#i just think it's so complicated and confusing

[scentedluminarysoul]

SOMETIMES IT'S ON PURPOSE OKAY I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S CALLED BUT SOMETIMES YOU REPEAT THE SAME WORD OR PHRASE ON PURPOSE IT'S A STYLISTIC CHOICE

Ahem. Also. You don't need to thesaurus every word. It's fine if you call a table a table multiple times

Honestly, writing has become so complicated and everyone's a critic and don't you DARE use the same word twice or start a sentence with "he" twice in a row!

Can we go back to actually caring about SUBSTANCE? About what it's trying to tell you?

I'm currently reading Agatha Christie's "And Then There Were None" from 1939. It's written so SIMPLY and yet it's so good and just effective in what it does.

Do you know how often it says "(character name) said:" and then just the dialogue? That's the vast majority of how her dialogues work. Simple, easy to understand, no confusion as to who's talking.

It's not fancy, and yet she's one of the best writers to have ever existed

I mean, look at this:

It's just a simple dialogue that keeps going like that.

One of the most repeated writing advices you read is "make your dialogue interesting", like give characters something to in between tags, etc.

But lads—this dialogue is interesting in and of itself. It's intriguing. Why would they also need to juggle chainsaws or low the lawn or whatever?

And the dialogue tag Christie uses most often is "said". Simply "said". Because it doesn't need more.

Here and there are a few hints as to how the characters are feeling ("angrily", "dryly", "after a minute or two"), but it's your job as a reader to UNDERSTAND and INTERPRET them, to THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'RE READING.

And I think that's the big problem nowadays: people don't want to think about it anymore. TikTok girlies brag about reading 3 books a day, but they don't UNDERSTAND them. That much is clear when you listen to them talk about books

And this is also what people mean that you should read when you want to become a writer. Because you can read all the writing tips ever online, but that will only make you go insane and insecure.

READ and you will see how they're applied. Or not. And even then the book is still good

And no book is perfect or even good from start to finish. There will be dull moments, or misses in even the best books

And you need to see those flaws in order to become a writer

I forgot about that myself.

The key to writing well isn't to use the best and most interesting words perfectly

It's to use the words you have effectively.

Sorry OP, didn't need to rant

But sometimes all these clever "writing tips to become a better writer" are really missing what's truly makes a good writer:

The heart

Of you only count how many times someone used the same word in a paragraph, instead of trying to understand what that paragraph is telling you, you don't care about the art of writing

Actually you CAN use the same word twice in the same paragraph. The same sentence even. If it's funny, if it's for emphasis, if it's harping on a theme, if you're sexy and you do whatever you want forever. Write on

[julietsf1]

Home Again - Charles Leclerc x Reader

summary: eight years, one city, and a thousand unspoken words—will a chance encounter in London bring closure, or is there more in store for Monaco's golden boy and the one who got away? (4.5k words)

content: reunion, slight angst, unresolved feelings, childhood friends

AN: another Charles one! I felt like these tropes really suited his vibe, I hope you enjoy!! :)

____________________________________

London always felt like a city of paradoxes - chaotic yet calming, detached yet full of life. As I sipped my cappuccino at a small café tucked away in Soho, I let my mind wander. The same questions had lingered in my mind over the years, growing louder the longer I avoided them. Was it a mistake to leave? Should I have fought harder to keep in touch with him? With Charles?

I shook my head. No, leaving Monaco had been necessary. It was beautiful, yes, but it was like living inside a postcard, picture-perfect on the outside but so painfully hollow within. Everyone was constantly posturing, trying to outdo the next person in opulence, charm, or connections. It was exhausting.

And Charles… he was Monte Carlo personified in so many ways. Stunning, magnetic, the kind of person who made you feel alive just by being in his orbit. But there was something raw and real beneath that glossy exterior, something I’d always seen, even when no one else seemed to. I loved him for it. And maybe, in a way, I hated him too - for thriving in a place that felt like it would suffocate me.

The faint chime of the café door opening pulled me from my thoughts. I glanced up, expecting some trendy Londoner or a tourist fumbling with their map. But instead, my eyes landed on a familiar face, one I hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. Arthur Leclerc.

“Y/N?” His voice was incredulous, his eyebrows shooting up as he stopped mid-step. He looked exactly the same, just a bit taller, a bit sharper around the edges. Still the same boy I remembered from childhood, though, with that mischievous glint in his eye.

I blinked, unsure if I was hallucinating. “Arthur?”

He grinned, practically bounding over to my table. “Mon dieu, it is you! I wasn’t sure at first, but… wow, what are you doing in London?”

I gestured to my half-empty coffee cup. “Living here. What about you? I thought you’d be… I don’t know, in Monaco or racing somewhere glamorous.”

Arthur slid into the seat across from me without waiting for an invitation, his grin widening. “I was here for a sim session, actually. But you, London? I thought you’d be in Paris or some other philosophy capital, writing about Socrates or something.”

I laughed softly. “Close enough. I came here for university, and I never left.”

“Eight years.” His tone was lighter, but his words carried weight. “It’s been eight years, Y/N. Do you ever go back?”

The question hit me harder than I expected. I took a sip of my coffee to buy myself time. “No,” I admitted. “Not since… well, not since I left.”

Arthur’s expression softened, though confusion lingered in his eyes. “You just… left,” he said gently. “No one really understood why. Charles especially.”

I looked down at my coffee, the words caught in my throat. How could I explain the weight of feeling like an outsider in a world I was supposed to call home?

“I just needed to go,” I murmured. “It wasn’t about anyone else.”

Arthur studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I guess I never really got it, but… if it’s what you needed, then fine.” He paused before leaning forward with a small smile. “Come back. Just for the weekend, for the Grand Prix. I think it’d mean a lot to everyone. To Charles.”

I bit my lip, unsure how to respond. The truth was, I’d thought about going back a hundred times. But every time, I chickened out. Monaco felt like a ghost town to me now, haunted by memories I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

“I don’t know,” I said finally. “It’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Arthur said simply. He pulled out his phone and started typing something before I could protest. “There. I signed you up as my guest. No backing out now.”

I stared at him, equal parts annoyed and touched by his insistence. “What if I had plans already?”

“Cancel them,” he shot back with a wink. “But seriously, Y/N, it’s time. Come back. Just for a weekend. What’s the worst that could happen?”

I sighed, knowing I’d already lost this battle. And maybe he was right. Maybe it was time.

…

Monaco hadn’t changed. Not really.

The same sunlit streets curved around the cliffs, the same pastel buildings clung to the coastline, their colors soft and warm under the Mediterranean sun. The harbor was still crowded with yachts that gleamed like polished jewels, reflecting the light off the water’s surface. It was all exactly as I remembered—beautiful in the kind of way that made you feel small and insignificant.

I wasn’t sure what I expected. Maybe cracks in the pristine perfection, signs that time had weathered the place the same way it had weathered me. But Monaco, ever the picture perfect place, refused to bend to time.

And for the first time in years, I didn’t resent it for that. The beauty I had once thought insincere now felt strangely comforting, like being greeted by an old friend who hadn’t forgotten you, even if you had drifted apart.

“Here we are, mademoiselle,” the taxi driver said, pulling up to the paddock entrance.

I took a deep breath and stepped out. The familiar hum of Grand Prix weekend surrounded me immediately - the roar of engines revving in the distance, the buzz of chatter from fans and team members, the faint tang of fuel in the air. It was overwhelming, yes, but also exhilarating. Nostalgia wrapped around me, equal parts warm and suffocating.

“Y/N!” Arthur’s voice rang out, pulling me back to the present. He was waiting just inside the paddock entrance, a wide grin spreading across his face as he waved me over.

I smiled despite myself and walked toward him. “Arthur,” I said, my tone teasing. “You’re not old enough to be drinking espresso yet.”

He laughed, pulling me into a hug that was warmer than I expected. “Eight years and you still won’t give me a break. Come on, let’s go.”

“Go where?” I asked as he led me into the paddock, his enthusiasm practically radiating off him.

“Everywhere,” he said simply. “It’s been years. You’ve missed so much.”

Arthur guided me through the maze of the paddock, pointing out everything with a mix of pride and excitement, as though I hadn’t grown up watching all of this unfold. But I let him have his moment, nodding along and laughing at his commentary.

“You look different,” he said suddenly, catching me off guard. “In a good way, I mean. More… I don’t know, serious. Like you’ve seen things. Learned things.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a very poetic way of saying I look old, Arthur.”

“No, really,” he insisted, his expression earnest. “It’s like you’ve grown into yourself.”

The comment was unexpected, but it warmed me. “Thanks,” I said softly. “You’ve grown up too. A little.”

He grinned. “Don’t let Charles hear you say that. He still treats me like a kid.”

At the mention of Charles, my stomach twisted, though I tried to keep my expression neutral. Arthur must have noticed something, because his tone shifted, gentler now. “I know it’s probably weird, being back here,” he said. “But I think it’s good you came. I think… I think Charles will be happy to see you.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him how wrong I thought he was. Instead, I nodded and let him lead me deeper into the paddock.

…

The paddock was chaos, as always. Media rushing everywhere, team members darting back and forth. But Charles couldn’t focus on any of it.

Because she was here.

He had only seen her for a brief moment, just a glimpse of her stepping out of a taxi and into the paddock. But it was enough to bring back everything; every memory, every laugh, every ache of missing her. She looked exactly like she did before, only prettier. 

It had been eight years. Eight years since she left without a goodbye, leaving him to wonder if he had done something wrong, if he had somehow driven her away. And now she was back, as though she had never been gone.

“Arthur,” he muttered, pulling out his phone. His hand shook slightly as he dialed.

His brother answered on the first ring. “Charles? What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Charles hissed, keeping his voice low as he stepped out of the chaos and into a quiet corner. “Arthur, why didn’t you tell me she was coming?”

There was a pause, then a sheepish laugh. “Ah. You’ve seen her already.”

“Yes, I’ve seen her!” Charles snapped, though the anger in his voice was undercut by the nervous energy bubbling beneath. “You should’ve warned me.”

“I didn’t think I needed to,” Arthur said, his tone annoyingly casual. “I thought you’d be happy. It’s been years, Charles. Don’t you want to see her?”

Charles ran a hand through his hair, leaning against the wall. “Of course I want to see her. I just… I don’t know what to say.”

Arthur’s voice softened. “You’ll figure it out. You always did with her.”

…

Arthur had been called away to a meeting, leaving me to wander the place on my own. I found a quiet spot near the Ferrari hospitality area, nursing a coffee and trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions in my chest.

Being back here was surreal, like stepping into a memory I wasn’t sure I wanted to relive. But at the same time, I couldn’t deny the comfort of it - the familiar sounds, the smell of the sea air mixed with fuel, the vibrant energy of race weekend.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned instinctively, my breath catching as I locked eyes with him.

Charles.

He stopped in his tracks, his expression a mix of shock and something I couldn’t place, something that made my chest tighten. For a moment, neither of us moved. The weight of eight years of silence hung in the air between us, heavy and unyielding.

Before I could say anything, he turned abruptly and walked away.

…

The roar of the engines drowned out everything else. I stood on the hospitality terrace, surrounded by fans who were shouting encouragement in a chorus of excitement. The energy was contagious, a reminder of why I had always loved race weekends, even when the rest of Monaco felt stifling.

Arthur had left me to sit with some of his friends, but I didn’t mind being alone. It gave me a chance to take it all in—the track, the sea of red Ferrari merchandise, the sun reflecting off the sleek cars. My eyes kept drifting to one in particular, the red number 16 that seemed to glide through every corner as though the circuit were made for it.

Charles.

I hadn’t seen him since he walked away from me in the paddock earlier. It shouldn’t have surprised me; after all, what could we have possibly said to each other in that moment? But it still stung, the abruptness of it, the way he looked at me like I was a ghost he wasn’t ready to confront.

I shook my head, trying to push the thought away. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t about him. It was about being here, about reconnecting with a part of my life I had left behind.

But as the race unfolded, I couldn’t stop my gaze from following him. Every lap, every overtaking move, every moment of brilliance - it was impossible not to be drawn in. Charles had always been talented, but seeing him now, so focused and in control, was something else entirely. It was breathtaking.

The crowd around me erupted as Charles crossed the finish line, taking the victory in a masterful final lap. People were cheering, waving flags, hugging strangers in celebration. I found myself smiling, caught up in the infectious energy of the moment.

But my smile faltered as I saw him step out of the car. The joy on his face was undeniable, but there was something else—something in the way his eyes scanned the crowd, as though he were looking for someone.

For a split second, I thought he might be looking for me. But then I shook my head, brushing the thought away. Charles had the whole world celebrating him right now. Why would he waste a second of it on someone who had been gone for so long?

Still, as he climbed onto the podium and lifted the trophy, I couldn’t help but feel that same strange pull I had always felt with him. It wasn’t just admiration or pride; it was I only felt with him.

As the celebrations spilled into the paddock, where the Ferrari garage was alive with champagne showers, laughter, I kept my distance, lingering near the back of the crowd as the team surrounded Charles, congratulating him.

Arthur spotted me and made his way over, a grin plastered across his face. “Pretty incredible, huh?” he said, motioning toward the scene.

I nodded. “He’s… he’s amazing,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

Arthur gave me a look, something between knowing and sympathetic. “You should come to the afterparty,” he said. “We’re all heading to Rimaldi later. It’ll be fun.”

I hesitated, the thought of being in a room full of people who knew Charles, who had been part of his world all these years, making my stomach twist. “I don’t know…”

��Don’t overthink it,” Arthur said, cutting me off. “It’s just a party. No pressure.”

I forced a smile, but the weight in my chest didn’t ease. “We’ll see,” I said, knowing full well I wasn’t going to go.

***

The party at Rimaldi was everything Charles had come to expect from these celebrations—loud music, overflowing champagne, and a sea of people he barely recognized. The restaurant’s cozy atmosphere had been transformed into a chaotic celebration, with glasses clinking and laughter filling every corner. Fans and acquaintances congratulated him as though they were old friends, slapping him on the back and offering toasts in his honor.

Normally, this was his element. He was good at this—the smiling, the handshakes, the polite small talk that came with being the center of attention. On any other night, he would have been content to let the noise and the crowd carry him, to let it fill the empty spaces he so often ignored. But tonight was different.

Tonight, no matter how many times he raised his glass or laughed along with a joke, he couldn’t shake the gnawing restlessness that had been with him all day. His mind kept drifting, pulled away from the party and back to the one place he couldn’t seem to avoid—her.

She’d looked the same and yet completely different. The years had softened some edges and sharpened others, but it was still her. Y/N, the person who had once been his closest friend, his anchor in a world that often felt overwhelming. He thought he had moved on from wondering why she left, why she cut him off, but seeing her again brought it all back in a rush.

He barely touched his drink, the glass sweating in his hand as he leaned against the edge of the bar. Across the room, Arthur caught his eye, a knowing grin on his face as he raised his own drink in a silent toast. Charles frowned and turned away, pretending not to notice.

“Charles! Congratulations!” A voice pulled him back to the moment. A well-dressed man, someone he vaguely recognized as a sponsor, clapped him on the shoulder. Charles offered a tight smile, exchanging a few polite words before excusing himself.

The truth was, he wasn’t really here. Not mentally. The louder the party grew, the more it grated on him, every laugh and cheer feeling like static in his ears. His thoughts kept circling back to the paddock, to the way her eyes had met his for that brief, electric moment. She had looked surprised, hesitant, but not angry. That was something, at least.

But then she had disappeared, and he hadn’t been able to stop replaying it in his mind—the way she stood there, so poised and composed, and then was gone, swallowed up by the crowd.

By midnight, he couldn’t take it anymore. The laughter and music blurred into background noise as he stood, shaking his head at someone offering him another drink. He muttered something about needing rest and slipped out through the side door, ignoring Arthur’s raised eyebrows as he left. His brother didn’t stop him, though, and Charles suspected Arthur knew exactly where he was going.

