#i'm not who i was!! i gave my soul to it and it cannot be reclaimed!! i was younger then!!

[oretskov]

　　 ━━ 　forgotten wonders / my old realities

currently bat has — what — twelve active realities? but having been a shifter since it first blew up on dracotok (trigger warning, i know), there have been some realities that she's dropped. let's talk about them !

✷　i've lost myself somewhere　ᐟ　marvel cinematic universe dr

at some point in time, i was a die-hard marvel stan. shocker, since now my personality revolves around batman and the dcverse. this was my first dr ever! the funny thing is, it was so rare to find marvel shifters back then. everyone wanted to go to hogwarts to the point that silly young me thought it wasn't possible to shift to any other universe than harry potter. i remember writing down my script for this dr on a sheet of paper and folding it under my pillow like i was in princess and the pea. it's not a fandom nor dr that i care for anymore :/

who was i? i was a young avenger who lived in the tower. i was friends with wanda and pietro before anything — we suffered under hydra together. loki's scepter gave me the powers of fire and water — one hand shot flames, the other water. my hero alias was magma. i think my love interests were either going to be pietro maximoff or peter parker.

✷　i only have eyes for you　ᐟ　k-pop dr

i still contemplate making a new kpop dr sometimes but then again, i'm happy having huang renjun (loml) be an icon i admire rather than an actual lover of mine. but gosh, a non-idol universe with the dreamies would be so fucking fun. or even enhypen! park sunghoon ♡__♡ yang jungwon ♡__♡

who was i? i'd rather take a bullet to the leg than face the trials and tribulations of the korean idol industry. no, see, i was a songwriter and producer for many of my favourite groups. mainly under jyp entertainment for stray kids. i was supposed to be the cool, talented producer the members, and especially, 3racha loved. god, i cannot remember who was going to be my s/o but there would've been many choices: bang chan, lee felix, kim seungmin, huang renjun??? too many options. too many biases.

✷　crow of judgment　ᐟ　assassination classroom dr

up until last year, before i first watched tokyo revengers, assassination classroom had been my favourite anime for a consecutive eight years. i still hold it very dear to my heart, and maybe one day, i'll go back.

who was i? i was ririka tamago, a class B student who always excelled in sports and performing arts. my childhood best friend and eventual lover was asano gakushuu. had he never been my tutor, i don't think i would've ever managed to be in class B for as long as i was. my fallout into class E was when member of the 'big five' and pervert, teppei araka, had tried to hit on me on the way home. i gave it straight to him and kicked his ass. principal gakuho came to find out about it and did not like that. how dare i harm one of his top students! as punishment, he demoted me to class E — where i actually thrived with good classmates and friends.

✷　i carry your heart with me　ᐟ　extraordinary you dr

used to be my favourite k-drama before i watched the first season of alchemy of souls. yes, i'm obsessed with lee jaewook. y'all, i didn't play about this k-drama — it was a huge part of me. i wouldn't mind going back here only for baek kyung but i have my own kyung variant, theodore nott, in my hogwarts dr.

who was i? there was no shadow and stage in this dr. we were just constantly in the shadow i think. i was the a3's best friend. the popular it-girl everyone was jealous of. i had two little twin brothers (who i miss dearly) and was the daughter of a famous fashion ceo and model. had bad, uncommunicative parents. me and baek kyung were always there for each other — each other's safety nets coming from terrible households.

✷　how many more?　ᐟ　scream dr

the scream franchise used to be such a big part of me. i adored it no matter what. i hate zionists though and their decisions to let melissa barrera and jenna ortega go were NOT it. made me lose respect and love for it altogether.

who was i? i can't remember much of this dr. all i remember was being best friends to lovers with wes hicks. it was set during scream 5 obviously — i don't think ghostface ever returned after the previous movie. so, it was sort of boring (but safe). just an excuse to love wesley.

✷　don't carry it all　ᐟ　eternals dr

this might the one subsection of the mcu that i still care about. unless you're also counting daredevil and x-men. and they cancel the second movie? ugh! why are we letting the haters WIN. i loved everything about this movie. it was the start of my barry keoghan phase (i was there before every one of y'all 🫵). druig and makkari are one of my favourite ships hehe.

who was i? my name was theria, derived from the word 'therianthropy'. it means the mythological ability or affliction of individuals to metamorphose into animals or hybrids by means of shapeshifting. i was called woman of all or the beast by others. i was 4425 freaking years old, born in 5000 bc. we lived in babylon <3 my powers were so cool, it's hard to explain when i don't think it's ever been used in other movies. my power was a projection of an animal's spirit. i could conjure the spirit of a lion, eagle, shark, snake, wolf, a cat and even a phoenix. the exoskeleton of animal's spirit was what i called the cosmic animal. i could control how they'd attack. when conjuring these spirits, i could possess a few features of theirs for myself. like when i had the lion's spirit, i'd grow the claws and canines of one. my love interest was druig <3

✷　stage 16　ᐟ　fame dr

the classic fame dr. every shifter has had one at least at one point. honestly, i've just grown out of it. i'm not interested in being an actor, nor do i care much for being friends with any LMAO. if i wanted some good celebrity friends and peers, i can just shift to my band dr. also, is jack champion still relevant? i'm not so into him anymore.

who was i? adithya atira thomas, mononymously known as atira. growing up in a rocky household, i was lucky to find stardom by landing a role in titans. i'd go on to star in the fear street trilogy, scream 5 and 6, not okay, do revenge and avatar: the way of water. i'd meet jack champion on the set for avatar and grow close. when jack got casted in scream 6, everyone saw our established chemistry and had our characters in the film be love interests. fans ate up our interviews together and just maybe, everyone was right for shipping us.

✷　peace within　ᐟ　spider-verse dr

i still love this fandom, don't get me wrong. i would actually consider this dr an active one if only i ever got to finish its script. maybe when beyond the spiderverse releases, i'll get the inspiration to go back here.

who was i? i lived in earth-42 and attended brooklyn visions academy. during a class trip to oscorp, a radioactive, cyborg of a spider bit me. three years later, i'm earth-42's one and only spinneret — or spider-woman, if you want to keep it frank. prowler and i never got along, opponents with flirty tension. it's once i become friends with miles morales as a civilian that we come forth with our secret identities. all feud between spinneret and prowler is solved, thanks to our friendship as civilians. prowler!miles is my love interest but before we get together, he's a little jealous of hobie brown and the other miles when i'm in the spider society lmao.

[iceunhie]

— PUSH AND PULL : honkai star rail.

premise. as someone who's always believed in the term “try and try again,” (peak delusion, you know) rooting yourself in their heart has always been your goal, no matter the cold rejections and curt declines you receive. however, even you have your limits; perhaps this little push and pull you two have going isn't worth your time after all... but what happens then, if the chaser becomes the chased? (oh, how the turns have tabled.)

...or, when you play hard to get with them.

— ft. sunday, aventurine, jing yuan.

warnings: angst n fluff, messy messy, these boys are in love but are wayyy too chicken to admit they actually adore you, genderless reader.

a/n. inspired by @/xiaowhore's playing hard to get headcanons! my holy trinity 😇 n MY FAVES RAHHH

NEXT : BACK TO MASTERLIST || ASKBOX

SUNDAY is perplexed. very much aware of his qualities which enlists him as one of the finer (finest) bachelors of Penacony (he was the Robin's one and only blood, and was also the head of one of the main guiding forces of the Family, after all), sunday isn't sure he's ever come across someone as.... tenacious as you.

foolish, to be more precise, for he cannot for the life of him comprehend exactly why you are the way you are with... him.

no matter his respectful declines of your invitations to promenade around Penacony (re: going on dates), you really didn't know how to leave him be. though he hasn't exactly said he hated it, sunday was, admittedly, rather... affronted. your gifts, in particular, were your loud declarations of your affection (that make his wings flutter more rapidly than he'd like); but sunday was rather inconvenienced at the whole thing.

nonetheless, he does still accept them. reluctantly, mind you. not because he was fond of your constant shower of affections, which seemed so permanent that he began to look forward to them got used to it. to your credit, your gifts were very much to his tastes. (Robin once gave him a rather soul-searching look when he found himself wearing the gloves you gifted, light blue and white in color. he still uses it, just not when his sister is in the vicinity.)

in fact, perhaps he may have gotten too comfortable. little by little, your constant intrusions on his time have thawed a way to his heart; making sunday look forward to your jovial greetings and grandeur elaborations on your day, and such a thing makes him feel scared sunday needed to nip this in the bud, and fast.

so he confronts you, abruptly one day as you give him his newest gift—a jewelry box for his earrings. (surely, the rapid thumping of his heart was due to his irritation at your constant persistence, right?) “i'm afraid this can no longer continue. i am flattered by your... fancy for me, but i do not wish to enter a relationship in the near future.”

the utter silence that follows is torture to him—but he endures. he tries not to look at the momentary flash of hurt on your face. you seemed to quickly recover, though. giving him a simple smile (it didn't reach your eyes. it shocks him how his chest ached at the realization) and shaking your head when he returns the gift to you.

“i understand, mr. sunday.” the formal usage of his name instead of your chipper ‘sunday!’ makes his face twitch. “but please, keep the gift. think of this as my last declaration. it... would do me a great comfort, just this last time, if you accepted it instead.”

(if he had grabbed your hand at that moment as you left for the door, would he regret it?)

when you leave, sunday thought it would put the conflicting feelings in his mind at ease—but it doesn't. a week and two days counting, true to your word, sunday receives no flagrant gifts, nor little messages on his phone that tell him to take care of himself, to eat, and to make sure to remember to check up on Robin.

instead, contrary to the feeling of ease, regret follows him instead.

it's at two weeks and five days counting when sunday could no longer stand the sight of papers that stacked atop his desk and the image of you leaving for the door replaying in his head far too many times for him to count, that he contacts Robin.

and she, once hearing about the situation, gives him a very, very enlightening talk. (of course, not without giving her brother a lecture of the lifetime. part of him felt shame to know that his sister knew of his... turbulent love life, but she was the only one who he could trust, anyway).

“absence makes the heart grow fonder,” she says. “but in your case, brother, your heart has already decided it's course, right?”

sunday eyes the smooth velvet of the jewelry box you gifted, ruminating. his earrings lie there, carefully pristine and beautiful, gold and silver intertwined. he has worn them without fail, clean and spotless. (of course it was. such a design so intricate was only chosen by you. the thought makes his ears warm).

the next days are agonizing. vigor renewed and epiphanies well-spent, sunday spends the rest of his time after finishing his duties researching and painstakingly finding the best jeweller he can find (even employing the suggestions of a certain gambler, much to his dislike), and spending a god awful amount of time revisiting and rechecking which spots you like, which places you enjoy, to the point it comes up in Penacony's headlines that sunday is interested in someone.

surely, it should've reached your ears by now, yes? sunday panics. your preferences are well-accounted for, and he's sure the Bloodhound family members that report to him have to tell you that the person he had in mind was you. even Robin, who was your closest friend, has probably told you already.

it's embarrassing to admit, but; to hell with it, the day he meets you after three weeks and sees you having a pleasant chat with aventurine, of all people, sunday thinks his heart had shattered into little pieces and stabbed themselves into his body. not so much as sparing him a glance, moreso.

so when, finally at his wits end, sunday chooses to corner you at the dewlight pavilion and spills out how he has royally screwed up in the worst way possible, no one is surprised. at this rate, you would be swept up in the charms of that wretched gambler, and what sunday lacked in, aventurine more than made up for.

“wait, don't go to that gambler just yet.” he's breathless, he's chaotic—and something in his heart squeezes when you finally look at him. “i... i wish to take up your time now, if that's possible.” (he wishes he would take up your time forever, really, but that was still too early).

you eye his getup. all of your gifts, lined on the man you spent so long chasing after—you see the gloves you gifted, the tie with not so much as a single crease, and the earrings that shine more brightly in the light of the pavilion. (it suits him. like you) it was as if sunday had completely surrendered himself to you, had all but decided to proclaim that he was yours, and this was nothing short of a plea for you to hear him.

“please.” he says. almost begs. “i can't bear not seeing you anymore. allow me to correct such a damning mistake.”

and if you were skeptical, the way sunday looks at you would dispel any doubt you could ever have. (his wings, they were fluttering.)

(months later, after a nerve-ending confession, many days of dinners, shared gifts involving matching jewelry and promenading to your wishes, it dawns on sunday he was absolutely dancing to your tune. did he regret it, though?

....no, most certainly not.)

if AVENTURINE were to be honest with himself, he saw you as a useful “friend” rather than a romantic interest. was it bad of him? of a sort. but risk cutting himself open and letting someone he might grow to care for know about all the ugliness that follows his life? no, he's fine as it is, thanks.

the first thing he notices is that you're kind—though he distrusted most of his colleagues and preferred none to get close to him, aventurine, in some morbid moment of curiosity, instead allowed himself to bask in your attention. instead of curtly disparaging you, he flirts back at your compliments (the way your face heated up in return was far too endearing that he can't help but want to kiss you he finds it amusing) and consistently texts you a “did you get home safe” or a “i bought you this because it reminded me of you”; at this point, it was like you two were dating.

was it leading you on? yes, but he supposes it was a win-win; he could send you those tiny bits of validation that was enough for you to stay respectfully at a distance while he probed at your intentions. unlike others who attempt to garner his favor, you're genuine, and you seriously take the time to know him. because you always text back with hearts, always reassure him, tell him to stay safe and wish him luck at every gamble, every high stakes bet he finds himself in. you even complimented his perfume once (and, if he had to be honest, he could not stop thinking about it all day—because that perfume he commissioned exclusively was based off of your own favorite scents and it was extremely embarrassing that he loved hugging you knowing that you loved the way he smelled and that it felt extremely domestic).

(sometimes, he doesn't reply. for months on end. suddenly the golden-haired man you love goes cold and you know then that aventurine ghosts you and then returns when he's in need of a friend—never a lover. it hurts you, but at the very least, you know he cares in his own way.)

and, if aventurine had to be honest, it was killing him from the inside bit by bit. as if to drive the knife deeper, you never danced around what exactly was going on with you two. you never ask why he ghosts you, then sends you a bundle of gifts all of a sudden and then rapidly spends time with you and repeating the cycle. no, you were consistently by his side, so warm and so caring—so unlike him—that aventurine wonders if it's really all right to open his heart to you.

if, by some chance, he actually wanted to be with you, would you treat him even more sweetly than before? aventurine thinks you would—you were beautiful in your entirety, and he was practically undeserving of you. he imagines himself kissing your hand and having you in his arms—and that feels like ice cold water being dumped onto his head, because you could do so much better and yet, why him?

so when aventurine hears about how a certain doctor was visiting you for some unknown reason, his already fragile sense of security in this little will-they, won't they crumbles.

and when he finds out that you were staying over with ratio? something twisted lodges itself in the little brushes of his heart, coiling and coiling—making him feel green. aventurine is aware you and the doctor are good friends, and ratio was the one who even told you to make a move on him! how could he just—suddenly interrupt?!

(was it dramatic? extremely. but knowing his friend and the person he secretly adores might end up together? you can't really blame him.)

he supposes this can be attributed to him. it was an egregious mistake, a blunder aventurine made—he never gave you a clear sight of whether he truly loved you or not and now you're slipping away from him.

so, he does something very unexpected.

at 3:00 AM in the wee early morning hours, aventurine practically barges into one Dr. veritas ratio's home, demanding what the hell was going on between you. and as if he had expected it, his doctor friend merely gives him a shrug in return.

“perhaps they were simply getting fed up by a certain IPC member—who is clearly head over heels in love with them—giving them mixed signals.” ratio's tone is stern, and aventurine definitely knows that the look he gives him is the one he gives only to fools.

you idiot, the doctor seems to say. yeah, yeah, he is; aventurine ignores the clear pinprick at his dignity.

yes, he supposes he is the fool here. “ah.”

“yes, ‘ah,’ indeed. now, let me propose a question.” the purple-haired man says. “will you react in such a way when i tell you that in order for my friend to stop their anguish, i managed to get them to fraternize with one of my colleagues?”

“...what?”

“they will be having a meet-up seven system hours from now.” ratio shrugs. eyes aventurine, who's looking at him like a gaping, stupid fish. “i can only hope that no one would dare to disrupt.”

...it doesn't take him long to be rid of the gambler by then.

(a few hours later, you stop by the Intelligentsia Guild to see one veritas ratio with a smug smile, eyeing the fur coat draped around your shoulders, and the flushed and happy expression written on your face.

“did it work?” he asks.

you laugh, “splendidly.”

indeed, that gambler was a fool, and there's nothing more than dr. ratio loved than to educate such fools to shape.

“that will teach him.”)

as a quote unquote ‘old man’ who knows that he's well up in his years for a relationship, JING YUAN finds you to be quite amusing.

it doesn't take a detailed analysis to know that you were smitten with him, really. you're a complete open book by his standards—if your heated face and slightly airy voice whenever you were even placed in the same vicinity with the Dozing General was anything to come by. while flattering, he also shares the similar mindset of being too old for any love his way—and he could be mara-struck at any given time, and jing yuan does not wish such a life filled with anguish and pain for the one who may steal his heart. but, worry not, brave suitor of the Arbiter General! unlike the other two above, this man has the experience of millenia, and is open-minded and aware that you truly wish to be perceived as a potential lover.

in fact, jing yuan's recent favorite habit is sneaking off the Seat of Divine Foresight purely to freak you out, watching you scramble up your words, seeing the heat crawl up your nape and bloom all across your face. adorable. you certainly knew how to appeal, that's for sure.

(“heh, it seems i've found a new place to stay in so that the Diviner Fu won't grill me alive when she sees me.”

and when he's rewarded with a bashful and speechless look in return, a smile and your, “i'm glad, general.” it surprisingly lightens up his mood by more than he expected.

that, in turn, gives him a frightening 30% energy boost; fu xuan was utterly shocked to see the languid man actually working and looking like he enjoyed it, for once.

“did something good happen today, jing yuan? why so enthusiastic?”

“i just felt like working more than usual, diviner Fu. i seem to have my energy levels at a high.”)

now, jing yuan is considerate and perceptive first and foremost, so there's a high chance that out of all the men here, he is the most open to giving you the chance to pursue him. he does inform you beforehand that he has no plans of accepting your confessions in the future, and that is where the ‘hard to get’ part comes in.

it's like playing a confusing romance visual novel with a fickle love interest—you never really know what you're doing, whether it's something jing yuan would like or not, and you don't know if he even thinks your attempts are moving his heart. (tldr: he friend zones you).

he maintains the same distance no matter his banters with you, no matter how many times you tell him that you'd help yanqing out with sword lessons. it's like he was just... treating you as he would a friend, and that you were basically stuck in the friend-zone forever.

(he keeps it to himself, but something warm stirs in his chest when he sees yanqing sleeping on your shoulder after training practice, with your arm protectively around the boy's side.

your sleeping face didn't make it easy to look away either; it's one of the few moments in which jing yuan shows just the slightest bit of reciprocating your pursuits; he brushes back the stray hairs covering your face, and drapes a blanket over the two of you.

of course, perhaps to tease yanqing, he also takes the calligraphy brush and makes a work out of his face, doodling all over it.

when you wake up, there's a lingering scent of ink and yellowed paper that fills your senses. when you turn to the boy beside you, you almost giggle out loud.)

it's a little disheartening—and while jing yuan did acknowledge that you were slowly, slowly burrowing yourself in his heart, he doesn't act on it fast enough, and instead lets the realization sit in his mind for a while.

it gets to the point where it feels as though he were preparing to distance himself, and even yanqing had asked if he was well. your visits with the Arbiter General also decrease, as he suddenly buried himself in his work even more than before.

he doesn't get to see you all that much afterwards, despite the lingering feeling of missing you filling his heart.

....that's until jing yuan hears word of a recent mara-struck incident involving the Sky-faring Commission; with your name listed among those heavily injured.

when he visits Bailu's clinic after yanqing urges him, jing yuan takes in the sight of you, littered in injuries from head to toe. your life, about to snap. he never even told you that you won; you did manage to steal his heart and for the first time in a long time, jing yuan allows himself to love.

so if, after three weeks later when you're finally healed up and ready to go, jing yuan brings you into his arms and drags you to let him sleep in your lap, you can't really blame him now, can you?

a/n: i love yearner hsr men,,, might do a pt 2 though. thinking of mayb ratio, jiaoqiu and f/heng next time...... sighs dreamily

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

[tellingtell5]

The parting glass 《Remmick, sinners x reader 》

Remmick x reader

A/N: Ever since I watched Sinners, I’ve been completely mesmerized by everything—the music, the characters, the cinematography. Everything. I was captivated by all the characters. And Remmick's character brought me right back to that time in my life when I was obsessed with vampires. I'm not condoning any of the character’s actions in the film—it simply gave me an idea for a story. I’m fascinated by the idea that music could be a way to connect with one’s ancestors.

