#it's so entirely different from when i was last on here!

[ikeuki]

and the crowd is . . . confused ? / 제이크

+ syn. after three years of crushing on popular classmate, sim jaeyun, you finally muster up your courage and decide to confess. but you overhear him fawning over someone who clearly isn’t you, are you too late?

✷ pairing. sim jaeyun x fem!reader ; mutual pining? tw. miscommunication cursing && 1.8k — fluff + crack ★ author’s notes: never jump to conclusions ladies & gents! also cliffhanger lol sorry, will prob make a pt.2!

“just do it! i swear i will do it myself if you don’t,” you best friend chaewon complicated. she was spread out on the cafeteria lunch table, clearly overreacting in your opinion.

“i’ll do it after break, trust trust,” you assured and kept your eyes on the mushy carrots on your plate.

jungwon groaned at your blatant lie, “oh come on! you said that last time!”

she was right. you’ve been delaying your confession for about three breaks straight, coming up with a stupid excuse each time.

first it was that the year was an all-time stressful one where your crush was apparently “too focused on his studies.” but your friends knew better. especially when they saw jake sim playing video games during bio everyday.

next was that you claimed he was sick and the confession would just “add stress to his aching pain.” chaewon and jungwon genuinely could not take that one seriously, both overhearing from his friends sunghoon and heeseung that he was just on an extended family trip to jeju island.

most recently, you blamed it on no time! you just never seem to bump into him at school! jungwon stared at you dumbfounded while chaewon turned your head for you to show jake laughing with his friends across the cafeteria.

he looked perfect. the rays of sunlight lightly illuminated his figure as he had that oh-so charming smile. his soft dark hair and bangs slightly hiding his eyes, but not enough for you to miss his sparkling gaze. the loud chatter of the cafeteria was suddenly quieter when all you could hear was his sweet voice laughing.

“here she goes again,” chaewon sighed, watching her best friend go head over heels this damn boy for the eighth time today.

the school bell snapped you out of your trance, watching as he and his friends got up to leave. before doing so, he grabbed his tray as well his friends, gathering the little wrappers and napkins they all used.

“dude—you don’t have to do that,” his friend commented, nodding towards the exit.

“yeah, but it doesn’t hurt,” jake smiled and quickly finished cleaning up. on his way out, he threw all the trash into the garbage can and piled the trays by the counter, before flashing a grin to the cafeteria ladies who all adored him.

that’s what you liked about jake the most.

of course he was the most handsome boy you’ve ever laid your eyes on. but he was the sweetest too. that’s how you first met him.

back in freshman year, you were completely lost on the first day, all your middle school friends going to a different high school than you. hugging your textbooks close to your chest and trying to keep a low profile, you wandered the entire school in search of your first class.

where the hell was class d-4?

taking a moment to look at the room number plates, you stood in the middle of the hall. suddenly, four boys or so rushed by you and one of them bumped into your shoulder causing you to lose control of your books.

they fell onto the floor as you rushed to pick them up. you didn’t even give the boys another glance as you assumed they were already gone. ‘so this is how high school is’ you internally grumbled and rolled your eyes.

but when you reached to grab your last textbook, another hand already picked it up. the figure was rising to his feet, you subconsciously followed.

“i’m so sorry about my friends, they’re playing this stupid game and—” the boy started, but you almost tuned his words out.

you looked at the boy standing in front of you. his shaggy dark hair and awkward stance while holding one of your textbooks. he nervously held the back of his neck and continued explaining his friends’ antics and apologized.

surprised was an understatement.

“—anyways i apologize on the behalf of my friends and all this,” he softly laughed. you couldn’t help but crack a small smile at his rambling, lightening the mood.

“ok good you’re laughing!” he noted and let out a sigh of relief. the last thing he wanted to do was make any enemies on the first day of a new high school.

“yeah and i forgive you, don’t worry. it wasn’t even your fault, i was standing in the middle of the hall,” you replied and looked at where both of you were now standing. it was true, your body was quite literally in the middle where people were trying to pass by.

“i was just trying to find my class,” you continued and looked back at the small post-it on one of your textbooks that read the room number you were in desperate search for.

“oh d-4?” he asked calmy and titled his head to the side like a puppy.

a faint blush painted your face as the boy widened his eyes awaiting your response. he really did look like one of those golden retrievers you would stay up all night looking at on tiktok.

