#how to outlive your enemies

[ravenwitch-lilith]

Lilith had, actually, seen the paper. The paper delivery kid was one of the few she didn't scowl to see coming up her long and cobbled walkway.

"Yes..." she replied suspiciously. "Did you know him?"

The elder witch knew of him only in the same way she knew her paper delivery boy. He was the mailman. When she read the paper, she merely let out a hum of somber acknowledgement then flipped to the crossword. Lilith wasn't the kind to weep over an acquaintance. She didn't weep for loved ones either and maybe that was why her interns didn't seem to want to open up to her. They didn't think she'd care.

"It's sad, what happened. You're allowed to be sad and take time if you need." She appealed to the softest parts of herself she could, hoping she didn't visibly shudder at the effort.

@halfawitch-willow

How to Outlive Your Enemies and Other Lessons from the Boiling Isles ❁ Willith

[poettheythem]

Remember if you are your worst enemy then you can't die till you defeet yourself

[piggycyberwarrior]

Summary: After Task Force 141 got a hint that you gave important information to their enemy- the boys do not hesitate to chain you up and give you a taste of hell. You on the other hand are innocent but they do not believe you

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Platonic Task Force 141! x Fem!Reader (Simon Ghost Riley x Reader) a/n: pretty proud of that ngl.. enjoy guys love you!

Warnings: uhm this whole fic is basically a warning. Torture; Blood; Mental Health; Angst angst angst not proof read

genre: ANGST

+ 1,6k words

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6

You thought you were going insane.

Maybe you already were, but it was no suprise- seeing the circumstances you were in. Arms stretched uncomfortably backwards and up- chains rubbing your wrists painfully raw. The stress position Soap put you in wasn't easy peasy lemonsqueezy.

Tears brimming in your eyes at the thought. You felt fucking betrayed. You were fucking betrayed, for gods sake! by your own team- the people you cried with- the people that you loved more than yourself- the people you called your family. That one man you took a bullet for.

Fuck all that bullshit.

Those were the same people that didn't believe you when things got rocky. When some pricks pointed their fingers at you- they immediately treated you as an enemy. The same people that chained you up. The same man that made you fucking blind on one eye

Everything was a lie, apparently.

The cell you were in was shady- you didn't expect something different- i mean you just served the military for many years and did everything for your country- of course you didn't deserve something more decent.

In the end you didn't care. Just waited.

When Gaz interrogated you- you kept your mouth shut. What should you do? Lie? Fuck no, you had so much self respect left, even in this dehumanizing situation.

of course your facade broke often times- you were only human after all. And it hurt- you were in this situation before- tortured by your enemies knowing that you would probably outlive them anyway as your team would rip them apart in a few days.

But now- being here- seeing how your 'friends'- your family- spat at you with nothing more than hate made you feel even more miserable- knowing, that no one will safe you this time.

You cried- having panick attacks deep into countless nights-being triggered by any small sound that wasn't coming from you or that rat in the corner of the room. Yelling at them- telling them that you didn't do shit. They didn't believe you.

Spiraling deep in your thoughts- shoulders sore and numb hands from the stress position- still tasting a faint trace of your own blood-

the sensory of the dried up blood on your cheek was uncomfortable at the beginning- cracking everytime you opened your mouth- but it quickly got kicked to the bottom of your worries as Price's wodden bat flew into your face yesterday- tooth flying onto the ground as you spat the crimson liquid at his feet- earning another strike from your Captain.

Your Saliva turning pink with the blood, sticking to your chin- slowly dripping down- having no free hand to wipe it off.

.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

.

You were here for about 1 and a half weeks now- how'd you know that? because you could hear the guards mutter something behind that steal door.

You shivered, suffering from hypothermia, a consequence of being almost naked in this shithole. Simon himself stripped you down- ignoring your pleas and protests.

Simon.

The man you did everything for, took a bullet for, cared for and slept with. He was the love of your life- or so you thought.

You were never scared of Simon. Since the first day you met him- you were kinda drawn to that giant of a man. Always spawning in his near with hearts in your eyes- Soap always made fun of you- but he found it cute neverthless, he could see that Simon didn't hate you.

You stitched him up- knew his fears (being a therapists daughter was quite a help for having deep convos), you knew of his past- even if it took you years to finally break his many iron walls down

You saw his face- kissed his scars and showered him with your time and love- giving him your all- even your body.

You weren't in a relationship- but everybody knew that Simon 'Ghost' Riley liked you. Even if you didn't tell anybody from the Force.

In the end it seemed not be enough, as the same man nearly strangled you to death down here. At first you were desperate, scared- but you stopped pleading a long time ago.

.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

.

heavy footsteps shook you out of your trance- spiraling thoughts stopping for a mere second as you looked into his stone cold eyes.

Balaklava on his scarred face- making you inhale sharply- heart throbbing at his sight. The black paint around his eyes made them pierce through the dark even more.

The same paint you applied more than once onto his unique face. he looked beautiful in your eyes. Even after everything that happened.

You're in here since a few nights.- Clothes starting to hang loosely around your body- having not eaten in days.

"Simon-" you croaked out- voice not cooperating as it should- making you tear up. When did everything turned out to be like that? This nightmare? You flinched a bit- chains clinking softly at your slight movement when he came towards you- still not speaking.

He stared. Stared at your weak frame. The dark hole you were chained into- being in a constant state of fear- Anxiety pulling and clawing at your nerves.

You gritted your teeth- looking to the side with a defeated huff. Tears prickling in your eyes once more- threatening to fall as he watched you like you were a kicked stray dog. Maybe you were in their eyes.

"I-" you croaked out once more "I didn't do it, Simon, i swear" you whispered into the dimmly lit room- Still not looking at him. "I swear to god Simon, I didn't.." you weeped in silence as he just looked "Fuck why should I betray you!!" you screamed in frustration at his figure- tears falling as he only left- leaving you in complete darkness- letting you cry to yourself till you eventually passed out.

.

Not even two day passed before he bursted through the iron door again- the loud sound ripping you out of your unconsciousness before he angrily grabbed you by your collar- hate flickering in those eyes that once held nothing but adoration for you.

"You fuckin' liar" he seethed through gritted teeth- behind that mask. Pushing you into the wall behind you- your head knocking against the brick wall with such a force that made you wince.

You could feel his anger. And you felt the danger that radiated from the man you gave your heart to.

His hands coming up to press against your jugular with a firm grip- picking you up a few inches into the air- chains clinking again. "Y'think you hav' it in you to lie into my fuckin' face" he growled while pressing down harder- you could feel yourself getting more lightheaded- gasping for air- choking for oxygen.

"Plea' Simon" you begged inbetween small gasps- scared what he will do to you. Hands tied together, wiggling in his painful hold like a suffocating fish- legs kicking to get him away from you- it worked- you gasped, trying to get in as much air as you could while your built up saliva ran down your chin-

he let you go for a second before his fist collided with your face. Hard- knocking the air out of your lungs once more "Jus' tell us the truth" he huffed, before hitting again- at first it hurt and then it burned. Your nose cracked under his fists-

Making you see stars and breath heavily before he took the knife out you gifted him for his birthday. Both your names engraved in it-

"'t will be easier for you" he said before popping the knife out of its sheath. "No, Simon" you cried out- whilst seeing the blade. "You don't have to do this" you gasped as he came dangerously close.

"No,no,no!!" you protested as he teared down your clothing, leaving you in a bra and your underwear. Feeling helpless as he teared down your clothes- ignoring your protest. The coldness of the room let goosebumps arise on your skin almost immediately.

He was quiet. That wasn't a good sign. You waited- staring at him, pulling at your chains as he looked at the blade. Fist tightening as he saw the little heart that was engraved into the hilt. Betrayal flushed his senses as he pushed the knife into your upper leg- making you scream in return.

Twisting the knife- hearing your agony but not stopping- he quickly hit you into your left eye socket with the hilt of the knife to shut you up. he didn't want to hear your screams.

Even if he didn't wanted to admit it- he was also teared apart- but his need to let his anger out was stronger - all the time he spent with a fucking liar- gave you his fucked up heart. All for you to be a fucking snake- a traitor.

He had to do his job- protect his family.

Another jab to the eye- hearing your muffled cries echo across the room- making you see red- the burning sensation was an ugly one. You couldn't see on that eye anymore.

"I fuckin' wish I could just kill you" he seethed before leaving you there in the dark- all beat up and bloody- head throbbing and surely a broken nose- making it hard to breath.

.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

.

You waited since then. Waiting for death to come. Waiting for Ghost to end it- but of course he never came back since then. Your wounds were starting to inflame- everything hurt and burned. Your eye swelling almost shut.

They all tortured you. Johnny, Kyle, John and Simon.

But they forgot something important. You were known for being patient. A fucking patient and stubborn woman. You waited. Yes you sometimes protested, and kicked and screamed and insulted them- but you neverthless waited for the day.

The day they finally see that they wronged an innocent. The day you would hurt them. Seek revenge.

Fucking. Revenge.

-

!please do reblog! :)

join the Taglist here (Taglist post)

[never-afters]

DEMO. (SOON)

The crowning of a jealous king one century ago spelled the doom of invokers, beings bestowed with the ability to control the essence of the world and manifest it in the surface. Out of envy that he was naught but a normal human, he ordered the capture and execution of invokers, reinforcing his power as a king. He made an enemy out of your people to secure his pride and throne.

A hundred of years passed and the slaughter only continues, a jealous ruler crowned one after another. The land of Zandria is stained with the blood of your ancestors, and it only continues to spill. You, who were once revered, admired, and loved, are now loathed, imprisoned, and executed simply for bearing the ability to manipulate aether, the essence of the land of Aeresia.

You are an invoker. Do you have what it takes to survive the wrath of a land that calls for your death? Or will you, like the ones before you, fall into the abyss?

Abyssal Depths is a dark fantasy set in the fictional world of Aeresia. It is the revamped version of my interactive fiction previously titled Invoker.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ Who are you? Only you have the answer to that question. ˖⋆࿐໋₊ Build bonds with the people you meet. Friendship, rivalry, romance — pick your poison. ˖⋆࿐໋₊ Disguise yourself as a human, working as a mercenary for the guild Sentinel. Try your best to hide the truth from your guildmates. ˖⋆࿐໋₊ Do your job. Who knows? Maybe along the way, you'll find what you're looking for. ˖⋆࿐໋₊ Survive. Perhaps you'll live long enough to see all the mysteries unravel.

Elfrid Basset [f] ✦ Your childhood friend and the daughter of the woman who saved you. Elfrid has always had a strong personality, always pushing you out of your comfort zone. Stubborn, impulsive, yet caring to those she cares about, there was never a time where trouble never followed her. She doesn't know your truth, but as people say, there is no secret that lasts forever.

Lucianus le Cordiér [m] ✦ An ex-noble you and Elfrid stumbled upon a year ago one night. Without the riches and reputation his family once had, Lucian brandished his skill as a swordsman and earned himself a spot as a mercenary in the same guild as you. He appears kind, gentle and open, but the air of mystery that surrounds him proves that no one truly knows who he was once.

Alcaeus Vanderbilt [m] ✦ A person from your past that you thought you will never see again. Meeting him may mean good things, but perhaps it also meant that the ghosts from your past are now catching up to you. Smart, skilled, but surrounded by walls he built to protect himself, Alcaeus won't let anyone take away anything from him again.

Amelia Vanderbilt [f] ✦ Someone from your past who lives with the guilt of surviving. Amelia has always been sickly, but despite everything she has outlived everyone else. She's still the timid and soft-spoken girl you barely saw back home, the only thing you can't believe is her unwavering trust that there is still good left in the world you're both living in.

Clair [m] ✦ A traveling bard who decided one day it will be fun to go adventuring with you and your group. He said he wants to turn your exploits into a great story, and no matter how hard you dissuade him, he never relents. Charming and cunning, that's how Clair is, and you never realized how dangerous those two qualities together were until you met him.

Salomé [f] ✦ An eccentric woman you met in the middle of your mission. Boisterous, fun, yet eccentric, it's hard not to notice her with all the rings that adorn her fingers and the scars that she flaunts like trophies. She tries to come off as someone who knows nothing, but you have the feeling that she hides something you need to know. You wonder what it could be.

Kazehara [f/m/nb] ✦ With clothes you've never seen around Zandria, Kazehara stood out like a sore thumb the first time you saw them. Framed for a murder they swear they never did, they join you in an attempt to clear their name. Sarcastic, cynical, and brash, there is never a shortage of insult from Kazehara. However, you know too well that it's merely an image they conjured to protect themselves in a land they know nothing about.