The streets of Monaco were quieter now, the city’s energy winding down after the race. Charles drove aimlessly at first, his hands tight around the steering wheel. The roads he knew so well blurred together as his thoughts raced faster than his car ever could.

He didn’t know what he was going to say. He didn’t even know if she would want to see him. But none of that mattered, because the one thing he did know, the one thought that consumed him, was this:

He needed to see her.

***

The knock at the door startled me.

I glanced at the clock on the bedside table—12:27 a.m. I had been lying on the hotel bed for the past hour, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the day. Arthur’s invitation, the race, seeing Charles for the first time in years—all of it felt like too much, like I had stepped back into a world I didn’t belong to anymore.

Another knock, firmer this time.

I sat up, my heart racing. Maybe it was Arthur, coming to drag me to the afterparty. Or worse, maybe it was a staff member telling me something had gone wrong with my reservation. My stomach twisted as I padded across the room, hesitating before unlocking the door.

But when I opened it, it wasn’t Arthur or hotel staff standing there.

It was Charles.

He leaned against the doorframe, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, his hair slightly tousled by the wind. He was dressed casually—dark jeans, a fitted jacket that hinted at his frame—but there was nothing casual about the look in his eyes. They flickered between me and the floor, restless, as though he were trying to piece together why he was even here.

“Hi,” he said finally, his voice quiet but steady.

I stared at him, too stunned to respond at first. “Charles,” I managed after a moment. “What are you doing here?”

His shoulders dropped slightly, like he’d been holding his breath. “Can we go for a drive?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Now?”

“Yes,” he said, his tone firmer this time, though not unkind. “I need to talk to you. And I can’t do it here.”

I hesitated, glancing back into the room like it held the answer. But there was no answer waiting for me, no excuse strong enough to keep me from following him. “Okay,” I said softly. “Let me grab my coat.”

The streets of Monaco were quieter now, the city winding down after the race. Charles drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on the gearstick. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the road, and the silence between us felt heavy, charged with everything unsaid.

I kept stealing glances at him, trying to read the expression on his face, but it was unreadable. It wasn’t anger exactly, but it wasn’t calm either. It was something in between—a tension I couldn’t quite place.

Finally, he turned onto a small road overlooking the harbor and parked. He shut off the engine but didn’t move, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he stared out at the lights reflecting on the water.

“Why did you leave?” he asked finally, his voice breaking the silence like a crack of thunder.

I swallowed hard, my hands twisting in my lap. “I didn’t know how to stay,” I said quietly. “Monaco… it wasn’t the same for me as it was for you. It felt fake, like I was living in a place where everything was about appearances and nothing was real. I couldn’t breathe there.”

He turned then, his gaze sharp and searching. “So you left without a word? Without even telling me?”

I met his eyes, feeling the sting of his words. “I didn’t think you’d understand.”

“Understand?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly. “Y/N, you were my best friend. I would have done anything for you, but you didn’t even give me the chance.”

The anger in his tone cut deep, but beneath it, I could hear something else—hurt. And that was worse.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I said softly. “But I had to go. For me.”

Charles shook his head, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Do you know how many times I thought about calling you? About flying to London to find you? But I didn’t, because I told myself that if you wanted to talk to me, you would.”

I clenched my hands together, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “I thought about telling you,” I said softly. “But I was scared. Scared that if I saw you, I wouldn’t be able to leave. And I had to leave, Charles. I didn’t know who I was anymore.”

“I would have let you go if that is what you wanted. I just wish I had known.” He said, looking deep into my eyes. 

I felt a lump rise in my throat. “It wasn’t that simple.”

“Even a text or a quick call would have made the difference, Y/N.”

“Then why didn’t you?” I asked, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “You blame me for no contact, but you never reached out either.”

His jaw tightened, his hands gripping the steering wheel again. “Because I didn’t think you wanted me to,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “You didn’t leave a door open, Y/N. Not for me, not for anyone.”

The anger in his tone cut deep, but beneath it, I could hear something else—hurt. And that was worse.

We fell into silence, the weight of our words hanging heavy in the air. My chest felt tight, my emotions raw and unsteady. I looked out at the harbor, the city lights shimmering like distant stars, and took a deep breath.

“Explain it to me,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Because I don’t understand, Y/N. I’ve spent eight years not understanding.”

My chest felt tight, the weight of everything we had been avoiding pressing down on me.

“I was scared,” I admitted, my voice trembling. “Scared that if I stayed, I’d lose myself. Scared that if I saw you again, I’d lose the courage to leave. And then… after your dad…” I trailed off, the memory too painful to finish. “I didn’t know how to come back after that.”

Charles’s expression softened, the anger fading into something more vulnerable. “You could have come to me,” he said quietly. “You should have come to me.”

I shook my head, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “And what would I have said? ‘Sorry for leaving you when you needed me the most’? I couldn’t face that, Charles. I couldn’t face you.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of the city outside.

My chest felt tight, my emotions raw and unsteady, as though years of bottled-up feelings had burst open all at once, leaving me vulnerable and exposed. I turned my gaze toward the harbor, the city lights shimmering like scattered stars on the water, their soft glow blurring slightly as tears pricked at my eyes. The stillness of the moment contrasted sharply with the storm raging inside me.

Charles broke the silence, his voice soft but resolute, as though he’d been holding these words back for far too long. “It shouldn’t have been Arthur who invited you back,” he said, his tone laced with frustration and regret. “It should’ve been me. I should’ve been the one to call you.”

The honesty in his voice hit me like a blow to the chest. I turned to him, my breath hitching as his words sank in. The years apart had been a chasm between us, filled with missed chances and unspoken words, and hearing him acknowledge it felt like a bittersweet relief. My throat tightened, and I struggled to find my voice.

“I know,” I said finally, my voice trembling. “But you didn’t call me. And… neither did I call you. We both let it happen.”

Charles’s jaw tightened, and he looked away briefly, his profile illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlights outside. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost fragile. “I didn’t know how to. After you left, I was confused. I didn’t want to admit how much it hurt. And then it just… felt easier to pretend I didn’t care.”

I let out a shaky breath, the tears I’d been holding back finally slipping free. “The second I got back to Monaco, all I did was look for you,” I admitted, my words coming out in a rush, like I had been holding them in for years. “Everywhere I went, I looked for you. You were everywhere - your face in the streets, your name in conversations, your memory in everything I saw. And yet… you were nowhere.”

I heard Charles inhale sharply, and when I turned back, his eyes were locked on mine, filled with an intensity that made my breath catch. Green and piercing, they were searching for something, some part of me I wasn’t sure I still had to give. Vulnerability. Hope. Regret. I saw all of it reflected in his gaze, and it was almost too much.

“I didn’t know if I wanted to see you again,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know if I could. But now that you’re here…” He shook his head, his expression softening into something raw and earnest. “Now that you’re here, I can’t imagine letting you go again.”

The space between us seemed to disappear in an instant. Charles reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he cupped my face, his thumb brushing against my cheek in a way that was both tender and desperate. His touch was hesitant at first, as though he was afraid I might pull away. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Then, before I could say anything, his lips met mine.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like we were both testing the waters of something so fragile it might shatter under the weight of our emotions. But it deepened quickly, carrying years of longing, frustration, and unspoken love. It was messy and imperfect, tears mingling with laughter, but it felt like home in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

When we finally pulled apart, Charles didn’t move far. His forehead rested against mine, his breath warm against my skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, as though grounding himself in the closeness between us, before murmuring, “I don’t want to lose you again. Not ever.”

My heart pounded, each beat echoing the promise in his words. I closed my eyes, letting the moment wash over me, before whispering back, “You won’t.”

In that moment, the weight of the past seemed to lift, leaving something lighter in its place. We weren’t perfect, and neither was this, but it was enough. It was us.

[lexirosewrites]

I can't remember if I already sent in an ask abt nugget #6 in my new years birth AU but if I did ignore tht one

NUGGET #6 is, surprisingly, early. Not dangerously early, but it catches everyone off guard & his first 24 hours involve him being hooked up to oxygen. He's born dual sexed but there's no scent.

Steve & Eddie panic bc they haven't talked abt it much w their other pups, but nugget #6 is a rainbow baby. Steve experienced his first ever miscarriage 8 months before he conceived nugget #6. Steve was safe but devastated. The doctor explained tht it might b considered rare for an omega, either man or woman, to have a miscarriage but it does happen.

(In my world building I maintain tht omegas would have very quick labor but also the genetics have evolved in a way tht omegas aren't known for being particularly high risk of a miscarriage. Also, I maintain tht omegas would have mostly home births. But this is an AU where the upside down did happen so I think all the trauma Steve's body went through might make labor & delivery a little more complicated so when they were awaiting nugget #1 it was decided tht Steve would give birth in the hospital.)

SO ANYWAY

Nugget #6 is born so much smaller than his siblings & he doesn't have a strong scent for the first 24 hours. When Eddie voices their shared worry as their son is put on oxygen the doctor reassures them; when a pup is born early it isn't unusual for them to not have a particularly noticeable scent. The nurses & doctors monitor the pup tht is barely technically considered a preemie & everyone is relieved when he is strong enough after just 24 hours to be taken off oxygen. His scent developed overnight as he got used to being outside the womb earlier than anyone expected. The blood test they'd taken already confirmed it but it's a good sign tht he has a milky puppy scent tht is noticeably sweet,

little Samwise Wayne Munson is a boy omega, born at 2:55PM February 14, 2000. Wayne is old & tired from a lifetime of hard labor & no one says it but they're all thinking abt how Wayne might not b around in a decade or so, Eddie cries abt it when Wayne thanks him (while holding Wayne Jr) for naming his bby after him & Steve makes both men cry harder when he says samwise needed strength his first 24 hours & they couldn't think of anyone else stronger

Not even 2 days later, February 16, 2000 at 3PM O!Max safely delivers an alpha boy, the throuples 2nd child. They name him Eric William Hopperfield-Sinclair, Eric is more than the male form of Erica it's also Max's bio dads name; a 2 for 1 special

Erica makes a joke at the gathering tht the Hopperfield-Sinclairs host when their new baby comes home: tht the two will grow up & fall in love w eachother, they all laugh

((They all laugh about it once more in 2024 after Eric gets down on one knee with a cherry red velvet ring box to propose to Samwise in the middle of their huge family Christmas dinner, hosted in the gorgeous actual literal chateau in the Austrian countryside tht was among the assets steve inherited when Amelia passed away in 2018.

Samwise laughs and pulls his own deep purple velvet ring box out of his pocket. They both say yes))

((Eric got Samwise a lab grown pink diamond princess cut into a heart surrounded by small pink pearls on a rose gold band, his Sammy loves pink & maximalism. While Samwise got Eric a lab grown amethyst set into an art deco white gold band, his Eric loves green & art deco.))

(Funny side story in this AU: B!Murray (& his amused mate the Russian ex-pat O!Alexei) made everyone they could guilt into visiting hide in Murray's new & improved apocalypse housing on December 31st 1999. Dustin & Suzie were exempt because they were some of the unsung heroes working overtime to code computers all over the world to NOT glitch out at midnight new years eve 1999. El was also involved but she was mostly a last resort worst case scenario option. Baby Jim was extremely confused abt spending his birthday in the middle of nowhere, but he was also barely 4 so he was easily distracted with the cake grandma Joyce baked)

THATS ALL FOLKS, might end up submitting a few more anecdotes abt this AU for Sunday this week but consider this ask the concluding chapter of a story!!!

💛💛💛

[cvrnelians]

nightmare pt. II

dark!Frank Castle x reader: Months of confinement begin to make you question who your captor really is, and who he is to you.

warnings: kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, 18+ only.

PART ONE

He says he would never hurt you.

Somewhere deep down, though, you can sense that Frank understands. He is not stupid, nor does he live in a state of delusion. He is a confrontational person, you can tell, and he readily confronts reality. He knows how much you hate him. It hurts him, but you can tell he was fully prepared for it. He is kind and patient with you because he knows you don’t deserve this. He knows you deserve to be happy, to be free. He knows he is hurting you, in spite of what he says. He also knows he doesn’t have to cause you physical harm in order to leave a mark.

You used to think you were good at reading people. It was a gift of yours, your own little superpower. You were skilled at assessing for intention, at predicting what someone’s next move might be. 

Frank, however, is an exceptionally difficult person to read. 

Concentration can get confusing when you’re afraid. It’s anxiety inducing, it’s debilitating, it’s tiring. But mostly, being around Frank feels unbearable. Whenever he is around, it’s like your mind has forged a new path, nestled securely in a state of purgatory. Both hypervigilant and distracted, frantic yet focused. 

You don’t understand this. You don’t understand him. You don’t understand why you’re here, or what he wants from you. You become so frustrated you could cry, and sometimes you do.

You don’t understand.

Your nerves send your mind spiraling in one hundred different directions, playing out scenarios of what he’s going to do, what he’s going to say, how this is going to end. It’s too hard to focus on any single one. It’s too hard to narrow down what the most likely scenario is. It’s too hard to predict the unpredictable.

The silence between the two of you—even the little silences, the moments where you’re waiting for him to respond to something you’ve said or done—is like pulling teeth. It’s frustrating and complicated, but it’s also relatively simple. 

Whenever he is around, you feel like you’re going to collapse. 

And so you have. You’ve fainted twice now in his presence. Once when you first arrived, when you first found yourself in the dark of the basement. Once more when he came home—“home,” the word makes you feel ill—covered in blood and cuts and bruises. You knew full well why he allowed you to see him like that. It was a warning. An “I’m not hurting you, but I could.” A big, shining example of “look at what I’m capable of.” As if you didn’t already know.

He explained things differently.

“I want to know every part of you, even the parts you’re not proud of,” he had said. “It’s only fair that you know me, too.”

You’re perched up on a pedestal in his mind, and you can’t help but wonder when all will come crashing down. But then again, he’s seen you at your worst, at your most human. He’s seen you scream and cry and beg and barter. He’s seen you get violent—or attempt to, anyway. It wasn’t difficult for him to protect himself from your hits and blows, but he has never hurt you. Not once. 

Not anywhere anyone could see. 

Not like anyone else had seen much of you lately. In fact, no one had seen you for quite some time now, no one but him. You weren’t sure if it was out of sympathy or malice; knowing Frank, he probably thought it was the former. He saw it as doing you a kindness. He let you keep track of time. 

Six months. 

Six whole months, you had been here.

He says that he never does to people that which isn’t deserved. You are still not sure what he means by that, but the injuries he comes home with give you some ideas. 

You know he’s been through something terrible. He has to have been. People don’t become this twisted without having endured some sort of traumatic event. You just don’t know what. You know he’s deathly afraid of losing those he loves. You know you are included in that category, for whatever reason. 

It’s weird in retrospect. To you, Frank was just another guy at the bar. He was one of your regulars, stopping by for a drink or two every few nights for the past two years. You had just barely gotten to know him by the time he made the decision to alter the course of your life entirely. 

He had kept to himself. He gave off the impression that he didn’t want to be bothered, and yet, he made it clear that he liked you. He was a good tipper. He made you feel safe and protected when patrons would get rowdy, when they would get rude with you. He even fixed up your car once when it broke down in the parking lot. 

“I take care of you,” he said. “You see that, don't you?"

He wears his guilt like a blanket. It’s not hard to see. Shame dictates everything he does, from the careful way he speaks to you to the gentle way he holds you at night. He is soft with you, affectionate. When you’re in the quiet of your home—“home”—all of his hard edges are stripped away. It makes you feel a little special. You wonder who else has seen this side of him.

He says he would never hurt you, and he’s remained true to his word. 

Concentration can get confusing when you’re afraid. It becomes difficult to sustain. You can start to go into shock, a state in which you forget why you are where you are and why. When you’re being told one thing and experiencing another, you naturally begin to question your reality. Your days are filled with “I love you’s” alongside escape attempts, your nights filled with moments of comfort in the arms of someone you despise. 