I've actually been listening to this song while writing (I still can't get over sunrise of the reaping).

Be gentle please, is my first readers pov.

Part 2.

Angst. Lost.

The wind tousles your hair, veiling your vision with dark strands. Through this curtain, the world appears distorted. You don't bother to brush it aside; instead, you let it conceal the tears that have been escaping since yesterday.​

An eerie silence envelops you, sending shivers down your spine. Soon, it will be broken by the pastor's deep voice, offering generic words for a soul considered only in the final tally.​

You tremble—not from the cold that reddens your ears, making them throb in a way you've never noticed before—but from a sharp pain that grips your head. You cross your arms, resisting the urge to clutch your temples, hoping the others won't think you're shielding yourself from the prayers.​

A moan of grief pierces the air, resonating in your bones. Should you display such raw sorrow for this profound loss? Yet, you feel numb, events clumping into a ball lodged in your throat—neither swallowable nor expellable.

You're suspended in a strange limbo, where sorrow whispers icy words at your nape, raising goosebumps and making your skin feel alien, as if it no longer belongs to you. A void nests in your chest, paradoxically heavy, pressing against your throat, reaching your eyes, where absence morphs into an unrelenting itch.​

Parting your lips, you inhale, hoping the air will dissolve this ghostly discomfort. Yet, the taste of freshly turned earth fills your mouth. You imagine tasting salt in the air, despite being far from the sea. Perhaps it's from the tears shed over time, saturating the atmosphere with briny sorrow.​

It's late; the sun no longer illuminates the varnished coffin. Instead, the moon's first rays cast shadows on the mourners' faces, adding a macabre hue to the scene.​

Lost in thought, you don't notice the preacher has finished speaking, now inviting others to bid farewell to the body amidst sobs. A part of you is relieved not to have heard the speech from someone who didn't truly know your grandmother. In her final years, she renounced God and avoided church since leaving her homeland. "Things are different here, love," she once told you when you were eight, urging her to attend Sunday service.​

A warm hand on your shoulder startles you, eliciting a sound akin to a whimper. You recoil from the touch that burns like embers.​

Turning, you see your father's face, and the void in your chest deepens. He's tearless—you've never seen him cry—not even now, bidding farewell to his mother. His eyes are sunken, shadowed. A chill runs through you as you imagine the corpse in the coffin isn't your grandmother, but this man, barely standing beside you. His skin sags over his bones, as if grief, not worms, is decaying him, dulling his features.​

His eyes, now dark voids, silently plead with you to do what he cannot.​

You break free from his grasp, your steps unsteady, as if loss has erased basic instincts like walking. The mourners' attention weighs on you; your heart races, each beat a wave of nausea and dizziness. A panic attack grips you—is it the anticipation of others? The fear they'll realize you have nothing to say, despite being raised by her? What could you say? She won't hear it. But this isn't for the departed; it's for those left behind.​

You open your mouth, but only erratic breaths escape, vertigo hitting hard. A song lyric surfaces—a tune you found long ago in one of your grandmother's hidden journals.​

You consider singing it but hesitate, fearing consequences. Even in her absence, the act feels forbidden. Yet, a melody rises within you, starting as a barely audible murmur, causing heads to turn in alarm.​

At home, raising your voice in song was strictly prohibited—not even humming. Your nana set that rule long before your birth, after fleeing her homeland. The reasons were never discussed, but you were taught that singing could bring dire consequences.​

You'd never heard your family sing. Your only exposure came from sneaking into the church to listen to the choir, your heart syncing with the forbidden, exhilarating rhythms.​

The words escape with unexpected force. It's your first time singing publicly. The mourners hold their breath; sorrow replaced by fear. Yet, no one stops you. A sob interrupts you, prompting a pause. In that moment, you recall discovering the journal, feeling the leather and coarse paper beneath your fingers. You'd hidden it under a loose floorboard, reading it only when your father allowed trips to town. You'd lie about visiting your mother's friends, instead finding solace under an old tree, imagining how to sing those words.​

"Of all the money that e'er I had

I have spent it in good company

Oh and all the harm I've ever done

Alas, it was to none but me"​

Your grandmother left no instructions on how to sing it. You always wanted to ask her, to challenge the absurd rule imposed at home.​

"And all I've done for want of wit

To memory now I can't recall

So fill to me the parting glass

Good night and joy be to you all.."​

Alongside that song, many others emerged. You weep, thinking of your nana's delicate handwriting, wishing you could have sung with her. When your voice breaks, you remember the first times you dared to give rhythm to those written words. They seemed beautiful, but their meaning only became clear once voiced. Each time, the surroundings felt charged with something unknown, and you never felt alone—just like now.​

"So fill to me the parting glass

And drink a health whate'er befalls

Then gently rise and softly call

Good night and joy be to you all."​

You continue singing, sensing a peculiar buzz in the air. The atmosphere grows dense, hard to breathe. Goosebumps rise again, but you persist. You fear you're losing your mind when you feel your nana's comforting presence beside you. You worry she's returned to scold you for disobedience. But your heart swells with longing, reminiscent of childhood nights when she'd sit by your bed, sharing ancient, soothing tales. The song falters with another sob as you feel her lips on your forehead, bidding you farewell. This time, she won't be there in the morning, helping your father prepare breakfast.

"Of all the comrades that e'er I had

They're sorry for my going away

And all the sweethearts that e'er I had

They would wish me one more day to stay"​

The moment you hummed that last verse, one of Nana's old notes finally made sense. You remember the ones she used to leave tucked beside songs, written in a shaky but stubborn hand. "It’s not just a meeting with our ancestors. It calls dark things, too." You never really understood what she meant—until now.

But since it fell into my lot

That I should rise and you should not

I'll gently rise and softly call

Good night and joy be to you all

Because as you sang, you didn’t just feel her love in the warmth prickling at the back of your neck; you smelled the lilies—Mum’s lilies—the ones that always followed her like a whisper.

You kept humming when the words stuck in your throat. A lump had taken root there, and all you could manage was a choked, humming mmm. Then Dad pulled you close—too fast, too tight. His arms crushed around you, one hand cradling your head against his chest like you were still a little girl. You buried your face in his shirt, grabbed fistfuls of it like it could hold you together, and felt warm drops fall into your hair.

So fill to me the parting glass

And drink a health whate'er befalls

Then gently rise and softly call

Good night and joy be to you all

You didn’t look up. You didn’t want to see what grief had done to your father’s face.

"Darlin'," his voice cracked. "I appreciate it—truly, I do. It was beautiful. But don’t do that again."

Your heart broke right there. Shattered like glass in your chest. You clung to him harder, trying to understand. Had he felt them too? Nana. Mum. Their presence was thick around you, like fog—real, undeniable. You opened your mouth to say something, but Dad’s chest jolted as he tried to swallow a sob. That was your answer. He had felt it.

Then why was he asking you to stop?

Maybe it was just the way things were.

One of your aunts stepped forward, her cheeks raw and puffy, lips pressed tight with grief and something else—anger. She'd just come from dropping a fistful of earth into Nana’s grave. You hadn’t seen her in years.

Dad let go and turned to her. You watched them, a new fury smoldering low in your gut.

"Tell the girl not to do that again," your aunt hissed. Her words were wet, her teeth clenched like she was trying to bite back a curse. "She’ll doom us all."

"She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She just wanted to say goodbye."

"We all felt it. So what else heard her, ah?"

You didn’t understand. Not the words exactly. But the fear in them struck you like cold water. Still, something inside you lit up—relief, maybe. You weren’t going mad. Nana had been there. You hadn’t imagined it.

But what did she mean by "what else"?

Who else.

Your thoughts scattered as Dad’s hand found your shoulder. Wordless, he turned you toward the house. You walked, each step sinking into the earth like it wanted to drag you under. Home didn’t feel like home.

It was too quiet. Too hollow.

You found yourself thinking: maybe it was Nana who made this place feel alive. Her muttered jokes, her laugh that didn’t match her years. Maybe she’d kept the shadows at bay just by being here.

Dad murmured an apology and vanished into his room, dragging his feet like the weight of the day had finally broken him.

You stayed behind. Alone. In the still, dark kitchen.

You closed your eyes, bracing against the swell of memories. The song had helped somehow—it had let something out, loosened that hard knot in your chest. But now those feelings were flooding back, fast and heavy, crashing over your ribs.

You dropped to your knees. The wooden floor bit into your skin. Hands clapped over your mouth to stifle the sobs. You didn’t want him to hear.

Then: knock knock.

A gentle tapping.

Like whoever was outside didn’t want anyone else to know they were there.

You froze.

Another knock. A whisper against the silence.

Your mind jumped to wild places. Madness, maybe. Maybe you’d finally cracked. But no—it was real. You felt the floor under your palms. You heard it.

Knock. Knock.

You pushed yourself up, legs trembling, and stumbled to the door.

When your fingers brushed the chain lock, a cold spark shot through your nerves. You paused. Something about this was wrong. All day, people had come to offer condolences. Friends, neighbors, even strangers with kind words and too many flowers.

But none of them had made you feel like this. Like something was watching. Waiting.

Your hand shook as you slid the chain free.

You both held your breath.

Maybe it was just another neighbor—someone who’d only just heard, coming by late to pay their respects. But it was late. The world wouldn’t stop turning just because Nana had died. Tomorrow people would go to work, carry on. Anyone who knocked now must be truly shaken by her passing.

You couldn’t leave them standing in the dark.

Despite the fear clawing at your spine, you cracked the door just an inch. Through the gap, you saw a figure—head bowed, black hair hanging like a veil.

When the hinges groaned, he looked up.

And smiled.

A trembling, broken smile.

"Evenin."

The voice doesn’t sound wrong—but it doesn’t sound right, either. It slides over your skin like a whisper of fog, too soft, too deliberate, like something that remembers how to sound human but hasn’t done it in a long time. You don’t know why, but every one of your fears sharpens at once.

He's wringing a wool cap between his fingers, knuckles white, shoulders hunched as if weighed down by something heavier than the drizzle behind him. His presence presses at you like a held breath.

"Maud?"

You freeze. Nana's name strikes you hard, straight to the chest. Maud. No one says it. Hearing it now—at your door, from the mouth of a stranger—feels like a door opening that you didn’t unlock.

Your throat tightens, and against your better judgment, you ease the door open a little more. Enough to see him properly. Enough for the rain to scent the threshold. Only your body shields the house now.

"I'm her granddaughter," you say, though your voice comes out brittle, fractured. "If you're here for the funeral, it was earlier today."

He frowns as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. For a beat, his face is blank, like a record skipping—but then he nods slowly, his gaze drifting somewhere far away.

"Aye," he murmurs, clearing his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. His accent is thick, low, full of rounded vowels that pull you back to memories you don't own. "I s’pose I’m a bit late."

Then his eyes meet yours.

It hits you in the gut—this wrongness that isn’t danger, not yet, but is watching it unfold in slow motion. There’s something familiar about him, and that’s what unsettles you most. You don’t recognize his face, but the shape of his expression, the tone of his voice, the shadow in his gaze—it stirs a memory in your blood, not your mind.

You do the math. Your gran had to have known him over fifty years ago. He doesn’t look a day over thirty.

"Were you the one singin’ earlier?" he asks suddenly, angling his head toward the woods behind him. His smile is tilted, caught somewhere between reverence and disbelief.

You don’t mean to nod, but your head moves anyway.

That smile grows. Wider. Too wide. Almost to his ears. Something primal stirs in you when your eyes catch his teeth—just a flash—but it’s enough. His canines are... sharper. Longer. You blink, and he presses his lips together again, like he’s hiding something. But the smile doesn’t fade.

"Thought you were someone else," he mutters, voice low. He shakes his head. "You’re the spittin’ image, y’know. Thought for a second I was dreamin’."

You don’t think he meant for you to hear that. But he doesn’t seem to care that you did.

You cross your arms, a shiver slipping up your spine that has nothing to do with the weather. "How did you know Nana?"

His hand moves to the strap across his chest, and you instinctively tense. As if sensing your reaction, he raises his other hand, palm open, in a wordless I won’t hurt you. Slowly—deliberately—he unhooks the strap and lets an object fall against his chest. You can’t place what it is. Some kind of instrument.

"Her songs..." he says, and there's something reverent in the way he says it, like a prayer half-remembered. "They were the best I ever heard. Her voice... somethin’ sacred in it."

The words feel like betrayal.

Gran never sang. She forbade music. Even the rhythmic tap of a finger was met with thunderous silence and a warning glare. She had rules. Music was dangerous. She said it with such fire, such fury, that it left no room for questions.

"When did you hear her sing?"

Your voice cracks mid-sentence. You swallow and try again, but it barely comes out.

His smile wavers. The corner of his mouth tugs as if caught between pride and guilt. You get the distinct, dizzying sense that if you tried to shut the door on him, he’d be able to force his way through without even breaking a sweat. Your fingers grip the door harder. The old wood groans. He notices.

When his eyes meet yours again, something dark passes through them like a storm cloud blotting out the stars.

"You’ve got a gorgeous voice, y’know that, love?"

The terror comes back so fast it’s like you never stopped feeling it. His gaze isn’t just hungry—it’s famished. But his posture is casual, calm. It doesn’t match the intensity behind his eyes. You feel like a deer, caught just seconds before the pounce.

"Why don’t you let me in?" he offers, voice silk. "We could talk about how your gran used to tour the country with her band. She was a marvel, that one."

The temptation creeps up your throat like a song. You don’t know why, but part of you wants to believe him. Wants to know. You can almost feel the invitation forming on your tongue—Come in, please, tell me more. But you bite down on it, hard.

You wince. The copper taste of blood fills your mouth.

A sound escapes him—sharp, desperate.

His nostrils flare. His mouth parts. You watch his pupils swell, and for the briefest instant, his irises flash crimson. You freeze. Hypnotized. There's something in his stare that calls to you, pulls at your feet, urges you forward like a voice in the fog.

You step. Just once. Almost across the threshold.

His breath catches.

You feel the edge of it—whatever he is—waiting, reaching. But then you swallow, hard, forcing the taste of blood back. As if that tiny act breaks the spell, you stagger a step backward, your body yours again.

His face twitches. He shakes his head like a man waking from a dream. That grin returns like it never left.

Your heart is hammering now. You don’t know what almost happened. You don’t want to know. But something deep inside you, something older than memory, whispers: don’t let him in.

"Well?" he asks, almost playfully. "Will you let me come inside, lass?"

You say nothing. You press the door gently, firmly. His smile never falters. He doesn’t stop you. You close it.

Wood touches your forehead. You lean into it, breath caught in your throat. You can’t see him anymore. But somehow... you know he’s still there. Standing on the other side, his breath slow and deliberate, mirroring yours.

His voice comes like a whisper through a dream.

"I’ve come for a reason. I’ve searched too long to walk away now. Help me finish what I started… or bear the cost, my sweet."

The words slither under the crack in the door and settle inside you. Heavy.The fear you’d tried to suppress curls up beside your heart and makes itself at home. You don’t know what he meant by “the cost.”

You just pray you never have to find out

[gguk-n]

Cinematic Sparks (Kim Namjoon x Lewis Hamilton's sister!Reader)

Face claim- India Armateifio. Pictures from Pinterest

Series Masterlist

y/nhamilton

Liked by lewishamilton, mercedesamgf1 and 234,987 others Tagged lewishamilton

y/nhamilton A weekend well spent😌😌

mercedesamgf1 you should spend more weekends with us🥹🥹 user1 the hamilton's have great genes❤️❤️ user2 so pretty!!😍😍 user3 the first picture😍😍 user4 how is she so pretty even without make up??😩😩 lewishamilton stop telling dad I don't take you places😤😤 y/nhamilton lewishamilton never bc its the truth😡 lewishamilton y/nhamilton that's why I don't take you anywhere🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️

y/nhamilton

Liked by lewishamilton, nicorosberg and 147,927 others Tagged lewishamilton

y/nhamilton I coquettified him!!🎀🎀

lewishamilton take that picture down😡 y/nhamilton NO🫢 nicorosberg that's why you're my favourite Hamilton ❤️❤️Liked by the Author mercedesamgf1 why didn't we think of that?🤔 user5 I want a brother like Lewis🥲 user6 Lewis I get you ma brother, my sisters crazy just like yours😥 user7 she looks so perfect doing anything😫😫 user8 we love you Y/N. Never change for this industry🤣🤣 user9 user8 what industry? f1? user8 user9 she's an actor, she starred in a lot of movies and shows😀

y/nhamilton

Liked by lewishamilton and 1,287,298 others

y/nhamilton Exhausted from all the promo but I hope you guys will enjoy seeing me in the new Netflix original

user10 I just watched it and I love it❤️❤️ user11 effortlessly pretty😍😍 user12 her interviews are riveting😘 user13 her chemistry with her co-stars is unbelievable🫢🫢

y/nhamilton

Liked by 278,029 others

y/nhamilton Rejuvenating my soul in Seoul

user14 OMG!! YOU LOOK SO GOOD IN A HANBOK❤️❤️ user15 That caption is bomb 😩😩 user16 I ran into her the other day and she was the nicest person and we took pictures and even gave her autograph🥹🥹 y/friend/user best girls trip everrrr🥹🥹 y/bff/user wanna go back!!!❤️‍🩹🥲

y/nhamilton followed rkive

gossippage

Liked by 1,287, 298 others

gossippage Dispatch Korea released pictures of a couple saying they are Y/N Hamilton and RM of BTS. The outlet says that they were spotted a couple times spanning months going in and out of RM's Hannam-dong apartment. The couple or their agency are yet to confirm anything

user17 obviously namjoon pulled her, I mean look at her😩 user18 you can't even see their face, it's utter bs😤😤 user19 they are grown adults, if they date then they date user20 I hope it's true, I wanna see Namjoon at races🥹 user21 it's funny how 7 time world champion's sister's dating some one who cannot drive🤣🤣 user22 I think it's true, RM just followed her🥲🥲

rkive followed y/nhamilton

y/nhamilton

Liked by rkive, lewishamilton and 2,456,973 others Tagged rkive

y/nhamilton All the time I spent with you was the best. I'll be looking out of the window wistfully waiting for my husband to return from the war😭

rkive I'll be back soon❤️ lewishamilton what do you mean husband?? 😡😡 georgerussell63 incase any one was wondering, Lewis is pacing the mercedes hospitality like a mad man nicorosberg he's a gent, we love him❤️ sebastianvettel he's so much better than the other guys you've brought home❤️ lewishamilton sebastianvettel there were others???🥲😤 y/nhamilton lewishamilton you act like I am 5😫😫 user23 y/n and namjoon dating was not on my 2023 bingo🫢🫢 user24 the boyfriend namjoon pictures are killing me😭😭 user25 she's us, waiting for our husbands*cough*JungKook*cough* user26 love the Hamilton siblings😂😂

rkive

Liked by y/nhamilton, uarmyhope and 2,370,290 others Tagged y/nhamilton

rkive My favourite person to take to museums

y/nhamilton I'm the only person you take to museums🤔 rkive y/nhamilton bc that's the only time you shut up😌 y/nhamilton rkive 😤😡 user27 he really said f u to the company, I do what I want😂😂 user28 this couple was made for us😭😭 user29 I'm living vicariously through them😭😭 user30 cutest couple ever❤️🥹 user31 ewww you ruined your feed for her🙃🙃 urarmyhope ❤️

[yesihaveaobsession]

A Well- Tailored Affair

Alastor x female! reader

Summary: Being The Radio Demon's one and only personal tailor has it own perks.

A/N- Sorry I have been gone for quite some time!! But I'm back, I had NOOOOOO idea what to write and this thought came to me mid sleep at like 12am So anyways I hope you enjoy!

ALSO this was gonna proofread because I didn't have time and I missed yall so sorry if it sucks 💀

Being a tailor in Hell was no small feat, especially when your main client was none other than the Radio Demon himself, Alastor. When you first took the job, you didn’t expect it to be much of a challenge working with his specific tastes. But over time, you came to know him like the back of your hand.

Today, he was scheduled for a fitting. He had dropped off a newer jacket last week but he said he had business to attend to and he'd come back next week and that was today. As always, the atmosphere of your small shop—which wasn’t far from the hotel—was calm and cozy. You were currently cross-stitching a dress for Rosie for some type of event in Cannibal Town when, suddenly, the bell above the door jingled. There he was. Alastor stepped inside with his signature grin, accompanied by the hum of radio static. The aura he carried was palpable. The moment he entered, you could feel the air shift.

"Ah, my favorite tailor!" he exclaimed, spreading his arms wide before resting his hands on the microphone in front of him. With a slight tilt of his head, he asked, "Have you missed me?"