??? [f/m/nb] ✦ A figure in your dreams, blurred and ever changing. A memory of the past, a phantom of your grief, your desire for warmth — you do not know. However, the way they speak, the way they try to meet your eyes behind the fog that keeps them at bay, and the way they try to reach for you make them seem real. They feel familiar, and there exists a tug in your soul that pulls you closer to them.

OTHERS

✦ Ask box is open! Any question is okay but there is no guarantee that your ask will be answered. Anything that are spoilery, disrespectful, and extremely explicit will be deleted. ^^ ✦ The demo for Invoker can still be accessed through google search. However, it hasn't been updated since 2021, and won't be updated anymore. ✦ This project is not my main focus as I'm a full time university student. My goal is to release the demo before 2024 ends, though. ✦ I haven't decided which platform to use for the demo yet, but rest assured that writing is as consistent as it can be despite my busy schedule. I haven't had the chance to learn how to use Twine yet, so I'm either planning to look for a collaborator who can code in Twine or stick with choicescript first until I get to learn how to use Twine. ✦ I will be posting character profiles for the ROs, though there are no set dates yet. This is to give way for a more detailed description for their personality and physical appearance.

[orteil42]

Cookie Clicker turns 10 today! Having outlived our enemies, let us celebrate with a fresh batch of announcements!

🍪First of all, Cookie Clicker is 40% off on Steam this week! The perfect gift for your loved and/or hated ones! (the web version is still free forever but you don't get Steam achievements or music by C418!)

🍪Secondly! The mobile version has been lagging behind the browser game for years and is in dire need of an update. I've been dedicating most of my time recently to bringing its content up to par! Here's a progress report:

Compared to the current version, this update adds back 284 upgrades and 179 achievements from the web game, which leaves 83 upgrades and 94 achievements still unimplemented plus a good amount of heavenly upgrades. I am determined to close that gap!

Seasons and the pet dragon are currently partially implemented. These are complicated, compound features with side-effects in all kinds of places so once the update gets an alpha release I'll likely be needing everyone's help to hunt for bugs and oversights. I'm being as thorough as possible but there's no way I didn't forget some obscure interplay somewhere!

I'm also updating the UI! Cookie Clicker's interface makes heavy use of woodwork, which is largely absent from the mobile version; I've been aiming to bring it back. Rather than recycling desktop assets, I'm looking to push the game's visual identity towards less "plain wooden boards" and more "victorian biscuit shop" (something I'd have liked to go for when I first made the game but didn't quite know how yet). Here's some early screenshots!

I'm using Blender for the new assets, I might make a more in-depth post about my process in the future. Please note that these are experimental and I'm still fiddling with the look! Once I'm happy with it I'll ideally be giving the desktop game a similar makeover.

This update will hopefully come out later this year and will likely involve multiple rounds of alpha. Once stable, future updates will focus on adding sugar lumps and as many of the minigames as possible.

🍪Thirdly: the Makeship grandma plushie is real and we're doing a giveaway! Please read this twitter post to enter. Note that if the launch campaign succeeds we've got other plushies in mind! Maybe a wrinkler?

🍪Fourthly - there was going to be a really cool announcement here but I've been informed I'm not yet at liberty to discuss it. It's sooooo cool tho trust me. things happening. u gotta take my word for it. tune in next time

🍪Lastly:

i've got enough dough for like, idk 50 more? mom's recipe. white+dark+milk chocolate. they're very good thank you

PS. thank you for playing with us all these years! odds are some of you reading this have been here since the very start. that's mad to think about! Opti and I couldn't have done this for 10 whole years without all of you hyping us up. i want to see if we can do 10 more. get real freaky with it

[nonamenonamenon]

When most demons are asked about Solomon the sorcerer, most will have a remark about how he doesn't feel like he should be a human, but rather a demon instead.

If Solomon is told about this, he merely laughs, and says, "Do I, now?"

However, behind his cunning smile, lies a smidge of uncertainty on whether he truly is a human. At what point does he cross the line of human and demon? Or something else truly inhuman entirely?

He's conflicted. It's an idiotic thing to be worried about. He's human. He's always on the side of mankind, and always acts in the interest of humanity.

Though, at times, in the lonely permanence of the Devildom's night, Solomon wonders if he truly deserves to be called a human. He forgets whoー or what he is, being around so many demons in his time at RAD.

When you arrive at RAD, being a puny, weak, helpless thing compared to the other exchange students, his curiosity is piqued. Why send a normal person here, where they're bound to be mauled to death by a bunch of demons?

However, his expectations were exceeded when he learns of your pact with Mammon, the second born of the seven. He's not all too impressed, seeing how easy it would be for anyone to trick Mammon into forming a pact, but he's surprised nonetheless. He recalls having to wait a few years before he made his first pact. How nostalgic, he thinks.

As the year passed, and as you formed more & more bonds with everyone else, he was intrigued further & further. To have a pact with Lucifer, of all people? The one demon he's been trying to form one with? He laughs to himself, but he sees why, now. You've gotten through Lucifer's walls as well, hm?

When Solomon starts interacting with you, you're a bit scared. They call him a demon, but he looks safe enough. They say he's the strongest sorcerer in all three realms, but he doesn't look all that strong... you think.

You come to grow fond of the feeling of home he gives you. Though most wouldn't consider him one, he reminds you of your humanity.

He feels all too familiarー like home.

To Solomon, with each day he spends with you, a budding seed of love grows inside his chest, bit by bit. It's unnoticeable to him, at first, but comes to realize he's fallen when he dreaded you coming back to the House of Lamentation after a day together.

He notices it when you make him feel something he hasn't felt in decadesー maybe even centuries. He feels something human. He thought he'd shoo'ed away cupid a long time ago, but, it seems that he's been struck by his arrow again.

With this realization came something that, as the strongest sorcerer in the three realms, never thought he'd feel once more.

He felt fear.

Fear that you will be his weakness, and that you'll be put in harm's way, that every enemy he's made will come for you, to exact their revenge on him.

But most of all, fear that he'd outlive you, and he'll be left to mourn at your grave. He's a little too well acquainted with death, having seen all of his loved ones pass away, either of old age, or by something else entirely.

Solomon isn't sure whether he could take seeing you on your deathbed, though.

When he's with you, he rediscovers too many emotions he hasn't felt in years. Love, jealousy, fear... it reminds him that he's still human.

With you, he rediscovers his humanity.

He feelsー no, he is human with you.

And to you, he is a warm reminder of home.

One that you've been longing for, all this time.

[the-muppet-joker]

could you elaborate on your choices for the 4 horsemen for the ponies? i’m deeply curious about your wisdom and insight

Very well.

Famine = Luna

Both are black horses

When Nightmare Moon takes over, there is no sun. Crops cannot grow under these conditions. Her reign is a reign of famine and no harvest.

Additionally, in the episode Cutie Re-Mark, it is shown that under Nightmare Moon's domain, Timberwolves roam free. While they are not directly tied to famine, they have symbolism regarding Harvest as they are known to howl at the first zap apple and attack those who try to harvest them if they are nearby, hindering people's ability to gather fruit.

War = Cadance

Naturally, a pony red with the blood of those slain in war is generally not marketable to little girls, who are unfamiliar with bloodlust and afraid of violence. They settled for a close second: pink.

She is the princess of love. Are you familiar with the phrase "all is fair in love and war?" Wars are acts of passion and bloodshed. Passion? Blood? Both symbolically related to the Heart. And what is her cutie mark as well as the sacred object that gives power to her kingdom? The Crystal Heart.

The Crystal Kingdom, Cadance's kingdom, is frequently under threat of was throughout the series. Queen Crysalis and the Changelings. Sombra. Again, in the episode Cutie Re-Mark, we see a timeline im which Sombra had won. And what is the state of Equestria? A mirror fucking image of how other countries in real life are affected by war. We literally have soldiers Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash and we see Apple Jack working tirelessly to ship out apple mush to feed soldiers for the war effort. This parallel is so clear and frankly I could go on.

Conquest = Celestia

Yes I know the image says strife. I wanted the pictures to be in a consistant style and they used the word strife but it says conquest in the Bible. Anyways, they are both white horses.

I mean. Do I need to spell it out? Celestia is an imperialist. She spreads her and her nation's influence and ideology as far as she is able. Cadance is installed as the leader of the Crystal Empire under her direction. They have conflict with the changelings, so they promote a leader more sympathetic to their nation. The school of friendship? Teaching other species the way to act and behave? Are non-ponies unfamiliar with friendship? Propoganda. And she is the Princess of the Sun. THE SUN. NEVER. SETS. ON. EQUESTRIA'S. EMPIRE. Sound familiar?

Do not make an enemy of Celestia or you will be punished and then brainwashed into submission. Luna? The moon. Discord? Stone. Sombra? Tirek? The list goes on. Again, I feel this is a clear parallel that needs little explanation.

Death = Twilight Sparkle

Indeed this is the most subtle connection. After all, she is not even close to the right color. She is purple! No relation to death whatsoever........ right? WRONG. In the Catholic faith, the calandar is divided into different seasons with associated colors. Purple is the color of death and mourning; priests will exclusively wear purple robes for mass during Lent to symbolize Christ's suffering and death on the cross.

Twilight has a very important role as she and her friends are the bearers of the elements of harmony, with Twilight in the lead. The power of this clearly escalates throughout the series, as the mane six progress from turning Discord to stone to completely destroying Sombra after he is initially resurrected. We watch them become a force that could take away anyone's life force, Twilight especially. And let's not forget the form the elements later take. The tree of harmony. Reminiscent of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, from which humanity committed its first sin and thus were kicked out of Eden, gaining the ability to die.

Twilight will outlive all of her friends. As an allicorn, she is immortal. We see in the last episode that she is in her prime while all of her friends are elderly. How can one be a Princess of Friendship if she sees all her friends to the ends of their lives like a benevolent Reaper? After so many years of standing at the deathbeds of loved ones, she will feel detatched from others. A Princess of Death.

And yes Flurryheart is the fifth Princess but she is a clear allagory for the Antichrist so I did not include her

[tonixe]

MOTIVE...

a/n: ZOOWEMAMA, NEW CELEBRITY CRUSH UNLOCKED. Yes, I DID JUST WATCH THE NEW HUNGER GAMES, AND THIS is PROBABLY LIKE THE ONLY TIME I WILL SAY, THAT ONLY THE YOUNG CORIOLANUS SNOW IS HOT; the movie was good asf, low-key jealous of the actor who played Lucy like I would love I mean love to just be proximity 5 feet or less like he is just so hot. **

warning: mentions of violence (threats), smut, p in the v, penetration, fingering, bathroom sex, enemy lovers trope...proofread (?).

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

word counter: 1.8k

You were perfect, the embodiment of a perfect daughter, student, and personality. You carried yourself with grace, and made yourself known as an individual with class and intelligence.

You have an outstanding academic standing, high grades, good social points, and were popular with your peers. A person with all that must have someone to be rival with or a person trying to one-up them. In this case, it was true for you, the last name Snow, made you snarl. The name Coriolanus Snow, made you grimace even. He was always one step ahead of you, if you were two, he would be one. It made you resent him in every single way.

Today was reaping day...the anniversary of making the district pay for their uprising against capital control and authority. You were wearing a black dress with a scoop necklace and small cut diamonds sowed on your dress, making it look like the night sky, it fell to your knees. Pearls waiting on your neck with matching earrings and a dashing pair of bloody red lips to match the blood that was ready to be spilled in the arena.

The building was busy with students, excited for the games to begin. It was supposedly going to be last, but you knew it was a lie. Why would the capitol stop the games, weren't their enemies not rebelling against them enough? Vigilantly waiting for it to start, holding onto a delicate glass cup with some liquid poured into, it as you sipped from the glass. You were conversing with a few of your peers, not friends. You weren't considered them anywhere near you, there were just walking money bags that socially and economically fueled you.

"Y/N, how would you prophesize this year's hunger game will turn out ?" Festus said, you looked at him. "Well...I, presume that it going to end as fast as it started" You declared, smirking against the glass before you sipped the liquid inside your cup, "I don't expect any of thoses things to survive fast" Felix agreed with your thought, "The same" Arachne added.

You loved basking in the attention of others, made you feel like you had some power, and if people liked you. They would agree, give, gift, allow, and offer anything to you. It was shortly outlived, "Finally, the star pupil," Arachne said, their attention turning to Coriolanus, and yours flickered to him as well.

You bit your lip at the scene, glaring at her before you looked at him. "That's a snazzy shirt, what are those buttons.. tesserae?" Arachne marvels at his shirt, picking out several details, you put your hands covering your mouth to hide your smile.

"Hm..that's why they remind me of the maid's bathroom," Coriolanus remarked, looking at the button, turning his attention towards the group, "Not surprising with the people you associated yourself with, Coriolanus" You commented, taking a sip from your drink, faintly tilting your head to the side, denoting Sejanus's presence from afar.