You dread Frank’s presence, and yet, you jump at every little noise when he’s not around. And sometimes, when you’re in that warm, heady space between sleep and consciousness, you are simply there—just you and the man that loves you.

You are alive. You are awake. You are afraid. You are loved. You are confined, trapped, terrified. You are a lot of things.

“I want to know every part of you,” he had said.

You’re not even sure you know every part of you.

Not now. 

Not anymore.

[lady-ephemeral]

I think this is just something we’re gonna have to agree to disagree on

I felt that his path non romanced and romanced were so similar, and especially when I played Emmrich and Davrin who felt like they had so much content it was very apparent.

Like I loved the baking and coffee dates, why couldn’t they also have included something like the gondola ride or the pool scene in? I especially loved how he does the flirty arm lean but then bails because it’s not him it’s a front, and then he makes the torte like my heart was MELTING. I wanted dates where he is being himself and cuts a little loose. Why not show Rook helping him enjoy life again after the ossuary and show that there is more to life than the crows? Or we see with the wyvern dagger conversation that even though Lucanis is a grown man with his own money, he still obeys something Caterina told him years ago. Rook could help him unlearn behavior like that. My issue isn’t that he’s not as romantic or forward as the others, but it feels like he lacks things to do.

And I don’t feel like this is an issue strictly related to his romance. This man just got out after a year of being hellishly tortured, his grandmother is supposedly dead, like you’d think there’d be a bigger emotional conversation that could be had with someone he trusts or is starting to love. And yes, I know spite’s whole deal of being mentally still in the ossuary but why don’t we e x p a n d on that. I could see him not trusting a non-romanced player not to talk about it, but for a antivan crow rook or romanced rook he might be more open.

Speaking of Spite, I feel like he is a little underutilized. I think what we have is honestly fine, but it would’ve been nice for him to ask Rook and certain memories lucanis has, or hear his opinion on Illario pre-betrayal reveal. Or even after, those complicated emotions must be incredibly confusing for a spirit. Or have more scenes of Lucanis and Spite struggling to reach an equilibrium with each other. Maybe Rook along with Taash or Emmrich could help them grow their relationship more. Or have lucanis be even more conflicted about being an abomination and he confides in romanced Rook.

Also IMO Zara’s fight was so underwhelming. You mean one of the most powerful blood mages, who’s literally bathing in a massive blood bath isn’t gonna do anything special? Like no blood hands, or massive waves of blood to dodge, just her spinning and the occasional blast? Not even other successful horrible experiments come and and help her? And I bring this up because it feels like this whole section of his story was neglected.

I'll say it

People only think Lucanis' romance is incomplete is because he's very obviously asexual

[gorgynei]

hi um i was going to say “can i ask you about werewolves for a uquiz im making” but i don’t actually have any specific questions. can u infodump about werewolves for a uquiz im making /no pressure

this is like asking to open pandoras box oh man. okay heres my best go, i have a hard time infodumping on command so if you have any follow up questions please throw them at me!

werewolves werent always the scary monstery beasts we imagine them as in the modern day and they were not bipedal creatures at all until modern hollywood. historically (12th century england in particular) werewolves usually were noblemen who had this weird curse to deal with. heres an old timey werewolf transformation tidbit thats been lost over time: in order to transform back, the werewolf had to find the same clothing they originally took off to transform. if they couldnt find it, they got stuck as a wolf. werewolves were/are very very influenced by the story of peter stumpps historic werewolf trial (its arguably a historical failure to even consider him a werewolf, but thats complicated). he was a cannibal and murderer and rapist because he was just evil and all those negatives were thrust upon werewolves by association. werewolves werent 100% nice and good before then, but it marked a shift. prior to that, werewolves were generally represented a moral battle within the individual, not just a person who wanted to kill and slaughter for fun

most of the time when people imagine a werewolf nowadays they picture a big burly bipedal creature (reminiscent of an furry/anthropomorphic wolf in many ways), but that wasnt how it always was! bipedal wolf monsters are a creation of hollywood, they never existed in medieval literature or any historical werewolf documents. werewolves were just people who transformed into full-on wolves (not to be confused with shapeshifters, sorcerers, and witches, who could shapeshift but were usually not exclusively turning into wolves and had full control over themselves). its pretty easy to sort werewolves onto a gradient based on their designs:

i got totally lost in the sauce making this, but as you can see there are some clear trends that emerge and its easy to tell which things have been inspired by what other things.

i think ive run out of things to say that arent just me regurgitating the werewolf pride movement. hopefully this helps with ur uquiz somewhat !!!?

[asphodelsandpomegranates]

You All Deserve This (Huggy Wuggy x Reader):

(A/N: This is NOT entirely based on the Hour of Joy in chapter 3. i wrote this long before chapter 3, I think it must have been between chapter 1 and 2 when i wrote this. So, please keep this mind.)

You blinked at Dr. Pierre for a few seconds. “You’re…y-you’re what?” 

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). But we must let you go.” he repeated. 

You blinked again for the second time. “Why? What…what the hell has brought this on?” 

Laith Pierre took a resounding sigh as though your confusion frustrated him. “Complications.” he answered. “We can no longer keep you on anymore. Especially considering your…’relationship’ - if you can call it that - with Experiment 1-1-7-0.” 

You felt your jaw clench. “Don’t call him that. He has a name, you know that.” 

“A name that covers our backs into what really goes on here. A name you came up with.” 

“I know that and so do you.” 

Laith shrugged. “Regardless. We cannot allow that creature to go soft as you’ve made him.” 

“That’s the reason as to why you’re letting me go? Because you’re scared you’re no longer going to have Huggy Wuggy as an..’attack dog’?! Huggy is a living being!” 

“He was created by us to keep the factory safe.” 

“You do realise that if you fire me, then Huggy will no longer respond to anyone here. He’ll tear this place apart. He’s been alive for all these years and for more than half of them, he’s been allowed to roam free. You did that, Laith! You can't turn on him, Laith, he’ll turn on you. I know him better than any of you here.” 

“All the more reason to let you walk.” Laith answered. “You know too much.” A knowing smile came up on his face. “Don’t think I don't know what you two get up to when you’re alone with him.” 

Even though your face was passive, you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. You knew full well what Laith Pierre was saying. A year after looking after Huggy Wuggy, the two of you had become something more. Something intimate. Mates? Was that the right term? It had just happened and soon the sex became more. It turned into love making and it was such a struggle to leave the poor thing on his own when you left to go back home. But you always returned and Huggy, when he saw you, would scoop you up into his long limbed arms and hug you to him. According to some workers, Huggy was a different being around you, which made you a little happy. 

A chuckle broke your thoughts and you glanced up at Laith to see him smirking at you. 

“You know you can’t lie to me. It’s all on the security cameras. Every. Single. One. How many times has that beast - that thing - taken you? Where did he not take you?” 

“If you’ve seen the security footage, then you already have your answer.” You sniffed. 

“So, you’re not going to deny it?” 

“Why would I? I’m not a liar. I’ve not gone out there in front of the public and lied through my teeth about what really goes on here. Have you?” 

Laith’s eyes narrowed at your words. He got to his feet and went over to the large window that looked out onto the large factory floor. 

“What is Poppy? Really?” you asked him. “She’s more than what she appears. I’m sure the others do as well.” 

Laith stared at you, hard. “I’m going to give you two weeks.” he finally said. “And you’ll leave this place and…Experiment 1-1-7-0.” 

You got to your feet, still staring down at your soon to be ex-boss. 

“You’ll have plenty of time to say your goodbyes to the ‘experiment’. Now, get out of my sight.” 

You did as you were told, slamming the door in the process. 

Your head and heart was pounding! You felt sick, you wanted to cry, scream. Something. You were being let go because of how close you were to Huggy. Because they thought you were making him soft?! How ridiculous did that sound? 

You stopped in your tracks and glanced upwards to a security camera that was pointed right at you. A red light blinked like a sleepy eye. You glared at it hard, knowing that Laith Pierre was probably watching you with a satisfied smile on his face. 

The tears finally came and you stormed off. 

You didn’t go straight to the lab where Huggy Wuggy was being kept; you couldn’t face him just yet. You made your way to the ladies’ bathroom and clambered into a cubicle. Locking it, tightly, you sat on the toilet seat with the lid down and buried your face into your hands. 

More tears began to fall and sobs began to escape from your lips, muffled from your hands. 

****************

Two hours, you had sat in the toilets, crying your heart out and when you had finally cried enough, you sat trying to calm yourself down before leaving and going down to see Huggy. 

You found Huggy out of his cage and was being inspected by a few of your colleagues. He looked disgruntled at being poked and manhandled by people who weren’t you. He never liked others touching him for too long. He preferred them to just look and have you doing the inspections and the prodding. 

When you entered the room, Huggy instantly spotted you and chirped a happy greeting. A smile came up on your lips and everything that had happened moments ago flooded out of your mind. 

“Hello, boy.” you cooed, spreading your arms out in a welcoming hug. 

Huggy broke away from the small group and lumbered his way to you, causing the scientists nearby to shuffle back in fear of being knocked over by the big creature. 

The hug you gave him was tight. Tighter than any you had given him or he had given you. It would be one of the last ones you would give him in two weeks. 

How on earth were you going to tell Huggy? 

*****************

Within two weeks, you stuck by Huggy’s side and did your job. But that did not mean you would not stop loving Huggy because it would be the last time you would be together…

…unless? 

Two days before your last day, you sat in a corner of Huggy’s cage. Huggy was half lying on top of you, half snuggled into your bare side. The two of you were both coming down from your cloud of bliss after making love for a long time. You had wanted to make it last as you did not have much time left with him. 

You continued to run your hands through the blue fur on the plush’s head, enjoying the soft sensation against your skin. Huggy cast his large head upwards to look up into your eyes  and mewled, happily. You giggled and pressed a kiss to his cheek, making him purr. 

Suddenly, the thought of leaving him on his own entered your eyes and it made the tears come back to your eyes. Huggy had seemed to notice the change in your behaviour and chirped a confused sound. 

“S-s-sorry, Huggy. It’s not you.” you did your best to wipe away the tears but to avail. “I…I didn’t want to tell you this but I’ve had no choice. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.” 

Huggy didn’t respond but looked at you intently. You slowly sat up a little more against the glass wall and Huggy knelt in front of you, close. 

“They’ve…they’ve…fired me.” You said, simply. The big blue creature tilted his head in even more confusion. “It-it means…I will no longer be working here. You won't see me anymore.” 

Your heart seemed to shatter as the confusion quickly changed into sadness. The poor thing was heartbroken by this news. 

“I was so scared of telling you.” you told him. “I didn’t know how to tell you but I wanted to make every moment with you count. Because I love you so much, Huggy. And it breaks my heart to know that the day after tomorrow will  be my last day.” 

Huggy made a low growling noise, his expression hardening. You leaned in and took one of his paws in your hands. 

“But it’s all right, though. I may have an idea for us…to stay together. You up for it, sweetheart?” 

Huggy’s trademark smile returned. 

“All right, then. Here’s the plan.” 

*******************

You walked in the next day, with your head held high and hoping that you and Huggy had in mind would work without a hitch. You clocked in a few minutes before your start time, feeling the many eyes on you as you began your day. The first port of call was and always was to Huggy’s cage down in the basement labs. 

As you made your way through the factory and down the stairs to the labs, you could see the other scientists and factory workers all coming to a halt and watching you pass. 

You guessed that your secret relationship with Huggy was no longer a secret and now they were treating you as some sort of freak. That or news of you being fired had circulated and had been interwoven with lies to cover up the knowledge of you and Huggy. 

You entered the lab and made your way to Huggy’s cage. The big furred creature sat against the glass wall and smiled down at you as you made your way over–. 

“Miss (Y/L/N).” called the familiar voice of Laith Pierre. 

You stood stock still and waited. The whole lab had gone silent. Huggy’s head turned in the direction of Pierre’s voice and growled. 

“Miss (Y/L/N). For your last day, I would advise you to stay away from Experiment 1-1-7-0. You have other jobs to do. Rich and Avery will take care of the beast.” 

Trying your best to ignore the rising anger in your veins, you slowly turned into Laith; your face passive. “Thank you but no thank you, Mr. Pierre. I will pass on the offer.” 

Laith scowled at you. “It was not a request, Miss (Y/L/N).” 

“And I'm still saying no. I know my rights. And I will stay with Huggy.” 

The whole room had gone deadly silent. All eyes were focused on you and Huggy. It was almost as if they were waiting for something to happen. 

But… 

“Miss (Y/L/N), please. This is your last day and I would prefer it if you didn’t make things difficult.” 

“Difficult?” you laughed. “That's rich coming from you, Dr. Pierre. Or have you forgotten the last several years?” 

Small collective gasps echoed through the lab at this. You were sure that you could see the vein in Laith’s head popping. 

“(Y/N). You don’t have a say in the matter–.” 

“I do!” you snapped, followed by Huggy Wuggy snarling behind the glass. “I’ve had a lot to think about over these last few years, Laith. But especially the last two weeks. Everything that you’ve put us through. The experiments, the abuse, the trauma. The discrimination. I’ve had enough. You all claim that this is in the name of science, when really this is all madness. We’ve created these living beings only for them to be used and abused for your own gain. These amazing creatures could have done so much and what do we do? We torture them. We all drag them into this madness we’ve created. With no possible way out. 

You cast your gaze to Laith as your hand fell to the keypad behind you. 

“Has any one of you wondered where Poppy came from? Do any of you know where Stella went? Do any of you care?” 

Silence only met your words. 

“Thought not. But you’re all cowards. Keeping Poppy locked up in that room! In that case! How can you do that? Most of you are parents. Imagine if someone put your child through that. You would be screaming and kicking, demanding answers. I cared about every single one of you.” 

Beep (5)

“I had the same passions as you all did when this all started.” 

Beep (6) 

“But now, I could care less about any one of you. Except one.” 

Beep (4) 

“There’s only one person in this very room who I care about in the whole wide world.” 

Beep (3) 

“I love Huggy Wuggy. And I won't deny it. He’s more than an experiment. He is a living creature. He’s the love of my life. He’s my lover.” 

Beep (7) 

“And your undoing.”  

Beep, beep, beep, beep. 

“Holding cell open.” 

As the door to Huggy’s cage opened, Laith’s eyes widened in horror and realisation. “Get out!” he roared. “Everyone!” 

Huggy Wuggy crawled through the doorway and stepped past you. He stared round at the moving crowd and roared in anger. Then with one fell swoop, he swiped his claws into the workers nearby, slicing them open, blood pouring across the ground. 

You ducked under Huggy’s lumbering legs, knowing that he would keep you safe. You followed him through the lab as he moved. You glanced up to see Laith Pierre moving over to the door of the lab you had walked through with others following at his wake. 

You slipped your hand into the pocket of your lab coat and pulled out a remote. You pressed a button and soon the room was swamped with red lights and a piercing alarm, followed by a voice: ‘Red Alert: factory shut down in five minutes.’ 

You then pressed another button that was linked to a room upstairs. 

“Huggy!” you called to your lover. He turned, a dead and bloody lab worker hanging half way from his mouth. “Let’s go. Come on.” 

Huggy gave a crunching bite down on the co-worker and followed you. It was a tight squeeze getting Huggy through the door but once through, he picked you up in his long arms and placed you safely on his shoulders before bounding up the stairs like a child on the swing bars. 

You clung on to him for dear life, hoping that he wasn’t going to drop you. 

Reaching the top of the stairs, he took a large swipe of his arms sending your colleagues hurtling to the ground. He reached for you and ushered you through the doorway and out into the corridor. 

The sounds of chaos and panic were still ringing in the air, almost deafening. You glanced down the halls to see splatters of blood. 