You chuckled softly, stepping away from your work and already reaching for the measuring tape. "You were here last week, Alastor. Hardly enough time to miss anyone." You smiled. His grin didn’t falter, though you didn’t notice how his crimson eyes lingered on you longer than usual. Truth be told, Alastor liked you. More than he should, and more than he realized. Part of it was the trust he placed in you to handle his precious suits, which were such a vital part of who he was. But it was also because you treated them with such grace. You knew what you were doing and were exceptional at it. Not to mention, you were one of the rare souls in Hell who wasn’t afraid of him. And lastly, you were undeniably pretty—he thought that too.

"Ah, but a week without your company is an eternity, my dear," Alastor replied. You brushed off his words with a smile. He often gave small, sweet compliments about your work and how he missed you, so this wasn’t anything new. Yet today, his words seemed to carry a different meaning.

You rolled your eyes playfully, motioning for him to step onto the fitting platform. In front of him was a large mirror—he loved checking his reflection to ensure he always looked impeccable. "Alright, charmer, let’s see what we’re working with today. Did you tear another sleeve during one of your dramatics?" you teased, looking from the sleeve up into his eyes.

He let out a melodic laugh. "Guilty as charged! I simply cannot help myself. Life—or afterlife, rather—demands a flair for the theatrical!"

As you worked, your hands expertly adjusted the fabric of his jacket. You noticed his gaze drifting to you frequently. At first, you thought he might be scrutinizing your technique, but no—this was different. His grin softened ever so slightly whenever he thought you weren’t looking. Watching your focused expression gave him an odd fluttering sensation, almost like butterflies in his stomach.

"You’re very precise," he remarked, his voice quieter than usual.

"Kind of comes with the job," you replied with a smile, pinning a sleeve in place. "Can’t have the Radio Demon walking around in anything less than perfection, right?"

"Indeed. And you, my dear, are perfection. I must confess, I’ve never trusted anyone else with my suits. You have an extraordinary talent."

You paused, caught off guard by the bold confession—especially coming from him. "Thank you, Alastor. That means a lot," you said, grabbing the needle and thread.

"And," he added, tilting his head as though studying a particularly fascinating piece of art, "it doesn’t hurt that you’re quite easy on the eyes." Was he kidding? He had to be, right? Your cheeks flushed instantly, and you nearly dropped the pin you were holding. "Oh! Uh, thanks."

He noticed your reaction and chuckled, clearly amused. "Did I fluster you? My, my, how delightful!" Alastor grinned, watching you through the mirror. You cleared your throat, trying to regain your composure. "Stop moving," you muttered, focusing on adjusting the flaps on his suit. You finished stitching up the rip on his sleeve with a clean, neat stitch—it was a relatively easy fix.

The silence grew heavy until he broke it. "You’re one of the only few who doesn’t fear me, you know… It’s refreshing."

"Well, I figured if you were going to do something to me, you would’ve done it already," you replied with a smirk, stepping back to admire your work. Alastor’s grin widened. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I find your company far too enjoyable to spoil."

You shook your head, laughing softly. "Alright, smooth talker, you’re good to go. You can come and pick it up in 24 hours." You watched as he stepped down from the platform, adjusted his jacket, the one he came in with and turned to face you. "Splendid! I’ll be counting the seconds until I see your lovely presence again!" He started toward the door but paused, looking back over his shoulder with that ever-present grin. "Oh, and my dear, do save a moment for tea when I return. I’d like to enjoy more of your delightful company." You smiled, shaking your head. "You better not rip your coat on purpose in the next 24 hours!" you shouted after him.

You heard his laugh echo as he left, leaving you standing in the middle of your shop, flustered and smiling despite yourself. Maybe being Alastor’s tailor wasn’t so bad after all.

[beifong-brainrot]

Thinking about this panel of comics in tandem with the fact that Aang's Avatar duties kept him away from his family.

Like for all we talk about Aang being absent from his family due to his duties as the Avatar and the last Airbender, the discussion centers mainly whether or not he "failed" as a husband to Katara and as a father to his children. And while there certainly is nuance here, and I've discussed the "deadbeat dad Aang" theory in the past, I wanna focus on how Aang's role as the Avatar affected him internally.

Aang had the luck, unlike Korra, of having a mentor that protected him from his title as Avatar and gave him a carefree childhood.

Gyatso: Aang needs to have freedom and fun. He needs to grow up as a normal boy. Tashi: You cannot keep protecting him from his destiny. Pasang: Gyatso, I know you mean well, but you are letting your affection for the boy cloud your judgment. Gyatso: All I want is what is best for him. Pasang : But what we need is what's best for the world. You and Aang must be separated! The Avatar will be sent away to the Eastern Air Temple to complete his training.

And this was a blessing for Aang, as he got to be a normal child, as we see how damaging the lack of this is with Korra, who was raised to be Avatar first, a perskn second. Aang got to grow up as himself, not the Avatar. However, the moment his identity as the Avatar is revealed, he immediately becomes isolated from his peers and treated as other.

Air Nomad boy #1 : Now that you're the Avatar, it's kind of an unfair advantage for whichever team you're on. Aang: But I'm still the same! Nothing's changed! So, what? I can't play? Air Nomad boy #1 : That's the only fair way. Aang: Oh, okay. Air Nomad boy #2: Sorry, Aang.

This isolation is already tough, and its something we see almost all Avatars suffer with, some more, some less. Of course, it is that much harder on Aang, and, as he is just a scared child, being stripped of his identity and othered by his community, he runs away.

The fact that Aang will never know that Gyatso was not going to let him be sent away is my roman empire he will never know how much his parental figure and friend in two lives loved him and im tearing up oh my god

And when he wakes, he is the last airbender, his people, friends, family, dead for a hundred years. And that is a magnitude of loss hard to comprehend, especially from Aang's perspective, where it is both instantaneous and long past.

And yes, while Aang has Katara, Appa and the Gaang, they cannot replace a whole nation. Especially in the Avatar universe, where nationality is so tied to ones identity via bending.

And Aang isn't just the last member of a completely obliverated nation, he's still the Avatar, responsible for the other, still existing nations. Its his responsibility, and it is clearly taking a huge toll on his mental state. Because he is the only one who can stop the Fire Nation. Yes he will have his friends help, but it is his responsibility. Mind you, he is still 12 and currently mourning a whole nation. And we see how he struggles to balance his own comfort with this responsibility to the world.

Aang: I'm really glad you told me that. But I still need to do this. Katara : I don't understand. Aang: No, you don't. Every day, more and more people die. I'm already one hundred years late. Defeating the Fire Lord is the only way to stop this war. I have to try it!

And, yes, while defeating Ozai took a load off his shoulders, the nations still need guidance and peacekeeping. And Aang is expected to handle that too. Alongside trying to rebuild his nation, and resurrect its culture ans traditions. I know many people are upset by Aang hanging out with his fangirls and frankly, it hurt my soul to see Katara go through that. But I also understand Aang's joy at finding a community that embraces his culture and also eagerly participates in it, if not for the most noble of reasons.

Mind you, I absolutely don't think Katara was in the wrong for being upset. I do, however, believe she can empathise with Aang's joy, as she remembers her excitement and possessiveness over the waterbending scroll, her desire to learn waterbending, her immediate bond with Hama and how Aang supported her through these attempts to reconnect with her also damaged culture. And, of course, the Air Nomads cultural heritage, artifacts and community are in an even sorrier state. Because the Southern Water Tribe still has some elders to pass down traditions, and their connection with their sister tribes. Not perfect, by far, and much has been lost. But the Air Nomads only have Aang and whoever volunteers their interest.

And later, Tenzin.

Now, I'll keep this short, because I sound like a broken record at this point. Aang was not a deadbeat. He wasn't a perfect father, but he was a loving one. While Bumi and Kya may have certainly already felt isolated for not being airbenders, we see they struggled with aspects of the culture as well, while excelling at others, both being naturally spiritual and free spirits.

Tenzin, I believe, felt more pressure to conform to his Air Nomad heritage, due to being an airbender himself. How much of this pressure came from Aang, I'm not sure. We see him comfprt Tenzin over "failing his duty" and it is also an appartion of him that convinces Tenzin to embrace his own identity. So I would reckon a good chunk of this pressure was not from Aang, but from their surroundings, and perhaps even from Katara, who also cares deeply about preserving culture.

I do like that comic, but white man Aang scares me who is that man with the piercing sky blue eyes and the brown english teacher beard he looks like belethor from skyrim but bald

And of course Aang would want to support his son as he grows into the leader of a nation that has undergone such hardships. So, he would make sure Tenzin at least had fun during that period. Ergo, Bumi and Kya feeling like they're missing out. This, combined with Aang having to leave on Avatar duties would naturally have Aang more absent than he clearly would've wanted. But I also find it interesting that Kya and Bumi's resentment seemed to lie mainly with Tenzin, rather than Aang himself. Based bcs Tenzin can be a bit of a dick.

But we see Kya and Bumi acknowledge multiple times that Aang was a loving, supportive father with a lot on his plate.

I just can't help but find Aang an inherently lonely and tragic character. One that, frankly, had every right to turn bitter, angsty and hateful but remained so filled with love and care, who met the world with open arms. The Avatars all experinece some level of isolation and "othering", perhaps because they are not entirely human. But Aang, of course, had his home and family torn from him, in an instant in his eyes, and he spent the rest of his life trying to rebuild it. Yet he also had to manage the rest of the world's problems. And yet he loved. His friends, his wife, his children. He loved them but he will always be, to some degree apart from them. And it just fucking hurts to think about.

[lillithsalvatore]

million dollar man

pairing: royal!jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader

summary: the price of loving a million dollar man, a prince

warning: modern royal au!, mention of cheating, angst, minor dni, cursing, asshole jace (?), cried. like and reblog are appreciated!! my 1st imagine, please be nice!!

---

"Did you fuck her, Jace? Answer me!" you demanded your soon-to-be-husband, your voice trembling with anger as you stared at Jace, eyes burning with rage. In your hand was a newspaper from a well-known publication, which you held up in front of him. A news about him with his 'childhood bestfriend'

When Jace finally confessed, nearly shouting, "Once, just once, and I fucking regreted it" your heart tightened. His admission felt like a powerful blow to the trust and pride you had invested in him. Your anger intensified, but beneath it all, a deep sadness began to take hold of your mind.

"Once?" You gave a bitter smile. "Even once is fucking enough to destroy everything we had, Jace."

Jace looked at you with regretful eyes, but that only made you feel more exhausted. "Do you know? I trusted you more than I trusted myself. And you betrayed that trust for a moment of weakness."

"Y/n…" Jace began, trying to approach you, but you raised your hand to stop him.

"Don't!" you choked out, but your voice remained firm. "Don't make this worse Jace”

You took a deep breath, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. "I loved you sincerely, but love cannot continue when trust has been shattered."

Finally, you turned away, heading toward the door,

"I hope you never make anyone else feel the way I did."

Jace stood there, frozen, feeling the pain in every word you spoke. He realized that you were not just angry about the betrayal, but also about feeling disregarded, pushed aside in a relationship where you had poured all your heart and soul.

"Y/n, I'm sorry, —" Jace said, his voice trembling, but you couldn't bear to hear any more. Apologies at this point only deepened the pain.

"Don't apologize, Jace," you replied, your voice breaking with sobs. "Sorry doesn't change anything. You chose her over me, It's always been her, Jace."

You could feel Jace's hand still holding yours, but now, that warmth no longer provided the comfort it once did. Instead, it only reminded you of the times he wasn't there for you, when he chose to protect someone else over you.

“Please don’t do this, please let me fix it” He begged

"I tried so hard, Jace. I gave you everything I had, but you chose her, even if you didn't realize it," you said, your voice now filled with nothing but exhaustion and despair.

Jace didn't know what to do, what to say to fix his mistake. He could feel everything between you falling apart, piece by piece, with no way to put it back together.

"Y/n, I—" Jace started, but you interrupted him, pulling your hand out of his grasp.

"I can't stay here anymore, Jace. I can't keep going like this. I guess that's the price of loving a million dollar man."

"And I giving this ring back to you, I hope you'll find someone who deserve it" You turned away, moving towards the door, trying to leave this suffocating space before your heart completely shattered.

Before opening the door, you looked back at Jace one last time, hoping he would understand what you couldn't put into words: that you had loved him deeply, but you couldn't stay with someone who no longer belonged to you.

And then, you walked out of the apartment. As the door closed behind you, you felt a profound sadness but also a sense of relief, as if a great burden had been lifted. The tears had dried up, leaving a void in your heart, but it was a necessary emptiness, allowing you to move forward, to find yourself again and rebuild your life from the ruins.

And though the pain was immense, you knew you had done the right thing. You chose yourself

Jace might realize his mistake, but it was too late. The love and trust you had given him were no longer intact. Now, you had to seek happiness for yourself, a happiness unbound by emotional scars.

And so, you moved on, looking toward the future, knowing you deserved a true love, a love that would never betray you.

[roseandxanderfics]

"A Soft Touch in the Dark" - Klaus Mikaelson x Shy!Reader

Summary: Klaus is drawn to a sweet, shy girl who isn’t afraid of his darkness. Her innocent charm pulls him in, making him question everything he’s known. Will her soft heart be the one thing that saves him from himself?

------------

The mansion’s grand chandelier sparkled overhead as Klaus Mikaelson stood by the window, his gaze sweeping across the darkened city. The sound of her soft steps on the marble floor was the only thing that interrupted his thoughts. He turned to find the reader standing by the door, fidgeting with the hem of her pale pink dress, her large eyes wide with nervousness.

She had been staying with him for a few days now, caught in the web of his mysterious world. Her innocence and natural beauty were like a breath of fresh air in his dark, twisted existence. He’d noticed how she always seemed to shy away from the chaos around her, often retreating into the quiet corners of the mansion, hugging her knees to her chest like a delicate, fragile flower.

“What brings you here, darling?” Klaus asked with a half-smile, his voice smooth and almost teasing, though there was something soft in his tone that he didn’t quite understand himself.

The reader hesitated, her fingers tugging at the ends of her pink ribbon. She gave a small, shy smile, barely meeting his eyes. “I—I thought I could bring you some tea... I know you’ve been... busy.”

Klaus raised an eyebrow. A simple act of kindness—something he hadn’t experienced much in his long, immortal life. He hadn’t expected her to be so thoughtful, so endearing. It intrigued him.

“You know, I’m not accustomed to having tea brought to me,” Klaus murmured, stepping closer to her, his eyes flickering with amusement. “But, for you, I’ll make an exception.”

She blushed, lowering her gaze, but he could see the little spark of joy in her expression. Klaus could hardly recall a time when he’d seen someone so carefree, so untainted by the darkness that consumed his world. Her innocence was like a balm to his soul, a reminder of what he had lost—and perhaps what he could never truly have.

He reached out, gently lifting her chin so that their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away. She was so soft, so sweet in her shyness, it was almost too much for him to resist.

“You’re different,” Klaus said, his voice low, though not with the usual edge of danger it often held. There was something uncharacteristically tender in the way he spoke. “I find myself... drawn to you.”

The reader swallowed, clearly unsure of how to respond, but she didn’t pull away from him. “I just want to help,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know you’re not a bad person... deep down.”

Klaus smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Perhaps. But I am dangerous, darling. And you, with your soft heart and gentle nature, are not made for the likes of me.”

Her gaze flickered to the floor, and her shoulders hunched slightly as she nervously tugged at the sleeve of her dress. “I—I'm not afraid of you, Klaus,” she said quietly, though her voice trembled.

For a moment, there was silence between them, thick with unspoken tension. Klaus let out a soft breath, the warmth of her words lingering in his mind. She wasn’t afraid of him—something no one had ever said to him in his centuries of existence. The words settled in him, stirring something far deeper than he cared to acknowledge.

Klaus gently cupped her face, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his gaze softening. “You’re far braver than you know,” he said, his voice carrying a tenderness that almost felt foreign to him. “But remember, darling... it is not only love that can destroy. In my world, there is also darkness. And I cannot protect you from it.”

She stepped closer to him, her hand lightly resting on his chest, her voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe it’s the darkness that needs to be protected from me.”

Her words took him by surprise, and for a moment, Klaus did nothing but stare down at her, as if the possibility of what she offered hadn’t quite registered. She was willing to accept him—the monster he was—without fear, with nothing but care and a quiet strength that seemed to pull him closer.

Klaus found himself wondering, for the first time in centuries, if maybe, just maybe, there was something worth saving. In her.

With a soft sigh, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, a gesture he hadn’t given anyone in years, if ever. “Perhaps you are the exception to the rule, my sweet girl.”

She smiled shyly, her cheeks pink with a mix of excitement and bashfulness. It was an innocent, pure smile—one that he would protect with everything he had, even if it meant facing the very darkness that he’d spent his life surrounded by.

As Klaus held her close, he knew one thing for certain—this girl, with her shy smile and soft heart, would be the reason he fought to keep his humanity intact. And no matter how dark the world got, he would never let her go.

[talesfromawannabewriter]

The Savior

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

Everyone has heard the tale of Jesus of Nazareth, of how he singlehandedly saved every single soul with his sacrifice. Before that, he helped hundreds upon hundreds of lost lambs and healed them. He was a savior to all sinners, and he still is.

--

Yeshua was making his way to the head court of all Heaven. He had just been informed by his own father that he was to attend and to see what the matter was all about. According to the Lord it was of vital importance that he be there.

Yeshua didn't understand why but he didn't question it. If his father said that he should go, then he should go.

As he approached the building two of his older brother's soldiers stood guard. They tensed at the sight of Heaven's prince which confused him. Normally they were laid back with him, maybe not with Lute, but still.

Yeshua: Greetings ladies.

Exorcist 1: Good afternoon your highness. What are you doing here?

Yeshua: I was informed that there was a meeting that I must attend. So, if you'll excuse me.

The two exorcists gave each other a nervous look. Quickly they blocked his way through the doors.

Exorcist 2: I, I'm sorry your highness but we cannot allow that!

Yeshua: Why not?

Exorcist 1: (gulps) Because...because.... (sighs) because we were told by the head seraphim to not allow anyone in who isn't personally apart of the council.

Yeshua: But I am on the council, just because I don't always show up doesn't mean that I am not a part of it. It's the same with my father, so please if you would let me in.

While he said it firmly, he did his best to appear pleading to them. Once again, the two gave each other a look but eventually relented.

Exorcist 1: Adam's not gonna like this.

Yeshua smiled at them: Let me handle him when the time comes. You still did amazing with your duty, as you were soldiers.

The female angels moved aside for the prince, and he pushed forward the doors. Unaware of what awaited him inside.

@kittenfangirl20

Happy early birthday! I know it's not for a few weeks, but I thought it might be a good idea to get a head start on it. This is a present from both me and things, hope you enjoyed part one and what will follow!

[deonsx]

How Did You Meet Them?

Feat: Dazai, Chuuya,Fyodor

Dazai Osamu

• This was definitely not a coincidence and he was the first one to notice you, it was never difficult for him to get the woman he wanted, after all, he is really a handsome brunette with curly brown hair, tall height, quick wit, sensual words and two brown orb eyes that shine like gold

• You first met him at the cafe under the agency, or rather, you came to get coffee with your friend, you didn't even have to think about what exactly to do to attract his attention. While you were waiting, he took your number from you and placed a kiss on your hand. That day, he made you think that he was a very gentleman, so you gave him the number easily

"When I first saw your mother, I said 'This is the woman I was looking for" ~Fifteen Years Later

Chuuya Nakahara

• Of course, he wasn't the one who made the first move, Chuuya is a man who doesn't pay that much attention to his surroundings and doesn't look for love. His priorities are his career and himself. Since he isn't looking for a love life, it will take him a long time to like someone

• You met him absolutely randomly. One day, you were waiting for your bus, following your usual routine, but since it didn't arrive, you were already late for your destination, and you sat on the road and waited, not knowing what to do. Since you were waiting at the traffic lights, a biker standing there caught your attention, and as a last resort, you came right next to him

• "I'm sorry for the inconvenience. Can you drop me off at my **** workplace on your way? I'm already late. Please, my only option is...-" The biker opened the eye part of his helmet while the lights were still burning red, his eyebrows furrowed as his eyes looked like they were penetrating his soul "Well..I'm sorry-" interrupted him "Get in quickly"

"That's how lucky I met your mother” ~Fifteen Years Later

Fyodor Dostoyevski

• We have come to the most difficult person...yes, you will not be able to meet him, he will meet you and no, this cannot be a coincidence..it cannot be because he does not leave his house, works all the time and is awake every day without sleep, so he will definitely choose you as a victim, unfortunately, this is the highest probability

• The possibility of an enemy to love relationship is high, but he definitely chose you first to use you and then gave up on it, but it is impossible to know the reason, you cannot understand that he is in love with you, even his way of flirting would be by reading poems or playing the cello for you

"Back in the day, your mother used to listen to the music I played with pleasure" ~ Fifteen Years Later

Enjoy!