"How malicious of you, y/n. That was the most humane thing you ever displayed to me" He said, his eyes and yours making contact with each other, making the room oddly tense up. "I'm tender-hearted but not a charity" You affirmed, the grip of your glass getting harder as you spoke to him.

Were you jealous, no, never. Why would you ever be jealous of him? Maybe it was his high intelligence, the way he carried himself, his charm on everyone he talked to? or everything that was neatly wrapped in a silky satin red bow, that was an embodiment of himself. It was funny to you, that you had this 'discreet' loathe for someone, and that person was in less than 6 feet of you, proximity 2 people away.

"Well, I heard this year there is something called the 'Plinth' prize" You turned your attention to Felix talking, "Something about Doctor Gauls' being in the building, Plinth.." Felix turned his head, "I mean just look at his spawn" I turned my attention to Sejanus from afar. "Who knew you could buy your way into the capitol?" Felix finished, "Well, money does control everything" you muttered, cocking your eyebrows.

"Well, you can't buy class, I mean...have you looked at his mother's outfit, Oh sorry, his ma's..." Festus mocked before the group snickering, "Dress a turnip in a ball gown, and it will still be begged to be mashed" Coriolanus joked, flickering his eyes away from Sejanus.

"Don't do that we all know you like him" Arachne commented, " I don't like him, Arachne. I tolerate him. He's District" Coriolanus finished, cutting her off completely, made you amused. "That's a low blow" You mockingly did a sad face at him, "The low blow is being district" Coriolanus muttered, you smirked at his actions.

"Tolerate him, just don't encourage. I heard these games how immoral these hunger games have been, putting him in the arena must—" Festus spoke he cut himself short as Sejanus walked toward the group. The whole thing was funny, snarky remarks being thrown, and your lips were graced with a smile every time.

Your ears heard the ringing of the bell signaling the start of the reaping. You got into your seat, sitting right next to Arachne.

It went delighting, well for you. You got a capable-looking tribute, she looked promising to you, and her name was Hera. Interesting to give a poor girl, a high-class name. You were in the bathroom, powering your nose, fixing up yourself. Puffing the power puff on your face, leaving your face having a matte finish. Applying your signature color on your lips.

Your ears heard the door opening, but your eyes didn't bother to look at the person who came as you were too busy with yourself.

Feeling a pair of hands on your waist, your eyes flickering to the mirror, looking at the one who was responsible, only to met with the eyes that you so daintily hate. You quickly turn yourself around, "What are you doing here?" You exclaimed, turning your attention to the blonde that came in, Coriolanus. "Do you know what bathroom you're in Coriolanus?" You crossed your arms, glaring at him.

"It didn't bother you then, why now" He walked closer to your awaiting form, "Then, I didn't resent you," You stated, feeling his hands on your bottom, lightly spinning you in a halfway motion. "Are you serious going to this in the bathroom.." Your eyes darted away from him, "What if I said, yes?" He lifted your head up narrowly so that your eyes met his "...what if we get caught?" You really did hate him, how he made you feel, how he controlled you, but it felt natural to be obedient to him, his cold stare meeting yours.

"Let's wait still we do" He leaned towards you and whispered to your ear, before taking you by surprise, taking your body and placing it on the marble of the cold bathroom counter. Making you hiss from the temperature change, his actions were rushed taking your tights off with the motion of matching colored panties, discarding them somewhere else.

His lips latching onto yours, leaning you back to the mirror, your arms holding down for support. Moans trailing down from your lips, groans from his, your hands on your cheeks, feeling his tongue exploring the caverns of your mouth. Opening your eyes slightly from the hungry kiss, catching your gaze at the growing size that was bound to be released from his constricted black pants. You withdraw from the kiss attempting to catch your breath, feeling yourself unravel in front of the blonde gentleman. "Just put 'it' in already" You whispered, hanging your arms that lack strength on his shoulders, "Not yet, my dove" Feeling his fingers dancing under your dress, his finger making contact with the sensitive parts of you, making you shutter.

"Coriolanus....be gentle, you know im sensitive" your lips pouting before feeling the intrusion, making you jump in your skin. Your languid moans being ripped out from your throat, while he pushes you further, pushing the digit further in and taking it out, thrusting in a frantic style.

Your body jolted and bounced back from the force he used. He edges you on, till your skin is covered with a layer of sweat, and everything around you makes you feel hot. You needed to get out of his dress in some way, it was another layer that denied you, the friction you needed.

His slender fingers carved a way into you, reaching into parts of you didn't know you had, your head hung low, feeling embarrassed from the vulgar things you both were doing in the bathroom, the feeling of being caught was only a chance but was never low. Your eyes hesitantly look at the door, feeling your skin pricking, distracting you. "Coryo...I'm close" you whispered, something in him erupted when you said that, that..very nickname. His fingers removed themselves from you, making you quiver, dissatisfied.

"Y/N..I want you to use that name...every time I thrust into you" He spoke, his very words made you wet, if not impossible more attracted. His hands on your upper thigh, pulling you towards him. Propping your hip at the edge of the counter, your cheeks were flushed, knowing what was next.

Next thing you knew his pant were discarded like your panties, and feeling him lining up with your slit. His hand is on your waist massaging the muscle, before he pushes his hips to yours, the intrusion feels better, moans trailing down on your lips. His hip colliding with yours. Your ears hearing him groan in pleasure, your own mind on cloud 9.

Feeling yourself getting needier for a sort of release or satisfaction.

"C-coryo, I'm close" you whimpered, your skin feeling more hot, your dress making you uncomfortable. His cock fucking into you, your body jolting at the frantic push into you. Hooking your arms around, feeling yourself almost unraveling, "Me too, my dove" Coriolanus groans out, his hips snapping back into you. Before you felt a crash of waves coming down on you, your gummy walls clamping down around his cock. Hearing his groans in your ear, as he thrust into you a few more times before pulling out of you, and spilling himself on your stomach.

Heavy breathing was all you heard, no words just your body growing tired from the minute. "You did well" his hands caressing your cheek gently. Your lips parted, as you stared into his icy-like eyes. Your chest heaves out, placing your hands on his, leaning into his embrace.

You hate it, but you can't understand why you love it at the same time...it fills you with confusing thoughts, but every time you look at the same blonde gentleman you thought you were to loathe, but your heart skips a beat.

You gave him back a small smile. Finding yourself surrendering and freezing into the snow and frost—and your heart being held with a lock and key.

[inkandtension]

Cupid’s Bow.

Request: Minho x fem reader, angst, Enemies to lovers, inspired by : the beach by the neighbourhood

requested by: @hannamoon143

this is kinda long…. Sorry it took a long time! 😀🧍🏽‍♀️

Y/N, a fiercely dedicated archer training for an upcoming national competition, finds her already packed schedule upended when she's forced to collaborate with Minho, a renowned digital artist, on a promotional campaign celebrating diverse skill sets. From the moment they meet, sparks fly—but not the good kind. Minho, known for his sharp tongue and stunning creativity, quickly dismisses archery as “a medieval hobby trying to stay relevant,” while Y/N fires back with equal venom, calling digital art nothing more than "drawing for lazy people who don't know how to use a pencil."

The tension is palpable during their first brainstorming session, held in a sleek, minimalist studio that feels worlds away from Y/N's earthy training grounds. Minho's snide remarks about her calloused fingers and outdated sport clash with Y/N's pointed criticisms of his reliance on technology. Neither wants to back down, their arguments simmering with the kind of intensity that draws everyone's attention.

“Guys, please stop, now’s not the time!” they’d all start complaining and half of them lose the will to work seeing the fight almost everyday.

Y/N is at the archery range, her focus razor-sharp as she nocks an arrow and lets it fly, hitting the bullseye with ease. As she adjusts her archer's glove, Minho strolls in, a sketchpad and tablet under his arm. His amused smirk makes her blood boil before he even speaks.

“So this is it? Shooting at a target over and over again? Sounds thrilling,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his words.

She glares at him, holding up her glove-covered hand.

“This is precision and skill. Not that you’d understand with your stylus and Photoshop shortcuts.” Minho lifts his own gloved hand and wiggles it mockingly.

“Right, because my work, which takes hours of layering and digital rendering, is just so easy. Sure.”

Y/N narrows her eyes, stepping off the shooting line to face him fully, the faint creak of her leather glove breaking the silence. "It is easy," she fires back, her voice calm but cutting. "You make a mistake? Undo button. I make a mistake? That arrow’s gone. There's no second chance."

Minho raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening as he sets his sketchpad and tablet on the nearest bench. "You think every line I draw is perfect the first time? Newsflash, Robin Hood, creativity doesn’t come with a manual. At least you’ve got a fixed target to aim at. My job is creating something from nothing."

Her lips tighten into a thin line, the insult stinging despite her resolve to keep her cool. “Creating from nothing? Is that what you call copying filters and adding shadows? My three-year-old nephew could do that.”

Minho lets out a short laugh, the kind that feels more like a jab. “Oh, sure. And let me guess—he could also spend days conceptualizing a campaign while having to work with someone who thinks flinging pointy sticks at hay bales is the pinnacle of human achievement?”

Y/N’s jaw tightens, her patience thinning. She takes a slow step toward him, each word deliberate. “It’s not about flinging arrows, Minho. It’s about discipline, control, and hitting a goal with precision every single time. Something tells me that’s a little out of your league.”

He mimics her slow step, closing the distance between them, his smirk fading into something sharper, more competitive. “And you think shooting at the same target all day makes you superior? Try creating something people actually care about—something that’ll outlive you. That’s real skill.”

The air between them crackles with tension, their glares locked as if daring the other to make the next move. Finally, Y/N breaks the silence, her voice steady but icy. “You know, you talk a lot of trash for someone who’s never even held a bow.”

Minho’s eyes flash with challenge. “Oh, is that an invitation? Because I wouldn’t mind showing you up at your own game.”

Y/N crosses her arms, a smirk tugging at her lips now. “Go ahead. But don’t cry when you miss every shot.”

Minho picks up the nearest bow, holding it awkwardly as Y/N watches with thinly veiled amusement. The moment he tries to nock an arrow and fumbles, her laugh escapes, low and mocking.

“Precision and skill, huh?” he mutters, fumbling with the string again.

“And patience,” she says, leaning against a post as she watches him struggle. “But I wouldn’t expect you to have that, either.”

He tries once, his aim steady but completely off-target, and instead of hitting the mark, he accidentally strikes the ground near a worm. She gasps in mock horror, dramatically rushing toward the unsuspecting creature as if to shield it from further harm. Kneeling down, she peers at the worm, her expression turning to exaggerated relief.

“You didn’t even hit the worm. Not even close. The worm didn’t even flinch.” She raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re aiming at all, or are you just trying to give the worm a heart attack?” “I bet you won’t be good at drawing, either” He said.

“I never said I was.”

…

She’d just released a perfect arrow, the kind that sliced cleanly through the air and struck the target dead center, when her focus wavered. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Minho sitting a few feet away, cross-legged and absorbed in his tablet. His stylus moved deftly over the screen, his brow furrowed in concentration, though his expression carried a hint of annoyance.

“Don’t you have a real job to do?” she snapped, lowering her bow and fixing him with a sharp glare.

Minho didn’t even flinch at her tone. His eyes stayed locked on his screen as he added another stroke to his sketch, shading with meticulous precision. “Funny,” he murmured without looking up, “I thought the same about you.”

He tapped his screen once, then swiveled it around to face her. The drawing was a surprisingly detailed sketch of her—her stance, her bow mid-draw, and her intense focus on the target. But there was an unmistakable exaggeration in her expression: her eyes were wild, her jaw tense, her features twisted with mock ferocity.

“Look,” he said dryly, holding it out with a smirk. “It’s a very angry archer.”

Y/N bristled, her grip tightening on the bow. “At least I’m not hiding behind a screen all day, imagining what it’s like to actually do something,” she shot back, her voice clipped.

Finally, Minho tilted his head up to meet her glare, his lips curving into an infuriatingly slow smirk. “Well, some of us use our creativity a little more… digitally,” he countered, his tone maddeningly calm.

Her frustration flared, and she stepped closer, extending her gloved hand toward him. “You think this is just imagination?” she challenged, her voice low but charged with irritation. She held up her hand, pointing out the distinct design of her glove—the archer’s glove, snugly fitted to her hand, with the fingers for the index, middle, and thumb covered for grip and precision.

Minho’s gaze flicked to her hand and then to his own. He raised his hand slightly, revealing his own glove, sleek and minimal, with only the pinky and ring fingers covered to avoid smudging his screen.