“yeah…algebra?” you hesitated. “yeah yeah ms. park’s! i have her first period too, c’mon that’s where my friends were going,” he answered enthusiastically and lead the way down the hall.

he walked with your textbook still in his hands and began small talk, introducing himself and asking for your name. the two of you got a little close that year, thanks to the class.

jake would always say hi in the halls and the courtyard, whether he was alone or with his friends. as he got popular when joining the varsity soccer team in sophomore year and gaining more friends, he remained loyal to you in his acknowledgements towards you.

you were surprised when on the first day of senior year, he ran up next to you.

“hey y/n! how was your break?” he exclaimed with such interest. he still had his shaggy dark hair and that puppy-like habit of tilting his head when asking a question.

so if you two were that friendly, why was it so hard to confess your deep-rooted feelings for him? wait, it wasn’t.

“y’know what, i’m going to do it,” you blurted. jungwon and chaewon stopped in the hall, running back to you and holding onto your shoulders.

“i should’ve recorded that—fuck!” chaewon shouted, catching the attention of passing by students.

“wait are you serious? like actually? actually!” jungwon repeated and started jumping up and down as if he just asked to be the best man at your wedding or something.

“yes. dead serious. today, after fifth period and before he walks to the field for soccer practice,” you nodded your head and looked straight, determined look in your eyes and all.

“should i be alarmed that you know his everyday whereabouts?” jungwon muttered.

“who cares! she’s finally doing it!” chaewon celebrated and jungwon whispered a “ok true,” getting giddy with her.

“wow i did not think you guys would be this hyped,” you raised your eyebrow at your best friends who were probably happier than you were.

“now this means we wouldn’t have to hear your delusional thoughts anymore!” jungwon exclaimed and raised both his arms in the air. chaewon joined in, “no more stalking and obsessing!”

“oh fuck you guys!”

the entire fifth period, you thought about how you would confess to your crush: jaeyun sim.

writing a love letter? too complicated.

asking him out on the spot? too risky.

texting him? too scaredy-cat.

before you knew it, the bell was ringing and passing period began which meant you had ten minutes to locate and find jake first and quickly tell him your feelings. luckily, there were a couple boys on the soccer team in your class so you just needed to discreetly follow them to the field.

and that’s exactly what you did. until a familiar figure was only a few steps away from you. you hid behind the bleachers as him and his friends were on the field getting ready.

you took a couple breaths and tried to collect your thoughts. what would you even say? ‘hey jake! could i talk with you for a second? so basically ive been in love with you since freshmen year wh—’

“isn’t she so cute!”

the voice you loved so much felt like a betrayal now. you peeped your head above the bleachers to see jake showing his friends something on his phone.

“much cuter than mine, bro i swear she’s the devil,” one of his friends mentioned and leaned in to see the picture.

were they talking about…girls?

“not mine—she’s an angel, i love her. her birthday’s next week,” jake smiled fondly, as if he were in love.

your heart shattered at the very sight. not that he was happy, but that he was…with another girl.

“what’s her name?” someone asked, you narrowed your eyes to try to catch a glimpse of the photo but he put his phone in his pocket.

“layla!” he answered gleefully and laid down on the grass, thinking about his favorite girl.

you bit your lip, turning around and walking away from the field. your chest felt heavy and there was apparent discomfort spreading throughout your body. how could you be so blind?

of course, jaeyun sim would have a girlfriend! after all he was cute, sweet, athletic, smart, and popular! he had you fawning over him for the past three years, but obviously you weren’t the only one. did that mean he picked up other girls’ textbooks and walked them to class? fuck.

defeated, you decided to ditch your sixth period and walked to the parking lot instead. you pulled out your phone, texting the group chat.

y/n :> soooo #missionfailed won >:) WHAT SPILL WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED chae aka the better won!! :< HUH NOOOOOOOO y/n :> soooo he apparently has a girl! omg kill myself!! hahahaha…hahaha chae aka the better won!! :<

won >:) ummm i didn’t consent to that

chae aka the better won!! :< 🫥 ANYWAYS im so sorry y/n HE FUMBLEDDDD won >:) jake DOESNT have a girl tho???? y/n :> yea he does i heard him and his friends talking abt HOW CUTE his girlfriend was. chae aka the better won!! :< AW HELL NAH