[ninus9607]

One and only - Agatha Harkness

Pairing(s): Agatha Harkness x Female! reader

Word count: 14K

tags: l content: Dark Romance, Forced Marriage, Manipulation, Abuse, Smut, Angst, Praise Kink, Magic, Passionate sex, Fluff and Smut, Magic Strap, creampie, dirty talk, 18+,

AN: The story contains elements of abuse, manipulation, graphic sexual scenes, Mental and emotional trauma. Also, I hope u guys will like it, it's my first ff in second pov

The rich aroma of sage and honey hung in the air, wrapping in ghostly fingers around the flickering candles perched on stone walls. With its shelves loaded with books so old that their spines had cracked and flaked with age, the Harkness estate's study was a temple of ancient power. But none of it mattered at that time.

The cool, steady voice of her mother filled the room as Agatha Harkness stood straight in the middle, her purple power pulsing beneath her skin, threatening to spill over.

"Agatha, you are a disgrace."

Evanora's words poked Agatha like a sharp sword, cutting her too many times to flinch now. The elder woman stood tall beside the fireplace, her long black robes brushing the floor like trailing shadows, her gray-streaked hair tied securely, and she looked harsh and strict.

"I built this coven. I kept it through war, fire, and abuse," Evanora said, her eyes narrowing like sharpened glass. "And you... You waste your gift chasing petty distractions and self-serving rebellion."

Agatha's jaw narrowed. "I have never wasted a damn thing," she said, her voice frosty. "Everything I've done, from studying spells to fighting battles, has been for this coven. For Salem."

"For yourself," Evanora said strongly. "For your personal pleasure. You think I didn't notice it? The way you push past the limits of your power, ignoring the advice of your elders. You're careless. Wild."

The muscle in Agatha's cheek trembled. "I'm powerful."

"And power without control is dangerous," Evanora warned. "You walk the edge of ruin, Agatha."

"I can control myself just fine," Agatha hissed, blue magic blazing at her fingertips. "It's you who can't stomach the thought of me not bending to your perfect little plans."

"I will not debate this," Evanora said, the air in the room sizzling with restrained energy. "You are of age. Your name will be called upon before the council. You will take a wife. Or a husband. I do not care. You must form a connection that strengthens the coven's future, or you will be passed over."

Agatha's lips twisted in disgust. "You'd rather marry me off like a bartered sheep than let me lead as I am?"

"You forget yourself," Evanora warned her, her tone low and deadly.

"This coven is based on tradition. About alliances. On peace. A leader without a relationship with others is weak. Salem cannot afford weaknesses. Witches are once again fighting a frigid world. We cannot rely just on strength. We must integrate ourselves into the fabric of this town. Through the bloodlines. Through marriage."

"I would rather die alone than be bound by expectation," Agatha said.

Evanora gave a bitter, humorless chuckle. "You speak like a child, high on the fantasy of liberty. You think the world will let you go unclaimed? That you'll carve out a space based just on power? You are powerful, yes, but you are still a woman. A witch. If you don't anchor yourself, the world will take everything from you."

"I don't need an anchor," Agatha hissed as the air around her vibrated and the candles flickered furiously. "And I don't need your approval."

"No," Evanora answered gently, with a bitter and satisfied tone. "But you need the coven. And this coven would never follow a lady who can't even commit to another."

Agatha moved closer, her pulse pounding in her ears. "So what?" You'll marry me off to the poor soul you believe would control me? Watch me choke on a loveless marriage to guarantee your own tradition?"

Evanora responded calmly, "I will do whatever is necessary for Salem. As you will, or you will not lead."

The room fell silent, packed with years of unspoken pain, unmet expectations.

Agatha's voice fell, shaking with suppressed anger. "I will select. But it will be my decision. Not yours. Not the council's."

Evanora's eyes narrowed. "You have until the next full moon."

And then, as if to wrap up the argument, Evanora turned and exited the chamber, her robes murmuring against the stone floor.

The huge oak door slammed shut with a shocking crash, leaving Agatha alone with the pounding in her chest and the faint aroma of sage and strength....

The morning started like any other.

Cold.

Anxious.

You walked gently across the dark kitchen, the floorboards groaning beneath you. The hearth had long since gone cold, and you knew better than to waste wood without permission. Your fingers moved rapidly to grab the little packets of dried tea leaves your mother had set out the night before.

"You better sell every single one of those," your father's voice shouted from behind you, gruff and sharp as a needle. You tensed and held the basket to your chest.

"I will," you said, your gaze fixated on the floor.

"What was that?" He yelled and stepped closer. You noticed the bitterness of last night's alcohol on his breath.

"I will," you replied loudly, your voice trembling around the edges.

His hand came down hard on the table next to you, causing you to flinch.

"I don't send you out there to laze around like a worthless little thing. Do you hear me? No tea left by dusk. And don't you dare return with less money than yesterday. Bitch."

You instantly nodded, knowing you shouldn't debate. Your mother sat calmly at the table, eyes downcast, hands busy stitching, never meddling or saying.

"Get out of my sight," he muttered and turned away.

You snatched up the basket and slipped through the doorway, the cold morning air hitting your skin like a slap. You took a deep breath, the scent of frost and woodsmoke a sharp contrast to the weight of the house behind you.

You wouldn't cry.

Not out here.

Not where people could see.

So you straightened your shoulders, wiped your sleeve across your face, and started down the path toward the market square.

By the time you arrived, the market square was already full of activity, with the sound of voices echoing through the cool morning air. Sellers promoted their products, the aroma of fresh bread and roasted meat mixed with the minerals of wet straw and herbs. Villagers walked between sellers in groups, sharing gossip as easily as coins.

You located your normal location near the square's edge, where the sidewalks broke and plants sprang between them. It wasn't much, certainly not as busy as the main stretch—but it was far enough away from the worst of the stares and sharp tongues.

You placed your basket on the aged wooden box you used as a temporary table and began arranging the small bundles of tea. Lavender, chamomile, and mint. All were neatly wrapped with rope and marked in your mother's cramped handwriting.

"Tea for aches, tea for sleep," you shouted gently, barely heard above the noise of the market.

A few passing ladies gave you sympathetic glances, some pitying, others uncaring. A hunched old guy talked you down to half price on a bunch of lemon balm. You let it go without protesting. You didn't really care about the currency. You simply wanted to be done before the sun went too low, and your father's comments turned into punches.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and looked at the crowd.

That is when you noticed her.

A dark-haired woman near one of the nicer stalls reviews a package of herbs with casual authority. She wore rich blue leather, which only the village's witches dared to wear so publicly. Her posture, the way the other villagers parted like water around her, showed that she wasn't just anybody.

You have seen her before.

Agatha Harkness.

Everyone in Salem recognized her name.

And for reasons you couldn't explain, your heart gave a little kick in your chest when her eyes flicked up and landed on you.

When her eyes met yours, you instantly shifted your look, showing that you were busy rearranging the little bundles of tea. Your fingers stumbled over the rope, becoming clumsy all of a sudden.

Why is she looking at me?

You felt her presence before seeing her, a slight change in the air as she arrived. A scent of mint and something deeper, like rain-soaked dirt, surrounded you.

"Good morning," said a quiet, silky voice that sounded exactly as you expected.

You swallowed hard, raising your gaze just slightly. Agatha Harkness stood in front of your stand, one eyebrow lifted and the corners of her lips curled perilously near to a grumble.

"G-Good morning, Miss Harkness," you said, your voice a bit faint, and the words stuck in your throat.

Her glance swept over your small appearance, stopping at a little bundle of lavender and petals of roses. "I'll take this one."

Your fingers trembled as you grabbed it up and carefully wrapped it in a scrap of cotton. "Miss Harkness, it's good for sleep. A-and to calm the nerves."

"Is that so?" she said, her gaze causing your skin to tingle. Not rudely, but interested, as if you were something she hadn't expected to find.

You nodded and handed her the package, your hands brushing against hers for just a second. It sent an odd warm sensation up your arm.

Agatha put the Pine (money) into your hand, significantly more than the bundle was worth, her fingers lingering for a beat longer than necessary.

"Keep the change, sweetheart," she said, and your breath caught at her affection.

You barely thought to thank her as she turned, the dark velvet of her cloak catching the early light as she walked away and vanished into the crowd. But not before returning your stare with a quick glance back over her shoulder.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest.

You had no idea why, but something told you this wouldn't be the last time you saw her.

You returned home as the day came to a close and the sun began to set. When you pushed the door open, the home smelled like old ale and wet wood. The light from outside just broke through the crooked doorway, and your stomach squeezed as it usually did when you crossed the border between market freedom and home.

Your father had already fallen into his normal chair beside the fire, a bottle in hand, his face red and bad. Your mother barely glanced at you as she sat stitching in the corner, her fingers working mechanically and her eyes blank.

"Well?" Your father growled, stretching out his rough hand.

You quickly went into your dress pocket and took out the money. The material felt too heavy in your hand now. You knew well than to hesitate, yet your fingers remained closed for a heartbeat too long.

He noticed.

"The hell are you waiting for, girl?" He snapped, his voice heavy and garbled.

You were shaking and placed the money in the palm of his hand.

His sleepy eyes counted them, and a frown formed on his face. "Where's the rest?"

"That's all of it," you muttered, your gaze fixed on the floor.

Without warning, his hand slammed into your cheek. The power of it knocked you back, searing the skin where his palm had impacted.

"Lying little wretch," he hissed. "Do you think I don't know your tricks? As useless as your whore of a mother."

Your mother didn't say anything.

You didn't wait long enough to see if there was another hit coming. You ran to your little room in the back of the house, closing the door behind you with shaky hands and leaning your back against it while your chest heaved.

The sting on your face hurt, yet you did not weep. You had stopped sobbing long ago.

Instead, you closed your eyes and thought about her.

The way Agatha Harkness had looked at you like you were something worth seeing.The touch of her fingertips brushing across yours. The velvety lilt in her voice as she called you sweetheart.

An odd aching started in your chest, foreign and delicate, yet it was enough to make you forget where you were for a short while.

You curled up on your small bed, fingers ghosting over the mark on your face, and mumbled her name as if it were a secret you weren't willing to share with anybody.

"Agatha..."

And for the first time in weeks, you fell slept.

The morning sun had barely passed the trees when your father yelled at you to go. A basket full of nicely wrapped tea bundles hung heavily on your hip as you ran down the old road to the market square. Your cheek still ached from yesterday night's hit, but you'd learned not to waste time on things like that. There was no point in it.

The market was busy as usual, with sellers shouting out their products, kids racing between stalls, and the aroma of new bread blending with smoke from neighboring hearths. You returned to your normal area by the well and gently placed your basket, arranging the small cloth bags of dried herbs and flowers.

"Two for Pine," you said to people walking by, keeping your head down and your voice mild.

It wasn't long until a familiar face drew your attention.

It's her again...

The second-most powerful witch in Salem. Daughter of Evanora. Everyone knew her name, and you'd never forgotten her captivating face from yesterday. She walked through the crowd with the relaxed attitude that you admired, her black hair falling in waves down her back.

You tried not to look, but when she turned towards your stall, your breath caught.

"Good morning," Agatha said, her voice silky as silk and readily heard over the market's clamor. Her blue eyes ran throughout your small desk.

You gripped the edge of your basket. "G-Good morning, Miss Harkness."

The corner of her mouth rose. "Selling tea again today?"

You nodded rapidly, avoiding her gaze as heat crawled up your neck. "Y-Yes, Miss. You can add dried lavender, chamomile, or peppermint if you want."

Agatha's eyes remained on you, not the tea. "I'll take some lavender."

Your palms shook as you grabbed for the bundle. "T-Two for Pine, miss."

Agatha dropped a silver coin into your palm, greatly beyond the asking price. "Keep the change."

Your fingers curled around the penny, and your heart beat like a scared rabbit's. "T-Thank you, Miss Harkness."

She smiled, and for a moment, it wasn't the cold smirk the villagers gossiped about. It was warm. Almost tender.

"I'll see you again," she murmured, and then she was gone, swept back into the crowd like a dream you weren't sure you'd truly had.

And she did..

She showed up every other day, without fail.

Always dressed in deep-colored dresses, her presence was dominant but never cruel. She'd stand by your stall, buy something she didn't need, and leave you with much too much money for it. At first, you believed it was an accident. Then, be nice. Then something else you wouldn't dare to mention.

She spoke to you more on each visit. Casual conversation about the weather, local gossip, and the aroma of your tea.

You began searching for her.

Agatha returned one day, with clouds hanging thick in the sky. Her hair was tied back loosely, and she wore a deep violet shawl across her shoulders. You gave her a careful grin, your heart skipping like it usually does now.

"Afternoon, Miss Harkness," you said, your voice light as the wind.

She cocked her head and studied you. "Afternoon, my dear."

The nickname stunned you. Nobody has ever called you anything like that before.

"I brought a new combination today," you explained, holding out a little packet.

But Agatha did not reach for the tea. Instead, her gaze tightened, concentrating on the small darkening developing over your cheekbone - a bruise you'd done your best to cover up.

Her hand reached out before you could react, her fingertips brushing against your skin with such care that you felt a thrill down your spine. "Who did this to you?" she said, her tone low and dangerous, unlike her usual mocking.

You tensed. Panic rose in your chest.

"I—I tripped," you said hurriedly, looking down at the basket you were carrying. "Fetching a drink this morning."

Agatha remained silent for a long, painful beat. You could feel her eyes piercing into you, and her hand lingering on your face.

"Clumsy thing, you need to be more careful," she said quietly, but her voice was tight and strained, and you swear you saw her jaw quiver.

"I'm fine," you quickly added, thinking that was enough. "Truly, miss."

Agatha said nothing else, only dropped the usual pine into your hand and took her tea. But as she turned to leave, she cast a glance back over her shoulder, blue eyes smoldering in a way that made your breath catch.

"I'll see you soon, my darling," she said softly.

And she did. Every other day. Always.

You hadn't meant for it to happen.

Falling in love, you mean. Except for what is written in your romance novels, you have no idea what love is.

It started with a sparkle, a quick look across the marketplace, a kind comment when no one else was willing to offer one.. She was everything you shouldn't even look at, let alone talk to. But she continued to be there each day.

You were waiting for her there.

You convinced yourself it was nothing at first. She liked your work, purchased your tea blends, and gave you a smile that made your cheeks flame and your stomach turn. Her voice was like smoke curling in your ear, and she always called you a beautiful girl.

However, it went past that.

She saw you. Not in the manner that others did—as a servant girl, a tool, and an insult to her family. Another object caught her eye. You hardly recognized it yourself.

Her visits became a way for you to mark your days. You would wake up every other morning with a tiny glimmer of hope that maybe Agatha would visit your stand once more today. Even if your outfit was made of the same faded fabric as usual, you would take extra time to smooth it and put the bundles of herbs and teas. Even if your face still had the faint traces of your father's anger, and your fingers hurt from work.

Then she would show there, tall, graceful, and with a sparkle in her eye as if she knew a secret you would never hear. She would always laugh softly and tell you to just call her Agatha, but you would fumble your words and keep calling her Miss Harkness.

However, you were unable to. Not quite yet. Not when she was feeling so far away.

At first, when you didn't even know what love was meant to feel like, it wasn't love. However, it was something. A feeling of warmth in your chest. A glimmer of hope in an otherwise dismal and frigid world.

And it built slowly without anyone noticing.

When you boiled the water for your family's meals, you thought of her, wondering what her house would look like and whether she drank tea at night like you did, in peace and quiet. You were curious about the sound of her laugh when she wasn't hiding it in public behind her palm. If she had ever spoken to someone as gently, cautiously, and kindly as she did to you.

You held on to those times. Because your mother's nasty words and your father's anger dominated the rest of your life. To empty nights spent gazing at your small room's ceiling, to bruises that blossomed on your skin like dark blossoms.

And it had been harsher than normal tonight.

When you got back from the market, he was drunk, and your small supply of cash wasn't enough to calm him down.

He snatched them out of your fingers and hissed, "Useless. Not even able to retrieve what is due. You foolish girl, you'll starve us before winter arrives."

"I sold everything, I swear," you whispered quietly, your stomach tightening and your voice little and harsh.

"Shut your mouth," he said, standing so quickly that the chair scratched against the floor.

You flinched before you even noticed his hand move.

The impact was sharp, splitting across your cheek and hurting you instantly. Your head snapped to the side, and the metallic taste of blood sprang to the corner of your lips. You never cried in front of him.

"Sit down," he said, pointing a shaky, calloused finger toward the table. "Now."

You hesitated for a few while, and your mother stepped from the shadows of the room, her face strained and cold. If she had ever protected you, she had long since stopped doing so.

"Do as your father says," she demanded.

You sat.

The silence that followed was deep, with the only sound being the flickering of the single candle on the table. Your mother cleared her throat.

"There's news," she announced. You'll be married by the end of next week."

The words didn't land correctly. For a time, you simply stared at her, as if you had misheard. "What...?"

She talked without looking at you, her jaw taut. "Jonas Mercer made an offer. "A decent sum for a girl like you."

Bile rose in your throat before you could control it. Jonas Mercer. A man twice your age, brutal to animals, and said to have beaten his last wife to death. You'd seen him at the market, with his eyes fixed on younger ladies and his teeth yellowing at the edges.

"No," you answered, your voice weak but clear. "I won't marry him."

Your mother's eyes sprang open, narrowing into sharp daggers. "You'll do as you're told."

"I won't," you shouted out, shaking your head and heart pounding. "I'd rather die."

It happened so quickly that you barely saw it coming.

Your father was on you in a split second, his rage like a hurricane breaking free. A hand in your hair, pulling you out of the chair, his fist pounding into your stomach, side, and jaw. You landed hard on the floor, gasping for air and feeling sorrow in every nerve.

"Ungrateful little bitch," he said, standing over you, his breath smelling of alcohol. "I'll beat the defiance out of you yet."

You did not wait for the next hit.

Your body moved somewhere between pain and fear. You climbed up, stumbling toward the door, your father's shouts following behind you as you ran into the night.

The cold air hit your face, and the town lamps blurred through your tears as you hurried past the town square, the baker's home, and the market stands that would be empty until morning. Nobody called after you. Nobody cared.

You didn't stop till the forests swallowed you completely.

The forest was deep and dark, and the aroma of grass and damp dirt lingered on your neck. You ran until your legs failed and fell to the chilly, leaf-strewn ground. The sob that tore through you was ugly and brutal, and it made your entire body shake.

You curled up on yourself, hands sinking into the dirt, tears blinding your vision. Every inch of you hurts—especially your ribs, face, and heart.

Your body was still shaking.

The cold had gone into your bones, but neither the night air nor the damp ground below you made your teeth crack. It was terror. The deep, burning horror sat in your chest like a stone, making it difficult to breathe. Your fists were gripped so tightly that they pained, and your nails dug into your palm.

You barely noticed the sound of footsteps at first—soft, fast, and getting closer.

"Sweet mercy," a voice breathed, and you recognized it despite your haze. Warm and rich, with a keen edge of worry.

Agatha.

You raised your head, your eyesight unclear; the woods blurring around her as she dropped to her knees beside you. She was not wearing her regular cloak, but rather a modest dark dress with her hair flowing about her shoulders. And she was really attractive. Beautiful enough to make your heart throb, even when it was broken.

"Y/N," she muttered, her voice so delicate that you felt something crack. "Are you hurt? May I touch you?"

You attempted to speak, but your throat felt tight, and no sounds came out. The world swirled, and your hands trembled furiously in your lap.

Agatha's eyes softened, and she slowly reached out, hesitating just as her fingertips touched your skin. "It's alright, sweetheart," she said quietly. "I won't hurt you. I promise. Simply breathe for me, sweetheart... just like that."

Your chest tightened, and a sob caught in your throat.

"Good girl," she said softly, the warmth of her magic touching against you like a summer air, calming and comforting. You felt it wrap around your heart, calming the frenetic beat and releasing the knot in your stomach. It wasn't harsh; it was kind, like a hand smoothing out raw nerves.

She waited until you stopped shaking before slipping her arms beneath you without saying anything more.

Without saying another word, she slipped her arms beneath you after waiting for your trembling to subside.

You should've protested. You should have been ashamed of your situation, but you were too worn out and too empty of self-worth. And there was something about her touch that made it impossible to resist—steady, wary, as if she was worried you might break.

Agatha took you up as if you were weightless and held you to her chest, whispering, "Got you, my love."

The aroma of her, which included smoke, wild herbs, and a darkly sweet scent, filled you as your face leaned against the crook of her neck. You hadn't felt so secure in years.

She spoke in small things you couldn't quite understand as she carried you through the trees. "Safe now, never again," and "mine to keep safe" are other examples. As she moved toward the northern parts of the coven's grounds, the forest behind you disappeared and the night air became warmer.

The tiny residence she took you to was nestled away close to the woods, half-hidden by ivy and blooming flowers, and you hardly noticed it. With a flick of her wrist, she pulled the door open, burning the fire inside and filling the room with the aroma of lavender.