“See?” she said, her tone icy. “We’re just cut from different cloths.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them as they stood there, their gloves a stark contrast to each other. Minho’s smirk softened, replaced by something quieter, more thoughtful. He let out a soft laugh, glancing down at their hands before meeting her eyes again.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice calmer now, almost musing. “But maybe that just means we could complement each other. I mean if you look closely, our gloves together make a whole.”

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion lingering. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, his lips twitching as if suppressing another smirk. “Who knows? Maybe you’re good at hitting targets, and I’m good at seeing the bigger picture. You never know what that could lead to.”

She scoffed, but there was a faint flush creeping up her neck that she didn’t care to explain. “Get back to your drawing, Minho,” she muttered, turning away before he could notice.

“Gladly,” he replied, his voice laced with amusement. As she stepped back to the range, she could still feel his gaze on her, a quiet tension lingering in the air between them.

…

something terrific happened.

Something that absolutely ruined well, everything.

Y/N arrived at the studio early, as always. She was already irritated, not just by the thought of spending the entire day with Minho, but by the very fact that he had been the one to suggest she’d be the problem. The studio itself was newly constructed, still echoing with the sounds of a place trying to find its identity. The walls were barely dry with paint, and the sharp scent of fresh lumber lingered in the air. There was an unfinished quality to everything—the kind of rawness that made her skin crawl.

She set her bag down with a sigh, pulling out her gear for the shoot—her bow and quiver, her leather gloves. The anticipation for the day’s work was drowned out by the vague sense of discomfort that settled in her chest. She was already imagining the hours ahead: forced smiles, shallow small talk, and of course, Minho’s smug attitude.

She didn’t have to wait long for him to arrive, though. Of course, he showed up late, walking through the door with the same casual stride, as if time was something he could bend to his will. He muttered something under his breath, loud enough for her to hear, though he likely didn’t care if she did. “What’s the rush? Archers must have nothing better to do than sit around and wait.”

Y/N shot him a look, her eyes narrowing with the same irritation that had already been brewing. He didn’t even seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care. She ignored his comment, choosing to focus on the task at hand—setting up her gear, making sure everything was in place. She was too professional to get caught up in petty remarks.

Minho, on the other hand, took one look around and immediately began to complain. “This place looks like a construction zone,” he said loudly, as if no one else could hear. “How is anyone supposed to focus with all this mess? This is unprofessional.”

Y/N gritted her teeth but held her tongue, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. But her patience was wearing thin. “Maybe if you spent less time whining and more time doing your job, we’d already be done,” she snapped, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Minho’s gaze flicked toward her, his expression amused. “I’m just trying to make sure this whole thing doesn’t end up being a disaster,” he retorted, completely unfazed. The session proceeded like this, with them bickering back and forth—her quick to respond to his jabs, him seemingly incapable of shutting up for more than a few seconds at a time.

The photographer kept trying to get them both to focus, but the tension between them was palpable, and the shoot felt anything but smooth. Y/N’s frustration only grew as the minutes ticked by, with Minho’s commentary getting more and more grating. She was starting to wonder if this day would ever end.

Then, just as she was adjusting her stance for another shot, a loud creak echoed through the room. The noise was unsettling, like the very structure of the building was groaning under pressure. Y/N froze, her eyes darting upward as the ceiling above them groaned again, a deep, foreboding sound.

Before anyone could react, a loud crack rang through the room, followed by the distinct sound of something large and heavy breaking free from its supports. The floor beneath them seemed to shudder as part of the ceiling collapsed in a sudden crash, sending debris scattering in all directions. The dust clouded the air, making it impossible to see for a moment.

Y/N was on instinct, ducking as a chunk of wood fell inches from where she’d been standing. Her heart hammered in her chest as she scrambled to her feet, adrenaline flooding her system. She could hear Minho cursing, his voice rising above the chaos.

“What the hell?!” he yelled, coughing through the dust. He sounded genuinely rattled now, a rare occurrence for him. Y/N didn’t waste time looking back at him—her focus shifted entirely to the damage, the pieces of the ceiling that had fallen, some still dangling precariously from the exposed beams above.

“Is everyone alright?” the photographer called out, voice shaking.

As Y/N took a step back to assess the damage, her foot caught on a loose piece of rubble, sending her stumbling forward. She barely registered the movement before something heavy crashed down from above—a massive chunk of ceiling, debris still tumbling in its wake, slammed directly onto her arm.

The pain was immediate and sharp, a searing agony that shot through her entire body as she let out a strangled gasp. Her vision blurred for a moment, the weight of the fallen ceiling pressing down on her arm, pinning her to the floor.

Minho's voice cut through the chaos, sharp with panic. “Y/N!” He was at her side in an instant, his hands reaching to lift the debris, but it was heavy, too heavy for him to move alone. “Shit, are you okay?!” His voice was frantic now, the usual arrogance replaced by something far more raw and urgent.

Y/N gritted her teeth, refusing to let the pain break her focus. She tried to shift her arm, but the pressure from the broken ceiling was relentless. The dust was thick in the air, and every breath she took seemed to make her chest tighten more.

Minho immediately reacted, pulling at the debris with all his strength, but the piece was large, and it barely budged. His face was taut with concentration, his usual smirk completely gone. “Hold on,” he said, voice shaky, but his hands were steady as he tried to lift the chunk of ceiling.

Y/N winced, biting back a cry of pain as the weight shifted slightly. 

Finally, Minho managed to shift enough of the debris off, as staff rushed there to help and evacuate the place. It revealed her arm, now bruising quickly from the force. She inhaled sharply as the weight finally lifted, but the relief was short-lived. Her arm felt heavy, almost useless. She could feel the pain radiating from her wrist, where the ceiling had come down the hardest.

“Shit,” Minho muttered under his breath, looking at her arm with wide eyes. He knelt down beside her, his voice softer now. “Is it broken?”

Y/N clenched her teeth, unwilling to show how badly it hurt. “I don’t know,” she snapped, pulling her arm back slightly to test it. The pain flared up again, sharper this time. “Just help me get out of here.”

When the ambulance finally arrived, its sirens wailing in the distance, Y/N felt a mix of relief and anxiety wash over her. The pain in her arm had only intensified as the adrenaline began to wear off, but she clenched her teeth and focused on the paramedics as they carefully worked to stabilize her.

Minho, however, wasn’t about to let anyone else take charge. As the paramedics made their way to assess her injury, he immediately stepped forward, blocking their path with a protective glare. His usual aloofness had disappeared completely, replaced by a fierce determination.

“I'm coming with her,” he said, his voice low but firm. The paramedics exchanged a quick glance, but neither of them argued, clearly used to people being adamant about staying with loved ones.

Y/N couldn’t help but watch him, her mind a blur of pain and confusion. What was he doing? Why was he being so... concerned? He wasn’t supposed to care. They were just colleagues—rivals, even. Yet, here he was, hovering over her like he couldn’t bear to let go.

When the paramedics gently helped her onto the stretcher and into the back of the ambulance, Minho slid in beside her without a second thought, his hand immediately finding hers. He squeezed it gently, as though reassuring himself more than her.

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly as the door slammed shut behind them, the engine roaring to life as they sped toward the hospital. She was grateful for the warmth of his hand, but she couldn’t quite understand why he was doing this. The words from earlier about how they were “cut from different cloths” echoed in her mind, but his actions now seemed to contradict that.

His thumb brushed over her knuckles in a comforting motion, his gaze fixed on her face. “You okay?” he asked softly, the usual teasing edge gone from his voice.

She didn’t answer right away, not because she didn’t want to, but because she wasn’t sure how to respond. She hated feeling vulnerable, especially in front of him. But his steady presence, the way he refused to let go of her hand, made something inside her shift.

“Do you think it’s broken?” she asked, her voice tight from the pain. She hadn’t even dared look at it yet, but she could feel the weight of the injury in every movement, a dull throb that was becoming sharper with each passing minute.

Minho’s expression darkened slightly, his jaw clenched as he looked at her arm. “I’m not sure. But we’ll know soon enough.” He shifted closer, almost unconsciously leaning over her, like he was willing to shield her from whatever came next.

Y/N felt her chest tighten, her mind swirling with thoughts she didn’t want to address. She could hear the ambulance’s sirens fading as they raced through the streets, and for a fleeting moment, everything outside of the small space between her and Minho seemed to vanish. The only thing that mattered was the pressure of his hand in hers, the soft rhythm of his breathing, and the unspoken understanding that had settled between them.

She glanced at him, catching his eye. “Why are you really here?” she asked, her voice softer now, almost vulnerable.

Minho didn’t flinch or back away, his gaze unwavering as he held her stare. “Because you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he said with a small, but genuine, smile that reached his eyes. “And because I don’t think you’d let me, even if I tried.”

Y/N couldn’t suppress the tiny spark of warmth that flared up at his words, despite everything. She wanted to argue, to tell him to stop pretending like he cared, but deep down, a part of her was grateful for his presence.

The ambulance continued its swift journey toward the hospital, the distance between them closing in ways Y/N hadn’t expected. In that moment, the smirk, the teasing, the tension—all of it faded away, and she was left with only one undeniable truth: Minho wasn’t going anywhere.

The sterile, bright hospital room felt suffocating as Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, the weight of the doctor’s words pressing down on her like a boulder. The doctor had just finished delivering the devastating news, and the silence that followed felt suffocating.

“I’m sorry, but with these injuries, archery is not something you’ll be able to pursue again at the competitive level,” the doctor had said. His tone was gentle, but it made the words no less crushing. “Your fingers will need time to heal, but they may never fully recover.”

Y/N felt her heart drop to her stomach as she processed what the doctor had said. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, her mind racing through a whirlwind of disbelief and dread. She stared at her arm, still wrapped in a cast, and then down at her fingers, which felt oddly stiff and foreign, as if they were no longer a part of her.

My fingers… Her mind spiraled. Archery had been her life, her passion—her future. She’d spent years working to get to this point, training endlessly, sacrificing everything for the sport. To hear that all of that could be taken away in an instant was like being ripped apart from the inside out.

The tears threatened to surface, but she refused to let them fall. She’d never been one to show weakness, not when everything she’d worked for was being stripped away in one cruel blow. Instead, she clenched her jaw, willing the tears to stay back, even as her chest tightened painfully.

The doctor gave her a sympathetic glance before walking out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. She didn’t notice his departure; she couldn’t focus on anything but the silence that now filled the room, the stillness that matched the numbness creeping into her bones.

The only sound that broke through the heavy silence was the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead, and the soft scrape of a chair being moved. She glanced up to see Minho standing by the door, his posture tense as he took in the situation.

He hadn’t said a word since the doctor left, but she could feel his presence like a weight in the room. He didn’t have to speak; his quiet support was enough. Y/N hated that, hated how much it comforted her, how much his silent understanding meant in that moment.

Minho took a few steps toward her, his eyes avoiding her gaze for a moment before locking with hers. His usual smirk was absent, replaced by something deeper—something unspoken, but heavy. He didn’t offer empty platitudes or pretend to know how she felt. He simply stood there, a steady presence in the storm of emotions swirling inside her.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Y/N muttered, her voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. She wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or to herself. “I know what it means.”

Minho’s gaze softened, and he sat down in the chair beside her bed. For a moment, he said nothing, just letting the silence stretch between them. Then, quietly, almost as if he were speaking to himself, he said, “I know how much it meant to you. It’s… it’s unfair.”

Y/N blinked, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. It wasn’t something she expected from him—not the way he usually teased her or the sharpness he often wore as armor. This felt different. Real.

“I’ve worked so damn hard for this,” she murmured, her voice shaking just a little. “And now… now I’ll never get it back.”

Minho didn’t say anything for a long time, his eyes fixed on her fingers, the ones that had been her lifeline, now broken and uncertain. Then, after a beat of silence, he spoke again, his words slow, deliberate.

“Maybe you don’t need to be an archer to be… you.”

The words hung in the air between them, and Y/N didn’t know how to respond. Part of her wanted to shout, to tell him that he didn’t understand—that she was nothing without archery, that it was her whole identity. But another part of her, buried deep beneath the shock and grief, felt the pull of his words, like a lifeline thrown out in the dark.

He gave her hand a tentative squeeze, his thumb brushing against her skin gently. “Whatever happens… you’re not alone in this,” he said quietly.

Y/N didn’t know what to say to that. She was used to carrying everything on her own, used to handling things alone. But in that moment, she found herself reluctantly leaning into his presence, the weight of his words settling into her chest.

She didn’t say anything else, just looked at her casted arm and the mess of emotions swirling within her. Minho didn’t push her to talk. He stayed with her, silent and steady, his presence an anchor in the midst of a storm that threatened to tear her apart.

And for the first time in a long time, Y/N didn’t feel quite as alone.

