and you do it with both precision and empathy. your words hit hard, but they also leave an impact that’s impossible to forget.

and despite the intense angst of the chapter, this was an incredible read. (i gasped when i saw it was at almost 18k words, we’re too spoiled 🤭)

HIIII LOVE <33 i hope you're doing well!!

i always look forward to your asks they make me so happy <33

sukuna absolutely needs someone with reader's patience, the poor man :(( he's so quick to spring to his own defense, to put up walls and even tear her down at times with his own anger, but it never comes from anything more than his own pride and fear that he won't acknowledge, but that can all only last so long when the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

a part of why this chapter took me so long (aside from the whole 17k thing LMAO) is that i really wanted to make sure i captured not just the moment where sukuna falls apart, but everything leading up to it as well, because that crushing sense of doubt and fear that sukuna goes through i felt was all the more emotional knowing that it's a sum of a very mounting pressure built up over the course of several days. sukuna is beyond strong, very self sufficient, and very competent, but he's still human. i really wanted to make sure i captured his fear of loss and failure, but also the fear of being seen at his most vulnerable not only by the reader but also his brothers, because they're already at their lowest, so he knows he needs to be above that, he needs to be their pillar, but he so stubbornly thinks he can handle it alone.

the reader absolutely has the patience of a god, something that comes very much from her extremely kind nature and the sympathy she has for sukuna, but also from a place of love. she understands on a level that most don't see that what you know about someone, sukuna in this case, isn't always a real picture of who they are (ehehe fic title drop), and the same can be said about her. most don't see the extremely hard-working girl who studied her ass off to get a scholarship, they see gojo's friend. they see the preppy girl who sits with frat boys, who holds the title of prom queen and gets good grades, and they make assumptions.

the reader and sukuna are two sides of the same coin, even if it takes them both a while to come to this realization. they both are hard-working, compassionate (albeit in different ways), and unrelenting in their resolve. and honestly thank god that she's as nosy as she is, because as much as sukuna complains, they wouldn't get anywhere if he was constantly pushing her away and letting his pride come between them. it's the traits that they do share that draw them to one another and the traits that they don't share that make them work so well, because where sukuna lacks temperament, the reader brings it to the table in droves, supplying enough for the both of them, especially when sukuna's drowning and needs it most.

slowly but surely, they're making progress!! even if sukuna sticks his foot up his ass to prevent it sometimes. i love him sm though

AAA THIS IS TOO SWEEEEET thank you sm 😭🫶 i can't even describe how grateful i am for your support and to hear that my words could have such an effect is so overwhelmingly encouraging and really does keep me writing.

i'm so so so glad you enjoyed the latest chapter, thank you sm for your ask <333

actual image of me reading your ask

[meta-squash]

I only watched Miracle Day the once, when it originally aired, and I didn't like it much (for multiple reasons) but one of the scenes I still remember most clearly is the part where Jack is tortured by the Three Families in the 1920s and there's that whole scene of people taking his blood and this sort of uncertainty (from Jack's POV) of whether people think he's something sinful or sacred etc etc.

My favourite scene in the entire series is that moment after, when Angelo comes to rescue Jack. There's a shot of him untying Jack, of Jack lying limply on the floor gazing into middle distance, of Jack's bloody feet (heavy handed religious symbolism lol but I kind of love that), and of Jack clutching the cloth Angelo gives him to clean up with. Angelo says they need to hurry and Jack curls up into a foetal position and says, dully, "Give me a minute."

(The next scene is Jack and Angelo running through the streets and Jack is cheerful again and I'm convinced there was a interim scene that was cut that got them to that point but anyway.)

I love that scene so much partly because it is basically fanservice to my angst-loving, h/c-loving fic writer self, obviously.

But the main reason I love it is because it shows Jack's physical and psychological reaction to the things he ends up having to endure because of his immortality. We didn't get this kind of intense, obvious, withdrawn vulnerability and traumatic response from Jack in the first 3 series.

The curling into himself, the clutching at the cloth (something soft and something to hold on to), the dull and monotonous voice when he responds to Angelo, the total inability to register urgency, it's such a visceral display of how traumatized and vulnerable he's been made by all of this.

By this time, he's been on earth for 50-ish years. He's had all sorts of deaths. He's been working for Torchwood for long enough that things like urgency in painful or life-threatening or exhausting situations probably are not foreign to him. He's probably seen and done and been through quite a lot.

So showing his reaction to this, the foetal position and obvious shock/dissociation and quiet helplessness, it's really quite powerful.

And mostly I'm just so sad that it had to be a scene in the poorly done and canon-destroying series that was Miracle Day instead of something we saw in one of the first series, where we could have seen characters with established relations to both Jack and the audience react to something like that along with the audience, and have Jack react to their reactions.