Agatha gently placed you on a soft bed, stroking your cheek with her fingers.

"Sleep now," she said, her voice heavy with something you couldn't name.. "When you wake up, I'll be right here."

...

The first thing you noticed was the warmth.

It wasn't the bitter cold of the forest ground or the stuffy heat of your family's little cabin. As if it were a second skin, this was delicate and kind. You heard the steady crackle of a fire in the distance and the subtle smell of herbs and lavender.

You woke up with a dull ache behind your eyelids and pain in other parts of your body that you had not previously noticed. You didn't open them for a while. Your fear of what you may see was too great.

Then you saw that there was no yelling. No angry voice yelling your name, no door slamming, no squeak of heavy boots.

Just silent, as well as comfort.

You opened your eyes.

The space surrounding you was little but beautiful in a way you had never experienced. The walls were lined with bookshelves, glass vials, and bundles of drying herbs, and the windows were lace-curtained, letting in the morning light. You reclined in a broad bed with soft, heavy covers that had a subtle wildflower scent.

You were hit by panic like a lightning strike.

Where—?

The world spun around you as you pulled yourself up too quickly, and you let out a frightened cry.

"Easy, easy, it's me."

You froze at the voice.

Agatha Harkness was seated on a chair by the fire as you turned toward it, your pulse thumping.

Her hair was somewhat messy, as if she hadn't slept, and her coat was slung across the back of it. In her palm was an unfinished cup of tea. Her eyes, however, sharp, storm-dark, and unusually tender, were what made your stomach turn.

Your voice broke, "I- Where-where"

"You're safe," she whispered as she put the cup down and got to her feet. She didn't come closer. Not yet. "You're at my house. You were hurt. Last night, I found you in the forest."

The memories of the yelling, the slap, the pain that was spreading over your body, and the way your feet had taken you without thinking about it came flooding back in pieces as you swallowed hard. Then arms. Warmth. Lavender.

Your throat tightened as you attempted to speak.

Agatha seemed to understand.

She pointed to a little table close by and said, "Would you like some water?"

She came across the room, pouring a cup from a ceramic pitcher after you managed a slight nod. She didn't allow her fingers to touch yours when she passed it to you with both hands.

The cool water reduced the itchy feeling in your throat.

After a while, you murmured, "I... I'm sorry," with a tone full of shame. "Miss Harkness, I didn't mean to bother you."

Something harsh flickered over her face as her brow folded. "There's no trouble with you," she stated confidently. "And enough of that bullshit from Miss Harkness. Call me Agatha."

Your fingers tightened around the cup as you paused. "—I should not to be here. I need to go before..."

"No." It was a kind yet firm word. At that time, she knelt before you and kept a respectful distance. "Y/N... explain what happened."

It hurt in your chest. Your throat ached from the words.

"I-I made a mistake," you whispered. "I didn't have enough market money. And my-" you stumbled, turning your head away. "My dad was drunk. That's how he gets. Likewise, my mother said she was planning to sell me. For money, marry me off to an old man."

Your heart was pounding in your ears, and the room seemed too tiny.

You concluded, "I ran," in a voice so little you barely recognized it. "I ran, but I had no idea where I was going."

Agatha's eyes remained kind despite her tense jaw.

You explained, "I can't stay," but your tone lacked conviction.

"Yes," Agatha murmured, her voice so low it almost seemed like a promise. "You can."

Then, slowly, as a sunrise, she reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from your face. A spark of ancient terror made you shudder before you could stop yourself, and her hand stopped.

She said, "I will never touch you unless you wish it, I will never hurt you. Not right now. Never."

It was you who spoke first, your voice barely a whisper. "But my father - "

"You're not going anywhere," she replied softly, but there was steel beneath it. "Not until you've eaten. And I heal you're injury"

With only the sound of the odd humming of wind against the window and the gentle crackle of the fire, the room had once again become calm. Agatha gathered a cloth and a tiny bottle of something sharp and scented and walked about with a wound, strained intensity.

She went back to kneel in front of you again, and you sat there shaking.

She said, "This will hurt," but her voice sounded tighter than usual, as if she was struggling to maintain her cool.

Her fingertips touched your cheek, and you hardly nodded, your skin tingling with heat. Despite the harsh taste of whatever cure she applied to your broken lip, the cold, soothing towel was comforting.

Agatha, however, was not checking the wound. She has her eyes on you. At your skin's black bruises that are already growing. At your jaw's tiny handprint that is still there.

Her expression flickered darkly, something raw and terrifying.

Her voice was so low that it seemed more like a growl than actual words when she whispered, "I'll kill him."

Your breath caught.

Before you could respond, Agatha was on her feet, swishing her skirts over her boots and pacing the room like a hurricane that was hardly controlled.

She said, "I'll bleed him dry for this." He, as well as your mother, for allowing it. I need to burn their house to the ground. Allow the smoke to strangle them."

With one hand snapping out, she whirled toward the firebox, and the fireplace's flames responded by flaming higher and licking violently at the stone. Her face was painted in a wild manner as the shadows moved over it.

Your voice cracks as you croak, "Miss!!"

Her breathing was heavy now, and her anger was pouring from her like fire, as if she hadn't heard you. As if in response to her anger, the wind outside rocked the glass.

"I'll rip his miserable throat out," she growled. "Before I burn him alive, I'll make him beg." No guy touches what belongs to me. No one is supposed to hurt you."

Her final word hit you like a spark to dried wood.

You weren't scared, even though a part of you should have been. Not her.

She then slowly glanced down at your hand gripping her and the tears in your huge, terrified eyes. Her own eyes grew softer, the fire in them fading as if you burned out the blaze with only your trembling hand.

In contrast to the anger that had raged just a minute earlier, she was careful and kind as she leaned back down and cupped your cheek.

"I apologize," she muttered. "I scared you."

With tears streaming down your face, you shook your head. "No, I just said that they will harm you if you go to them. Or worse. The whole village would come for you."

Agatha laughed bitterly. "Let them try."

However, she sighed and softly leaned her forehead against yours when she noticed the fear in your eyes.

Her voice was more tightly controlled now, but the danger still pulsed under it as she said, "I won't leave you. Never. But tonight, I won't hurt him. For you."

You gave a weak nod.

She touched your face with her thumb. "I swear on my bloodline, Y/N, that he will regret the day he ever breathed again."

An odd warmth grew in your chest despite the terror and the lingering sadness.

That was the first time someone had ever spoken for you.

"Come," she said softly, rising to her feet again. "You need food. And rest."

Later that day.....

The cottage was quiet now, save for the soft, steady crackle of the fire and the occasional sigh of wind against the old wooden shutters. You were lying on Agatha's bed, tucked under the thick blanket, breathing comfortably and slowly for the first time, the tension that had wrapped your tiny body fading into restless sleep.

A big leather-bound book was open in Agatha's lap as she sat close by on her old sofa, one leg curled under her. As she read, she hardly noticed the words, but the yellowed pages caught the shifting light, the writing symbols shining faintly.

Her eyes were drawn to you repeatedly.

To your cheek's bruises. The delicate shadows your lashes create on your skin.

The knock on her door was barely noticeable before it pushed open.

Evanora, towering and strict in dark midnight-blue robes, pinned back with silver hair and her keen gaze scanning the room like a predator, entered without asking for permission, as she always did.

Behind her, the door clicked softly shut.

Agatha tensed, putting the book down and putting it away. "Mother."

Evanora's lips curved in dislike as her eyes fell upon you, sleeping peacefully and exposed in a stranger's bed.

Evanora grumbled, "A village girl," and stepped inside, her gown's hem rustling over the flooring. "Like some reckless, lustful idiot, you bring a village girl into your bed."

Agatha's mouth tightened. "Leave her alone."

"She isn't connected to us. She is nothing." Evanora's eyes glinted, and her speech was as sharp as a knife. One day, Agatha, you will be in charge of this coven. Don't bring it into shame by taking in strays you see crying in the forest.

Agatha raised her back and stood up. "She's not stray."

Evanora smiled icily, without humor. "So, daughter, what is she to you? A pet? A pet? Don't assume that I'm unaware of your years of avoidance. You will get married, I told you. And you'll make the decision. Or the coven will never be yours."

At her sides, Agatha's hands rolled into fists. "I've made a choice."

Evanora's eyebrows raised, arching. "Oh?"

With her heart racing, Agatha's eyes briefly shifted to you before returning to her mother.

"Y/N," she murmured yet firmly. "Her or nobody."

The room became silent.

After a long, horrible time of staring at her, Evanora laughed sharply and cynically.

"That filthy girl?" She growled.

"Jonas Mercer is the owner of that girl. They promised her. His father is wealthy, as you are aware. The village as a whole gains from the agreement. She was sold by her parents for three acres of land and a silver bag."

Agatha's voice was low and trembling with controlled rage as she answered, "I don't care. I want her."

"You cannot have her!" Evanora snapped. "Would you give up your future for that girl? You'd be ashamed of our coven for some scared slip of a thing that couldn't fight back?"

"I would burn this whole village to the ground before I let another hand touch her," Agatha responded, her voice dead calm. "I would see Mercer's bones ash at my feet before he so much as looks at her."

Evanora's nostrils widened, the air between them thick with tension, and magic crackled slightly, like a storm barely kept back.

"You are reckless," Evanora yelled. "Selfish. I should expel you right now."

"Then do it," Agatha replied, stepping forward, her chin raised. Her purple magic pulsing, "But I will still take her with me. Title or not."

For a long time, the only sounds were the fire crackling in the hearth and the slow, steady rise and fall of your sleeping breaths.

Evanora clinched her jaw. She raised her shoulders with slow, toxic calm.

"Very well," she responded last, her voice icy. "If you wish to be bound to a peasant girl, so be it. I'll pay her parents a visit in the morning."

Agatha's eyes narrowed. "If you hurt her, I swear—"

"Don't worry," Evanora cut her off. "The arrangement will be done. And she'll belong to you. Let's see if you're still so brave when you bear the consequences."

With one last look of disgust in your direction, Evanora turned on her heel, her gown billowing as she swept from the room.

The door shut sharply behind her.

Agatha exhaled, her shoulders slumping for the first time since the argument began. She crossed the room in two strides and knelt by the bed, brushing a lock of hair from your sleeping face.

"I saved you my love, you will be safe with me," she whispered, a promise more than a word.

......

The morning began cold and gray, with the mist still clinging to the ground like a restless spirit. Evanora Harkness walked through the village with the kind of confidence that split crowds without saying a word. The market women dropped their heads, the men moved aside, and no one dared to catch her eyes for more than a moment.

She made her way to your family's cottage, a little old structure on the edge of the forest. The door creaked open before she could knock.

Your mother stood in the doorway, her face tense with tension, and her hands wringing a dirty apron. Under her, your father lurked in the darkness, with a dark, hangover fury hidden under bloodshot eyes.

"Lady Harkness," your mother said, lowering her head.

"Let us not waste time with welcomes," Evanora whispered, her voice hard as glass. "You've got a daughter. Y/N." "She—she's not here," your mother remarked, looking back with anxiety. "We don't know where she is, she ran away."

"She's in my daughter's home," Evanora stated. And she will be returned. But the terms have shifted." Your father scowled. "The deal has been completed. Mercer paid an enormous price for her." "And you'll return it," Evanora said coldly, removing a little velvet packet from her sleeve and putting it onto the table. It landed with a heavy clink of silver. "With interest. That girl is now part of my family."

Your father opened his lips to argue, but Evanora raised her palm, a small shimmer of magic visible at her fingertips. He became silent.

"Do you realize what it means," Evanora said, her tone cold, "for a Harkness to claim a wife? She will bear a child from our bloodline. Heir to my coven. Her bloodline, no matter how lowly, will be linked to ours. The child will be a powerful witch."

Your mother turned pale, her lips twitching. "M'lady, we didn't know. We didn't realize she was important."

"She will be. Or she'll break trying," Evanora murmured, her face as cold as stone. "You'll welcome her home today. There are no questions. No beatings. No warnings. And Tomorrow, you'll convey her safely to church. Fail to do so..." She let the threat hang in the air like a storm cloud. "I'll not tolerate disobedience."

Your parents swallowed hard and nodded.

Then she lifted her hand, curling her long, pale fingers slowly and methodically.

A glimmer of dark violet power ignited at her fingertips, twisting and swirling down into the air before her. Threads of silk appeared from nowhere, weaving together in the empty space. Layers of midnight blue and deep wine-red velvet mixed with beautiful lace, as if brought from another realm.

Before your mother's wide, startled eyes, a bridal gown appeared, floating between them.

It was breathtaking, and clearly witch-made. The bodice of this dress was tight and gorgeous, the neckline royal and extravagant, and the sleeves were long and pure, with delicate stitching that sparkled like starlight. The skirts were thick with leather and lace, trailing mist-like edges along the floor and reflecting the pale light like water.

A veil of soft, invisible silk floated beside it, bewitched to move freely.

Your mother gasped and backed up a step. "M'lady..."

Evanora's voice was low, icy, and final.

"She'll wear this when the vows are said."

Evanora left without saying anything else, the wind stirring her dark cloak behind her.

The sun had already begun to set behind the trees when Agatha eventually took you to the edge of the woods. The air was heavy with the aroma of wood and moist dirt, and for the first time in years, you weren't terrified of the incoming darkness.

Agatha softly cupped your cheek, sliding her thumb across the reddening bruise behind your eye. Her face softened in a manner it rarely does in front of others, an expression of unsaid emotion sitting beneath her eyes.

"Go home, darling," she muttered. "Only for tonight. Everything will be okay shortly. I promise you."

You wanted to believe her. Gods, you wanted to. But your stomach twisted all the time.

"Thank you, mis- Aggie."

She leaned down, laying a gentle kiss against your temple, her touch lingering for too long. "Tomorrow... things will be different."

You nodded, but you weren't sure why the words made your heart accelerate. You turned, her eyes resting on your back the entire way down the straight road.

When you stepped through the crooked gate of your family's cottage, it seemed as if the air itself had fallen apart.

Your father was already so drunk that his face was red and sweating, and the smell of stale ale clung to his clothes. His voice rang out across the small room as soon as he laid eyes on you.

"Where the hell have you gone, little whore?! Do you think you can just disappear and make a fool of me?!"

You flinched, automatically bracing for what was to come.

But before he could reach you, your mother's hand came out, seizing his arm and stopping him mid-swing. She spoke up for the first time since you can remember. "Leave her be," she murmured, her voice firm and her mouth drawn in a thin line. "Not tonight."

Your father snarled and jerked his arm free, but did not attack. Instead, he vomited on the floor and stormed to the back of the cottage.

Your mother did not glance at you. She pointed firmly to your room. "Get inside. Now."

You obeyed, your heart hammering and your hands trembling so much that you struggled with the latch.

Once inside, you heard the lock turn on the other side.

"Don't even think about runnin'," your mother's voice warned through the door. "Wedding's tomorrow at first light. You'll do what you're told, or gods help you."

You stood there, staring at the rough wooden walls, your pulse hammering in your ears.

It was then you saw it.

Laid across your narrow bed — a dress.

Your throat clenched, and tears stung your eyes. You moved closer, your fingers brushing against the material. It seemed surprisingly sensitive to the touch, as if it hummed with some old magical ability.

And suddenly you couldn't take it any longer.

You dropped into the bed, your clothes crushing beneath you as you curled up against yourself. Silent, racking sobs ravaged your body, your tears seeping into the thin cotton.

Your eyes are heavy, and your body is sore from the night's disturbed sleep. For a few brief seconds, you forget what day it is. You forget the bruises on your skin and the pain in your chest.

Then the door unlocks.

It's your mother. Her face is unreadable as she walks inside, clutching a bundle of white fabric. She does not speak. No yells, no insults, and no slaps. Just silence. It almost gets worse. You swallow hard while sitting up in bed.

"Get up," she mutters,

"Put it on," your mother says, her tone icy and distant.

You swallow hard, attempting to calm yourself. You wanted to say no. You wanted to shout that this was not your life and that you had no option, but your mother's glare silenced you.

You grasp the dress with shaky fingers and stand, moving mechanically as you pull it over your head. The cloth fits you perfectly, as if it were made just for you – and you know it was.

She checks you out when she's finished. Her eyes narrowed, as if she were looking at something of value rather than her own daughter.

"Don't make a scene," she says quietly and sharply.

She doesn't wait for a response, instead grabbing your arm and pulling you toward the door. Her grip is tight and stubborn. You're her property now. You can feel it in every tug and step. She leads you out of the room and into the house's frigid corridors.

The village awaits you.

You move through the streets like a ghost, and people turn to gaze, their eyes filled with sorrow, curiosity, and apathy. You keep your gaze on the sidewalks, focusing on each step. Every part of you wants to run away, scream, and be free. But you don't. You still think of her...

The path leads you out of the village to a clearing near the coven's sacred grounds. The air feels dense, as if something ancient is poised in the balance, waiting. As you go closer, the sounds from the crowd become more audible. Their whispers blend with the rustle of the trees, but nothing compares to the beating in your chest.

You take a deep breath, your hands shaking slightly as your mother pushes you ahead through the crowd. The weight of the gown bears down on your shoulders, as if it is attempting to drag you back into the darkness, back to a life you never wanted.

As you enter this location of the church, your gaze naturally moves toward the group of people. The town has come together, their murmurs filling the air like a swarm of insects. You attempt to avoid looking at the faces, but your sight is drawn to one in particular.

An older man stands in the back of the group. His features are sharp, his face furrowed with age, but it's the way his eyes glitter that draws you in. He's the one. The one your parents promised you to. The one who will transport you from this painful life to a fate of awful silence.

Your stomach churns. You can barely breathe, your thoughts reeling with the realization that this is it. This is your fate. This is the man you should marry. Your legs feel weak, but your mother's grip never relents.

You glance up at the altar, your heart beating in your chest. The priest stands there waiting, his eyes devoid of emotion.

But when you take the final steps, something changes. He did not move.

At the altar, you don't see the man you were expecting. Instead, there is a woman. A woman dressed in dark, flowing robes that shine with a strange, mysterious sparkle. Her presence fills the air with electricity and life, like a storm. As you get closer, you notice a shift in the atmosphere, a touch of magic so strong it almost knocks the air out of your lungs.

Confusion floods your mind. Your eyes lock onto the figure, but you can't make sense of it. This isn't right. This isn't who you were promised to.

And then, as you draw nearer, the woman turns to face you, her eyes meeting yours with a quiet intensity that makes your breath catch.

Agatha.

You freeze, your heart stopping in your chest as you finally process what you see in front of you. She stands there, majestic and powerful, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders like a midnight halo. You're not sure what to say or how to feel. The entire universe seems to tilt on its center as the knowledge flows in.

The crowd is strangely silent, waiting for anything, anything. Your mind is racing, with confusion swirling around you like a hurricane. This...is not possible. Agatha?

But she's standing at the altar, waiting. For you.

Your breath hitches, your pulse quickening. How can this be? You were told it would be the old man. That was your fate.

But now, now it's her.

Agatha steps toward you, her expression softening, but there's a glint in her eyes. A glint of something powerful, something determined.

"You look beautiful," Agatha says softly, her voice wrapping around you like velvet.

She holds her hand out, her fingers brushing against yours, sending a shock of warmth through your body. You want to pull away, but you can't. You're frozen, caught between disbelief and something else you can't quite grasp.

"You're not alone," Agatha whispers, her gaze never leaving yours. "I will always protect you. You belong to me, now."

As the priest continues the ceremony, when you gaze into Agatha's eyes, you can't help but feel safe. She is not the old man. She is nothing like the life you feared.

You take a long breath, your confusion melting into something gentler, even reassuring.

"Do you, Y/N, take Agatha Harkness to be your wife?" The priest asks, his voice faraway as you stand on the verge of something unknown.

"Yes," you whisper. "I do."

You two head back to Agatha's house following the ceremony. It's calm, silent, and almost unbelievable.

Agatha detects your nervousness as you stand in the room staring at her. She puts her loving, cautious hands on your shoulders.

"Y/N, you don't have to do anything tonight. There is nothing you don't want. This is your choice. If you are not prepared, I will not force you. I want you to understand that." You hesitate, wondering how to feel. Part of you expected you to fulfill your marriage duties. But Agatha's words, her compassion, trigger a change within you. The strain you've been carrying has eased slightly.

"But we're married now, and that doesn't mean more than what you're comfortable with. I don't care what tradition tells me. I care about you. And if you're not prepared, that's fine. We'll take it one step at a time, I promise.

Her replies, both compassionate and stern, relieve the tightness in your chest. You nod, feeling both relieved and guilty. You wanted to be the kind of wife that Agatha deserves.

Agatha drew back slightly, stroking a stray lock of hair from your face, her soft touch making your throat narrow.

"You should take some rest, sweetheart. It has been a long, harsh day for you."