won >:) bros using her own memes now no no sunghoon told me during third that they’ve all been trying to set him up with jay’s cousin but he liked someone else or smth y/n :> THIRD???!!!! AND YOU DIDNT THINK TO TELL ME THIS DURING LUNCH?!?!? chae aka the better won!! :< jungwon. smhsmh won >:) SORRY SORRY but y/n. he’s single. y/n :> ok but then who tf is layla???? won >:) … who’s gonna tell her chae aka the better won!! :< y/n im going to hold your hand when i say this that’s his dog. won >:) pls tell me u didn’t think layla was the “girlfriend” y/n :> oh fuck chae aka the better won!! :<

won >:) OKAY WHY AM I STILL GETTING SLANDERED

did you just fuck yourself over?

…pt.2?

[aventurineswife]

Stealing Moments from Time

Summary: When Ekko decides to use his Zero Drive to craft the "perfect" day for you, things don’t go entirely as planned. Between chaotic time travel mishaps, watery disasters, and a rooftop confession, you realize that imperfection might be what makes everything perfect after all.

Tags: Ekko x Reader, Fluff, Crack fic, Time Travel Shenanigans, Banter, Rooftop Confessions, Found Family Vibes, Light Angst (Happy Ending), Humor.

Warnings: Mild language, Brief mention of getting wet/messy (falling into water), Ekko being a lovable dork, Reader teasing Ekko.

You squinted at the contraption on Ekko’s workbench, tilting your head as if a different angle might make it less intimidating. “Okay, so you’re telling me this thing can reverse time?”

Ekko grinned, leaning casually on the edge of the bench, his goggles perched on his forehead. “Not just reverse time, perfectly recalibrate it. It’s a work of genius, really. I mean, look who made it.” He gestured to himself, smug as ever.

You folded your arms, raising a skeptical brow. “Right. Because last time you tested it, you didn’t accidentally erase three hours and get stuck reliving Vi slapping you on repeat.”

His grin faltered for a second, but he quickly masked it with a laugh. “That was… a minor calibration issue.”

You snorted. “Minor. Sure. So, what’s the big plan now, Dr. Clockwork? More experiments?”

“Not exactly,” Ekko replied, his tone turning softer. He straightened and stepped closer, rubbing the back of his neck. “Actually, I was thinking I could, uh, use it for something else today.”

Your teasing expression melted. “Oh? Like what?”

Ekko hesitated, his hands fidgeting with his work gloves. “I thought maybe we could… hang out? Somewhere that isn’t the workshop or a battle zone. Y’know, like normal people.”

“Normal people don’t time travel for fun, Ekko,” you quipped, but your heart fluttered at his sudden nervousness. He wasn’t usually like this—so unsure of himself.

“Yeah, but normal’s boring, isn’t it?” He finally met your gaze, his usual cocky smirk making a triumphant return. “So what do you say? I can use the Zero Drive to make sure our day’s absolutely perfect. No awkward moments, no bad jokes—”

“Wait, you think your jokes are bad?” you interrupted, feigning shock.

“Focus!” He grabbed your shoulders gently, shaking you with mock urgency. “I’m trying to be romantic here!”

You burst into laughter, swatting his hands away. “Alright, fine, time boy. Where are we going?”

Ekko beamed, grabbing his goggles and securing them over his eyes. “You’ll see. Just trust me.”

Ten minutes later, you were both soaked, standing ankle-deep in the murky water of Zaun’s lower levels.

“Trust me, he says,” you muttered, glaring at Ekko as water dripped from your hair. “It’ll be fun, he says.”

“Okay, in my defense,” Ekko started, holding his hands up in surrender, “this wasn’t supposed to happen. The platform was stable a second ago!”

“Sure it was,” you deadpanned, wringing out the hem of your jacket.

“Alright, alright,” Ekko said, fiddling with the Zero Drive on his wrist. “I’ll fix it. Just give me one sec.”

He pressed a button, and a blue glow surrounded him. With a flash, he disappeared—and a second later, the platform reappeared, solid and dry.

“See?” Ekko said, grinning as he popped back into existence. “Problem solved!”

You blinked. “Uh, not quite.”

He frowned. “What do you—”

A loud splash interrupted him as you shoved him off the platform and into the water.

Ekko resurfaced with a gasp, his goggles askew. “Oh, you’re dead,” he growled, but the laugh bubbling in his throat betrayed him.