[gamerbearmira]

I could talk about this resident evil 8 AU for days! I've actually been keeping myself from posting more asks That way I can get your response/feedback before I start adding more.

Miranda definitely projects onto Mirabel in fact when she first got there Miranda didn't give her to Alcina and instead had her living with her and she refused to call her by her name and was calling her Eva instead. she did that for like a week before she gave her to Alcina but when she gets extremely upset with her she will call her Eva and tell her that she's her daughter.

Speaking of Alcina her and her daughters relationship with Mirabel is.... Complicated to say the least. Mirabel loves Alcina and her daughters because Alcina took her in and truly did act like a mother figure that would never harm her and they all loved her like their own but Mirabel hates unnecessary cruelty/violence which is something the Dimitrescu family loves to do. they try to tone it down by a large amount because they saw how much it truly bothered her but they all are very temperamental/sadistic which I think is a by-product of their version of the mutations (plus the fact that they need to eat people to survive) so they aren't very successful which put a bit of stain on their relationship with Mirabel. Which they are all very aware of and try everything in their power to bridge the gap with her to varying degrees of success.

When Miranda forces Maribel to experiment on her family Maribel does what she could to defy her in the moment which was to beg and plead with her not to do it and to try and get her to change her mind. But after she threatened to experiment on them herself Maribel went ahead and did it (Miranda doesn't use actual anesthesia she instead uses a paralyzer so when she experiments on people they can't move but they are awake and aware of everything that's happening That includes all of the Lords)

When there are experiments of hers that has the result being something like the lycans she immediately puts them down herself that way the person inside isn't suffering and there aren't a bunch of monsters running around that she created and causing mass casualties/complete chaos. Which is something that karl argues with her a lot about saying that she's wasting potential soldiers for the army against Miranda.

Speaking of Karl they have a very love-hate relationship. They both sometimes get together and get along over their mutual hatred of Miranda and try to make plans to stop her but because they both go about it in two very different ways they often are arguing with each other on how to stop Miranda (it also doesn't help that Mirabel spend a good portion of her time with Alcina who hates him) both are convinced that their way is the right way and can't believe the other one can't see what they're doing wrong. The way that Mirabel is trying to stop her is by trying to create a brand new body for her daughter to go in that way there is no need for a human vessel and instead she has her own freshly made body to take over and we all know karl's way of trying to stop Miranda.

Mirabel does not physically touch The orphans/her family without wearing a pair of leather gloves because she "doesn't want a monster like myself touching people so pure and innocent."

Speaking of the family Julieta does NOT want to let Mirabel out of her sight. None of them do but Julieta is probably the worst out of all of them about that and had the most visceral reaction when Miranda slaps mirabel across the face (which she does when they are in the middle of dinner she wanted to make sure that the entire family was in one area and saw her "light punishment".)

SO COULD I. But I could also talk about Resident Evil all day in general. I blame my friend because she got me into it 😭😭

Honestly, it’s so sad that Miranda projects onto her. I mean this whole thing started because she simply couldn’t cope with her daughter’s death and really thought she could bring her back. And now she’s taking poor Mirabel and treating her like she Eva and not…Mirabel. Like what is this, Law and Order?? SVU??? Imagine how terrified Mirabel is. She was kidnapped, and is now being called some random name. And then even after that, Miranda will snap at her and call her Eva, which is WILD. And then she made her experiment on her family. And Mirabel only did it because she didn’t want her family to suffer to much in the aftermath and. Let’s be real here, Mirabel’s mortality rates are way lower than Miranda’s when it comes to experimental stuff 🗿

Honestly, I can see and honestly agree that Mirabel does care for Lday D and her daughters, but like. Morally, she CANNOT agree with the stuff they do. Like when she found out, she did understand that they needed it to survive, but she felt like they could have done it by more. You know. Conventional means. Or at least very least more humane 💀 she wants to be close, but honestly that whole sadistic killing thing and making wine out of their blood is just not how she rolls ☹️ and with Karl. They remind me of siblings, I mean they both can agree a some (very few) things, but just refuse to hear the other out, but honestly it’s kinda understandable.

ALSO MIRABEL WEARING GLOVES I CAN’T. LIKE I CAN’T RN. FR. Like the fact that she feels like that breaks my heart I can’t do this 🤧🤧 light punishment is actually crazy. Like clinically insane. Which Miranda probably is tbh. I understand Julieta’s reaction, shoot I wouldn’t let her outta my sight either 🌚📸 like imagine how horrified she was when Mirabel just SAT THERE AND TOOK IT. Idk about Julieta, but let somebody do that to my child and we gone take it outside 🧌

This how that dinner went:

Ok I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m gone 🌫️🌫️