You nodded, tiredness sinking into your bones. Without saying anything, Agatha led you to her bed, with the sheets smooth and inviting. She did not follow you in, but instead stood by your side, her eyes gazing over you like a silent protector.

As you lay down, the weight of everything you'd endured started to slip away. You pulled the covers around yourself, the scent of lavender and something distinctly Agatha surrounding you.

You turned your head slightly on the pillow, catching her silhouette in the dim candlelight.

"Thank you, Aggie," you whispered, your voice fragile but sincere.

For a moment, Agatha stilled, her face softening with something unbearably tender. She reached out once more, her fingers brushing through your hair in a lingering, careful stroke.

"You never have to thank me, my sweet girl. Sleep now."

Weeks slipped by.

Days in the Harkness family had settled into a quiet, regular pattern. You still weren't used to the softness of the blankets, the way the air smelled of herbs rather than damp wood and sour ale, or the fact that no one yelled commands at you the moment you woke up. It was confusing in its own way.

Since the wedding. She hadn't forced herself into your space or touched you unless you reached for her first. In the nights, she'd sit near the fireplace, a worn leather book perched on her lap, and you'd pretend not to notice her as the firelight painted her face in gold and shadow.

It wasn't long until she began courting you properly, as if from an old story you'd forgotten you ever believed in.

She brought you flowers from the forest's edge, wild lavender and gentle white blossoms you couldn't identify. She placed them at your bedside in the mornings, while you were still sleeping. She'd returned home from coven meetings with modest gifts: a smooth stone shaped like a heart, a charm to ward off nightmares, and a ribbon in your favorite color — but you'd never told her what they were.

She would sometimes suggest that you walk with her through the market, her hand brushing against yours, but never taking it unless you allowed her. The villagers gazed, but no one spoke out against it. Nobody dared. Agatha Harkness was not a lady to mess with. And her power was always ready to protect you.

It was nearing midnight as you moved lightly into the sitting room, the house gloomy but for the faint glimmer of the fireplace. You'd been unable to sleep yet again. Your thoughts were too loud and jumbled, drawing you into memories you didn't want to remember.

When you spotted her, you came to an abrupt end.

Agatha sat on the floor near the hearth, knees crossed and sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Books were lying all around her like fallen leaves, their pages shining softly in the darkness. Her fingers glided through the air, sketching delicate, ancient patterns that you couldn't identify. Between her palms, a brilliant globe of purple light shifted.

Your breath caught. You'd never seen magic like this.

Sure, you'd heard whispers in the village about witches, about Agatha herself feared, respected, untouchable, but this was... beautiful.

Agatha turned her head slowly. Her eyes weren't icy or keen like others'; they were gentle, shining softly in the firelight. "Couldn't sleep?" she said, her tone low and slow.

You shook your head, looking at the spot where the magic had been. "What was that?"

"Just practice," she murmured, running her fingers through her hair. "A basic spell. Pretty but useless."

"It wasn't useless," you blurted before you could stop yourself. "It looked like... like starlight."

That garnered the tiniest grin.

"Come here," Agatha urged, stroking the rug next to her. "I'll show you something better."

She raised a hand, palm up. "Give me yours."

You nervously placed your hand in hers. Her skin was warm and solid, and her hold was steady.

"Close your eyes," she instructed. "And don't let go."

You obeyed.

You let out a gasp as you opened your eyes.

The ceiling had disappeared above you, leaving only a swirl of stars and galaxies that glowed faintly in the emptiness above. You gazed, jaw open, pulse pumping. It seemed like you were sitting beneath the whole cosmos.

You turned to her, dumbfounded.

Agatha only gazed at you, her face inscrutable. "Not real," she whispered quietly, "but it feels nice, doesn't it?"

You simply nodded, unable to respond.

The stars had faded hours earlier, yet neither of you had moved far from the rug in front of the fading fire. The warmth of the room had long ago faded, replaced by the significant silence of the night. You sat cuddled alongside Agatha, head against knees, sleepy yet unwilling to leave her side. Something about her presence made me breathe better.

You sneaked a look at her, the way the flickering fire threw shadows on her face.

You did not intend to say that. The words came out quietly and uncertainly. "Aggie, can I... would you mind if I slept in your bed tonight?"

She carefully turned her head, focusing those keen blue eyes on you. For a minute, you worried whether you'd gone too far, but then the edges of her mouth twisted into something deeper than a grin - satisfaction. As if she had been waiting for you to ask.

"I was wondering when you'd finally say it," she said softly, her voice velvet-dark. She stood silently, giving you her hand. "Come, pet."

You allowed her to pull you to your feet, your fingers little against hers. She said nothing else as she guided you through the shadowy halls of the mansion, your bare feet brushing against the cold floors. The only sound was your quiet breath and the odd groan of wood.

When you reached the bedroom, Agatha paused, glancing at you over her shoulder. "You're sure?"

You swallowed and nodded. "I just... don't want to be alone."

This seemed to satisfy her. "Good," she murmured, standing back so you could climb into the bed. The covers were still warm from earlier, and you snuggled beneath them as Agatha snuffed out the final candle with a flick of her fingertips.

The room went into darkness.

A minute later, you felt the bed sink as she slid in next to you. The mattress moved, her presence a hefty, constant weight alongside you. You pulled slightly as her arm wrapped around your waist, bringing you back into her chest, hard, possessive, and without hesitation. She did not seek permission this time.

"I love you, you're mine now," Agatha whispered against the back of your neck when she thought you were already asleep...

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the worn path as you made your way back to the house, the small basket in your arms filled with herbs Agatha had asked for. It was quiet, save for the crunch of dry leaves beneath your shoes. Birds sang in the trees, the scent of lavender clinging to your fingertips.

For a time, you almost forgot about the sharpness of this world—Evanora's imposing presence, the overpowering anticipation that hovered over the Harkness name. Things were gentler with Agatha. Warmer. She had smiled that morning, kissed your wrist after you had accidentally burned it, and called you her darling in that deep voice that made your chest hurt.

You didn't want to go out, but she pushed. But she insisted. Said you needed the air.

And now, as you reached the home, a voice pierced the silence like a knife.

"Agatha, you are a disgrace to our bloodline. You were born to lead, not grovel for the affections of some worthless village girl."

"I married her because I wanted to," Agatha said next, her voice gruff and furious. "Because for once in my wretched life, I chose something for myself."

Your heart hit as you drew closer, sliding through the partially open door. The voices were coming from the sitting room. The air within crackled with magic, dense and repressive, and despite your impulses to run, your feet refused to move.

"Do you believe you can quit your duty? Are you willing to sacrifice our family's future for love?" Evanora spat the word with hatred. "She is a waste, Agatha. "A mortal girl with nothing to offer but a beautiful face and empty hands."

"I'll kill you if you touch her," Agatha hissed.

The rage in her voice made you blush.

"I don't care," said Agatha, her voice low and threatening. "I married her because I love her. I chose her."

"Love? Do you believe love will rescue you when the coven comes for your head? When will your family vanish because you failed to fulfill your duty? You've spent months playing at home with a local girl rather than completing your vows. There is still no heir."

"I'll never force her," Agatha growled. "She isn't cattle to be bred for power."

Evanora laughed coldly and without amusement. "Then you leave me no choice."

"Either that girl carries a Harkness child by the end of this season," Evanora shouted, cutting through the room like a blade, "or this marriage will be annulled, and she'll be wed to Mercer before the harvest moon."

Mercer.

The man your parents promised you to. A vicious, heavy-handed thug with yellowed teeth and a sneer that made you shiver.

You hugged the basket to your chest, feeling as if the walls were closing in. Your heart struck so fiercely that you believed you'd pass away.

"I'll kill you before I let you touch her," Agatha hissed.

"Get out of my house," Agatha spat, her magic crackling like thunder against stone.

You did not sleep that night.

The words you'd overheard echoed continuously in your brain, each one heavier than the previous. Your chest discomfort was no longer due to dread. It came from something else—something piercing and rigid. You were not foolish. You knew what Evanora wanted. What the entire town most likely murmured about behind your back.

And you were aware of the consequences of leaving this decision in the hands of others.

Agatha loved you. You could tell it by the way her eyes softened as you talked, and how her touch lingered on your skin, as if she were trying to remember you. But you also knew she'd never accept what wasn't freely offered, that Evanora would rather burn the earth down than give you both peace.

Perhaps you can take charge of it yourself.

The next morning,

You sat up in bed, the aroma of lavender and smoke clinging to the blankets where Agatha had held you all night. You could sense her absence. The home was silent, but not in a scary manner. It seemed like the quiet before the storm, and you wanted to go into it.

Maybe it was time to quit being a terrified little girl.

Perhaps it was time you created your own storm.

You crossed the room to the closet, your fingers brushing across the row of dresses. Stiff. Modest. Boring like the muddy streets of your former home. But there was something else at the further end, almost hidden.

Dark blue dress. Soft to the touch, the sleeves hung barely off your shoulders, and the neckline plunged scandalously low. You didn't remember seeing anything there before, but maybe Agatha left it for you.

Your lips formed a little, evil grin.

It was perfect.

You put it on, the silk clutching your waist and dropping like nightfall on your body.

The kitchen smelled of rosemary and garlic, and the steady simmer of a stew warmed the house. You went between the counter and the stove, humming quietly to yourself, your hair loosely pulled back out of your face. And let it fall over your shoulders in beautiful waves.

You waited for her.

And, as if called by your thoughts, the front door creaked open, the gentle click of boots against wood signaling Agatha's arrival.

You didn't glance up immediately, pretending to be overly involved with the soup, mixing it gently.

Then you felt her.

The usual electric tug in the air, the storm that always accompanied her. The way your skin prickled and the hairs on your arms sprang up, as if the room knew she was around.

"Well, well," her voice rang across the room, thick and black like spiced wine. "Look at yourself, little housewife. Are you attempting to kill me, or do you truly not understand what you're doing?"

You turned, letting your hair fall over one shoulder, pretending innocence. "I'm making lunch."

Agatha's eyes swept over you, the corner of her mouth twitching into a grin. "Mm. Is that all?"

"I thought you might be hungry," you replied quietly, looking at her with wide eyes.

"Oh, I am," she said softly, crossing the room.

Your heart quickened with each stride she took, the air thickening as she closed the gap between you. She came to a halt behind you, her hands bracing on the counter on either side of your hips, enclosing you.

Her breath felt warm on your neck as she leaned closer.

"You shouldn't play these games with me, darling," she whispered, the danger in her voice sending a rush straight to your gut.

"I'm not playing," you said, your voice coming out weaker than you wanted.

Agatha giggled darkly, her fingers ghosting over your arm, leaving a trail of fire behind them. "Liar."

You swallowed hard, your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Her eyes clouded. "What are you doing, my wife?"

You slipped down the counter, your bare feet touching the chilly floor. You swallowed hard, collected the ragged pieces of your bravery, and moved closer to her.

"I heard you," you whispered.

Agatha's eyebrow twitched. "What?"

"I heard you and your mother the other night." Your throat clenched, but you pushed the words out. "This is about the marriage. About the heir."

Her stare became sharper, and something menacing flickered in her expression.

"I... I know you didn't ask for any of this," you said, your voice quivering. "I know you're angry. You have every right to exist. So—" you drew a breath, your stomach churning, "if you still want to, if it'll help you, you can have me."

Agatha's lips parted, surprise on her face.

You met her stare, your heart racing in your ears. "I won't stop you."

For a short moment, the entire room stood still.

Then her expression turned feral, with a dark, greedy smirk curving at the corners of her mouth.

"You really don't know what you're offering, do you?" She mumbled, her voice low and harsh, like thunder rolling in the background.

"I don't care," you muttered. "If it's you… I don't care."

That is all it took.

In a blur, her arm was around your waist, and before you could blink, you were tossed over her shoulder with a startled gasp. The world tilted as she carried you down the hallway, her hand gripping your thigh possessively.

"You had your chance to stop me, love," Agatha growled, her voice a dark promise in your ear.

With a flick of her wrist, she slams the bedroom door shut behind you, magically locking the lock into place.

She places you on the edge of the bed, and for a little minute, everything is calm, except for your rapid breathing and the storm of something unknown in her black eyes. Agatha steps once and then stands before you, her fingers twitching at her sides.

"I need to hear you say it," she says, her voice low and harsh, "If you want this, if you want me..." I need to hear it from your own lips. There are no tricks. No lies. "You do not owe me anything."

You raise your gaze to hers, speaking softly but steadily. "I love you, Aggie."

She stiffens.

"You're the only thing in my life that's ever made me feel like I wasn't nothing," you say with a whisper. You make me happy. And I-I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know how to be a perfect wife, but I know I want you. If you will have me."

For a moment, you believe she stops breathing. Her jaw clenches, and she speaks with a growl. "I should leave you alone. I should do better than this. But, God help me, I can't."

She rushes you quickly, her hands holding your face with such tenderness that it almost tears your heart. "I swear on my magic and my life. I will never touch you unless you want to. I will never hurt you. Do you understand what I am saying?"

You nod, your eyes hurting from tears you don't want to wipe away. "I want you, Agatha. I am not afraid. Not of you."

A shaking sensation passes through her, something dark and wild in her gaze melting for the first time since you met.

"Then you're mine," she murmurs. "In every way that matters."

You lift a hand, your fingers trembling as they curl around her wrist. "Kiss me," you whisper, your voice breaking on the words. "Please, my love."

Her lips crash against yours, and it’s nothing like you imagined. She tastes like magic, like dark forests and old secrets, like something forbidden you never want to stop craving.

You melt into her, fingers grabbing the neck of her robes, bringing her closer, craving more. Her mouth moves over yours with practiced ease, her tongue gliding over yours in a way that weakens your knees and twists your stomach most evilly. The warmth of her magic swirls around you like invisible threads, tingling your skin.

She groans into your lips, as if she's been craving this, for you, for far too long. Her hands slide down to your waist, grasping you tightly, then lowering again to your hips, pressing you hard against her. The pressure of her body on yours makes you shudder.

You can scarcely recognize your own voice as you moan, "Aggie..."

Her lips leave yours and trace down your neck, teeth scraping sensitive flesh, causing your breath to catch. She says against your throat, her voice low and strained, "Do you have any idea what you are doing to me?"

You are unable to respond because you believe you have never felt this level of yearning before.

Agatha leans back, eyes black, nostrils dilated, her thumb brushing across your swelling lower lip. "Tell me something," she says, her voice like silk scraped over a knife's edge. "Have you...? Have you done this before?"

Your stomach flips. You shake your head, your cheeks blazing hot, your voice gentle yet confident. "No… you're the first."

Agatha hovers over you, one hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear you didn’t even realize had fallen. "I need you to tell me one more time," she murmurs, voice low and steady, though you can hear the strain in it. "This is what you want, dove. Say it. Tell me to stop, because if you don't know, I am not sure if I can stop myself later."

You reach for her hand, fingers lacing with hers, grounding yourself in the warmth of her skin.

"I don’t want you to stop," you whisper, voice cracking on the words. "I want this. I want to be yours."

When her lips leave yours, she speaks so softly you barely hear it. "You’re mine now. Only mine."

And you don’t even hesitate when you nod.

"Yes, Aggie. Always yours."

She groans softly at the sound of it, dipping down to kiss along your throat, leaving warm, lingering marks in her wake. "Good girl."

Agatha’s mouth is everywhere warm, possessive, and maddeningly slow. She starts at your throat, lips brushing softly before her teeth catch your skin, sinking in just enough to leave a mark. You gasp, arching beneath her, and she hums against your skin like she’s savoring the sound.

When her lips touch your chest, you shudder. She teases you at first, with gentle, delicate kisses on the tops of your breasts, her tongue shooting out to taste your skin before her teeth scrape your skin, leaving another mark. It's as if she's marking you, claiming you with each touch.

"Aggie," you murmur, your fingers running into her hair.

She grins darkly at your skin, her voice low and gruff.

And then her mouth closes around one of your nipples, her tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to make you cry out. Her other hand slides down, teasing between your thighs, finding how soaked you are for her.

"Good girl," she murmurs. "Look at you… so ready for me, so perfect."

The sensation of her lips and fingers is overpowering, and when she goes on to your second nipple and tortures it with the same tenderness, you can feel yourself breaking apart.

Every kiss, bite, and muttered phrase of possession propels you higher, your body arching into her, craving more and wanting her.

"Come for me," Agatha says gently, her magic whirling around you, increasing every touch and pleasure. "Just now. Let me have it." Her fingers slowly stretched you in your pussy, and her thumb made circles on your clit.

And with one more sharp, perfect bite just above your heart, you shatter, crying out her name as your body trembles, wave after wave crashing through you.

"You’re so beautiful like this," she whispers,

She’s holding you close, one hand stroking along your back while the other traces idle patterns over the marks she’s left on your skin.

But the question has lingered in your thoughts since you overheard her argument with Evanora about heirs and children. And now, with your body wrapped around hers and your heart secure in her embrace, you finally speak it.

"Aggie… how does that even work?" You ask quietly, turning your head up to look at her. "How… how would I have your child?"

Agatha's lips twist into a slow, knowing smile, and her hand brushes the hair away from your face. "Curious little thing," she says, her voice full of softness.

Your cheeks burn, but you refuse to look away. "I… I just wanna understand."

She sighs gently, almost as if she is affected. "Witches," she says, her voice a bit softer now, fingers stroking across your stomach, "have methods. We are not bound by the same rules as humans. Magic allows us to accomplish things that men could never think of."

Agatha continues, her palm resting possessively on your belly: "I'll create a spell. A creation. A means to implant a kid within you, my child. Witches can conjure it as a blood-enchanted strap. It will not be just any child, Dove. It will carry my strength. My bloodline. A Harkness heir."

When you pull back just enough to whisper, your voice is shaky but certain. "Do it."

Agatha freezes. You see the exact moment her control shatters, her eyes flashing a brilliant, unnatural violet as magic flickers in the air around you.

But just as her hand starts to move, conjuring what you called for, you exclaim, "Wait!"

Her brow furrows, the light in her eyes flashing. "What is it, love?" She whispers, her voice scratchy, as if she's barely holding on.

You bite your lip and grab for the hem of her clothing, speaking softly. "I just want to see you," you say, cheeks flushed. "I don't wanna be the only one like this."

For a moment, something in her face softens—the sharp, deadly Agatha gives way to something more human, more vulnerable. Without saying anything, she stands, the cloth dropping from her shoulders and pooling about her feet, revealing her to you.

You nod, swallowing hard.

And then, with a wave of her hand, the air thickens with energy, and the spell forms between you- a smooth, enchanted creation of her magic, warm and pulsing like it’s alive, like it knows its purpose.

She leans down, brushing her lips over yours again. "If it hurts… You tell me."

You nod, trusting her.

When she finally pushes inside, the stretch makes you gasp, a sting of discomfort blooming sharp and bright. Your hand clutches at her arm, and Agatha immediately slows, cupping your face. "Look at me, my love, it's going to be okay, it will hurt just for a moment..." she murmurs, her voice low and so gentle it makes your heart ache.

You force yourself to relax, breathing her in, and the pain fades beneath the warmth of her touch, the possessive tenderness in her eyes.

She moves carefully, tenderly, her lips never far from your skin, murmuring soft things you can barely catch, words in ancient tongues, a promise in every kiss she leaves along your throat.

The room fills with the sound of your mingled breaths, the soft crackle of candles, and the steady pulse of magic in the air.

Agatha looks at you with hungry eyes, lips parted, and blush rising to her cheeks. Each time your body clenches around her, her control gets worse, and her motions become harsher, more pressing.

Your hands run up her arms, claws pressing in slightly as you cling to her, a moan escaping when she brushes across a location deep inside you that causes your mind to spin. Without thinking, your legs raise, wrapping tightly around her waist and drawing her in even further, pushing her to fill you in a way that makes your entire body tremble.

Agatha moans, the sound is low and damaged. "Fuck, sweetheart." You have no idea what you are doing to me."

You moan her name, and the last thread snaps.

Her mouth finds your throat, teeth scraping along your pulse as she starts to move harder, deeper — not rough, but relentless, like she’s trying to carve herself into your very bones." S o fucking tight for me," she growls against your skin. "Made for me, weren’t you?"

You can’t form words, just a breathless moan as your hips roll to meet her.

"That’s it, my sweet girl," she coaxes darkly. "Take it. Gods, look at you — so beautiful like this, spread open for me, begging without a word."

Your head tips back as a sharp wave of pleasure curls in your belly. You can feel it building, pulling you closer to a ledge you didn’t even know existed.

Agatha notices, of course she does — her hand trailing down to circle your clit, teasing, coaxing, commanding. "Give it to me again," she growls, voice rough with need.

The pressure snaps, and you cry out, your entire body tensing around her as the orgasm crashes through you. Agatha’s name tears from your lips like a prayer and a plea.

Agatha moans at the feel of you clenching, burying herself as deep as she can, panting against your ear. "So perfect for me," she whispers, her voice shaking.