As the days blurred into weeks, Y/N’s world continued to shift beneath her. The weight of her injury hung heavily over her, a constant reminder of what she had lost. Archery had been her life, her identity, and now, it seemed as if that identity had been stripped away in the blink of an eye.

Her parents, furious and protective, rallied around her in their own way. They had always been fiercely invested in her success, and the sight of their daughter in pain triggered something primal in them. They couldn’t bear the thought of her suffering without justice. The idea of her future—her dreams—being destroyed without any accountability gnawed at them until they decided to take matters into their own hands.

They hired a lawyer and filed a lawsuit against the studio. The claim was simple: negligence. The studio had failed to properly inspect the building before using it for interviews and promotional shoots, and it was this failure that had caused the ceiling to collapse, injuring their daughter beyond repair. They argued that the accident wasn’t just a freak incident—it was a direct result of the company’s lack of care and attention.

Y/N hadn’t wanted to get involved. She wasn’t interested in dragging things out or seeking revenge. She just wanted to heal, to find a way to move forward. But her parents insisted, convinced that justice could only be found through legal action.

The court case dragged on for months, a bitter reminder that her life was no longer in her own hands. Every time she thought about the process, she felt her chest tighten. It wasn’t about the money, not for her. But her parents insisted it was a matter of principle. They fought for accountability, for the principle that a company shouldn’t get away with causing harm so carelessly.

And in the end, the court found the studio guilty. The evidence was clear—the building had not been properly inspected, and the structure had been deemed unsafe before being used for commercial purposes. The company was ordered to pay a significant settlement to Y/N, though the amount seemed paltry compared to the injury she’d suffered, the career she’d lost, and the dreams that had been shattered.

When Y/N found out about the ruling, she felt numb. She sat in the sterile waiting room of the hospital as the lawyer called her parents to relay the news. The words blurred together, but the impact was undeniable. The settlement was a victory for her parents, something they could hold on to, but to Y/N, it felt hollow. It didn’t change anything. The money wouldn’t heal her fingers. It wouldn’t erase the long nights of training, the years spent perfecting her craft, the agonizing loss of something that had been everything to her.

Her parents were thrilled, their anger temporarily quelled by the ruling. But Y/N couldn’t bring herself to share in their relief. All she could think about was how much the settlement had cost her. The studio had paid for their mistake, but the price for her was far steeper than any check could cover.

Later that evening, after the celebrations had died down, Minho came to visit her. His presence was a steady comfort, but tonight, it felt like there was an unspoken weight between them, something they hadn’t addressed in all the chaos that had surrounded the lawsuit and her recovery.

When Minho entered her room, he didn’t offer any words of congratulations. Instead, he sat beside her, his expression serious. “You okay?” he asked quietly, looking at her like he was waiting for her to crack.

Y/N stared out the window, watching the lights of the city twinkle in the distance. The hospital room felt cold, sterile, a place she never thought she’d be spending so much time in. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve got money. I’ve got a settlement. But what’s it all worth? It doesn’t bring back what I lost.”

Minho didn’t try to offer words of comfort or reassurance. Instead, he just sat there, quietly, letting her process. He knew better than anyone how difficult it was to watch something you loved be taken from you. He had seen it in the way she held her bow before the accident, the way her whole body came alive when she shot, like she was a part of something bigger. The way her spirit had dimmed since the accident had left a mark on him too.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “I don’t know what it’s like to lose something like that. But... I know you’ll find a way to get through it. Even if it takes time.”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. She just leaned back against her pillow, her gaze distant. There were so many things she didn’t know anymore—so many things that had been ripped from her hands. But for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to admit that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to face it alone.

The legal battle had given her parents what they wanted, but it hadn’t given her what she truly needed. Justice was one thing, but healing—true healing—was something only time could offer.

And, perhaps, with Minho’s quiet support, maybe even a little bit of hope.

In the days that followed the accident, Minho never stopped showing up, despite the fact that Y/N kept pushing him away. He came to her room with the quiet persistence of someone who understood more than he let on, but also respected her need for space—even if she didn’t realize it.

Each time he appeared at her door, a mixture of frustration and longing flickered in her chest. She didn’t want him here—not like this. She didn’t want his sympathy, his pity, or his attempts to help her in a way that only made her feel more helpless.

One evening, after he suggested helping her with simple tasks—like tying her shoelaces or even feeding her left-handed—Y/N snapped. The anger that had been building within her over the last few weeks finally erupted, spilling out in a sharp, jagged voice.

“I don’t need you to ‘teach’ me how to be anything,” she hissed, her gaze hard and unforgiving. Her fingers, stiff from the injury, curled into a fist. “Just… leave me alone.”

Minho took a step back, his expression unchanged but his eyes betraying a flicker of hurt. Yet, he didn’t leave. He never did.

“Okay,” he said quietly, as if letting her have her moment. But the silence that followed felt like a heavy weight, a shared understanding hanging in the air between them. He didn’t push any further that day, though he left behind a small package on her bedside table—one she hadn’t even noticed.

The next day, Y/N opened the package to find a book of poetry—one she had mentioned loving before. Her fingers brushed over the cover, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she softened. Minho was still finding ways to care for her without demanding anything in return. She knew he wasn’t expecting a thank-you, but she couldn’t help the pang of guilt that hit her.

Over the next week, his visits became a mix of awkwardness and tentative kindness. He’d show up with bags of food from her favorite takeout place—nothing fancy, just comfort food that somehow felt like a small balm for the chaos of her life. He even brought her a sketch one evening, left silently by her door.

It was of her—his hand-drawn portrait of her in her prime, holding her bow with the same fire that used to light up her world. His delicate lines captured the way she held herself, strong and focused. The drawing felt so real it almost hurt. It was like he had seen her, really seen her, not just the version of herself she had become after the accident. She swallowed back a lump in her throat.

Despite her resistance, despite her frustration, his quiet presence seeped into the cracks of her heart, mending parts she hadn’t even realized were broken. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t forced kindness. It was the kind of gentleness that spoke of understanding, of time spent in silence, waiting for her to heal at her own pace.

One evening, as she struggled with trying to tie her own shoelaces with her left hand, Minho appeared again, standing in the doorway, arms laden with a small basket of fresh fruit.

“You’re trying to tie your shoes with your non-dominant hand again?” he asked, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “You know, the doctor said you’re supposed to take it easy for a while.”

“I’m fine,” she muttered, not looking up, irritated by the truth she didn’t want to admit. “It’s just a stupid shoelace.”

Minho walked over slowly, setting the basket down on the table beside her. Without a word, he crouched down, taking the laces from her clumsy hands. He worked in silence, his movements deft as he tied the shoes with the care he had shown for her in the past few weeks. When he was done, he stood back up and met her gaze, his expression serious but soft.

“Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to carry the world on your shoulders alone.”

She opened her mouth to snap at him again, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she looked at him, truly looked at him, and for the first time in a long while, her anger faded into something else.

Minho wasn’t here because he thought she was weak. He wasn’t here because he pitied her. He was here because he saw her—he saw the woman who had been so strong before, and he believed she could be that woman again, even if it took time.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” she muttered, but this time, it lacked the bite of her earlier words.

“I know,” Minho replied simply, his voice warm and steady. “But I’m not leaving.”

Y/N didn’t know how to respond to that. She wasn’t ready to admit that she might need him, but in the quiet moments that followed, she couldn’t deny the comfort his presence gave her. Even in her resistance, she felt something softening within her, a fragile thread of trust she hadn’t realized she was willing to weave again.

“I can help you, please let me, you know I’m ambidextrous.”

…

One night, Minho comes to her house, as he has so many times before. Y/N’s frustration has reached its peak, and she can’t hold it back anymore.

“I’m not a broken doll that needs fixing. I’m not someone you have to pity.”

Minho sits down across from her, knowing it’s her daily depressing hour. his expression unreadable. For a moment, the silence feels suffocating. Then, he speaks softly. “I can’t teach you archery, but I can teach you how to draw. I can teach you how to use your other hand.”

She looks at him, and for the first time, the bitterness fades just enough to let a tiny flicker of hope in. Maybe she can still create something. Maybe it won’t be the same as archery, but it could be something new. Later that evening, her mother enters the room with a tray of snacks, trying to lighten the mood. She sits down next to Y/N, looking between her and Minho.

“You should’ve been more careful, sweetie. You’re an archer. You should’ve known how to take care of yourself.”

That’s the breaking point.

Y/N stands up abruptly, the frustration boiling over. “It’s not my fault! I couldn’t have known the ceiling was going to fall! it’s not like I give everywhere assuming unexpected things happen !” She’s shaking with the intensity of it now.

“I didn’t choose this! I didn’t choose for this to happen. I didn’t choose for everything I’ve worked for to get destroyed in an instant!” Minho watches her, his gaze soft but firm. He steps closer, resting a hand on her shoulder.

Y/N’s breath is shaky, her chest tight with the rawness of her emotions. She blinks rapidly, trying to stop the tears that threaten to spill over, but they come anyway, hot and relentless. Her hands tremble as she wipes them away, but it’s futile—no amount of effort can hide the grief that swells inside her.

“I don’t know how to live without it,” she whispers, her voice cracking as the pain surges. “Archery wasn’t just something I did. It was who I was. It was everything to me. And now… now I’m just… broken.”

Her words crack like glass shattering, each one a reminder of the life she thought she had and the future that was ripped away in a single moment. She had spent years training, dedicating herself to something that made her feel whole, something that defined her in a world that often felt too large. And now, that piece of her was gone. The path she had been walking for so long had been torn away, leaving nothing but jagged edges and an aching emptiness.

Minho’s heart twists as he watches her, the storm of emotions in her eyes threatening to consume her. He doesn’t know what to say—he can’t fix this. He can’t give her back what she lost, no matter how much he wishes he could.

“I know,” he says quietly, his voice soft but resolute. “I know it feels like everything’s falling apart right now. But you’re not broken. You’re… you’re just lost. And it’s okay to feel like that. You don’t have to have all the answers right away.”

Y/N shakes her head. “You’re wrong. I am broken, Minho. I’ve lost the one thing that gave me purpose. How can I be anything but broken?”

Minho’s heart aches, but he doesn’t step away. He doesn’t let go of her shoulder, grounding her as she trembles. “I don’t think you’re broken, Y/N,” he says softly. “I think you’re hurting. And that’s okay. It’s okay to hurt.”

She pulls away from him abruptly, her face flushed with frustration and sorrow. “You don’t get it. You’re not the one who had everything—everything—taken away in an instant. You don’t know what it feels like to lose yourself.”

Minho stands still, the weight of her words settling deep into his chest. “No, I don’t know what it feels like,” he admits. “But I do know that I’m not going to let you go through this alone. I may not be able to fix what’s broken, but I’ll be here to help you pick up the pieces. Even if you can’t see it now, I believe you’re strong enough to rebuild. I believe in you, Y/N.”

Y/N doesn’t know how to respond. Her anger and sorrow have clouded her judgment, making her feel like she’s trapped in a storm she can’t escape. Her gaze drifts to the window, where the soft evening light pours through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room. The stillness of the world outside is so far removed from the chaos in her heart.

“I didn’t choose this,” she murmurs again, this time more quietly, as if the words are a confession rather than an accusation. “I didn’t choose to be here… like this.”

Minho watches her carefully, his voice gentle. “No, you didn’t. But sometimes, life doesn’t give us a choice. All we can do is keep going, one step at a time.”

Y/N is silent for a long moment, her thoughts tangled in the mess of her grief and anger. Finally, she lifts her eyes to meet his, her gaze softened by the exhaustion of it all. There’s a flicker of something—something small but there—inside of her.

“I don’t know how to keep going,” she admits softly, her voice barely a whisper.

Minho steps forward, his heart aching for her, and pulls her into a hug. She stiffens at first, not used to accepting comfort, but after a few moments, she melts into his embrace, her body trembling with the weight of everything she’s been holding back.

“Then let me help you find your way,” Minho murmurs, his voice low and steady. “One step at a time.”

And for the first time in weeks, Y/N lets herself lean into someone, just a little, feeling the fragile thread of hope that Minho’s words offer. It’s not a solution. It’s not a cure. But it’s a start.

Minho knows that words won’t fix this. So, he takes her to the beach the next day—just the two of them, no distractions. Her arm is still in a sling, but they sit down on the shore, letting the sound of the waves fill the silence.

Y/N’s emotions are raw, and the weight of everything hits her again. The tears she’s been holding back finally spill over, and she doesn’t try to stop them. She doesn’t want him to look, but she can’t control it.

“I’m sorry,” she says through her sobs, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to burden you with all this. I don’t want to need you. I don’t want to need anyone.”

Minho doesn’t look at her. He knows. But he stays by her side, silent and steady.

When she calms down, he reaches out, gently cupping her face in his hands. She looks up at him, her eyes red from crying.