Where had Laith Pierre gone? 

Turning, you saw Huggy pushing his way through the doorway. 

“Come on, sweetie.” you encouraged. 

The two of you ran down the corridor, trying to see any signs of Pierre. 

Suddenly, there came a loud bang making you turn with a start. Hugy let out a roar of anger and took a swipe. Looking round Huggy’s legs, you saw a factory worker with a tranquilizer gun, now being crushed against the wall in a splatter of dark crimson. You looked up to see a gaze from whatever it was that had been shot by the gun, had scraped against Huggy’s leg. 

“It’s all right, boy. We’ll get you patched up once this is all over.” 

Huggy made a small growl but lumbered after you, keeping close. You glanced back every now and again to cheek on Huggy’s wound. The last thing you needed at this moment in time was for Huggy to be seriously injured. 

Turning a corner, you reached a foyer to find a blood bath. Two large toy-like figures were gulfing down a few lab or factory workers. One was a large yellow bunny with green dungarees and the other was a large dinosaur you knew as Bron. Huggy made a threatening growl and loomed over you in a protective stance. 

Bron glanced over with an arm in the sleeve hanging out of his mouth. He let out a low noise from around the arm. 

Suddenly, one of the heavy metal doors began to slide open with an awful creak. Everyone went still, all eyes on the opening door. Your eyes widened at the sight that was standing behind the door. 

(The End)

[angelsdean]

hot take maybe but actually i do expect my mom to comfort me and make me an ice cream sundae when i’m sad even when i get to 40 and she’s 70. my grandma does that for her still. it’s not. limiting her. it’s not saying she only has to be my mommy. i have taken care of her too. it’s saying we love each other and want to take care of each other. mary struggling to be able to interact with grown up sam and dean was very very valid and understandable and i love her for it. she also could’ve maybe tried a little more anyway. they could’ve lent on each other. idk.

Yea i've said before that I think it's a bit outrageous the way people seem to think someone stops being a parent once their child reaches adulthood. Maybe it's a cultural thing, I don't know, but the whole idea of "once your kid turns 18 they're out the door and not your problem anymore" is so deeply flawed IMO. But yea I focus more on "debunking" the claim that Dean expects some sort of motherly coddling / babying from Mary because that seems to be the deancrit take I see the most with regards to this arc / the "i'm not just a mom" scene.

But for sure many people seem to have some weird ideas IMO about what it means to be a parent. Like I think you can feel for Mary and understand that parents can and are more than just parents, but also understand that they will never stop BEING a parent either. Their kids will always be their kids. It's why people always say being a parent is a full time job, not something to go into lightly, that you should be sure you actually want kids and understand that having them is a lifelong commitment etc etc. And having kids makes them become your priority, even when you want to be selfish you always have to try to put them first. Obviously that lessens as they grow up but like, if your adult child were injured or had some kind of health issue / challenges as a parent it's still your job to be there for them, to support them, to care for them. That doesn't just end at 18. It's why *I* know that even though I like the idea of kids I probably never will have any because it's so much responsibility and because those kids are always always going to come first, forever! That's kind of part of the parental "contract" IMO. And even when they're adults, a parent should still be the one person in the world your kid can turn to, rely on, seek comfort in.

And I understand these expectations are complicated in this particular narrative by the fact that Mary died young and is not equipped to be a mother to adults. I think that's such a delicious component that I wish they leaned into more. She is grieving her babies. She is allowed to feel those feelings and feel confused and unsure and struggle with accepting this new dynamic with her children. But a big part of Mary's arc in s12, which culminates in 12x22 with "I need you to see me" is that she is the one stuck in the past, needing to accept her reality and "SEE" her children for who they are now. That's what the arc is moving towards, that acceptance. And after s12 we see her and Dean have a better relationship. We see her still getting to be Mary the person AND Mary the "mom." She hunts, she comes and goes, but she's someone Dean can talk to, share a meal with, spend time together. It's what he always wanted most. He tells her in 14x11 that "just knowing you're around, that you're alive has meant everything to me."

Anyways, I won't ramble about all that again because I've made a bunch of posts about it already. But yes, I think it's normal for Dean (and Sam) to want Mary to comfort them, do nice things for them, the way any parent or really a family member in general might do. They are not asking for kisses on their boo-boos and getting tucked into bed with a bedtime story, which is how a lot of deancrit posts read. What they want is some sort of familial reciprocal care. Like the way Dean spends quality time with those he loves. The way he baked a cake for Jack. Cooks for his family. The way he gives people gifts. The way he fixes Cas's truck. The way he calls to check in on people. He doesn't do these things out of some obligation or playing some "role", he does them because he cares. Because he loves his family, and that's just what family does for each other.

Someone in my tags last night said it very well that what Dean really wanted was just, another family member, to spend time with, to share their joys and burdens with. Someone like Bobby, that he could turn to if he needed. Bobby was a parent figure but he wasn't "parenting" them, y'know? He was someone Dean could lean on, but he didn't expect Bobby to shoulder all his burdens. And I think that's what Dean wants most. Just someone he can lean on and rely on, since he's been having to be the strong one for everyone his whole life.

[thebestjjenthusiast]

carolina’s children

02 | 03 | 04

“the person you are trying to reach is not accepting calls at this time-“ i pressed the red button at the bottom of my screen and turned to pope

“rafe’s not answering” i looked at him. something in his gaze was telling me he was not surprised and honestly, so was i.

“alright off to JJ’s?” chris asked exhaling the marlboro smoke in his lungs.

“i guess”

and just like that, we are now standing infront of jj, internally praying that our speech would move him and does us the favour of joining

“… even just for this time only, and i promise, we wont be mad if you want to quit in the future” i was done with my speech and now we are all just looking at jj

he doesnt look too complicated with the whole situation, in fact, he doesnt even look surprised.

“jj?” pope asks, trying to figure him out too

“alright” jj shrugged and chris dapped him up

me and pope exchanged looks, starting to stress over a new factor now

how are we possibly supposed to train jj in less than 24 hours to go out there and sing

“okay we’re going to pick the easiest we can for you okay?” i look over at jj who has a shit ton of papers infront of him, all covered with song lyrics and a mic laying next to his foot as we are all sitting on the floor of chris’ room

“yea i can do that” he says looking at all the sheets laying around

“dude do you think youll be able to sing cant stop or like come as you are? ive been dying to play these” chris says and earns a stare from me

“dont pressure him!” i whisper-yell

“sorry” chris spat back

“youre about to ask him to play radio gaga next-“ my scolding was cut by a voice clearing

“uh y/n someones calling you” pope said as he looked at my phone being laid upside down on the floor

i grabbed it “hold on” i said as i picked up

“hi rafe” i said as i gained all attention on me

“yea i know i left you a few calls, but its not important now” i continued as pope kept glancing at me

“no what i wanted to tell you- ask you practically is to join my band for like tomorrow’s concert, but no worries its not important now” i stated fidgeting my nails with my free hand

“what?” i asked shocked as i looked around in the room

“what happened?” jj asked scooping closer to me as i put it on speaker

“i said i could do that” rafe repeated himself

“join the band?” chris asked as surprised as i was

“is that chris?” rafe was heard through the phone

“yea it is” pope added

“are you all listening to me right now?” rafes confusion was being very audible

“yes i put you on speaker, but focus! you said yes?” i repeated once again and rafe agreed one more time

as soon as we hung up the room was filled with silence, jj looking around waiting for an opportunity to speak up. i could see it in his eyes that he was aching to hear what we were thinking about, but to be fair, i didnt even know what to think right now

i mean who could be more reliable for a singer and just in 24 hours? jj who was full of surprises and living by a controversial motto, or rafe, who i could never imagine standing infront of a mic and singing something that the audience would like?

“so.. what are we going to do?” chris spoke up first, gaining everyone’s staring gaze and causing the room to fall into a deeper silence.

taglist: @rafeysworldim19, @amterasuu, @bee-43, @eviepostssometimes, @imsiriuslyreal, @sarahmaybank

an: to be honest with you all i cant imagine either of them singing but LOL this band plays mostly songs that are more challenging for the instrument players than the singer!!

[zebulontheplanet]

The amount of people who are comfortable and loud with their antisemitic views are astonishing.

Like, why was I outside of class, waiting to go in and some guy was talking about how Jewish people were inferior and how there was a “Jewish hierarchy” and shit like that. Even trying to bring science in to try and prove a point of how Jewish people are sub-human?? Like in the hallway. In-front of a dozen people. I was next to him and just stared at him, astonished that he could even say those things IN PUBLIC!! But I was kinda glad he did. Let your ugly show. Like yes, this isn’t my first time hearing things like this. I’m Jewish. It’s apart of my life, sadly. But usually it’s online, or over text, or in a private group setting. Very rarely is it in front of many people.

Some dude next to him was asking him questions about it and didn’t AT ALL seem to be for it. To which the dude spewing this bullshit called him a “goyed”…not a goy. A Goyed. With a ‘D’. Like huh? This dude was hella confused because he’s never heard of the term before and asked him what that meant. The guy then said that it meant that he was “bowing down to the Jewish hierarchy” and basically like, putting this guy down for not being antisemitic?? Like one, you BOTH are Goyim. It’s not some insult or some hidden meaning?? And that isn’t even close to what that means??

Anyways. I stepped in, I should have before but everything really didn’t process in my head until that moment. I told the guy being told this that a GOY (not goyed. That sounds like some sort of squash) meant you weren’t Jewish. I told this to the guy who was spewing this as well, he took one look at me, said “whatever, I don’t care about YOUR opinion”. And yeah. I do think that was very targeted to the fact that I’m Jewish and he knows I’m Jewish.

I just gave him a stank eye. Don’t worry, this all ended up being reported to the right people.

Fuck off if you believe shit like this. You all need some real life experiences and not to go down some antisemitic and racist online rabbit hole. It’s seriously so frustrating. I honestly have very complicated feelings towards those who are non-Jewish and their “secret” views on us.

[itsnesss]

𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐧 | minho (xo,kitty) × fem!reader

OO1. OO2. OO3.

summary | after the intense moments between you and minho, you try to keep your emotions under control but are pulled back into a complicated situation when Kitty shows you a video involving stella. as you struggle to manage your feelings, you're forced to confront the complexities of your relationship with minho while dealing with new tensions that arise

warnings | emotional angst, jealousy, misunderstandings, deceptive behavior

word count | 3.0 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The days since that conversation with Min Ho passed slowly. You forced yourself to maintain an indifferent façade, as if what had happened between you two was nothing more than a mere slip-up. But it wasn't. Every time you saw him, whether in the group of friends or in class, you felt a tightness in your chest. You ignored it, tried not to look at him, but you knew he felt it. Min Ho wasn’t stupid.

It was hard to move on, you knew he was there, but now more than ever, you felt the need to distance yourself. Somehow, you had broken something that you didn’t even fully understand, and you didn’t want to fall back into the temptation of thinking that things could be different. Not when you had already lost him.

One day, as you sat in the living room with Kitty, she wouldn’t stop looking at you, as if waiting for you to say something. Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, she approached.

" I know you too well," she said in a low but firm voice. " What's going on with Min Ho?"

You sighed. You didn’t know how to explain it. Kitty always noticed. Always.

" Nothing, Kitty," you lied, unable to look her in the eyes.

But she didn’t seem convinced. She paused, then pulled out her phone and placed it in front of you. On the screen was a video that looked familiar. The title read: Esther from Ohio sings on Sr. Moon's program.

You stared at it, confused.

" What is this?" you asked, not wanting to see what you already suspected.

" What you think it is," Kitty said, taking a sip of her drink. " It's a video of Stella. And I know the page where things were leaked... probably belongs to her too."

Your heart stopped for a second, and a wave of disbelief washed over you.

" Stella?"

Kitty looked at you with a smile that wasn’t exactly one of joy.

" The page where they posted the gossip about Min Ho's dad. I’ve been investigating, and something smells fishy. And that video…" she asked, furrowing her brow. " It looks like her, singing on that show."

You watched the video, unable to avoid it. The woman on the screen was Stella, though you would have never guessed it. Her tone of voice, her presence, everything matched what you knew about her, except her appearance. In the background, a sense of distrust began to cloud your thoughts.

" I don't know what this means," you whispered, barely believable, " but I don’t like it."

Kitty leaned back on the couch, crossing her arms.

" Why don't you tell Min Ho? He needs to know what's going on."

You stayed silent, biting your lip. Did you really want to get involved in something like this? After everything you had told him… But at the same time, something told you that you couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.

That same day, you went to the city. Maybe, somehow, something in all of this would give you clarity. You walked the streets, between the bright lights of the buildings, until you reached a store where, among other things, you could buy some clothes you needed. But before you entered the store, something caught your attention.

There she was.

Stella, coming out of an internet café, her phone in her hands. Her hair blew in the wind, but there was something about her expression that unsettled you. You stood still for a few seconds, watching her from a distance, before making a decision.

You knew you needed to talk to Min Ho. But should you show him what Kitty had shown you? Should you tell him what you had seen, what you suspected? Maybe he would deny it. Maybe, in his mind, it would make everything more complicated. But the worst part was that you didn’t know whether to trust her, or if Stella was really behind all of this.

You decided to return to the school, with the weight of uncertainty on your shoulders, and an hour later, you went to find him.

His gaze, although still warm, seemed to have a new hardness to it. He looked at you in silence, as if waiting for you to speak first.

" What's going on?" he asked, a slight irritation in his voice.

With trembling hands, you took out your phone and showed him the video of Stella, the same one Kitty had shown you. Min Ho stared at it intently, without showing any emotion.

" What's this?" he asked, his voice cold.

" This... is Stella," you said, trying to stay calm.

Min Ho sighed and ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.

" I can't believe you're showing me this, seriously?"

" How can you not believe it?" you responded, feeling frustrated. " Why would I be lying to you? This is important!"

" Do you really want to talk about this?" he said, his voice harsh. " After everything that happened between us, everything you said? Now you’re bringing me this, telling me Stella is a liar... what, so I’ll come back to you?"

His words hit you hard, and although you knew you couldn’t do anything to make him understand your position, you couldn’t help but feel like your heart was breaking a little more.

" It’s not that, Min Ho. I just want you to know the truth. I’m not trying to separate you from her. I just want to take care of you."

Min Ho looked at you intently, his face now completely serious. There was a heavy silence between you both, as his eyes searched yours. Something you couldn’t find.

" I can’t believe it," he said finally, disappointment evident in his voice. " You told me that what happened between us didn’t mean anything, that you didn’t want to keep going... and now you bring me lies about Stella just because you don’t want to let me go."

Before you could reply, he stepped back, his face tense.

" This is too much. It’s not fair."

And, without saying another word, he turned and walked away, disappearing from your view, leaving you there, empty and with a sense of defeat in your stomach.

You felt empty, as if everything you had tried to build with Min Ho had crumbled in an instant. After everything that happened, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. Maybe you shouldn’t have shown him the video. Maybe, just maybe, you should have waited for more evidence before speaking. But the damage was already done.

Min Ho ignored you completely for days. He didn’t answer your messages, and every time you crossed paths in the hallways, his gaze immediately averted. That indifference, that coldness… it hurt more than you imagined.

Kitty looked at you with pity, knowing what you had done and how you were feeling. One afternoon, as you sat together in the dorm room, Kitty sighed, the air heavy with guilt.

" I’m sorry," she said, biting her lip. " Seriously, I’m sorry. This is all my fault."

You shook your head, surprised by her apology.

" It’s not your fault, Kitty," you quickly responded, without looking at her. " I was the one who decided to follow that video, my suspicions. If only I had waited… Maybe I wouldn’t have ruined everything. Maybe… maybe Min Ho would still trust me."

Kitty watched you for a moment, then sighed and shrugged.

" It’s just that… I know how hard it is for you to see all of this with him."