"Fuck… gods, " she gasps on your neck, tightening her fingers on your hip and pushing in deep, plunging herself to the hilt. The raw, frantic shout that comes from her chest is nothing short of wild, and you can feel it, the quick rush of cum inside you, her power lighting bright and electric in the air as she overflows into you.

Your own breath stutters as you feel the weight of her claiming you entirely.

You can feel her pulse hammering madly in her chest as she breaths hard, the last shudders of her orgasm resonating throughout her being.

When she finally moves, it's to carefully draw away with a hiss of softness, her hands hugging you as if you were delicate and fragile. You flinch slightly as the pain settles in, and she immediately murmurs small apologies against your lips.

"Did I hurt you?" she says, pulling a moist strand of hair away from your face.

You shake your head, the pain deep within you searing yet delicious, the warmth in your chest unnaturally full. "No… it was… it was amazing."

Agatha’s face softens in a way that makes your heart ache. "You were perfect," she murmurs, kissing your forehead, your cheek, the tip of your nose.

After the tempest of your emotions had gone and you were lying wrapped in Agatha's arms, the silence between you two was as comforting as the calm after a thunderstorm. The air felt warmer, and the stress from the previous events disappeared.

You lay there, your heart still beating from everything—her touch, the sheer intensity of it all.

You shifted slightly, resting your head against her chest and listening to her heartbeat. Your fingertips stroked little, languid circles on her skin, providing comfort for yourself.

"Aggie?" Your voice was quiet and almost hesitant.

She hummed in answer, her fingers gently caressing your back, the gentle touch making your pulse skip a beat. "Hmm?"

You bit your lip before asking, your words seeming somewhat more vulnerable than you intended. "How did you find me that night? I mean, you knew where I was and came for me. But, how?"

Agatha was silent for a moment, as though she was considering her answer.

"I've been watching you for a while, love," Agatha said softly. Her fingers stopped moving as she turned to face you, her dark eyes examining yours with an unreadable look.

"Not stalking you, not in the way you might think." She chuckled softly at the concept. I noticed you for the first time when I saw you on Market Street.

"I couldn't let you get caught up in something that wasn't right," Agatha said, placing her hand on your back and comforting you. "I knew you weren't happy with your family and what they wanted from you. And I knew I had to protect you, and if I knew what they've been doing, I would have had you earlier."

You felt her words sink deep into your chest, sparking something inside you. She saw through everything, even when you couldn't see it for yourself. You bit your lip, experiencing a strange combination of feelings, but largely a sense of safety, as if you weren't alone anymore.

"You've been looking out for me?" You whispered with a small tremble in your voice.

Agatha’s gaze softened, and she nodded slowly.

"I’m glad you did," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. You pulled her closer, pressing your lips to her chest as if trying to anchor yourself in the moment, in her. "I didn’t know… I didn’t know I needed you."

Agatha kissed your forehead, her lips lingering there as she held you close.

Two months later...

You had been feeling off for several days.

It wasn't noticeable at first: a hazy heaviness in your stomach, some exhaustion, and a flutter of sickness in the mornings. Agatha became concerned when the simple scent of fresh herbs turned your stomach. When you brushed it off, Agatha went to get the one person you didn't want to see: Evanora.

You're sitting by the fireplace when she appears, her presence as piercing and cold as ever, magic lingering behind her like a thick perfume. You swallow hard as she walks across the room with the kind of elegance that makes you feel like a child again, sitting there in your simple dress.

"Well," she replies curtly, standing over you with her eyes narrowed. "Let's see what we have here."

You look at Agatha, who stands stiffly by the doorway, her expression a mix of concern and defensiveness.

"Mother, if she's unwell, we should

Evanora raises her hand, silencing her daughter with a look. "I'll be the judge of that."

Without asking, she brushes her icy fingertips on your temple, mumbling ancient words beneath her breath. The power seeps into you, causing a slight tugging sensation deep within your center, like something stirring in the darkness.

Your stomach tightens, and you almost draw away—but something in her look shifts. The hard, judgmental frown softens only slightly.

"Well, well," she purred, her voice far too pleased. "Finally. It seems the little witch is carrying. How delightful."

You froze. Carrying? It didn’t make sense. Not at first.

And then, as the words sank in, the weight of it hit you. You were pregnant. Pregnant.

"I… I am?"

Evanora’s eyes flicked to Agatha, a sly, self-satisfied smile curling at her lips. "Yes. Two months along. Congratulations, Agatha. It’s about time."

"You’re… carrying my child," Agatha whispered, as if the words were a prayer, a promise.

Evanora's voice cut through the tenderness like a razor.

"Well, this is all very touching," she remarked, her voice full of hate. "But there is still work to do. You have to protect the child, Agatha. I'll plan the rituals. The family line must be secured."

Agatha's palm clenched around yours, her countenance hardening as her eyes shifted to Evanora. "I will not fail. I'll protect them."

Evanora snorted, producing a nasty, mocking chuckle. "Will you? Will you succeed, or will you keep being pathetic, darling? " She returned her stare to you, and the cruelty in her eyes was undeniable. "As much as I hate to say it, you are now a useful girl. And that child will hold the key to everything."

"Mother," Agatha said, her voice quiet but sharp, a warning laced in it. "Enough."

When she returned her gaze to you, her face softening once more, you saw the true warmth, the love that had driven her this far, the love that would keep you both safe.

"I will protect you," Agatha whispered again, her voice fierce, possessive, and full of promise. "Always."

AN: OKAY WOAH THIS IS MY LONGEST FF I EVER WROTE! I HOPE U GUYS LIKE ITTT AND DON'T FORGET TO WRITE ME YOURR FEELLING ABOUT THISSSS <3

[fxirybun]

🍡 PAC: script shifting scenarios with your DR s/o + mini moodboards

INTRO

hey there my fellow shifters ! i have a sweet treat that i'm about to offer to you all which was already stated in the title above ^^ if you're currently struggling with writing your script or experiencing writer's block , this post is meant for you ꒰◍ˊ◡ˋ꒱੭⁾⁾  i included some mini moodboards to help you visualize the scenarios.

i would like to thank the person who gave me this suggestion ^^ hopefully they get to see this post <3

READ ME

this is a shift-related pick-a-card reading. DR means “desired reality” whilst s/o means “significant other”. scripting is a useful tool that allows shifters to write down their intentions and add some specific details about themselves and the reality they want to enter.

this is a collective reading ! take what resonates and leave what doesn't. i cannot guarantee 100% accuracy. take the pac reading lightly ჱ̒ ｰ̀֊ｰ́ )

ෆ⸒⸒ pile one🍦

these scenarios can be adapted however you like to fit the connection and dynamic you imagine with your DR s/o. it's also great for visualizing deeper moments and building a strong emotional link to that reality !

01 THE COZY CAFÉ DATE

you and your DR s/o are sitting in a cozy , dimly lit café with warm beverages as you and your DR s/o's order. the weather outside is cool , maybe it’s raining outside due to how cloudy the sky is , similar to london weather. the two of you are both wrapped in scarves and sweaters. there's soft music that plays in the background as you and your DR s/o exchange stories about childhood memories and plans for the future.

SELF-MADE QUOTES : "nothing feels warmer than the presence of your soul residing next to me".

02 STARGAZING ADVENTURE

it's a clear night outside and how you and your DR s/o are both planning to drive out to a secluded hill , a field of flowers / plants, or hanging out at the seashore. with a blanket that is spread out , you lie together with them , pointing out the constellations that you saw from the night sky , making wishes on shooting stars , and talking about the vastness of the universe , while feeling deeply connected between you and your DR s/o.

SELF-MADE QUOTES : "the stars are indeed beautiful but i'm only , i'm only looking at you're glimmering eyes whilst you're admiring the night sky".

03 COOKING MEALS TOGETHER

in a warm , sun-filled kitchen , you and your DR s/o are cooking a meal together. inside the kitchen room, you can hear laughter as you playfully argue about how much spice your DR s/o added , maybe a little flour fight breaks out between the two of you. at the end of the cooking session , you both enjoy the meal that you and your DR s/o prepared. there's candlelight on the table , making a toast to the simple joys of life.

SELF-MADE QUOTES : "“we stirred up more than just a meal—laughter , love , and the kind of joy that fills both the heart and the table”.

EXTRAS : anime world , power / influence (being famous , rich , has authority , strong connection with people of high social status) , grumpy x sunshine , with people around you , magical / supernatural , idol world (kpop , jpop , cpop , etc.) , surprise / unplanned / not much is being scripted , introvert x introvert dynamic , erotic , heart , dragonfly , moon , horse , bicycle.

ෆ⸒⸒ pile two 🍵

these scenarios can be adapted however you like to fit the connection and dynamic you imagine with your DR s/o. it's also great for visualizing deeper moments and building a strong emotional link to that reality !

01 A LAZY MORNING IN BED

it's a slow weekend morning. the sunlight coming from the outside streams in through the window , and you and your DR s/o both lie in bed , wrapped up in each other's presence. there's no rush in trying to get up—just sleepy conversation , giving soft kisses , and cuddling whilst the world outside stays still. maybe or perhaps you can even make breakfast together afterward.

SELF-MADE QUOTES : “no need to chase the day when every moment here feels like forever”.

02 A ROAD TRIP WITH NO DESTINATION

you and your DR s/o both decided to take an impromptu road trip together. the windows are up , music coming from the radio is blasting , and how the wind is brushing through your hair. you knew that there was no fixed destination as to where the two of you were going , just an adventure to look forward to. you and them stop at random spots—a small-town diner , a beautiful lookout point , or a quirky roadside attraction whilst creating memories along the way.

SELF-MADE QUOTES : "with no map to guide us , the open road became our compass , and how each stop is an unexpected chapter.”

03 DANCING IN THE LIVING ROOM

on a quiet evening inside the living room , one of your favorite songs comes on from the speaker. without saying a word , your DR s/o pulls you into a dance. you feel as if the rest of the world fades away and time slowly stops as you move together in perfect harmony , lost in each other’s eyes. the warmth of their embrace envelops you , creating a bubble where only the two of you and the music exist. each gentle sway feels like a promise for a lifetime.

SELF-MADE QUOTES : “we both dance in silence , lost in each other’s gaze , turning a simple moment into an eternal memory.”

EXTRAS : adventure , tragedy , booktok / book world , superhero / villain , thriller / horror , comic book world , magical / supernatural , alone , mythology , fairy , horse , starfish / star , mermaid / siren , anchor.

ෆ⸒⸒ pile three 🍫

these scenarios can be adapted however you like to fit the connection and dynamic you imagine with your DR s/o. it's also great for visualizing deeper moments and building a strong emotional link to that reality !

01 CAMPING UNDER THE STARS

you find yourself in a serene forest by a lake , camping with your DR s/o. after setting up a tent , you decided to sit by the fire roasting marshmallows , sharing stories , and how laughter can be heard. the crackling flames and the gentle rustle of leaves create a soothing backdrop for your connection. later on , you and your DR s/o fall asleep , feeling safe in each other's presence. in those moments , the worries of the world fade away , leaving only the warmth of love and the beauty of the stars above.

SELF-MADE QUOTES : "under a starlit sky , “By the firelight, laughter echoed in the serene forest, as we held each other close, wrapped in love and the magic of a starlit night.”

02 CELEBRATING A SPECIAL ACHIEVEMENT

you just accomplished something important in your DR , whether it’s personal or professional , and how you considered it to be a big milestone for you. Your DR s/o found out about this exciting news and decided to surprise you with a small celebration—a homemade dinner , a handwritten letter , or maybe just their heartfelt words of pride and love for the person they love which is you. this moment feels special for the two of you.

SELF-MADE QUOTES : "your support in my achievement made the victory sweeter , but it’s your love that makes every moment feel truly complete.”

03 A DREAM VACATION

you and your DR s/o are about to embark on a vacation to your dream destination. wether this location or trip to a tropical beach , a walk in a european city, or staying in a mountain cabin. you found yourself immersed in spending days exploring , taking a quick relaxation , and even discovering new things with them. there are moments of awe at observing the beautiful landscapes , and feeling connected to the world. your Dr s/o decided to take you to a quiet , romantic dinner with a breathtaking view , making the vacation feel more magical.

SELF-MADE QUOTES : “with every step we take , the world whispers its beauty , but it’s your gaze that holds the most radiant horizon.”

EXTRAS : shoujo , main waiting room , superstar life (singer , dancer , music-related , famous) , surpise / unplanned / not much is being scripted , fan-fiction / au , platonic soulmates (friends , siblings , family , etc.) , slice of life , josei , sci-fi , squirrel , rose , tree , moon , star.

[bunbun-mochi]

Queen of Onychinus II

Sylus x MC

Fluff and Smut (MDNI!!!!)

Warning: cursing, strangling, Sylus and MC making babies, idk (don't hesitate to comment/message me if there needed more warnings.)

Word Count: 2505

Preview: Sylus needed to leave N109 zone for a few days for business. His beloved wife(MC) insisted she take care of N109 zone, which Sylus hesitantly agreed to, but with one of many conditions: "Give me a list of anyone you want to get rid of. Let there be a clear message that anyone messes with my wife, messes with me."

Writers note: Forgive me for any errors, I was busy fangirling about Sylus.

Strings of filthy sounds came out of my mouth and my lower half as my husband's hip gently bumped into mine. Filling me in every place unimaginable. Wet kisses trail along my neck and chest before gently covering my lips.

"You're so beautiful, sweetie," Gods, his voice itself can let me come undone, so deep and sexy. I can only moan in response. I cannot imagine what I would be like in front of a mirror, feeling intoxicated with his touches.

Gentle kisses and gentle hands touched every single inch of me, giving love to every piece of me. Tears rolled down my face from the overstimulation as Sylus kissed them away.

I felt my whole body shake. Rounds after round, hour after hour, and before we knew it, the crimson moon rose high in the sky.

I leaned back onto Sylus chest in the bathtub, feeling satisfied from the heat of the water and the scented smell from the soap. Sylus gently massage my thighs while giving kisses along my face and neck. I giggled, "We went through so many rounds and you still haven't had enough?"

Sylus groaned, "I never get enough of you. Even if you give me an entire week, I would still beg for more."

I turned back and faced him, giving him a small peck on the mouth. "I love you."

"I know," Sylus said before kissing me deeply. I felt his hands slither between my legs.

I gasped, breaking off the kiss, "Sylus." I warned.

Sylus chucked, "Relax, darling, I'm just cleaning you."

"Cleaning? I know you have a different intention-" I felt his fingers brush between my thighs. Instinctively, I closed my thighs, still feeling the aftermath of the overstimulation several minute prior on the bed. "Sylus..."

Sylus trailed kisses along my neck as he continued to stimulate me. Although tired, my body continued to betray me, begging him to continue. Before I knew it, we went for another few rounds in the bathroom.

"You are... you're a monster..." I felt my soul ascending to heaven as my body already went through several times prior before coming back from the high.

Sylus chucked, "Sorry, darling, you were too tempting."

I pouted, "Lame excuse!"

Sylus, already dressed in a suit, sat on the edge of the bed and leaned in for a kiss, which I gladly gave.

"When will you be back?" I asked between kisses.

Sylus gave me a final peck before answering, "About 4 days. Don't miss me too much."

"Too late, I already miss you. What about N109 zone?"

Sylus stood up and draped his outwear over his shoulders, "I'm sure it'll live while I'm gone for a few days."

"Yea, but everytime that happens, you end up having a mountain of work to do once you get back." I pouted, "Then you won't be able to spend time with me once you get back. Maybe I should threaten and kill anyone who gives you extra work."

Sylus chucked, "That would be great. I'm sorry, dear, I'll try to get things done as soon as I can so I won't leave my wife alone for too long."

I folded my arms and shook my head, "I don't like this."

"What would you suggest then?"

"Let me do your business here in N109 zone. I'll do the meeting that you decide to do after you come back. That way, you can come home to me first once you get back and not that stupid meeting."

Sylus shook his head, "Absolutely not. If the meeting gone wrong, bad things can happen to you. I absolutely hate the idea of something happening to you while I'm not there."

"I don't think it will be that bad. Besides, I'm not weak. I just don't have a strong evol as yours, but I'm capable of fighting. Worst case scenario, I come out with scratches. Also, my luck always had been better than yours."

Sylus scowled, his voice serious, "Sweetie, I still do not believe it is a good idea."

This time, it is me who scowled, "Honestly, what kind of husband goes to a meeting after their business overseas and not see his wife first? How come those bastards get to see you first instead of me? Unfair and cruel."

Sylus sighed deeply and massaged his temples, "Sweetie..."

"How about this, I bring Luke and Kierra with me. I will not let my emotions get the better of me and won't start any fights at all in the meeting."

Sylus opened his mouth, as if adding something before I cut him off. "And, I have to report to you every 12 hours."

"Make it every hour," Sylus negotiated.

"6 hours."

"2 hours."

"4 hours! I can't keep calling and messaging you! It'll get in the way of your work!"

"Fine, 4 hours." Sylus finally agreed. "However..."

I inwardly groaned. Another request? This man is so demanding!

"I want you to keep a list of all the names that you want me to deal with once I get back. You can't start a fight, but I can end it."

"Fine."

"Good girl." Sylus kissed me on the forehead. "I'll see you in 4 days, love."

I stare out the window, grasping every hope that Sylus would appear. Wishing his car would appear in the distance, speeding through traffic to get home. Wishing he would rush toward the door, hug me, kiss me, and apologize to me for how late he was. However, I knew this wouldn't happen. It has already been 5 years... Did he forget all about me? Of all the things we been through? All the love I had given him? Did he find a better woman...

"Boss only left for 5 hours, why do you look like he died?" Kieran asked.

"Yea, your face is like he died and cheated on you at the same time." Luke added.

The twins completely ruining my "reminiscent". Tsk.

"You should report to him how upset I am. Maybe that will make him second think about leaving me for those meetings." I huffed.

"I'm sure boss wouldn't want to leave either," Luke said, clearly trying to cheer me up.

I sighed, "Yea, I know." I stood up from the chair and stretched. "When is the meeting?"

"I messaged all the members for the meeting and the earliest they can do is the day after tomorrow," Luke answered.

I nodded, "good, that'll allow me to prepare."

I spent the days before the meeting preparing, choosing outfits, and weapons, and reporting to Sylus. And by reporting to Sylus, I mean sexting.

The meeting was not the way I wanted to go. Those "aristocrates" are like parasites. As soon as you're vulnerable, they attack. Quite disgusting if you ask me.

At the meeting, they were expecting Sylus. The room was cold and silent as if they were expecting death. But once I walked through the door, the atmosphere changed immediately. There was confusion for a few minutes before every single one of them looked at me like I was their prey.

I love it. I love appearing weak in their eyes before I show my fangs. I love the reactions they make when they realize the mistake they have made.

However, this meeting is especially hard as I am expected to sit still and prevent any fights. I promised Sylus so I cannot break this promise. If I do, I know he will not let me go to any meetings. And I know he will feel the pain more than me. I don't want him to go through those emotions.

I walked into the dimly lit room, my high heels clicked loudly on the marble floor. Luke walked ahead of me toward the head of the table and pulled out the giant chair. I sat down and Luke pushed the chair in. I crossed my legs, leaned forward, and interlocked my fingers, trying to look as confident as I could.

After a few minutes of silence, I scowled, "What? Am I supposed to start the conversation?"

I heard some clearing their throat and some huffed, as if they can't believe my arrogance.

"I suggest we change this meeting," One stood up.

"I suggest we start now," I countered.

"I believe Mr. Sylus would have a better grasp of this situation."

I leaned back onto the chair and crossed my arms, "How so?"

"I believe that Mr. Sylus, as a leader himself, should be at this meeting."

"I am his wife, I should be in second in command. We are starting this meeting now. If we do not start today, the next meeting will be next month and all the requests you have today will be moved toward next month. I am sure you would like your request heard as soon as possible."

They looked at each other, whispering to each other. Sylus was right. This meeting is truly boring. All those people are trying to be the best actor and fool the leader on who to believe. I have to admit, finding the traitor among those are hard. I know full well majority of them will turn their backs as soon Sylus become weak.

Suddenly, a loud slam on the table, causing the table to shook. A large man stood up rapidly, making his chair topple backward. "This is ridiculous. Why are we doing this meeting today of all days? It was originally meant to be in two days, why do we have to come now just to talk to this woman!"

"I would suggest you to be careful of what you say," Luke said cautiously.

"Damn this. Damn this woman. His wife? We know this is bullshit. That man don't look at one woman and then decide her to be his wife. A woman shouldn't even be here in the first place." He said, jabbing his finger toward me.

"Where should I be then?" I asked, even though I knew the answer.

"The fucking kitchen, you wrench." Ah, the typical answer for misogynist boys who believe they are men.

"Mr. Aglio, you apologize this instant! You do not have the power to speak ill-" Luke started.