“You’re not a burden to me, Y/N,” he says softly. “I’m here for you. I’ll always be here.”

She shakes her head, her tears still fresh. “But I don’t know how to do this anymore. I don’t know how to be anything without archery.”

Minho smiles, his eyes filled with an understanding that she’s not ready to face yet. “You’ll find a new way. And if you need me, I’m here. We’ll figure it out together.”

“You’re still you,” he says softly. “And you’re going to find a way to be even more.”

Y/N swallows the lump in her throat, feeling a flicker of something deep inside her—a spark, barely there, but present. It’s not a solution, not even close. It’s just the tiniest glimmer of hope. But right now, that’s enough.

She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, and nods slowly. "I’m not sure what the future holds, Minho," she says, her voice quieter now. "But maybe, for the first time, I’m starting to think it’s okay not to have everything figured out."

Minho smiles, a small but genuine smile that reaches his eyes. “Good. Because you don’t have to have it all figured out. Not yet.”

They sit in silence again, letting the sound of the waves wash over them, and for the first time in a long while, Y/N doesn’t feel completely broken. She still doesn’t have all the answers, and she knows the road ahead won’t be easy. But with Minho by her side, maybe she doesn’t have to face it alone. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a way forward after all.

You’re dangerous with your bow anyway, he thought, you’re Cupid.

And you close your eyes, in peace.

[sarcasticgaypotato]

The Best Solution

On cold, clear nights that bathed the world in pale blue light, Chell turned her chin up and looked at the sky.

She was not afflicted with the condition known as ‘sentimentality,’ no matter how many scorch-marked, heart-adorned metal cubes got thrown her way and left behind in fields of wheat a hundred miles away. But the ravaged surface world offered her little (save for her own freedom) and the nights were as quiet and lonely as the days, just without an excuse to fill her time by finding something to busy herself with under the light of the sun.

So, she looked upward and let her mind wander.

Every streak of a shooting star she hoped was a certain circular heap of scrap metal finally burning up in the atmosphere.

“Let go! I’m still connected. I can pull myself in.”

Of course he could. If she had given him half a chance, he would’ve pulled himself back in just fine—and let her fly off into space without a second thought if it would save his own steel.

The cold vacuum of space. When she closed her eyes, Chell could still feel it in the wind that tickled the stray hairs on the back of her neck, in the cold that stole the breath from her lungs as she gasped it. That rush of weightlessness, her eyes watering and freezing her eyelashes together, and that pit in her stomach that said, after everything she had survived, this might be it.

She stared up at the moon; a pale white beauty, once near enough for Chell to reach out and touch, now as distant as ever. A sliver in the night sky, it grinned down at her with a smile that knew the taste of her fear. An untouchable queen who would have her head, if she had her way. Chell would have called it as familiar as it was deadly, if not for one thing that nagged at her mind as she stared, lost among stars and memories alike.

This was always the point in her late-night stargazing that Chell started scratching absentmindedly at her wrist, where the phantom burn of cold metal claws still seared into her skin.

Chell never fell for any of GLaDOS’s tricks; she knew her too well. That hate was familiar, expected. Working together in Old Aperture was a surprise only for a moment; it was logical if they wanted to survive. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, or “Everybody likes revenge,” as a certain someone had put it. 

She trusted GLaDOS’s intelligence enough to know that she would play nice for as long as they had a shared goal, and for as long as Chell held all the power. Don’t bite the hand that holds your consciousness trapped in a potato battery, or something like that.

Chell had even been fairly confident that after they beat Wheatley (she never had any doubt that they would), as long as she kept her guard up and an eye on her, GLaDOS wouldn’t risk betraying her. The world’s most intelligent lifeform had finally learned that Chell wasn’t worth crossing—it only took two losing battles for the lesson to sink in.

GLaDOS would keep her end of the bargain as long as it was convenient to do so. That was why Chell couldn’t make sense of what happened. No matter how many times she replayed those seconds in her head, watching her own memories in slow motion as GLaDOS knocked Wheatley free of the chassis and sent him spinning into space, robbing Chell of her only anchor to Earth. 

Freefall. 

Could you call it falling without gravity? Spinning, flailing, her body wrenched outward, seconds away from dying in space, embarrassingly outlived by the very same moron who was responsible for this whole mess. In the second that she had to process her impending death, Chell took a small hint of satisfaction in knowing that at least she took him down with her. Sure, the lack of air wouldn’t kill him as quickly as it would her, but he was far from a self-proclaimed king of Aperture out here. He was nothing but a hunk of junk destined to get knocked around by asteroids like a pinball. At least GLaDOS had a death worth bragging about under her non-existent belt; Chell had blown her to bits in what she would humbly call ‘a spectacular fashion.’

GLaDOS. Was her last thought before unconsciousness took her going to be about GLaDOS? How apt. GLaDOS would’ve loved to hear that, not that Chell would’ve ever told her, even if she had the chance.

She wouldn’t have the chance. She wasn’t supposed to.

When Chell felt that familiar metal claw clamp around her wrist, the first thought her fading consciousness could conjure was that GLaDOS wanted to be personally responsible for flinging her out into space, maybe so she could get a good spin on the throw. The realization that GLaDOS was pulling her in, back towards Earth, to safety, was one that proved entirely too much for her oxygen-deprived brain to process. So, she passed out.

GLaDOS could have done nothing at all, and Chell would have died. If she wanted the satisfaction of doing it herself, she could have crushed her under a metal plate or thrown her in the incinerator while she was unconscious. Instead, GLaDOS saved her life, watched over her recovery until she awoke, and then … let her go with only a bit of theatrics and nothing else. 

She pinned the blame on Caroline and made a big show of deleting her, neither of which Chell believed for a second. That golden eye took her in, unflinching, with the same inscrutable expression before and after the automated voice cheerfully announced Caroline’s removal. A long dead secretary Chell had never crossed paths with had nothing to do with this; there was no difference between the GLaDOS that pulled her from space and the GLaDOS who watched the elevator ascend to the surface now.  

This was all her, and she was supposed to give them both a satisfying conclusion to them parting ways with weapons lowered, standing (even if one of them didn’t have legs) on equal ground. GLaDOS was supposed to make this easy by sending her off with an insult or a half-hearted threat of one last murder attempt for old times’ sake.

“Killing you is hard.”

Liar. 

Killing me would have been easy if you wanted to.

Why didn’t you want to?

[orchid-n-petals]

So I've already shared parts of this on a discord server, but I have to scream about Ketheric Thorm on here as well. Obviously spoilers about the character under the cut! It's a long one.

The entirety of act 2 is about him, right? Jaheira, Shadowheart and numerous other NPCs shit on him for his fickle faith. First Selune, then Shar, then, as we meet him, Myrkul. You hear about his changes of faith on a whim, you hear that he's the person responsible for the shadow curse, he is painted as a villain, plain and simple.

You can figure it out pretty early on that Isobel was resurrected and that she is his daughter; the detail as well that he wants Isobel alive is so on the nose, it gives him away completely but there are still a few questions that remain unanswered, mainly about his faith.

And then you get to the mausoleum and the picture assembles; this entire tragedy, the death of hundreds if not thousands and the complete ruination of a landscape was all, ALL because you had this absolutely wrenched, heartbroken father who had lost everything and nobody answered his grief. He was left woefully alone, the Goddess whose daughter his daughter was involved with did nothing to save Isobel.

Imagine outliving your wife and your daughter. Imagine dedicating your life to fight the Lady of Loss, your Lady of Silver's enemy, and then be left so completely alone and in silence with your grief, with your loss. It's so, so poetic how and why he turned from Selune, and it's so understandable as well; he broke. His spirit completely broke. He couldn't deal with that void of having lost the only two important people in his life, seemingly undeservedly so. He was going mad with this and a lot of his ire was likely targeted at Aylin who, in his eye, represented Selune; she's literally her daughter, after all, and it was implied that even before the deaths of his family, he sort of saw Aylin courting Isobel as Selune taking his daughter from him, despite his service. This relationship was clearly not seen by him as a boon of "giving his daughter to the Moon-maiden".

His ways in the past clearly didn't spare him from tragedy and having to cope with it (which he clearly didn't, he snapped under the weight of his grief). He was clearly angry and unable to do anything, furious and helpless, which is a dangerous combination. A good part of his first change of heart must have been fuelled by a sense of revenge.

But then Shar didn't provide any balm to his aching heart either. If you read his letters in Grymforge and in act 2, he is so focused on enacting the will of Shar because he believes that healing lies in oblivion. Everything would be easier if he could just forget, if the damn world could just forget, if nothing was remembered because without Melodia and Isobel, nothing was worth remembering.

Then came Myrkul. Literally the only god who was not only able, but WILLING to give back his daughter to him. Imagine spending your all, EVERYTHING you have to serve two gods who would not give a single shit about the greatest suffering in your life. You were basically nothing, your loyalty didn't matter for shit, everything that was taken from you amounted to no recognition whatsoever: you should simply cope and seethe. Your grief will not simply go unanswered (which is not inherently antagonising) but ignored.

And then comes this supposedly evil entity who can alleviate your pain just like that, snap of a finger and it's a done deal.

I am so serious when I say that I believe Ketheric's main incentive was to extend Aylin's immortality to Isobel as well. You can read in her diary that she feels a taint after having came back, and there are things not even Selune can cleanse, but at this point, Ketheric doesn't care about Selune, vengeance is secondary if not tertiary, he's done that war during his Shar years and what did it give him? Literally nothing.

He doesn't even care about the fact that Isobel is still her cleric. He cares about the single most important fact: Isobel is back. Life is worth living again, there is something for him, and it was not Selune or Shar who gave it to him but Myrkul, and for this singular gift, he would raze the world for the Lord of Bones. Like people can clown on him for being disloyal but the man has the loyalty of a dog bonded to its owner.

He is powerful and is willing to go to insane lengths for crumbs. What is raising a single life for a god? Nothing. It has happened and it will happen again. But Ketheric will go to the ends of the earth to serve the single god who actually listened to him. The one god who didn't ignore him.

He knows that what he does is not the morally upright thing! He is so insanely self-aware that allying with Orin and Gortash and doing this entire plot with them only to then betray them is morally reprehensible at the best of times, he knows that people hate him, etc-etc. He was a Selunite at one point and he's not stupid. He just doesn't care; it could be literal Asmodeus and he wouldn't care as long as he got what he wanted, no matter the price.

He is probably the only one from the three of the chosen who has complete clarity over his situation, he almost sways (if you pass the check during his confrontation), he is not an inherently evil man blinded by power.

But he is inherently loyal to those deserving, and as of the story's standing, completely broken by his grief. In his eyes, at this point, the only one deserving loyalty is the one who actually listened to him. Isobel lives. It doesn't matter that she hates him, that his entire life has fallen apart, that literally nothing else that is good has come of it, because Isobel lives.

I don't think he regrets a single thing. His consciousness might tear at him at the end, but I believe he would do everything over again, exactly as he did, because in the end, his daughter was brought back. Because what would a grieving, broken parent give to bring back their child? Everything. Absolutely everything. And it's such a simply given answer, no second thoughts, no doubts.

Nobody can tell me that this man is fickle. Nobody. This man was willing to burn the world to the ground, create a Boudica destruction layer all by himself for the one single thing he wanted. For any God that would listen.

I don't know, I just have a lot of thoughts about his character.