You couldn’t look at her, you couldn’t face what you had caused. You wished you could turn back time, tell Min Ho that you were wrong, that it wasn’t that serious. But, for some reason, something inside you told you that you couldn’t go back.

The next day at school, as you walked down the hallways, an odd sense of nervousness ran through you. Something made you stop in your tracks. There he was: Min Ho, standing in one of the Kiss hallways, dressed in a perfectly fitted pink suit, holding a bouquet of roses, standing in front of a decorated wall as if waiting for someone.

You couldn’t stop staring at him. Every detail seemed straight out of a romantic movie, and the mere sight of him there, with a serious but hopeful expression, made your stomach twist. Everything in you wanted to approach him, but you stayed still, watching from a distance.

In that moment, Stella appeared beside you, walking quickly past your shoulder. You couldn’t help but notice her, how she walked with a confident and assured smile. When she reached Min Ho, he looked up, and with pure determination, he extended the bouquet of roses to her.

"Stella, do you want to go to the dance with me?" he asked, and the way his voice sounded so sincere made you twist inside.

You felt a wave of jealousy invade you, but what hurt the most was how easy it seemed for him to be so open, so honest. You hated yourself for telling him that you couldn't be anything more after the kiss in the cabin, for pulling away from him so quickly, without giving him the chance to explore what you both truly wanted.

With a sigh, you turned away, unable to watch any longer. You walked with your head down, the weight of confusion and insecurity heavy on your shoulders.

That night, in the dorm, Kitty looked at you with a concerned expression.

"Are you really not going to the dance?" she asked softly.

You shook your head without hesitation.

"No, I don't want to go. I don't have a date, and I don't want to see Min Ho being happy with Stella. I couldn’t handle it. I don't want him to see me suffering from my own embarrassment."

Kitty looked at you silently, then sighed.

You knew that Stella wasn’t all bad. Kitty told you that she only went to the cyber café to talk to her ex-colleagues from Ohio. She didn't have bad intentions, really.

You shrugged, the pain in your chest almost unbearable.

"It doesn’t matter. I don’t get it, Kitty. I can't handle it. I feel stupid for all of this. Maybe it’s best to just step away from everything and let him be happy with someone else. After all, that's what I asked for from the start."

Kitty didn’t say anything more, but you could see the concern in her gaze. She knew how you felt. She knew it was harder for you than you could express.

Finally, you lay down in bed, turning your back on everything you had experienced with Min Ho, trying to forget it, even though you knew it wouldn’t be that easy. The decisions had already been made, and all that was left was to watch everything fall apart in front of you.

...

Min Ho no longer showed up to the meetings with Q, Dae, Yuri, Kitty, and you. No one knew exactly why, but everyone noticed. At first, you thought maybe it was your fault. You had seen Stella's behavior, and Min Ho's distance seemed related to everything that had happened, but maybe you had misinterpreted it.

One afternoon, while you were all in Q and Dae's dorm, the topic inevitably came up: Min Ho.

"Have you noticed how strange he's been lately?" Dae asked, crossing his arms.

Q nodded.

"Yeah, I’ve noticed too. And not just that... it’s like he's avoiding us, like he doesn’t want to be around us."

Dae furrowed his brow.

"I don’t think it’s about us. Something’s going on. Sorry, but it does seem a little strange."

Just as they were finishing their conversation about him, the door opened suddenly, and there was Min Ho, with Stella by his side. They walked in together, without making much noise, but what caught everyone’s attention was that Stella didn’t take off her shoes upon entering, which, in local culture, was considered a very inappropriate gesture. Min Ho, on the other hand, didn’t say a word, something he normally would have commented on, as he was meticulous about such details. And that was what surprised you the most.

Q looked at Dae, then at Kitty and you, with a knowing look.

"See? Definitely something’s going on. Stella didn’t take off her shoes, and he ignores her collagen water, just like one of Q’s energy drinks. This isn’t right."

Dae furrowed his brow and nudged Kitty.

"I don’t want to make things worse, but... her skin looks like Edward Cullen’s, but not in a sexy way, you know? It’s... weird. Really weird."

"Do you think it’s because of the suspicions about her?" Kitty asked, lowering her gaze to the phone she had left on the table.

Q sighed.

"I don’t know, but what I do know is that something’s happening. Stella isn’t right. I don’t want to judge her without proof, but something doesn’t add up."

Kitty nodded, a little worried.

"I know. But I was wrong before. Maybe I’m just seeing it from the wrong perspective."

You decided to ignore it all until the day of the singing competition. Things didn’t make sense, but you needed to focus on what was right in front of you. On the day of the competition, Dae called you and Kitty and, without hesitation, delivered the news.

"Stella’s going to compete in the contest, and Min Ho is going to support her," he said, with a serious tone.

Kitty couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh.

"That’s impossible. How can that be? There’s no way he’s helping her."

Dae nodded, but his expression was grave.

"Mr. Moon introduced her as his great story of resilience. She... she’s involved in something bigger than we thought."

Kitty fell silent for a moment, processing the information.

"That... explains a lot about Min Ho’s behavior," she murmured, her face tense. "But why didn’t he tell us?"

What hurt the most was that, once again, Min Ho had chosen not to trust you, not even when the most important thing was for both of you to face the truth together.

You felt a renewed determination. You couldn’t just sit still. You had to do something. You needed to know the truth. So, while Kitty and Dae were preparing for the concert, you decided to go find Min Ho.

You headed to the stage where they were rehearsing, and once there, you found him alone, distancing himself from the crowd. You walked towards him without thinking, your heart in your throat.

"Min Ho," you called, with a mix of doubt and bravery. "I need to know what's going on. What's going on with Stella? Does she have you trapped or is that not true?"

Min Ho looked up, and in his eyes, there was a deep sadness. His shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the situation were crushing him.

"You're right," he replied with a sigh. "Stella is a psychopath. I don’t know how she found out my brother got his dancer pregnant, and now she’s threatening to tell the press unless she wins this contest."

Your heart raced, and you quickly stepped closer to him.

"We have to do something," you said, desperate. "We can’t let this go on. We have to stop her."

Min Ho nodded, but before you could say anything more, he slowly approached you and looked you in the eyes.

"I’m sorry... I’m so sorry," he said, his voice breaking, almost as if the pain he felt in his chest was as real as yours. "I should’ve never pushed you away, I should’ve never made you feel like I didn’t trust you. I don’t know what happened, I just... I got carried away. I failed you."

His words hit you in the heart, and for a moment, you felt completely vulnerable. You had been so focused on your suspicions, on what Stella represented in the equation, that you had forgotten the most important thing: Min Ho was also going through all of this in his own way. And, no matter how much you hated him for pulling away, you also knew that the situation wasn’t that simple. The world you both moved in was complicated, and decisions weren’t always easy.

You slowly moved closer, trying to find a way to comfort him, to let him know that it wasn’t all lost, that there was still time to set things right.

"Min Ho..." you said softly, taking his face in your hands. "I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have pushed you away, but I didn’t want to ruin what you had with Stella, well, before I found out she was a bitch."

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he were absorbing every word you said.

"I know I messed up, and I feel horrible for not believing you when you needed me most. But when I found out what Stella was doing, everything changed. I realized how blind I was, how easy it was for her to manipulate me. What hurts the most is that you were there, trying to warn me, and I ignored you."

You couldn’t help but feel that his regret was genuine.

Without saying anything more, he hugged you, and in an instant, his lips found yours, in a kiss filled with everything that hadn’t been said before. A mix of regret, desire, and love that overflowed between the two of you.

You pulled away, feeling your heart pounding.

"We need to fix all of this first," you said, knowing that what mattered now was stopping Stella and putting things right before it was too late.

And as you prepared for what was to come, you realized that maybe things between you and Min Ho weren’t lost after all.

tags | @msromanreigns2023 @imagineme2you @yuwaimo @cassiewritessalot @lavnderluv

[shepherds-of-haven]

I was going through old asks and burst out laughing when I saw that one post where you mentioned how Blade once accompanied Lavinet on her monthly shopping trips. What I'd give to be a fly on the wall during that outing haha!! How did it end up happening? Did he volunteer himself for it?? Was he dragged into it by Lavinet? I just think it's funny bcs I could see Lavinet trying to engage him in the shopping process bcs she wants him to have fun during the outing too, and him just giving her the blandest, most basic responses to every question ever, which just ends up frustrating her even more!! Like I could imagine a conversation like this happening:

"Oh Blade, what do you think of these two shirts? I think the slimmer cut of this one would look more flattering on you, but I think the slightly darker hue of this one would bring out the colour of your eyes more... Do you have a preference for either?"

"....They're the same shirt."

And then they just go back and forth on how no it's obviously not the same shirt, and yes that is the price, but look at the quality of the material!! And the delicate stitching!! No we can't just get the cheapest option, and oh my god we've barely been here 5 minutes what do you mean you think you're done browsing??

I have a brother and this is exactly how every shopping trip with him goes; it's equal parts entertaining and exasperating lmao. I think Blade gives major "slightly disgruntled/confused man silently trailing behind woman, carrying her 25 shopping bags while she shops around" energy, and it's all so funny to me!!

Ahhh I love this, you are completely spot-on with your depiction! 😂 I imagine it started as most things with Lavinet start: a slyly-placed, casually-lobbed invitation that, once resisted, becomes outright bullying. She was pulling on her gloves to go out one day, Blade happened to be passing by, she made an offhand remark like, "Blade, darling! I'm about to do my rounds in the Market Quarter, would you like to come along? I notice your cloak is looking a little... bloodstained..."

Blade: "Thank you, but no. If my cloak tears, I can always place an order through the requisitions master."

Lavinet: "....You know, darling, that's all well in good for field gear, but you are Commander, you know. Don't you think you should have a larger wardrobe for formal occasions and such? You represent the face of the Order, after all..."

Blade: "I have formal wear."

Lavinet: "Yes, one suit. In one color. But surely you'd like a little more diversity..."

Blade: (genuinely bewildered) "Why would I? It would only make things more complicated."

Then it would go back and forth, with the vein in Lavinet's forehead ticking faster. 50/50 that she manages to drag him along with her that day, or if it's an ambush scenario where she materializes on his day off weeks later, having secretly arranged with Shery to clear his schedule so she could forcibly drag him with her to go shopping. She may not be able to cut and style his hair, but the gods strike her dead if she doesn't at least try to improve his wardrobe!!

[aspenmissing]

hey, first of all i want to say that i love your writing and style! could you please do arcane characters (jinx, silco, jaycee, victor, vander) with a reader who’s a mercenary? like what their reactions would be, would they accept it or not, the relationship dynamics

ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀ ᴋɪʟʟᴇʀ?

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 7291 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ (ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ! ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏ ɢʟᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴍʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ! <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ

JAYCE

The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the machines Jayce had been working on. The golden light of the sunset streamed through the window, casting long shadows across the room. Y/N stood by the door, her coat already on, fingers tracing the outline of the weapon at her hip.

“Where are you going?” Jayce’s voice broke the silence, heavy with suspicion. His eyes flicked between her and the door.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before speaking, her voice steady, but there was an undeniable tension in her posture. “I’ve got a job to do, Jayce.”

Jayce stood from his workbench, brow furrowed. “A job? At a time like this?”

Y/N met his gaze, but there was an air of detachment about her now, a barrier she’d put up without realizing. “I don’t have the luxury of waiting around, Jayce. I need to work.”

Jayce took a few steps toward her, confusion and concern written on his face. “It’s late, Y/N. What kind of job requires you to leave now?” He crossed his arms, unwilling to let her go without an explanation. “You’ve been so distant lately... What’s going on?”

Y/N looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes. The truth of it—whatever her job was—felt too complicated to explain, even to him. She hadn’t expected it to come to this, but she couldn’t back out now.

“I’m just doing what needs to be done,” she said quietly, her voice betraying no hint of vulnerability. “I’ll be back soon. You don’t need to worry.”

Jayce’s gaze hardened, his frustration starting to bubble over. “I do need to worry, Y/N. You’re disappearing in the middle of the night, and you won’t even tell me why. I want to understand, but you’re shutting me out.”

The quiet tension between them deepened, his worry unmistakable. He wanted to keep pushing, to demand more, but he could see the look on her face—the quiet resolve that made him take a step back. She wasn’t going to tell him, not now, and she wasn’t giving him a choice.

For a long moment, they simply stood there, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. Finally, Y/N spoke again, softer this time. “I’m not asking for your permission, Jayce. I’m not asking for your approval.”

Jayce took a slow breath, his mind racing. He had never seen her like this, so closed off, and it gnawed at him. “I don’t want to control you. I just... don’t understand.”

Y/N looked at him one last time, her eyes softening slightly, but her resolve remained firm. “I’ll explain when I can. Just... trust me, okay?” Her voice was quiet but insistent.

Jayce swallowed, his frustration mixing with an overwhelming sense of helplessness. He nodded, though the knot in his chest remained tight. “Okay, Y/N. But I don’t like this.”

With a final glance at him, Y/N stepped out into the night, the door closing behind her softly. Jayce stood still for a long moment, watching the space where she had been, his mind spinning with unanswered questions. He didn’t know what she was doing or why she was leaving so late, but he knew one thing for sure—he wasn’t going to stop thinking about it.

=

The hours passed slowly, the silence in the apartment weighing heavily on Jayce. He had been cleaning, trying to distract himself from the ache in his chest. He picked up the stray papers and straightened the furniture, but his mind kept returning to the argument. Her words. The cold finality of it all.

As he moved into their bedroom, something caught his eye—a loose floorboard in the corner of the closet. It had always been there, but tonight, his curiosity got the better of him. He bent down, prying the board up with a creak. His heart raced when he saw what lay beneath it: a stash of money, far more than they’d ever had in the apartment. Along with it were weapons—blades, smoke bombs, and a few tools that looked disturbingly familiar. And then, the papers.

A hit list.

Names, dates, locations. His hand trembled as he skimmed through it. Some of the names were ones Y/N had mentioned in passing, but he’d never thought much of them. Now, seeing it laid out so coldly in front of him, the truth hit him like a punch to the gut.

She wasn’t just working. She was a mercenary. A killer. All this time, she’d been living a life of violence, and he had been blind to it.

Jayce’s stomach churned. He had known something wasn’t right, but this... this was beyond anything he’d imagined. His breath hitched as he placed the papers down gently, trying to steady himself. He felt betrayed, but not in the way he expected. This wasn’t about her safety—it was about who she was. The person he loved was capable of taking lives, and he couldn’t ignore that.

The door creaked open a few hours later. Y/N stepped in, her eyes immediately finding his. She froze at the look on his face.

“Jayce,” she began, her voice hesitant, as though she wasn’t sure how to face him after everything.

“No,” Jayce cut her off, his voice low but firm. His heart pounded in his chest, his fists clenched. “Don’t. Don’t lie to me anymore.”

Y/N’s eyes widened as she realized what he was talking about.

“I found it, Y/N,” Jayce continued, his voice thick with anger and disbelief. “I found everything—the money, the weapons, the list. I know what you’ve been doing. I know who you are.”

Her eyes flickered toward the floorboard, and Jayce saw the guilt flash in her eyes. She hadn’t expected him to find it. But now that he had... there was no denying it.

“I didn’t want you to see this,” she whispered, her voice small. “I didn’t want to drag you into it.”

Jayce stepped forward, his face twisted with a mixture of hurt and fury. “You’ve been lying to me, Y/N. All this time, you’ve been living a double life. And I—I thought I knew you. I thought we were building something real. But now I find out this? This is who you really are?”

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t look away. She didn’t deny it. “This is who I was, Jayce. This is what I’ve been trying to escape. But it doesn’t just go away.”

Jayce’s anger flared. “I’m not talking about what you’ve been trying to escape, Y/N. I’m talking about what you’ve become. You’ve been killing people. For money. How many have you—how many have you taken out for a job? How many lives have you ended?”