Aglio slammed his fist on the table again. "This is ridiculous. Just because she is his wife today, does not make her in power. What kind of joke is this?"

Aglio aggregated nearly everyone in the meeting. Many sided with him, while others stood silent, watching how the situation unfolds. Those who sided with Aglio yelled vulgar words, making the atmosphere incredibly tense.

I was scared. Not of them. I was scared that a fight would break off. I don't want to break my promise with Sylus. Not when he already trusted me with this. I sat there, racking my brain to try to calm this situation down.

"Enough." I said loudly. My voice boomed and echoed through the meeting room. The room immediately turned silent. "I suggest we continue this meeting and I will report to Sylus immediately. That way, we won't waste any more time."

Many nodded their head in agreement, but not Aglio. He huffed sarcastically, "you think Mr. Sylus would listen to you? You're just a slut-"

Suddenly, the room became suffocating. Many of them are grabbing onto their necks, trying to relieve themselves from an invisible force grabbing onto their necks. The room was silent except the sounds of those aristocrats suffocating and the clicks of the shoes hitting the floor, walking toward the room.

Click... click... click...

I immediately knew those walk pattern belong to. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as the door slowly opens, allowing more lights to shine into the meeting room. Red mists were around those aristocrat's neck, squeezing tightly.

"What did I just hear?" Loud deep voice boomed through the room. Please repeat what you just said, to me."

"Sylus, dear, you are too tight around their necks, they can't speak," I said, nonchalantly, even though my heart is beating fast and my mind screaming.

"You're right," Sylus lighten his mist, just enough for them to speak.

"We just wanted to... have this meeting... with you...." Aglio gasped.

"What's wrong with the meeting with my wife?"

"N-nothing! Nothing at all!" Aglio coughed. "I just thought it would be... better with you, Mr. Sylus."

"Nothing wrong with my wife. So, when I heard those disgusting words that were describing my wife, I must've heard it wrong. Is that right, Luke?"

Luke shook his head, "No, boss. They did in fact called madam many vulgar words."

I felt anger surged from Sylus and he tighten his mist around Aglio. Aglio can only whimper in response.

"You got nerves, I give you that." Sylus said before slamming Aglio out the window, dangling him from 70th floor by the foot. A single movement from the mist will result in Aglio falling to his death.

Sylus slow walked around the table, looking down the aristocrats. While everyone is fearing for their life, I felt heat pooling between my legs. The way Sylus walked around was very sexy. His long legs strides forward, his eyes stern and dark. If I weren't sitting down, I would've clearly fainted.

Sylus stopped at the other end of the table. He looked straight at me, "Give me a list of anyone you want to get rid of. Let there be a clear message that anyone messes with my wife, messes with me."

"First, bring Aglio back in here."

Sylus immediately brough Aglio back into the room without questions, as if he is listening to every order I say.

"Second, I would like those who called me... those lovely words to kneel in this room for three days. Those who kept their mouth shut live for another day."

When no one moved, Sylus narrowed his eyes, "Should I teach you how to kneel?"

Immediately, those who bad-mouthed me kneeled down, with their heads on the ground.

I smirked at their shaking bodies, "third, I would like you to carry me to the car and take me home. I'm tired."

"Your wish is my command, dear." Sylus smiled as he walked around those shaking kneeling bodies, pulled out the chair and carried me bridal style, out of the meeting room.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, "You're here early."

"That bastard thought those cheap counterfeit protocores could fool me. So I thought it would be a lovely surprise for my wife if I returned early, so I decided to detonate the entire building."

Sylus is rushing to get back to me just to see the scene before him. I leaned into his neck and whispered, "I'm sorry."

"There is nothing for you to apologize for. Whatever you do, I will gladly give you anything to support you. You do what you want, whatever the aftermath results from it, I will deal with it."

"I know you would."

"Then you should know I want to hear something else from you."

I smiled, "I love you."

"I love you, too."

As long as Sylus is alive, I will never be alone.

Thank you for reading, I'll post a continuous part (part 3) tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. In case you dont know, this part is the continuous part of "Queen of Onychinus I".

I'm also playing around the settings in tumblr, cuz I haven't writen on tumblr for a while. I also desperately want to understand how to do a freaking line break without adding line break pictures

dividers, templates, headers, and banners are from @uzmacchiato

[croded]

So i went to watch the Nice theme (Paragon) MV and it had a Chinese translation of the lyrics, but then I noticed that as usual, their Chinese translation has a meaning or nuance in the lyrics that the original English doesn't really have, and I thought it was cool, so I tried translating it (amateur attempt.) and it got cooler :O so of course I'm going to yap a bit about the differences between the two versions :D

Here are the original English lyrics:

To be the pinnacle, there's a price A model of virtue above the vice Dressed in gold and flowing white The dark is vanquished by your light Pretenders that would give their lives If painless and was televised It's not easy being nice It's not about the merchandise It's so serene, the blue and green, from outer space If we all could make it work It could be such a happy place To broker peace so pain can cease We are much more than the sum of all our parts So go and capture all their hearts Cuz you are the teacher Shine like a sapphire to guide us Wisdom is just in your nature Fighting for justice You take us higher Saw the potential to be good So many just misunderstood So many lost deep in the wood shall find a way Can imagine a world with no fear of hate Waking up with no reason for feeling great Can imagine a world that you can create You're the fate, you're the fate that we deserve Paragon, just cut through the night Guide us with your beacon of light Paragon, just cut through the night Guide us with your beacon of light

Here is the Chinese translation of the lyrics:

想登上顶峰，必须付出代价 凌驾于一切邪恶的美德典范 金装闪闪，白衣飘飘 黑暗被你的光芒驱散 伪装者愿意付出一切 只为了光鲜亮丽地站在镁光灯下 完美并不容易 这无关金钱交易 纵观寰宇，蓝与绿如此宁静 如果一切安好 这将会是幸福的天地 建立和平，让痛苦终结 我们绝不是无魂的躯体 去俘获他们所有人的心神吧 你是榜样 如蓝宝石般闪耀，指引方向 你生而知之 为正义而战 你带我们乘风破浪 看到心灵深处的善良 太多彼此误解的人 太多迷失的人，总会柳暗花明 可以想象一个没有仇恨与恐惧的世界 醒来享受本真的美好 可以想象你将创造的世界 你就是命运，你就是我们应得的命运 启明星，请照亮黑暗 用你的光芒指引我们 启明星，请照亮黑暗 用你的光芒指引我们

And now, here is my amateurish attempt at translating the Chinese lyrics (some lyrics remain unchanged, but a lot of the lyrics have slight changes of meaning or nuance, which I just directly translated):

To be the pinnacle, there's a price A model of virtue above the vice Dressed in shimmering gold and flowing white The dark is vanquished by your light The pretenders are willing to give everything Just to stand glamorously beneath the spotlight Perfection isn't easy This has nothing to do with transactions Across the world, the blue and green is so serene If all is well This will be a world of bliss Establish peace, end the suffering We are most definitely not soulless bodies Go capture the people's hearts and minds You are the model Shine like a sapphire and guide us You are born with wisdom You fight for justice You lead us to march forward fearlessly Saw the kindness deep in the depths of the soul Too many people who misunderstand each other Too many lost people, will always find a path Can imagine a world with no hate and fear Wake up and enjoy true goodness Can imagine the world you will create You are fate, you are the fate that we deserve Morning star, illuminate the dark Guide us with your light Morning star, illuminate the dark Guide us with your light

feel free to correct me if you see something wrong :')

Now let's look at what important things changed :D

"Pretenders that would give their lives/If painless and was televised" -> "The pretenders are willing to give everything/Just to stand glamorously beneath the spotlight"

I'm gonna be honest, I don't really understand what the original means by "if painless and was televised" 😭 like I really cannot comprehend what the meaning is, if they gave their lives how would it be painless- (maybe it's a line hinting at the entertainment industry that I'm too immature to understand, my bad) but the Chinese translates into the pink text above which seems like a meaning change to me?

"It's not easy being nice" -> "Perfection isn't easy/It's not easy being perfect"

As you can see it's a fun double meaning of Nice being perfect and the entire concept of "Nice" ending up becoming "perfection"! :)

"It's not about the merchandise" -> "It has nothing to do with transactions"

Actually I think this one technically means the same thing, just it's not about the material rewards/products/items (they used 金钱交易 which is just "transactions of money")

"It's so serene, the blue and green, from outer space" -> "Across the world, the blue and green is so serene"

Again,this technically means the same thing, just that "from outer space" wasn't used directly? (feel free to correct me)

"If we all could make it work/It could be such a happy place" -> "If all is well/This will be a world of bliss"

In the Chinese translation they didn't mention a "we" at all - just said 如果一切安好 "if all is well" and 幸福的天地 "a world of bliss" so the meaning change isn't really major here, it just feels so much more... grand? or some better fitting word? like "place" and "happy" feel a little less intense/monumental than "bliss" and "world" (天地 literally meaning the heavens and the earth, basically the world, but even more grand)

"To broker peace so pain can cease" -> "Establish peace, end the suffering"

Again, not a very major change, but there is a certain level of difference between "broker" and "establish": "broker" sounds like you negotiated peace with something or someone, and a deal was made for peace, while "establish" sounds more like you set up or built that peace yourself, brick by brick, with your own power? if that makes sense? (idk this is one of the takes that im less confident in 😭 again, correct me if I'm wrong)

"We are much more than the sum of all our parts" -> "We are definitely not soulless bodies"

Now, this seems like a very significant change to me. The original lyric says "more than the sum of all our parts" like joining forces will give rise to an even greater power, but the Chinese translation says "we are definitely not soulless bodies/shells" like everyone has a drive, a power within them that keeps them going. Could it be that the original lyric embodies the hero belief system, where the trust and belief of the normal, powerless civilian masses create a hero with superhuman powers and the ability to perform feats that civilians can only dream of, while the Chinese translation embodies Lin Ling's philosophy in episode 1, where everyone in the world, even the civilians and the nobodies, have something in them that could bloom and flourish into a hero given the chance?

"So go and capture all their hearts" -> "Go capture the people's hearts and minds"

Aaaaand we're back to really minor changes. The only difference here is the word choice.

"Cuz you are the teacher/Shine like a sapphire to guide us" -> "You are the model/Shine like a sapphire and guide us"

Extremely slight meaning change here, with teacher and model. In my opinion, "teacher" is someone who actively... teaches, extending a guiding hand and all, basically very active in the role of guiding and nurturing and teaching. The Chinese translation used 榜样, which means "example" or "model". This role is not active in the teaching and guiding process, but is more of an example to look upon and follow - like a prototype, or for example a student who behaves obediently and performs excellently and is made into a "good example to be followed". The 榜样(model) role does not extend a helping hand and does not guide you actively in a mentor role. It is just... there, like a guidebook.

"Wisdom is just in your nature/Fighting for justice" -> "You are born with wisdom/You fight for justice"

You guessed it - virtually no changes to the meaning except for word choice. The only thing that can be mentioned is "wisdom is just in your nature" to "you are born with wisdom" - since apparently the Chinese translation "生而知之" comes from a line in the Confucian Analects (a record of this really wise guy talking with his disciples): 生而知之，上也。There are more lines behind this but what this specific one means is literally "Those who are born with knowledge are superior" (in learning) (ive said this so many times but please correct me if im wrong 文言文 is NOT my strong suit 😭)

"You take us higher" -> "You lead us to march forward fearlessly"

This is because I feel that the Chinese translation of 乘风破浪 has a bigger/deeper meaning than just "take us higher". 乘风破浪, literally "ride the winds and break the waves", means "to move forward bravely without fear of challenge or difficulty". So I changed it here to "march forward fearlessly".

"Saw the potential to be good" -> "Saw the kindness deep within the depths of the soul"

Word choice again. Just has the details of the soul there. The meaning is pretty much the same.

"So many just misunderstood/So many lost deep in the wood shall find a way" -> "Too many people who misunderstand each other/Too many lost people, will always find a path

Minor difference here on the "misunderstood ones" line: the original English lyrics just says "so many just misunderstood" which, in my opinion, implies the misunderstanding is one-way, while the Chinese translation says "misunderstand each other", which implies that the misunderstanding goes all around. The people are all hurting each other at the same time instead of it just being a one-way hurting. As for the "lost" line, the Chinese translation doesn't bring up woods at all, but for the "find a way" to "find a path", the Chinese translation uses 柳暗花明, which, if my research tells me correctly, means "to suddenly find a path of survival/salvation after going through suffering" which. basically the same thing. but cool Chinese idiom :)

"Can imagine a world with no fear of hate" -> "Can imagine a world with no hate and fear"

This one's a little strange - the original English lyric implies the world is... afraid of hating? Hmm. But the Chinese translation says something else, that the world contains, or is filled with hate and fear.

"Waking up with no reason for feeling great" -> "Wake up and enjoy true goodness"

Here's another one with a major meaning change - the original English lyric is pessimistic and depressed, while the Chinese translation is saying to wake up and "enjoy the true goodness". One thing to note here is the use of "goodness" - I struggled with this translation because they used 美好, which can have a multitude of different English translations, such as "good", "fine", "lovely", "pleasant", "enjoyable", "wonderful", and... "nice". heh.

"Can imagine a world that you can create" -> "Can imagine the world you will create"

Minor changes again. Here you can see the original English lyric treats it like just a possibility or an idea, while the Chinese translation is much more certain with it. "A world" is vague, "you can create" is not very certain. You can create it, but you might not. There is still the possibility that you don't. However, the Chinese translation uses 你将创造的世界, with 将 meaning "will" in this context. "The world" carries implications of an already concrete plan or image, "you will create" is very certain. You are going to create this new world. There was never any consideration that you would say no, or decide not to do it. You will.

"Paragon, just cut through the night/Guide us with your beacon of light" -> "Morning star, illuminate the dark/Guide us with your light"

So this one's interesting, considering the Chinese used 启明星 here, which means morning star (a bright planet, usually Venus, seen in the eastern sky before sunrise). Paragon means "a person or thing that is regarded as a perfect example of a particular quality". Very fitting with Nice's theme! But morning star means something else now - there might be biblical implications, but I'm not familiar with that and don't want to get anything too wrong there, so i focused on interpreting it as "bringer of light", as can be seen from the following lines "just cut through the night/illuminate the dark". Nothing to say about "guide us with your beacon of light/guide us with your light", it means the exact same thing. "Paragon" is a very fitting word for Nice's whole theme, but "启明星 Morning star" is rather fitting with the visuals.

right side of the screen... east... literally shining light down from above the masses who are sitting in the dark... light coming from the right/east... he floats above them, a step above them all, in the "eastern sky"... seems quite fitting with "morning star"!

his theme in general. the many stars, the pure unstained white cloth, the doves, the singular larger sun/star emblem above him... morning star! (and the golden ratio in the back, for perfection!) (if I remember correctly doves also have some spiritual/biblical meaning. salvation I think?)

now that is the end of a rather long yap. I feel that overall the Chinese translation sounds a little more optimistic and determined (?) than the original English lyrics, which is interesting! Can't wait to see how Nice and Lin Ling's story unfolds :)

[mari-lair]

Let's talk about after-school chapter 28!

I had assumed this interaction was what made Teru, our king of pettiness, go "You know what? I think I won't exorcise your evil spirit problem. Perish."

But?? Akane already had stiff shoulders at the start of their talk?? And Akane waited until it was near the end of their student council time to brag about his 'date' with Aoi.

Meaning Teru just let Akane carry the embodiment of stress and hatred on his back during their entire student council time??

I can't fathom why? This was not an 'I trust Akane to handle it' case, not when Teru was the one who enchanted his glasses so he know better than anyone how vulnerable to supernatural Akane becomes with it, and telling myself Teru needed to wait for the supernatural to feed on Akane to grow when this guy is a pro exorcist also feels like an excuse.

Maybeeee Teru was morbidly curious as to how Akane would fight the feeling?

Speculations on the insane decision to let Akane be haunted aside, their conversation is a trainwreck, shout out to how Teru instinct upon hearing Akane got a date is that his buddy is hallucinating.

I get his skepticism tho, pre-severance Akane you are... A lot.

"I love the part of her that invites me to go shopping" Akane, my dear, you need help. I know you're being honest but please find a less awkward way to be a lovesick fool. (---> I say, knowing full well he'll need to go through a traumatic feelies talkies section in Death's house first)

"cya!" is just cute to me. Look at this smug ill-informed dumbass.

"Hey, the flowers behind aoi are different this time," I think in surprise, even tho realistically Akane must associate Aoi with the entire garden at this point.

And here comes the professional thrid well, the prince himself! His mere presence means Teru actually fell for Akane calling the shopping trip a date though, he gives Akane too much credit.

Teru knowing Akane well enough to translate his stammers of a pathetic creature into "Why are you here?" is beautiful, bro is better at his side gig (pester akane) than his main job (be an exorcist) today.

Aoi's "I know a liar when I see one. let's indulge him anyways" she truly is a kind soul.

Speaking of said liar, I love that Teru doesn't have a basket or shopping cart.

He isn't even trying to pretend he had plans to go shopping, what a guy.

Aoi getting excited over dirt and fertilizer, my girl <3

Shout out to Akane for being happy that Aoi is happy and to Teru for finally figuring out that he doesn't need to sabotage anything cause there is nothing to sabotage.

Teru: *speak*

Akane: and away goes my joy and whimsy.

Love Teru trying to bond with Aoi right after the realization this is a hangout. He wastes no time.

Aoi telling Teru the truth is sweet, I'm glad they are getting closer. Also happy to see Teru remains shameless.

Aoi gave him the driest look possible and Teru still put carrots on her basket. He even said "buy it" SO HE WOULD HAVE MADE HER PAY FOR THE CARROTS.

YES AOI REPRIMAND HIS ASS!

She really treats him like a dog! Is incredible. From her 'grrr' to the way she points a finger at him, it gives me "bad dog! Drop it!" energy.

Fascinated by the way Teru blushes. He seems to be more hung up on being called 'bad' than anything, but he definitively liked being reprimanded, he is still blushing when he walks instead of displaying the dejection of the convenience store.

He doesn't even give up on his quest to make her buy veggies.

Teru, you're doing horrible sweety, keep pestering her and you two will be inseparable in no time <3

Love how Akane snapped out of the curse's first attempt to make him spiral by refusing to be on the same level as Hanako.

He is so arrogant "What am i a loser? A pathetic toilet loser? Nah nah, I am better than that." like damn, okay bro.

I can't believe he pushed back against a curse by the sheer power of self-confidence and determination though, he is built differently. 90% of the characters in this manga cannot relate.

Love how Teru probably didn't suggest a single flower for Aoi to buy, trying to test if he could sneak even one vegetable into her basket, so his closeness to Aoi just made Akane's petunia suggestion look that much more thoughtful in comparison (she does look very happy to be given an actual flower).

Rest in peace Teru you suck at sabotaging.

(Or he would suck if that was the goal! He stuck around for this entire hangout despite how rare his free time is. He got his ice cream, he even walked Aoi home, he just want to hang out. Same vibe as when he went "Oh aoi come with me to the festival, Akane will be there")

I find Teru's zoned-out face so cute.

There is no speech bubble to Terukane's first panel here, but i am 95% sure Teru was the one who asked to be notified about Aoi's gardening progress considering the '...' contrasting Akane's enthusiasm. Love that for him, yes talk to Aoi, get close to this closed off girl.

And Akane didn't like that iuguyguygyui

Teru can always just take off his glasses like Akane never fights that. Good for you.

I am still not over Teru just letting him carry this curse.

But now I really doubt he did it specifically to torture Akane, cause Teru likes helping Akane as much as he enjoys annoying him.

I wonder if he is proud of Akane for not acting on any of the negative feelings he was being fed, cause Teru looks genuinely happy here! It's a far cry from his usual 'bullying you relax me' or 'i am petty' kind of smiles.

...I may be biased but I am throwing my "Teru didn't exorcise the monster for this long to have an excuse to be hanging out with the Aois while tecnically doing his job." idea here. We do get a heavy confirmation he could have done something before and wanted to third wheel after all.

Teru wants to turn this couple into a tricycle so bad. What a guy.

"I hope I didn't act weird" That's an insane thing to think considering how you act near Aoi on the daily bro, you're lucky she is too down bad to mind your madman tendencies.

Peak weirdo to weirdo pining hell.

Speaking of which, she sent him a message to show off the planted flowers! She went out of her way to make sure he saw it, Akane never asked her to update him.

LOOK AT THEEEEEEEEEEM

"Thanks for taking me out today!" says the one who invited him. And 'taking me out'? to the hardware store? I swear I wouldn't even be surprised if she mentally referred to their hang-out as a date too. I love you Aoi.

"As long as Ao-chan had fun, I am happy" l know and I love you.

ps: Their height difference still sparks joy. The smallest girl in the block, the tallest boy in the group, and the perfect middle ground.