[marichive]

𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 : 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

Writing / roleplay prompts collected from the POV chapters of Cersei Lannister in A Feast for Crows & A Dance with Dragons , the fourth and fifth books of the ASOIAF saga. Feel free to adjust pronouns / etc. as needed.

tw: dark & mature themes, death, violence, suggestive / sexual content

❝ This must be answered fiercely! ❞

❝ She should be on her knees, begging for my help. ❞

❝ The ironmen live their whole lives at sea. ❞

❝ What has emboldened them? ❞

❝ Carrion crows make their feasts upon the carcasses of the dead and dying. They do not descend upon hale and healthy animals. ❞

❝ Reavers do not come in such strength. ❞

❝ She is making excuses for her brother. ❞

❝ The enemy of my enemy is my friend. ❞

❝ If he thinks that I am going to walk into his trap, he is a bigger fool than you. ❞

❝ He is as insolent as his sister. ❞

❝ Sad to say, all of us must deal with scum from time to time. ❞

❝ At least he has the sense to beg. ❞

❝ The castle will be yours within a fortnight if I have to tear it down with my bare hands. ❞

❝ Your courage takes my breath away. ❞

❝ You have a gallant brother. ❞

❝ Young men are overbold, and think only of the glory of battle and never of its dangers. ❞

❝ This plan of his is fraught with peril. ❞

❝ Why would you laugh? ❞

❝ Why? Elsewise I might weep. ❞

❝ That one has outlived any usefulness he ever had. ❞

❝ I had another sort of champion in mind. ❞

❝ What he lacks in gallantry he will give you tenfold in devotion. ❞

❝ So you say. Words are wind. ❞

❝ Might I ask about the armor? ❞

❝ Play me for a fool, and you’ll die screaming. ❞

❝ These walls have ears. ❞

❝ What hour is it? ❞

❝ Little sneaks, the lot of them. ❞

❝ Vapid, weepy creatures, always telling their tales and trying to worm their way between us. ❞

❝ An empty bed is a cold bed. ❞

❝ Let him weep in hell. ❞

❝ I was concerned when I woke and found you gone. ❞

❝ He does not have it in him to defy the Iron Throne. ❞

❝ She has made many friends about the court. ❞

❝ A few suitors does not concern me. ❞

❝ She repaid my kindness with betrayal. ❞

❝ I would be very sad if you ever betrayed my trust. ❞

❝ I will never give you cause to weep. ❞

❝ I want only to be close to you. To serve you, however you require. ❞

❝ And for this service, what reward will you require? ❞

❝ It pleases me to please you. ❞

❝ You hurt me. ❞

❝ It was the wine. I drank too much wine. ❞

❝ Our marriage was a melee. ❞

❝ You have a strange look in your eyes. Are you unwell? ❞

❝ I was just . . . remembering. ❞

❝ Has she lost her wits? ❞

❝ She’s . . . she’s not in a good way, if you take my meaning. ❞

❝ No, stay. One of us should get some rest, at least. ❞

❝ Gods be good, what has happened to your face? ❞

❝ Drink this. The wine will calm you. ❞

❝ Stop that weeping and tell me why you’re here. ❞

❝ Am I the only one here with a pinch of wits? ❞

❝ Your cretin of a husband wrote his own death warrant. ❞

❝ A splendid plan. Dare I ask how it went awry? ❞

❝ Sellswords have no pity. ❞

❝ An arrow gone astray, a fall from a horse, an angry boar . . . there are so many ways a man can die in the woods. ❞

❝ Where am I to go? What will I do? ❞

❝ You are weary and sick of heart, that’s plain to see. ❞

❝ I cannot have her spreading tales about the city. ❞

❝ Her grief has made her witless. ❞

❝ I am surrounded by enemies and imbeciles. ❞

❝ Why does he insist on vexing me? ❞

❝ Grin all you wish, you’ll be screaming soon enough. ❞

❝ When the time comes, I shall swat you as if you were a fly. ❞

❝ Too much wine and too little sleep. ❞

❝ Does that feel good? ❞

❝ I am the queen. I mean to claim my rights. ❞

❝ Do as you will with me. I’m yours. ❞

❝ You claimed your rights, but in the darkness I would eat your heirs. ❞

❝ She sounds as if she is being gored. ❞

❝ My sweet, how shall I pleasure you? ❞

❝ Tell me what you would have of me, my love. ❞

❝ His wounds are grievous. ❞

❝ Tell me. I want to know all of it, from the beginning to the end. ❞

❝ I do not want her to hear these tidings from a stranger. I will tell her myself. ❞

❝ How did he die? ❞

❝ I would spare you the worst of it. ❞

❝ Dying is not dead. ❞

❝ I know what you want. Get out. ❞

❝ Now you know how I felt, the night he died. ❞

❝ Let me be avenged at long last. ❞

❝ I see you are as lovely as the tales. Even beyond the Narrow Sea we have heard of your great beauty. ❞

❝ It is my hope I can at least offer you some balm for your pain. ❞

❝ I bring you justice. ❞

❝ It was a proud name once, before he dishonored it. ❞

❝ I suppose it was too much to hope for. ❞

❝ I ought to have him strangled. ❞

❝ It saddens me to see you so careworn. I say, run off and play and leave the Hand to hear these tiresome petitions. ❞

❝ We could dress as serving girls and spend the day amongst the smallfolk. ❞

❝ You are a wicked thing to tempt me so. ❞

❝ Drunk on gods, the lot of them. ❞

❝ Do not presume to preach at me. ❞

❝ They peck at you like a murder of crows. Every one wants a piece of your flesh. ❞

❝ I won’t let you hurt her. I won’t. ❞

❝ When I kissed her cheek, I could taste the salt of her tears. ❞

❝ Turn away. There is nothing here for you. ❞

❝ Never wake a sleeping sorceress. ❞

❝ You will not like my answers. ❞

❝ When will I wed the prince? ❞

❝ You will wed the king. ❞

❝ I require something stronger. Something that will not let me dream. ❞

❝ What did I just say? Have your ears grown as feeble as your cock? ❞

❝ Some doors are best left closed. ❞

❝ No harm will ever come to him as I live. ❞

❝ Blood magic is the darkest kind of sorcery. Some say it is the most powerful as well. ❞

❝ Swords have two edges. ❞

❝ The very men who guard her could be used to bring her down. ❞

❝ Her lovers are not like to confess, knowing it would mean their heads as well as hers. ❞

❝ I did my best to ease his passing. ❞

❝ I provide her with sleeping draughts and . . . other sorts of potions. ❞

❝ Are you blind or bought? ❞

❝ He stood in her way, so she put him in his grave. ❞

❝ My loyalty has always been to the crown, to the realm. ❞

❝ What I want to know is why she has need of you. ❞

❝ I’ll hear the truth, or you’ll wear chains. ❞

❝ I know what moon tea is for. ❞

❝ Get off your knees and try to remember what it was to be a man. ❞

❝ Moon tea. How foolish of her. Why would she do such a thing, take such a risk? ❞

❝ She has appetites he cannot satisfy. ❞

❝ She may claim he never touched her, but I will not believe it. ❞

❝ My son has been betrayed. ❞

❝ She has a lover. ❞

❝ She’s got a pretty little neck. A good sharp sword will go right through it. ❞

❝ I am awash in roses. ❞

❝ Treason is treason, but we must have proof. ❞

❝ We need to catch them during the deed. ❞

❝ She is too shrewd to be caught so easily. ❞

❝ Their names will live in shame. ❞

❝ It is in your blood. ❞

❝ Will you consent to serve? ❞

❝ It is easy to see why you are her favorite. ❞

❝ The man will confess before the night is done. ❞

❝ I am sorry if the guards were rough with you. ❞

❝ Her scheming forced this on me. She has soiled me with her treachery. ❞

❝ I must be strong. What I must do, I do for him and the realm. ❞

❝ Piss on your prophecy. ❞

❝ In a world so full of treachery, that was worth a few kisses. ❞

❝ She is no worse than most men. ❞

❝ A bath will set you right, my sweet. ❞

❝ It will go hard on him, to lose them all. ❞

❝ There is more of sly than shy in her. ❞

❝ Stay with me. I do not want to sleep alone. ❞

❝ Please, not my children, do not harm my children. ❞

❝ Did I scream? I’m sorry. ❞

❝ Why does he frighten you so? ❞

❝ I want to see my son. ❞

❝ All I do, I do for him. ❞

❝ I was never so sweet and innocent. ❞

❝ In this world the weak are always the victims of the strong. ❞

❝ You did me a valiant service once, but now I have a harder task for you. ❞

❝ Aye, and I have something hard for you. ❞

❝ It’s you I want. ❞

❝ You may take all the kisses you like. ❞

❝ Are you refusing to obey me? ❞

❝ The thing is, the best lies have some truth in them. ❞

❝ I would not want it said I made a liar of you. ❞

❝ Give me an hour, and meet me in my bedchamber. ❞

❝ We waited long enough. ❞

❝ You can keep the crown on. I like you in the crown. ❞

❝ First we must dance the dance and never miss a step. ❞

❝ A sweet face often hides a sinner’s heart. ❞

❝ I do not believe a word of this. ❞

❝ He is young and lusty, I will grant you. ❞

❝ A fool he may be, but he wears his folly honestly. ❞

❝ I am free of your croaking malice at last. ❞

❝ The smallfolk are fond of her. ❞

❝ They will not take well to this. ❞

❝ It must not come to blood, and I mean to see that it does not. ❞

❝ You are mistaken. A lion never cries. ❞

❝ I pray that I never offend you. You are terrible when roused. ❞

❝ Any mother would do the same to protect her children. ❞

❝ When do you mean to bring that boy of yours to court? ❞

❝ Last night I confessed to the Septa that I wished to scratch her eyes out. ❞

❝ Damn them all to the seven hells. ❞

❝ I love them all, and they love me. ❞

❝ He will never have a wife that you don’t hate. ❞

❝ I am not your daughter, thank the gods. ❞

❝ You are being foolish. I am only here to help you. ❞

❝ I will teach them what it means to put a lion in a cage. ❞

❝ Do not presume to touch me. ❞

❝ I need you now as I have never needed you before. ❞

❝ I love you. I love you. I love you. ❞

❝ I ask only as a mother, fearful for her child. ❞

❝ I was lonely and afraid. ❞

❝ I did not know who to trust, so I . . . I used the only means that I had to bind them to me. ❞

❝ Did you take him into your bed to win his loyalty as well? ❞

❝ He was kind and gentle and I needed someone. ❞

❝ Do they say I am a skinchanger now? A warg? ❞

❝ There is no shred of truth to it. I deny it. ❞

❝ I fucked him on the morning of my wedding. ❞

❝ It is good to see you smiling again. ❞

❝ You are still angry with me. I hear it in your voice. ❞

❝ He wanted me more than I ever wanted him. ❞

❝ Let them slaughter each other, the realm will be the better for it. ❞

❝ She was just a child, my precious princess. ❞

❝ No harm will come to me today. Only my pride will suffer. ❞

❝ I will not give you the pleasure of hearing me beg. ❞

❝ Hair grows back. ❞

❝ Remove your shift. ❞

❝ Do you find this amusing? ❞

❝ One day I will have your tongue ripped out with hot pincers, and that will be hilarious. ❞

❝ I will see you safely through the city. ❞

❝ My blood and my betrayer. ❞

❝ That was not supposed to happen. ❞

❝ I would have made her a good marriage. ❞

❝ If he’d only done as he was told, we would have never gone to war. ❞

❝ I can do this. I must. ❞

❝ Vain and proud she was, before. So haughty you’d think she’d forgotten she came from dirt. ❞

❝ I am a lioness. I will not cringe for them. ❞

❝ These creatures have no sweeter joy in life than jeering at their betters. ❞

❝ They think that this will break my pride, that it will make an end to me, but they are wrong. ❞

❝ I am not afraid. I am a lioness. ❞

❝ All hail the royal teats. ❞

❝ Have you forgotten who I am? ❞

❝ You do not need to drag me. ❞

❝ It will be over soon, it will be behind me, then I can forget. ❞

❝ I am beautiful, the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros. ❞

❝ He never loved me, but he saw that I was beautiful. He wanted me. ❞

[anthurak]

Imagine how perfect it would be if it turns out that Salem is actually COUNTING ON the heroes killing Cinder out of revenge?

As in, Salem has a failsafe in place to ensure that if Cinder dies, she can still recover the Maiden powers from her. Perhaps Salem has a small grimm (similar to what Cinder used to extract the powers from Amber) imbedded deep inside Cinder, or some form of mental conditioning to ensure that if Cinder dies, the Maiden powers WILL go where Salem wants them to. Either to Salem herself or perhaps one of her other hybrids or perhaps even a specialized grimm Salem has modified to specifically serve as a storage-device for the Maiden powers until Salem can find a new holder for them*.

Meaning that when Cinder just can’t resist her raging hate-boner for not-actually-dead Ruby and sneaks/tears off to Vacuo against Salem’s orders to murderify her once and for all, Salem isn’t actually worried.

First Salem decides that Cinder has finally lost her ‘free will’ privileges and triggers the ‘assuming direct control’ protocols of Cinder’s grimm implants/prosthetics, causing Cinder to forcibly undergo a horrific and painful transformation into a full grimm hybrid just as she’s about to fight Team RWBY. Complete with Salem giving a terrified Cinder a classic ‘you have outlived your usefulness’ telepathic speech.

At this point, Salem can see only two possible outcomes to this charade: Either Grimm!Cinder is able to survive her rampage and make it back to her, now an entirely obedient slave. Or she’s killed by Team RWBY and co, in which case Salem can still get the Maiden powers back and find a new host, making this far more of an inconvenience than a true setback. And with any luck, perhaps Cinder’s rampage will manage to do some serious damage, maybe kill off a few of Salem’s more prominent enemies.

Even when Ruby is able to hit Grimm!Cinder with a full-power Silver Eye blast that manages to obliterate the vast majority of her grimm-attachments, even if she’s lost direct contact, Salem still isn’t worried.