Her gaze faltered for just a moment before she steadied herself, her voice thick with emotion. “I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t want you to know. But this is my life, Jayce. This is what I do.”

“No,” Jayce shot back, his voice trembling with emotion. “This is who you’ve chosen to be. You could have stopped, Y/N. You could have walked away, but instead, you’ve kept it all a secret, lying to me the whole time.”

Y/N closed her eyes briefly, her shoulders sagging. “I didn’t want to drag you into this... I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Jayce’s chest tightened with frustration and disbelief. “How am I supposed to see you, Y/N? As the woman I thought I knew, or as a killer?”

“I’m still the same person, Jayce,” she whispered, her voice strained. “I’m still me.”

Jayce shook his head, his voice shaking now, though he tried to keep it steady. “I don’t know who you are anymore. You’re not the person I thought I was in love with. You’ve been killing people, Y/N. And I can’t—” He cut himself off, struggling to keep his composure. “I can’t be a part of this. Not like this.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and final. Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t look away. She had known this moment was coming, but now that it was here, she didn’t know how to make him understand.

“I never wanted to lose you,” she whispered.

Jayce stared at her for a long time, his heart breaking. He wanted to reach out, to hold her, to make everything right again. But he couldn’t reconcile the woman he loved with the reality of what she had done. How could he?

“I can’t do this, Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. “I can’t love a killer.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She simply stood there, silent, the weight of his words pressing down on her.

VIKTOR

Viktor sat at his desk in the quiet of his lab, the rhythmic sound of his fingers tapping against the surface of a mechanical device he'd been tinkering with. His mind, however, was elsewhere—always elsewhere, it seemed. Thoughts of Y/N had occupied more of his time recently, more than he'd care to admit. Their moments together were filled with a sense of warmth and intimacy, but beneath it all, a question lingered in his heart: How much of her life did I truly know?

It wasn’t the first time he had noticed the occasional bruising on her arms or the subtle weariness in her eyes. The absence of certain details made him wonder, but he never pressed her on them. She was strong, capable, and fiercely independent, but it was this same strength that left him both in awe and, admittedly, in concern.

That night, the truth came in a way neither of them expected.

Y/N had walked into his lab, a rare tension in her posture. She looked like she hadn’t had a decent night's sleep in days. She had a light wound on her shoulder, one she’d probably already cleaned herself, but Viktor noticed the way she winced when reaching for something on the shelf.

“Y/N…” Viktor's voice was soft, but his gaze didn’t leave her. He’d learned to read her well enough by now, knowing when something was wrong even if she didn’t voice it.

Y/N met his eyes with a slight frown, but she didn’t hide the fatigue. “It’s nothing, Viktor. Just a scrape.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice was firmer now, his steps carrying him closer to her. His gloved fingers gently traced the edge of her wound, inspecting it carefully, before his eyes lifted to hers again. “How did this happen?”

She hesitated, the weight of his gaze on her unsettling her for a moment. She’d always kept this part of her life separate from him, knowing how he would react. But she couldn’t lie anymore—not when he looked at her like that.

“I’m a mercenary, Viktor. That’s how.”

His body stiffened. The words hit him like a sudden blow, sharp and unexpected. Mercenary. He had always suspected there was more to her than the brilliant mind and the warm smiles she gave him, but to hear it out loud—mercenary—was a different kind of shock.

"You… you?" Viktor's voice trembled, not from anger but from concern and disbelief. The idea of her being involved in such dangerous work was foreign to him. “Why? Why would you—”

“Because I have to, Viktor,” she interrupted, her voice a little too sharp for his liking. She stepped back, brushing her hair out of her face, trying to hide the pain in her eyes. “Because I don’t have a choice. I can’t live off the kindness of others forever, and Piltover’s never exactly been kind to people like me, has it?”

Viktor wanted to argue, wanted to say something to take away the hardness in her tone, to remind her that she was more than just a survivor of the streets, more than just a weapon. But the words stuck in his throat.

He looked at her, at the woman he loved, the woman who had survived more than anyone should have to. His chest tightened with the realization that she was carrying burdens she had never shared with him, and for the first time, Viktor felt helpless. Helpless and afraid of what this meant for her, for them.

He reached for her hand, his fingers trembling as they clasped around her wrist. "I can't… I can’t stand the thought of you putting yourself in danger like this. You’re not just a tool or a weapon to be used. You’re—"

"Don’t you dare!" Her voice cracked, though she immediately regretted it. She pulled her wrist free from his grip, but there was no anger in her now, only the exhaustion that had haunted her for so long. "You don’t get it. I can’t just walk away from this. The world doesn’t let you do that, Viktor."

His heart clenched at the coldness in her voice. He’d always known she was strong, but now he understood the depth of her strength—how it had been forged in the fires of survival. He also knew that his love for her couldn’t change the past she carried, nor could it remove the life she had chosen.

But Viktor, in that moment, made a vow to her, even if she couldn’t see it yet. He would try. He would try to pull her out of that life, no matter how impossible it seemed. He would fight for her, fight to give her a future where she didn’t have to run through the shadows, a future where she could stand in the light.

“I won’t accept this, Y/N,” he said softly, his gaze intense with emotion. “I’ll find a way to get you out of this life. I swear it. I will not let you keep sacrificing yourself for a world that doesn’t care.”

Y/N’s heart raced as she met his gaze, the sincerity in his words cutting through the stubborn wall she’d built around herself. She’d always been alone in this, never allowing anyone to carry the weight of her decisions. But Viktor… Viktor was different. And in that moment, she realized something: Maybe she didn’t have to carry it alone anymore.

Tears blurred her vision, and she found herself leaning into him, her arms wrapping around his chest in a moment of vulnerability. “I don’t know how, Viktor. I don’t know if it’s even possible.”

“I’ll find a way,” he repeated, his voice firm with the resolve of someone who had never been afraid of the impossible.

And as he held her close, Y/N knew, deep down, that this was the beginning of a new chapter—for both of them. The road ahead would be uncertain, but with Viktor by her side, she felt the first stirrings of hope, something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years.

"I believe you," she whispered.

JAYVIK

Viktor had always been the one to see the best in Y/N, always wanting to pull her away from the dangerous and destructive path she had walked. As a former Zaunite himself, he understood the world she came from but believed she deserved something better. His thoughts on her being a mercenary were never far from his mind, especially now that they had been sharing their lives together in Piltover.

But then there was Jayce. Jayce, with his idealism and his unwavering belief in what Piltover could become, had always seen things in black and white. To him, Y/N's role as a mercenary, her life steeped in violence, was something to be condemned. He had been pushing for a long time that she could do better, could be better, and when he found out the full extent of her work, he felt betrayed. His disappointment wasn’t just in her profession—it was in her choices, and more so in how those choices might affect their lives.

It was a particularly tense night. Y/N had just come back from a job, her hands stained with blood, and the weariness in her eyes spoke of the toll this life had taken on her. Jayce couldn't hold back any longer.

“Y/N, you don’t have to do this anymore,” Jayce said, his voice tight with frustration. “This mercenary work, it’s dangerous, and you—" He paused, glancing at Viktor. "—you kill people. I can't stand by and watch this. You’re better than this. We need to do something about it.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed, but his tone was measured. “Jayce, I understand your concern, but we need to consider all options. Y/N’s lived this life for so long, and forcing her to leave it behind might not be as simple as we want it to be.”

But Jayce, his passion for justice overriding everything else, snapped, “We could hand her over to the Enforcers! They can help her, clean her hands of all this blood.”

The words hit Y/N like a blow to the chest. She hadn’t been planning on it, but hearing Jayce's proposal—so cold and impersonal—was the breaking point. She couldn’t stay here if they were going to treat her like a criminal, especially not Viktor, the one who had seen her struggles and still cared.

Without saying a word, she stood up and walked into their shared room. Viktor tried to stop her, but Jayce’s anger and the guilt that washed over him paralyzed him in place. Y/N didn’t look back. She gathered a few belongings—some clothes, her weapons, a few trinkets that reminded her of better times—and stuffed them into a small bag. She wrote a letter, her hands trembling as she penned the words:

I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, but I can’t stay in a place where I’m unwanted. I’m sorry for not telling you, Viktor. You were my strength, but I can’t live in your world if I’m a constant reminder of the things I’ve done. Jayce, I know you think this is for the best, but I can’t be part of that world. Goodbye. – Y/N.

With the letter left on the bed, Y/N moved to the window. She’d grown used to escaping through the quiet and discreet ways of the streets, even in Piltover. She slipped through the window and disappeared into the night.

=

Back in the living room, the silence between Viktor and Jayce grew heavy. Jayce's anger had faded, leaving behind only worry and regret. He stood from his chair and began pacing, his steps sharp and restless. “Where did she go?”

Viktor’s voice was quiet but firm, tinged with sorrow. “She’s gone. And we’ve lost her... or perhaps, we never truly had her the way we thought.”

Jayce’s frustration flared up again. “Now she’s gone!” he snapped, his tone sharper now. “We can’t even find her.”

Viktor stood, his posture resolute but his gaze full of regret. He moved closer to Jayce, his hands tightly clasped in front of him. “Maybe... maybe we don’t need to find her. Maybe we need to let her go.”

Jayce’s head snapped up, disbelief in his eyes. “Let her go?” His voice cracked with emotion. “After everything we’ve done? After everything we’ve been through? You’ve spent years helping her, and you’re just going to let her walk away?”

Viktor’s expression softened, and he shook his head. “What choice do we have, Jayce? We can’t force her to stay. She’s not our prisoner. She has to choose her own path, just as we’ve had to choose ours.”

The weight of Viktor’s words settled over them both, like a heavy fog. It was then that they realized the truth: they hadn’t just lost her to the conflict between Piltover and Zaun, nor to the violence of her mercenary work. They had lost her because, in their desire to protect her, they hadn’t understood her. They hadn’t truly seen the burden of the choices she’d carried for so long. In the end, they’d tried to control her when all she needed was the freedom to choose for herself.

VANDER

Vander wiped down the bar with a steady hand, the faint smell of sweat and smoke lingering in the air. His gaze flicked across the dimly lit room, watching as the last few patrons stumbled out of the door, their laughter and slurred words echoing as they disappeared into the streets of Zaun. The soft creak of the door swinging open caught his attention, and there, standing in the threshold, was Y/N. She had become a permanent fixture of his bar over the years, the kind of person who didn’t need an invitation—she just showed up, like an old friend he’d always known.

He poured a drink into a glass and slid it in front of her. She didn’t acknowledge the gesture, her eyes still focused on the space in front of her, lost in thought. But he noticed her hands, clenched tight around the glass, the way her knuckles were bruised, the way her fingers were still a little stiff from a fight she’d probably won, but at a cost.

"You're looking worse than usual," Vander finally said, his voice rough with concern as he set down the rag he’d been using to wipe the counter. His eyes narrowed on the bruise stretching along her arm, just above her elbow, a deep shade of purple that looked fresh. It was darker than any of the ones he’d seen before, and that alone made him worry more than he wanted to admit.

Y/N didn’t look up from her drink. Her fingers slid across the glass, tapping absently, but her gaze never wavered. She exhaled slowly, a puff of air that barely disturbed the stillness in the room.

"You worry too much, Vander," she replied, her voice light but not dismissive, the kind of response she always gave him when he made these observations. "It's not that bad."

Vander’s frown deepened. He leaned in, his massive frame towering over the bar, the weight of his years in the business bearing down on him. He knew what kind of work she did. He knew the dangers. But this was different. The cut on her jawline—there was a jagged, almost careless edge to it, like someone hadn’t bothered to finish the job. And the bruises were too frequent now. Too visible. He’d seen mercenaries take a beating, but not like this. Not every time. Not in the way it wore on her.

"Where the hell do you get these bruises from, love?" Vander asked, his voice rough but gentle, as he reached out to lightly run his hand over the dark marks on her arm. His touch was hesitant, tender, a stark contrast to the hardened mercenary she had become.

Y/N didn’t immediately answer. She took a slow sip of her drink, savoring the burn of the liquor, as her fingers lingered on the edge of the glass, like she was trying to steady herself. Vander didn’t rush her. He never did. She would talk when she was ready. Or not at all.

After a moment, she set the glass down with a soft clink, her gaze flickering to his but never meeting it fully. Her voice was flat, emotionless, as she spoke.

"Alright," she said, like she was finally letting something spill out, but the words didn’t come easily. "The bruises? They’re from the people I kill."

Vander’s hand froze. For the first time in years, his heart skipped a beat. He looked at her, his brows furrowing as he tried to make sense of her words. His chest tightened with disbelief, but he forced himself to steady his breath. This was the reality she lived, but hearing it from her—it hit differently. "You're kidding, right?" His voice was hoarse, more vulnerable than he intended.

Y/N met his gaze then, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp, almost cold. There was something in them that made him take a step back, like he was finally realizing just how far gone she was, how far she’d slipped from the girl he used to know.

"Would you rather I lie to you?" she asked, her voice almost too calm, a touch of bitterness under the surface. "I go into places where people don’t just roll over and let me take what I need. Sometimes it gets messy. But the job’s the job. And I’m good at it."

Vander’s heart sank. He’d always known she had her battles, but hearing her speak so matter-of-factly about killing—it gutted him. The weight of her words pressed heavily on him, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He’d seen her fight, seen the deadly precision she had, but this wasn’t just about skill. This was a life that left scars. Deep ones.

"And you don’t mind?" Vander asked, his voice softer now, tinged with genuine concern. "Living like that, taking lives... what’s it all for?"

The question hung in the air, and for a long moment, Y/N didn’t respond. She seemed lost in her thoughts, her gaze distant as her fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of her glass. Then she spoke, quieter now, almost like she was trying to convince herself more than anyone else.

"I don’t mind. Not really," she said, the words heavy with resignation. "It’s what I’m good at. What I’ve always been good at."

Vander exhaled slowly, trying to push down the knot that had formed in his chest. He knew. He understood. It wasn’t the answer he wanted, but it was the truth of her world, one he couldn’t change. He’d seen too many people lose themselves to this life, and it pained him to know that Y/N, of all people, had gotten caught in its web.

"You might be good at it," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, "but you don’t have to live like this forever."

Y/N chuckled softly, though the sound was bitter, the corners of her mouth twitching but not quite forming a smile. "Maybe not forever. But for now? It’s what keeps me going." Her gaze met his again, this time filled with a quiet sadness, a resignation that she wore like a second skin. "You’re right, though. It catches up to you. But what else is there? What else is there when you’ve spent so long down this path?"

Vander didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t. She wasn’t asking for salvation, wasn’t seeking redemption. She was just surviving. And that reality hit him harder than any punch she’d ever taken. She was caught in a cycle, one he had no idea how to break, even though he wanted to.

"One of these days, it’s gonna catch up to you," he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of all the years he’d spent watching people slip through his fingers, knowing they’d never find peace. "You can’t outrun it forever."

Y/N didn’t flinch at his words. Her gaze remained steady, as though she had already accepted it all. She didn’t look afraid, didn’t look like she was trying to escape the inevitable. She simply nodded, her face unreadable. "Maybe. But when that day comes, I’ll be ready."

It was the answer he had feared, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself from hoping. Vander let out a long, defeated sigh, his heart heavy with the weight of her words. He knew she wouldn’t change—not like this. Not unless something finally made her stop.

"Just be careful, kid," he said softly, the concern in his voice undeniable, the ache of a man who had seen too much loss. He rested his hand on the counter, his fingers tapping lightly as his gaze followed her every move.

Y/N gave him a small, fleeting smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes but was enough to let him know she appreciated his concern. It was there for a moment—just a flicker of something human before it was buried beneath her usual tough exterior. She slid off the stool, her movements efficient and practiced, like she had a thousand places to be.

Vander watched her, knowing this wasn’t a goodbye. She always came back.

As she reached the door, her hand resting on the handle, she glanced back at him over her shoulder, her expression softening just for a moment. "Thanks for the drink, Vander. I’ll be back tomorrow."

And then, like a shadow swallowed by the night, she was gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts. The bar was eerily quiet now, save for the soft clink of glass as Vander wiped the counter once again, his mind heavy with the conversation that had just passed. He wondered if there would ever be a day when Y/N’s past wouldn’t haunt her, when the blood she had spilled would finally stop following her.

But deep down, he knew—she had already made her peace with it. And all he could do now was wait, hoping that someday, she would find a way out before it was too late.

SILCO

The air was thick with tension as Y/N and Silco walked down the darkened streets of Zaun, their boots echoing against the damp concrete. They were out on business, making a quiet exchange of information and goods, but the unsettling feeling that always accompanied the underbelly of the city lingered in the air. The smell of rust, oil, and the faint odor of decay was a constant in the heart of Zaun, but to Y/N, it was nothing new.

Silco walked beside her, always keeping a few steps ahead, his sharp eyes scanning their surroundings. There was something about the way he carried himself, the dangerous aura that surrounded him like a shield. He was a leader, the face of Zaun's rebellion, but in moments like this, away from his empire, there was something softer, more personal in the way he interacted with her. He was kind, in his own way, though he never let his guard down fully.

"You always know how to make an exit," he said, his voice a low murmur as they turned a corner, heading toward a less familiar part of Zaun. "I can't say I'm not impressed."

Y/N smiled, her lips curling up slightly. "I’ve been doing this long enough to know how to keep people from getting too close."

The light from the street lamps cast long shadows, and Y/N couldn't help but notice how they highlighted the contours of Silco’s face. The sharp angles of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows as he scanned the area—it was the face of a man who was constantly at war, both internally and externally. But tonight, there was something different about him. His gaze lingered on her longer than usual, and for a fleeting moment, she felt an unfamiliar warmth in his eyes.

She quickly shook the thought away, dismissing it as just the danger of the city making her mind wander. But even as she tried to focus on the task at hand, something about Silco’s presence affected her in ways she couldn't explain.

Before she could process the thought, a noise broke the silence. Heavy footsteps and muffled voices. The kind of sounds that signaled an ambush. Y/N’s instincts kicked in immediately, her hand reaching for the dagger at her belt. It was too quiet, too calculated. Whoever they were, they had been waiting for them.

“Stay close,” Silco murmured, his posture shifting as he prepared for the inevitable. His voice had changed, quieter now, but still commanding. The tone he used when he wasn't giving orders, but when he was preparing for something personal.

Y/N gave a small nod, her fingers now wrapped tightly around her blade. There was no need for more words. They had worked together long enough to know their roles—her as the silent predator, him as the strategist, always watching from the back with a plan already forming in his mind.

A group of men, cloaked in shadow and armed with crude weapons, emerged from the dark alley ahead, blocking their path. They had been expecting trouble, but the sight of these men still made Y/N's stomach tighten. They were too many, too brazen.

"What’s this, a little surprise party?" she asked coolly, her voice calm, almost playful. It was a tactic, a way to keep the attackers off balance. But it also helped her hide the cold calculation that ran through her veins in moments like this.

The men smirked, their confidence growing at the sight of Silco standing there, calm but still very much a threat. They probably thought they could take both of them, with their numbers on their side. But Silco’s eyes flicked to Y/N, sensing the change in the air. He had always known her reputation—how deadly she could be—but tonight, there was something more. Something darker.

=

Without warning, Y/N moved. She was a blur of motion, swift and efficient. In seconds, she was upon the first man, her dagger slicing through his throat before he even had time to react. Blood splattered across the ground, painting the pavement in an ominous red. But Y/N didn’t flinch. She was a force of nature, her movements fluid, practiced, like a deadly dance she had performed a thousand times. Her strikes were precise, never a wasted motion. She never hesitated.

The remaining men charged, but they were no match for her speed and precision. One by one, they fell. Y/N was everywhere at once, her blade cutting through the chaos like a whisper of death. She had no time for their weakness, no patience for their feeble resistance. A twist of her wrist sent another attacker crumpling to the ground, gasping for breath as the life left his body.

The last man, his face pale with fear, tried to flee. But Y/N was faster. She caught him by the arm, spinning him around before slamming her knee into his stomach. The air left his lungs in a strangled gasp. She didn’t let go, keeping him close as she gave him a final, merciless twist of her wrist. His body went limp, his eyes wide in shock.

Silco stood back, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the entire exchange with a detached sort of interest. His eyes never left her. He had always known she was dangerous, but seeing it firsthand—the ease with which she killed, the beauty in her efficiency—it unsettled him in a way he hadn’t expected. There was something about her that seemed untouched by the violence she wrought, a calmness in her cruelty that intrigued him. It wasn’t just that she was effective—it was how she moved through it all, as if it were second nature. He couldn’t help but wonder, with a flicker of unease, if she had become too accustomed to this life.

Y/N wiped the blood off her blade, her expression unreadable, but there was something colder in her gaze as she surveyed the bodies. The adrenaline was still coursing through her, but she held it in check. She knew how to remain controlled, how to mask the fleeting emotions that bubbled beneath the surface. It was what kept her alive.

Silco took a step closer, his boots clicking lightly on the pavement. He was no longer the cold, calculating leader. There was a quiet admiration in his eyes as he took in the aftermath.

“You’re... quite the sight, Y/N,” he said, his voice laced with something that was neither admiration nor fear, but something deeper—something that went beyond the mercenary he had always known. “I didn’t expect this, not from you.”

Y/N met his gaze, her heart still racing from the fight. She didn't respond right away, her focus still lingering on the men who had dared to cross them. She had learned long ago that silence spoke volumes. But this time, the silence between them was heavier. It was as if she had revealed more of herself than she ever had before.

Silco's voice softened, his tone lowering in a way that felt oddly intimate. “I always knew you were capable, but to see it like this... I didn’t expect you to be so... cold.”

Y/N’s eyes flicked to him, and for the first time, she allowed herself to meet his gaze with something more than the icy mask she usually wore. “Cold, huh? Maybe. Or maybe I just know how to handle myself,” she replied, a subtle smile tugging at the corner of her lips. There was a quiet confidence in her voice, the kind that came from years of surviving the worst of Zaun.

Silco was quiet for a moment, his eyes searching hers as if trying to understand something he had never noticed before. It was as though a door had been opened, revealing a side of her that he hadn’t seen. He had always known she was strong—her reputation alone was enough to prove that—but this... this was something else entirely.

He took a step closer, his voice soft but steady. “You are more than you let people see, Y/N.”

Her heart skipped a beat. His words lingered in the air between them, hanging like a heavy fog. She met his gaze, her breath catching for a moment as she sensed the weight of his words. There was a vulnerability in his eyes now, a crack in the armor that she had never seen before. Something unspoken passed between them, a shared understanding of the darkness that each of them carried.

Before she could respond, he stepped back, his mask slipping back into place with an ease that made her wonder if he had ever let it fall. He gave a small nod, his usual cool demeanor settling back into place.

“We should go,” he said, his voice now colder, as if the moment had never happened. But Y/N knew better. She could feel the shift, the unspoken bond that had formed between them in the heat of battle. It was a quiet understanding, a recognition of the darkness that existed in both of them. And for the first time, it seemed like Silco wasn’t the only one who had seen it.

Y/N nodded, her eyes lingering on him for just a moment longer than she intended. There was a connection between them now, something deeper than friendship, but neither of them was ready to acknowledge it. As they turned to leave, their footsteps in sync, the bond that had been forged in blood and violence grew just a little bit deeper, like a secret neither of them was ready to share.

But as they walked off into the night, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder just how long it would take before the truth between them would finally come to light.

JINX/POWDER

Y/N’s boots hit the cold concrete of the alleyway as she moved swiftly, her breath visible in the cool night air. A job was a job, and this one was no different. The target was a high-ranking official from Piltover—a man with more than enough dirt on him to make his life miserable. Y/N had learned to ignore the whispers of morality, focusing only on the coin and the fact that she needed to survive.

But the night was anything but quiet. She had known that Jinx would be nearby. The chaotic girl was always lingering around the edges, always popping up when things were about to go sideways. Y/N wasn’t worried. Jinx was a friend, albeit a strange one, and she’d learned to expect the unpredictable from her.

She crouched down behind some crates, eyes trained on the man in question. One clean shot—that was all it would take. But as she readied herself, a faint giggle echoed from somewhere behind her. Without turning around, she sighed.

“Jinx, you’re not supposed to be here,” Y/N muttered, still focusing on her target.

“Oh, come on!” Jinx’s voice rang out, gleeful and full of energy as she swung around a corner, wearing her usual psychotic grin. “What’s the fun in sneaking around if you’re not going to let me play?”

Y/N turned her head just as she pulled the trigger, the silenced shot ringing out before the target crumpled to the ground, dead.

Jinx’s wide eyes sparkled with pure excitement. She bounced over to Y/N, crouching beside her as she inspected the fallen man’s body. “Holy crap! You really did it! You just… killed him! Just like that! Boom! POW!”

Y/N wiped her hands off, watching the target’s life slip away. It wasn’t her first, nor would it be her last. “Yeah,” she said calmly, standing up. “That’s the job. And you're not supposed to see this.”

Jinx didn’t seem to hear her. Instead, her eyes gleamed with pure enthusiasm as she flitted from one side of Y/N to the other. “So, how many people have you killed? Like, a million? A hundred? A thousand? Ooooh! Do you do it with knives? Or guns? Or bombs?” She grinned wickedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Is it like a game for you? Do you get all excited and giggly like me?”

Y/N paused for a moment, unsure how to respond to the wild questions coming from Jinx. But the girl's curiosity was as boundless as her chaos, and she had to admit, it was kind of refreshing. She’d been living this life for so long, and nobody had ever really asked her about it like this.

“Not a million,” Y/N said, shrugging slightly. “More than a hundred, though. Sometimes I use knives—close range. Sometimes guns—long-range. And sometimes I use explosives, but that’s only for specific targets. I try not to make a mess. It’s easier that way.”

Jinx let out a squeal of delight, clapping her hands together. “Oooh, messy or clean, it’s ALL fun!” She paused, thinking, before peering up at Y/N with wide eyes. “Do you do it for fun, or is it like, a job? Do you ever feel bad about it? You know, like, ‘Oops, did I really kill that guy?’ or is it just like… BOOM! That’s what happens when you mess with me?”

Y/N thought about it for a second. “It’s a job. And no, I don’t feel bad. People who need to die usually don’t leave much room for second thoughts.”

Jinx seemed to take that in, then tilted her head. “Yeah, I get that! I’m the same way! You can’t just play around with people who don’t deserve it, right?” She grinned, clearly relishing the thought. “But still, it’s so cool that you just… do it. Like, you make it look easy. You’re like a real-life hero in your own story!”

Y/N chuckled darkly, shaking her head. “I’m no hero, Jinx. Just a mercenary.”

Jinx pouted for a moment, then bounced on her feet again, full of excitement. “Well, you’re my hero! You know that? You’ve got all the cool moves and make it look all smooth! I wanna be just like you when I grow up—except with more explosions! BOOM!”

Y/N’s lips curled into a smile despite herself. “Maybe you should leave the explosions to you. But if you ever need a lesson in making it clean…” She raised an eyebrow. “I could teach you a thing or two.”

Jinx’s eyes widened like saucers, and she nodded eagerly. “YES! Teach me, teach me! I wanna be a mercenary! We’ll be a team, Y/N! You and me, taking down bad guys, making things explode, and making everything go KA-BOOM!”

With that, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a bit lighter than she had in a while. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who lived in this world of violence and chaos after all.

[ezrasxfics]

Could you do a one-sided Jax x Caine interaction? Jax fell for the one guy that actually pays attention to him/takes him seriously anymore, and said guy is completely unable to compute the feelings Jax has for him, let alone reciprocate. Basically... Jax being a miserable, lonely loser.

..i wish you were real.

-

one-sided bunnyteeth angst

-

jax pov

“man, i dont know. i guess i just wish you were real, but if you were, i don’t think i’d be able to tell you about this dumb stuff.” i groan, talking to caine. our ai ringmaster. “you’re the only person who makes me feel real.”

“well, of course you feel real, jax! you’re a human, after all!” he replies, a look of confusion on his face. just confusion, nothing resembling affection or recognition. i hate when he looks at me like that, it’s just a reminder him and i may as well live in two completely different worlds. it’s embarrassing i managed to fall for someone like him. but i did, hard.

“you don’t get it. of course you don’t, what was i even thinking? i’m stupid for even considering that you might be able to even— i give up.” i ramble, voice drifting off to a whisper of defeat. i hate feeling like this - powerless. lonely. it’s so damn miserable.

“i don’t get what exactly? jax, you do understand that i’m not like you, right. i cant feel the same.. complicated emotions that you do. i can feel happy, sad, angry. but i cant feel love, disappointment and other things like that! i can fake those feelings, if that would help you feel better? my goal as your ringmaster is—“

“that wouldn’t be the same. i don’t want you to fake anything. i want something.. real. but i also want you- and you’re not.. man, this blows.” i put my hands over my face, letting out a loud groan of frustration.

“but jax, like i said, i’m not re-“

“I JUST SAID THAT— do you even f**king LISTEN!? i know you’re not real. you’re not human and it’s ruining my GODDAMNED LIFE. so, i just gotta be miserable forever, because my needs don’t add up, and i cant get what i want. as usual. i never f**king get what i want, no matter what i do, and i’m sick of it.” i yell, interrupting him. i wasn’t sure when the tears started falling down my face, but when i regained my senses, my face was wet.

“jax— jax, im sorry! im sorry, but i don’t understand your feelings!! it’s not within my capabilities.. have you considered talking to..”

“none of the others like me-!! none of them take me seriously, none of them give a damn about me because i’m jax. i cause problems for everyone, and now i’m reaping the consequences. they all hate me. and guess what? i’m starting to hate myself too.”

-

thanks for the request!!!! this was so fun to write.. i’ve never actually thought about this ship before, but one-sided bunnyteeth is actually really interesting!!/pos

reblogs appreciated!!