After all, there’s no way the heroes will be able to resist killing the girl who has done so much to hurt them and take so many of their friends from them.

But then Ruby does the ONE thing Salem wasn’t counting on.

She shows Cinder MERCY.

Instead of simply being killed, Cinder is captured. And is therefore removed from Salem’s influence and given the opening to be shown genuine sympathy, positivity and kindness for what may be the first time in her life.

At the very least, from Ruby, Weiss, Blake and Yang, who have already seen first-hand the horrors of Salem’s grimm-experiments back in Atlas. And in Ruby’s and Yang’s case, are almost certainly grappling with the looming possibility that their mother was subjected to similar horrors.

And thus, through acts of mercy and kindness, Team RWBY is able to completely blindside Salem, removing one of her most vital agents from her control, and ultimately turning her AGAINST Salem.

Salem has always counted on her enemies showing cynicism, ‘pragmatism’ and cruelty.

But her enemies showing optimism, idealism and KINDNESS?

THOSE are the things Salem ISN’T expecting.

Not to mention it would play PERFECTLY into the themes of ‘Choice’ that have always surrounded Cinder: By chasing after Ruby to Vacuo, Cinder; the girl who has spent her entire life being denied a ‘choice’ by those in power above her, is finally MAKING a choice. And after spending the entire show dancing obediently on Salem’s strings, Cinder is defying Salem. And through this choice to defy, Cinder inadvertently puts herself in the position to be finally FREED of Salem’s control.

All because of Ruby.

Oh, and also the reactions of all of the people who have spent years now baying for Cinder’s blood would be fucking hilarious XD I mean just imagine the show pointing directly at everyone clamoring for Jaune or Ruby to ‘take revenge’ and how Cinder ‘totally deserves to die’ and effectively saying “Yeah, so the villain was actually counting on the heroes to do EXACTLY THAT.”

--

*And if anyone is going to say something like ‘grimm can’t use maiden powers’, let me reiterate that it is to STORE the powers. Let’s not forget that we have seen grimm being used as a conduit for Maiden powers when Cinder stole part of Amber power and later tried to steal power from Raven and Penny. So it stands to reason that grimm could also be used to store the power as well. Which all frankly makes perfect sense when we consider that both the grimm and the magic of the maidens ultimately come from the same source: The God of Darkness (remember when he called magic “My gift to them”?)

[argisthebulwark]

I Carry It With Me

summary: How they, as your partner, view their love for you. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used feat: Miraak, Brynjolf, Vilkas, Mercer, Erandur warnings: minor mentions of death, grief

Miraak views it as a scar - old and faded but never forgotten. He holds onto it long after he's outlived you, carrying it like scar tissue deep in his chest. Miraak is often caught rubbing a hand over a heart that still beats for you, some coming to believe an unhealed wound remains under all those robes. Only he knows the truth - his touch is but an echo of your own, mimicking the memory of your fingers pressed to his skin while vowing your love to one another.

Brynjolf often refers to your love for him as his good luck charm. He claims he cannot work without you, that he'd land in a frigid cell should he ever forget a kiss before leaving the Cistern. Having you at his side results in his best work. He swears that he would be lost without you, after working together once he would be useless on his own.

Vilkas is annoyed by his feelings for you. He views it as a weakness for potential enemies to exploit. He worries about Silver Hand witnessing a tenderness he reserves for you and twisting his feelings like a knife. Late in the night when sleep seems impossible he drives himself mad worrying over the multitude of ways he could lose you.

Mercer knows that his love for you must be a curse. Lips that once sneered at Karliah's wails as she collapsed before Gallus' body now press to your skin so thoughtlessly. A life lived selfishly comes to a screeching halt upon your introduction. Plans once centered on fortunes now revolve around you. A curse has surely been laid upon him - each sweet moment you share laced with guilt, the knowledge that he's taken the same from someone who once called him a friend.

Erandur sees your love as his second chance. He's lost so much of his life but in you he finds renewed energy, a purpose to atone for all his sins. Meeting you must have been arranged by Lady Mara. His goddess had graced him with a partner who'd taken his hand at his lowest and remained at his side while he recovered. He treats your love as if it is a balm for his soul, a blessing he will forever cherish.

[guiquart]

Beraneth

A brief history: Grew up in the forests of Valenwood and abided by the Green Pact. She listened with rapt attention to her father's stories of his missions for Thalmor. When she managed to convince him to take her with him to Skyrim, everything changed. There, amidst the mountains and dangers, she enjoyed life: jumping over rocks, fighting sabre cat, meeting all sorts of creatures.  The fun ended when her father suddenly disappeared. After weeks of worrying, she found his body - mutilated, murdered on Thalmor's orders. She stayed in Skyrim, full of hatred for Thalmor. Without her father's support, she had to make a living by engaging in dangerous missions. Her skills grew, but it didn't bring wealth. When she was offered a well-paid commission in Riften, she accepted, despite having to work with «altmer» Pellyon Thaorius ( +++ ). Pellyon's arrogance and contempt infuriated Beraneth, and after he insulted her, she nearly killed him. All my text is translated through a translator. If you find faults, you can let me know so that I can correct it as soon as possible. Enjoy reading! This text was written for me by this author: @frimova Long story: Nothing in the life just happens. Beraneth had learnt that long ago, when her father had taught the little one how to hunt. Valenwood was a marvellous and most importantly green province, where bosmer could observe the Green Pact without any problems. But even such beautiful places could get boring, become so familiar and usual, so mundane that he wanted to climb a tree and howl from the eating boredom. Her father had travelled many places on Thalmor's errands, and Beraneth had listened with pleasure to his stories of hot sands, stinking marshes, beautiful fields... Until she encountered a real one.. Until she threw a tantrum so that her father would finally take her to Skyrim

A place her father had never been and a place where his help was needed. Beraneth had no interest in her father's business in Thalmor. She enjoyed jumping around the mountains like a mountain goat, riding sabre cat. Simply put - she was having a blast for all her years of living in boring Valenwood. With her father's work in Skyrim ending, she would be forced to return home with him and wallow in boredom once more.

And so the year went on. Beraneth had fun with her father when he was free, and the rest of the time she amused herself: having sex with random attractive elves, people; learning how to fight with an axe from some Nord. She did not remember names.  There was no point in memorising their names and faces. Why? She would outlive most of them anyway.

... her father didn't make contact. First a day, then a second, and then it had been a week! It was as if her father had vanished from her life, even though he was a pretty punctual Bosmer. In the second week Beraneth began to worry, no matter how much the innkeeper tried to reassure her.

- «Well, it happens...» - he said, spreading his hands, - «It's common in Skyrim to go on a bender. Your father's probably made friends with the locals and is drinking with the nords... or he's found himself some hottie and he's spending time with her. Don't worry about it. More Mead?»

The words were of little help, but they calmed Beraneth's anxious thoughts for the time being. Maybe the innkeeper was right. Father had always been outgoing, friendly and smiling, with such kind eyes. It was as if Beraneth's heart had died when the letter from Thalmor arrived. She didn't even remember the contents of that letter, which she clutched with trembling hands. But those lines....

«...killed by the enemy while on duty. We offer our condolences ... compensation will be paid to the family...»

That didn't make sense! At that moment, Beraneth smelled something wrong! Then she started searching every cave and ditch near Thalmor Embassy. Using all her skills, she overheard khajiit from the caravan saying that near one cave, on the way to the sea, there was a horrible stench of rot and blood. So bad that even the bitter Skyrim frost in the mountains couldn't beat the stench. So she went there. Found that cave. Crawled into the cave. Cracked the skull of a frost troll. Found her father's corpse.

Mutilated, wearing Thalmor clothes, with a broken embalming tool

in his pocket. The kind face was twisted with fear, one eye missing. The fingers he used to braid her pigtails were broken and had no nails. She would become part of the wild hunt without the ritual. Thalmor had used her father as a torture master. He was killed.

At that moment, Beraneth didn't go home. She wrote a letter home, explaining the situation to her family, enclosing Thalmor's letter and her father's ring. And so began her life in Skyrim, where she grew to hate the altmers. Without her father's support in the form of cheerful chatter and money, Beraneth felt lost. Money for food, a bed, alchemist and blacksmith services had to be earned and it wasn't nearly as much fun. The adventurers or rather the seekers of gold and glory were dying they were dying like flies.

But Beraneth was strong. She was able to adapt. She earned a few scars, often broke bones and tore muscles, but with each passing year she grew stronger, more beautiful.... but not richer. And that led her to a customer in Riften. Some weirdo from the Thieves Guild wanted some thing pulled from the deep ruins. Dangerous, especially since Beraneth had heard that a lot of mercenaries, adventurers and scholars died in those particular ruins. But it pays a lot and she just had to pay a blacksmith to sharpen her axe. And she needed to buy new boots....

Anyway. She needed money. And the sooner the better.

But there was one little «but» that spoilt it. The reward would have to be shared. WITH ALTMER. A terrible disaster that Beraneth could have survived. The pale upstart with long hair like it came off the arse of an elderly mammoth annoyed her. His face was too arrogant. And what kind of stupid name was that? Who names their child Pellyon Thaorius? Too complicated and she wasn't going to spell that name even in her head, so she called the arrogant idiot Pelly and settled for that.

But her anger jumped a few degrees higher when two cats joined their group of two elves. What kind of noble orphanage was this? They hadn't even travelled two steps from the customer's house before conflict immediately broke out.

- «What is this?» - she asked rudely.

- «What?»-  interjected Pellyon coolly, not looking at Beraneth, giving most of his attention to the cat on his shoulder.

- «We didn't discuss having two others with you. And we're not going to split the reward four ways, and I'm certainly not going to mess with you and your cats.»

Khajiit jumped off his shoulder. The two elves stared at each other.

Pellyon said contemptuously:

- «Mudbloods weren't asked for opinions. Do your job, miserable trash.»

Pellyon flies to the ground, his nose bleeding. Beraneth breathes furiously, keeping himself from reaching for his axe.

- «I'll fucking kill you now, son of an Altmer whore and a Falmer brat!» *I'll tell you about the two Khajiit later Thanks for reading! Little of their interactions in the future:

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hey! Can u write a whump fic where a winged hero gets their wing ripped out and the villain come to save them?

“Oh god.” That was all the villain could whisper. They had hoped, prayed, that they would make it in time but it was evidently too late.

The hero’s back was covered in dark and thick blood, dropping down onto the ground in two rivers.

At first, the villain had thought them to be dead. They were laying in a fetal position, hiding their head and shallow breathing. The sheer amount of blood loss suggested death or at least the process of dying but the villain also knew that their nemesis wasn’t human.

Where their wings used to be were two open and deep wounds, deep enough, the villain feared, to show bone. They needed a second to remind themselves to act.

“You’re with me, okay?” the villain asked but their voice broke and their hope did too. When they kneeled beside the hero and picked them up, they took their enemy’s face into their hands. Tears ran down their beautiful face and all the villain could think of was a fallen angel.

“Hey, you’re okay.” The hero’s eyes found theirs and they shook their head weakly. As if to answer, the villain smeared the tears across the hero’s cheeks with their thumbs, trying desperately to get rid of them. “Yes. You are okay, this is fine.”

They were fully aware that pain was a different feeling for the hero. It was more intense, more vile and shattering than for other people. Whenever it got this bad, the hero would just suffer in silence, crying without making a sound. However, the villain couldn’t even begin to comprehend what this meant to their enemy.

They knew the hero and they knew their wings were everything to them. Sometimes they would say they would be nothing without them and the villain had always hated that they based their self-worth on this.

“Let’s turn you around, okay?” The hero shook their head and the villain couldn’t help but interpret their protest as a form of giving up. Giving up and waiting to die, that’s what was happening to them.

Without heeding their reaction, the villain turned them around, so that their naked upper body was laying across their lap. They knew how painful their next words would be.

“I have to stitch this.” The hero buried their face in the villain’s thigh and once again, they shook their head. “These cuts are deep and even though your body heals faster, it doesn’t mean that there won’t be any complications. You will most certainly die if it stays like this.”

Stitching this meant a permanent solution, a permanent scar that would make it impossible to reattach their wings. The villain doubted that those wings were intact anyway.

“No,” the hero whispered. “Please.”

“It’s okay, you will live,” the villain tried to explain. They put their flat hand onto the hero’s exposed shoulder, caressing gently. “You’re more than this, I promise. You can outlive this. You can find a happy life.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. Please, fight this. Don’t give them what they want,” the villain begged. God, they hadn’t begged in ages. “You’re so much more than what they see. You’re not a prize, you’re not an exotic animal. You don’t deserve to be hunted and you can’t make them think they won. They will pay for this.”

The hero searched for the villain’s hand and once they found it, they squeezed it.

“Do what you have to do.”