[mapofyourstars]

@uniquecellest replied to your post:

They're switches but Charles tops more Despite coming from wealth he and Raven have shopped from like Dollar Tree/ .99 cent and similar stores for food, it's a trait they've carried over with their romantic interests as well Charles's love languages is gift giving and words of affirmation Erik's love languages are baking/cooking (i think that counts as gift giving idk) and acts of service (jm so bad with describing love languages lol)

In mafia aus Charles should be the head boss not bc of wealth but bc he does things differently and he and his crew are so discreet no one knows what they really look like. Most people confuse Erik for being the head when really hes Charles's right hand and/or civilian partner that knows about the mafia In pregnancy aus (at least the ones that follow the 2010 movies) I don't think either would a) know they're pregnant if jt happens right before cuba (we can talk if it's like months before) but even then they wouldn't use the pregnancy to get the other on their side. They'd let bygones be bygones (Hank runs the school, Raven the brotherhood, these two fucked off to the countryside somewhere to raise their kids) Hank and Darwin are more Charles's kids, Angel and Alex more Erik's, Sean was the kid that would've kept them together I think Shaw should've caused more angst for them by meeting Charles earlier. Maybe bringing stuff about Erik where Charles would've punched him (Erik: I'd hate to be on the side of Charles's right hook. *Erik 11 yrs later) Alpha Charles Omega Erik Moira knew about them. She did. And she kept it secret bc 60s. They would've been at the frontlines at Stonewall Nina and Peter love Charles to a point Erik thinks they favor Charles over him (it's okay. Jean does the same thing makes Charles think she prefers Erik over Charles) They're audhd4audhd Bad guys need to learn if you want to take over the world you kidnap them both but keep them separate. Real good torture. (Also you're dead in like 5min if you kidnap one and leave the other roaming around) Charles reintroduced Erik to some of his Jewish heritage by doing small things with him (i forget the name but I know there's one thing where Jewish people don't eat or drink from sundown Friday until sundown Saturday) eventually Erik reached out to a rabi (idk how it's spelt) and they start celebrating every Jewish holiday together Bc of his upbringing Charles has a complicated relationship with religion via his parents. He'll celebrate Christmas and Easter but not much else. (He mainly just celebrates Christmas the more he gets older) Theyd run the US for 16 yrs (2 terms Charles 2 terms Erik while the other is vp/first gentleman) Erik thinks Charles has fine china, and tries to make any metal plates form back together if broken (Charles doesn't care.) Living together outside the Xavier estate they have a small cottage that looks like it's at most two bed on the outside but it's super spacious inside and hosts all of their kids and friends in their own rooms Scalp massages help Charles with any headaches (regular or chronic) Erik is more than happy to give

I have things to say because you fed me with these head canons. in order are my responses:

agreed. both switch, but yeah, charles tops more.

raven, in my mind, would be more prone to shop at places like that, and over time, charles just gets used to it because his sister drags him there enough for random snacks and drinks. and honestly, who wants to pay loads of money for basic essentials.

charles dotes on erik, it's disgusting.

erik helps charles out whenever he knows he needs it most without having to be told, and charles fawns over it.

love that. it's because erik is scary to most upon meeting them, but charles running things is great.

so what you're saying is that once charles/erik tells the other of their pregnancy, both would cave and just give up their goals to raise their babies together? I'm soft, I love that.

ooooh, spicy thought. always thought of alex as charles' kid, very interesting. though sean definitely would have kept them together - he's like the baby.

in what way do you think charles would have met shaw? just sometime before cuba? or entirely different circumstances? (I imagine you're keeping to the movie-verse, so I assume before cuba.) charles would have taken one look in that man's mind and severely debilitated him.

praise alpha!charles and omega!erik. (I'm going to get around to writing a fic with that, I swear.)

agreed, and love the concept of it. moira really is a great friend.

YES. with raven alongside as well, I feel.

ooooh, you think jean has a very strong relationship with erik, nice. I feel like that's not common, but maybe I'm just a jean-hater from time to time. I'm learning to love her and her relationship with her dads though.

yeah, I think erik definitely has some neurodivergency there, but charles is definitely autistic in my mind. his telepathy alleviates his autistic tendencies, but when he's without it, he's fully unmasked and unable to gather the social cues he gained by his telepathy. though, it does make me wonder if he has relied on his telepathy for so long that he naturally is unable to do x, y, and z without it, and his mannerisms, actions, and thoughts appear to align with autism. kind of like what came first, y'know?

oh, yeah - erik can hear charles' getting tortured in the other room and vice versa. definitely affects them psychologically and emotionally.

sabbath and rabbi, right? and yeah, I love the idea of reclamation of erik's ethnicity and religion. however, I also feel that erik might have difficulty doing so and tends to abstain from jewish tradition because he feels slighted by whatever higher power might be out that there chose to do those atrocities to his people. I've seen both sides from older jewish people who survived the holocaust, and I think both ideas could apply to erik. the first one is beautiful though.

agreed. I just tend to look at charles as an agnostic atheist. I see him too involved with science to believe in anything else other than the absence of a god.

could you imagine charles and erik as presidents? the things they'd get done? the stark differences between how they run the country? oof, incredible.

lol, kind of love erik just not knowing but thinking it's important to charles.

yeah, them having an alternate house is definitely a big head canon of mine. the house will be a little cottage or cabin with tons of books and two chess tables and barely any metal around, and they go there whenever they just need to get away or spend time away from technologically advanced world. after all, they are old men.

erik giving charles a scalp massage is the cutest thought ever. he'd do anything for his man.

[greenleaf4stuff]

In Convenience - Chapter 1, part 1

Adar x Celebrimbor (silverscars) political marriage to marriage of love AU, post story chapter 1, part 1. Despite Sauron’s defeat, remnants and memories of his presence still linger. Celebrimbor finds himself conflicted when the matter of wedding rings comes to his attention.

Hehe, look who’s back – that’s right, it’s me! With a post-story snippet! Can’t believe I am managing to do *that* as well. Truly, this little 'verse continues to be a welcome anomaly in my existence as a fanfic writer. Not complaining in the least though! This is a little bit angsty but it has a healthy helping of fluff and comfort mixed in I think. The boys have won, but that doesn’t mean its all sunshine and rainbows along the way. Thankfully, them being together means it will only get easier as time goes on. (Also yes, the title for the post-story bits collection is a play on 'inconvenience'. I think it’s funny. :P) Enjoy!

"Why aren’t you wearing a ring?"

The question was so wholly unexpected that it startled Celebrimbor from his work. He’d been distracted, again, trying to clean up the forge tower. Almost every part of it had been turned into a mess when Adar, Gil-Galad, Elrond, Galadriel and their guards made to attack Sauron there, likely even before then.

Clearing it of the bodies of the fallen had occured without Celebrimbor present. He suspected that it was done for his benefit, since some of his assistants had been among them. He’d visited the dead in the aftermath, when they’d been prepared for proper burials by elven or uruk standards. He shuddered to even think about it – despite the elation of having prevailed over Morgoth’s shadow, there were still remnants of his presence everywhere.

This question, too, exposed one such remnant.

Celebrimbor turned to the elf who’d asked him the question; Nethiel, if he remembered her name correctly. Not yet an assistant, but an apprentice, quite young and looking at him with big, round eyes. She hadn’t been an apprentice yet when the Deceiver had resided in the city, had in fact only joined the others in Celebrimbor’s employ a few weeks ago. The smith found himself grateful for it.

"Pardon?" he asked.

"A wedding band," she clarified, and – seemingly interpreting his silence for confusion, not dismay – continued. "You are married to the leader of the o- uruk, are you not? So why aren’t you wearing a ring?"

Celebrimbor had always prided himself on the fact that his people didn’t have to fear speaking their mind in his presence. He wanted to be a leader who listened to his people and their concerns, their worries, their questions. Especially so after what had almost happened to Eregion.

And yet, in that very moment, he treacherously wished the apprentice didn’t quite find herself so comfortable asking these things.

She couldn’t know how complicated his emotions on the matter were. How guilt, love, and self-loathing converged whenever he remembered that indeed, neither he nor Adar wore a sign of their marriage, despite the pride he felt towards their union and what it represented – for their people and them personally.

If only it could have been anything but rings.

He sighed and turned to Nethiel. As he looked up, he saw Mirdania throw him a concerned glance as she took off her gloves and moved over towards him.

She, too, had been reluctant to return to the forge tower. Undoutably, she also held painful memories of this place, although she hadn’t spoken of them to him yet. But then again, neither had he, at least not in full.

Elrond had assured him that these things needed time. In theory – and from prior experience –, he knew this to be true. That didn’t make it any less painful in the current moment.

Not just for himself; Mirdania had been one of his brightest, most enthusiastic and gifted assistants. Now, her usually cheery outlook had been dampened in such a way that she sometimes startled at loud voices and generally shared less of herself with others.

Celebrimbor could only hope that she had not lost her passion for forge work as well. It was certainly something he, in part, still struggled with.

Though this was not solely due to one thing, it was a combination of circumstances. The tower, which held bad memories. Smithing, which he had only partially regained for himself in Adar’s camp, though it came easier to him whenever he helped Gurlak in her forge for example.

Making rings, specifically, was something he found almost impossible to even consider at the moment.

Why couldn’t it be anything but rings?

He was saved from having to answer when Mirdania appeared at their side. She easily touched the apprentice’s shoulder, but was cautious as she reached out a hand to Celebrimbor as well, expression unusually guarded. Only when the Lord of Eregion gave her a fond smile did she brighten a little and touch his arm.

"How about you take a little break?" she said, adressing Celebrimbor as much as Nethiel. "We have all been working on cleaning up this place the whole morning. Maybe we should go outside and get some fresh air."

By the apprentice’s confused expression, the dainty elven woman was rather insistent on steering the younger one away, but Nethiel ultimately let herself be guided without a protest. "Did I say something wrong?" she asked, looking between the two older elves.

Celebrimbor softened, and shook his head at her. "No, not at all. It’s just as Mirdania said – I find myself a little fatigued, that is all." He motioned for them to walk ahead. "Go outside, I’ll be along shortly."

It said a lot about the apprentice that she nodded in response with a rather contrite expression on her face. She still tried to offer an apology, which Mirdania was quick to dispel with a smile and by deftly changing the topic. The assistant threw Celebrimbor a questioning look over her shoulder – asking, without words, whether he would be okay.

His smile widened, touched by her concern. The smith nodded and slightly jerked his head to shoo her outside. Mirdania, too, could use a break after all.

She nodded, quickly, and the two elven women walked out of the forge together.

With a start, Celebrimbor realized the others who had helped with the cleanup had also left. Whenever that had happened, he had no idea.

It left the elf standing the middle of the messy room. It was a bit demoralizing, perhaps, that he and the others had already done so much work and yet, the smithy still looked as if a maiar had exploded in the middle of it. Literally.

He remembered how one of his builders had mentioned that the forge part of the tower would either need extensive repairs...or to be taken down and rebuilt from the ground up.

Neither option seemed particularly appealing to the smith.

With a deep sigh, he looked up, only to find his husband emerging from the stairs.

It was still a marvel to Celebrimbor how the other’s presence made warmth and the feeling of safety spread through him. How his mood lifted whenever he laid eyes upon the other. The sheer strength of his happiness knowing that this one was his.

It was as if a dark cloud had been cleared from the elf’s thoughts, and he smiled, exhaustedly but brightly, as Adar stroke towards him.

The other also wore a smile on his face. Smaller than Celebrimbor’s, but Adar was typically more subdued in how he expressed himself. To the smith, the smirk was the same as the other giving him a wide, elated smile.

Adar looked over the interior of the smithy as he went, and then quirked up an eyebrow at Celebrimbor. "Perhaps my uruk should come up here and help you after all," despite the flippant manner in which he said it, the uruk’s tone soon became more serious. "Looks like things are coming along more slowly than anticipated."

The elf let his shoulders sink as he looked around. His smile grew smaller, but at least it did not completely disappear. The two of them had always been honest with one another, and while he wished to spare Adar his own self-pity, he did not think it fair to openly lie about his own feelings either. Adar would be quick to recognize them anyways, perceptive as he was.

It was one of the things Celebrimbor cherished about him.

"It’s...a struggle. In more ways than one," he turned to Adar. "The physical work and trying to organize what is left of my notes is taking a lot of time and effort. And that is without considering the prospect that working on the structure itself might be a fool’s errand."

"But that is not all of it," the uruk deduced. Celebrimbor looked at him and nodded, his eyes quickly drifting away again. His smile finally left his face completely, even as Adar stepped close to him.

"No, it is not," the smith admitted, and gladly let his husband hold onto his elbow, a silent, gentle comfort. He returned it with a grip of his own. It brought him back to the time when Adar had killed that hill troll, Damrod, in his camp to protect Celebrimbor.

He was glad for Adar’s strength, his quiet presence. Not just in battle, but in situations like these. The uruk’s history with Sauron had hardened him in many ways, but also made him uniquely suited to understand Celebrimbor’s complicated feelings.

He looked at the uruk, and found only compassion in the other’s eyes. It made it easier for Celebrimbor to be honest, in a way he hadn’t yet been able to be towards his assistants, or even with his friends.

"I’d hoped working on cleaning this place up might bring me some solace, but instead I find myself pondering too many painful memories. And seeing Mirdania and the others similarly afflicted...it’s difficult, at times."

Nevermind all the other things that occupied his mind.

His words sprung forth without his conscious decision and before he could stop them. Adar tended to have that effect on him, inspiring honesty and trust where Celebrimbor would otherwise have been more hesitant. "One of the new apprentices asked me why I didn’t wear a wedding ring, today."

Celebrimbor felt himself grow still at his own words. He hadn’t anticipated the question would bother him that much. Nor had he planned to let Adar know about it, either.

The Lord Father of the uruk had enough to deal with as it was – some of his children were planning on packing up the camp and moving back to Mordor, meaning he was involved in organisational matters most of the day. The rest, who planned on remaining for the ongoing peace talks, needed to be taken care of in terms of food, drink and shelter from the sunlight.

And then there were the peace talks itself, which had overall gone rather well in the aftermath of a shared victory, but were time-consuming and often frustrating with how detailed everything had to be in both word and writing.

Also, there had been some talk of a big celebration as well. Not just of the peace itself, though that seemed to be the main reason. But no, people wanted a proper celebration of the marriage. Since, according to all Celebrimbor had heard, it was considered the foundation of not just the victory over Sauron, but the peace that would surely now come for the elves, the uruk, and hopefully soon Middle-earth as a whole.

So no, something as simple as wedding rings shouldn’t be a concern of Adar’s right now, not when he had so many, and so many more important matters to consider.

Somewhat annoyed at himself, Celebrimbor looked at Adar again. The other had raised his eyebrows and was watching his husband as if trying to figure something out, before understanding dawned on his face.

"You think you should be the one to make them."

Celebrimbor truly did cherish Adar’s perceptiveness, which often worked to the point that the other could glean things from the smith’s mind that he himself hadn’t been quite able to put into words.

Strangely, it was nothing like what Sauron had tried to do. When the fallen maiar had rummaged through Celebrimbor’s mind, it had always been a means to an end.

When Adar spoke aloud what the smith himself did not even dare to think yet, it was a sign of understanding. Of how much he cared, despite how stoic and emotionless he first appeared to others.

The elf nodded, and tipped his head forward. Adar mirrored the movement until their foreheads touched, and Celebrimbor closed his eyes when he felt Adar grab onto his other arm as well.

He felt steadied, understood, kept safe. In this little space, he knew he needn’t fear his own weakness. It was a relief.

"I suppose I do," he admitted, voice quiet. "I am a smith, and I have made rings before. I should be able to do so again, should I not? To overcome what I last made in this forge? To honor us?"

Adar hummed and remained quiet for a moment as the two of them breathed in each other’s air. It was strangely calming to Celebrimbor’s unsettled mind.

"I do not require a trinket to represent, or show, the worth of our marriage. I have not required it when we first joined as potential allies, and I do not need it now that we are joined in love."

Celebrimbor opened his eyes and locked them with Adar’s. The other was so utterly steadfast as he spoke, his words like absolute truths against the questions and worries the smith found himself pondering.

"It is an Eldar custom, not one of the uruk. Do not strain yourself on my behalf, or ours. We are bound by more than shiny metal. And you are defined by more than your last work in this forge – after all, another fine work of yours helped us achieve victory."

Celebrimbor smiled at Adar’s words. Indeed, the sword he had reforged out of Morgoth’s crown had been made after the rings for the dwarves and his attempts to fashion the rings for men. Its pieces still laid where Sauron had been impaled onto it in fact, and the smith let his gaze wander in that direction.

He took a shaky breath and lightly nodded, careful not to dislodge where their foreheads were touching. "You’re right. I know you are right."

Another breath. This one already came out easier. "It’s a struggle to remember sometimes. What you said – that healing from him will take time and that I will face challenges along the way. And that we can forge our own path, together. Thank you for reminding me."

Adar gently squeezed his arms and brought Celebrimbor closer, before he rubbed their noses together. The motion made the elf grin and return the gesture.

The uruk, too, was smiling when he pulled back and cupped the smith’s cheek. "Of course. Come, let us follow your assistant’s example. I think it would do you well to leave these rooms for a while."

The smith nodded, and felt easier as Adar lead him along.

...And yet, even as he felt that his husband’s words were true, as he tried to turn his thoughts away, he couldn’t quite put the idea of the wedding rings out of his mind.

Like his ambitions to surpass his grandfather’s legacy, the idea to overcome Sauron lingered in the back of his skull.

Perhaps, he might surprise himself and his husband yet?