“Catch me if you can, time wizard!” you shouted, already running up the rickety staircase.

Ekko grinned, shaking his head. “Oh, it’s on.”

The rest of the day was a chaotic blur of laughter, near-misses, and Ekko occasionally rewinding time to avoid disaster. By the end of it, you were both sprawled out on a rooftop, watching the lights of Piltover twinkle above.

“That,” you said between breaths, “was the most fun I’ve had in… forever.”

Ekko turned to you, his eyes soft. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “But next time, no time travel, okay? Just us.”

Ekko chuckled, resting his head on his arms. “Deal. But only if you promise to stop shoving me into gross water.”

“No promises,” you teased, leaning closer.

He smirked, reaching up to flick your forehead lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.”

“Yeah,” Ekko said quietly, his voice losing its usual bravado. “Yeah, I do.”

Your cheeks flushed, but before you could reply, he spoke again.

“Now, uh, don’t make this awkward, but I may have rewound this moment a couple of times to get it right,” he admitted sheepishly.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “Ekko!”

“What?!”

“That’s so cheating!”

“Hey, I told you, I wanted it to be perfect!”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, but you couldn’t hide your smile. “You’re lucky you’re cute, time boy.”

Ekko grinned. “Yeah, I know.”

And for once, you let him have the last word.

[sycamorelibrary754]

New Year, New Family

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Platonic Reader, Avengers x Platonic Reader

Summary: It’s been a year since Wanda Maximoff joined the Avengers. You and the team gather at the compound to ring in the New Year until the fireworks trigger past trauma for the young redhead. 

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, flashbacks, and death.

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Happy New Year! This story is set after Avengers: Age of Ultron but before Captain America: Civil War. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Peter urged, his enthusiasm bubbling over.

You took a reluctant break from the carefully bandaging his wrist, lifting your gaze to meet his hopeful eyes. “No, Pete. I’m not a New Year’s Eve person, and I certainly can’t picture myself celebrating amidst Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, his persistence unwavering. “You mean your friends?”

“At work, sure, they’re friends,” you clarified, “but at one of Tony’s over-the-top parties, with a guest list longer than the Great Wall of China, they become Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.” 

“But this year is different!” Peter countered, showing you the invitation. “There’s no extravagant bash planned! Ms. Potts convinced Tony that those wild parties were a distraction. It will just be the team, I promise. Please, Y/N?”

With a heavy sigh, you relented, “Fine, I’ll go.”

“Yes!” Peter beamed, his grin contagious. “I’ll let Ms. Potts know you’re coming!” And in an instant, he darted for the door, barely avoiding a collision with your desk as he sprinted out, an unmistakable smile plastered on his face.

*^~^*

"Office hours.” That was the nickname you came up with when the Big Green guy was off on one mission or another, leaving you in charge of his lab. After the chaos with Ultron, Bruce vanished without a trace, slipping entirely off the grid. As a result, office hours have become a permanent feature. You clung to the hope that he would return. Your eyes were glued to a microscope when a familiar voice broke through the moment. “Knock knock.”

You turned to see Wanda framed in the doorway, her fiery red hair glinting in the light and a hand pressed against her left ribcage. “Hey, Wanda, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

She stepped inside with a hint of urgency in her voice. “I was wondering if you could look at my side. The last mission was brutal—I took a hard fall, and I think I might have cracked a rib. The Med Bay is packed to the brim, so if you're busy, I totally understand, but…” 

“Wanda,” you interjected, concern creeping into your voice. “Just sit down for a moment.”

“FRIDAY, could you check Ms. Maximoff’s vitals and run a full body scan, please?” you requested, you tended to the visible injuries that marked her skin.

“Certainly, Dr. Y/L/N,” FRIDAY responded promptly. “Vitals are strong, with no signs of internal bleeding detected. However, a hairline fracture of the sixth rib is present.” 

“Looks like you got lucky, Maximoff,” you smirked.

“How do you figure?” Wanda asked, her Sokovian accent slipping through ever so slightly as she winced. 

“You came all the way down here instead of heading to the Med Bay. Luckily, we have that extra Regeneration Cradle that Dr. Banner uses right here. Just thirty minutes in there, and you’ll feel as good as new,” you said, your voice filled with encouragement.

Wanda's eyes lit up with hope. “Are you sure Bruce won’t mind?”

You offered a solemn grin. "I'll handle the fallout when he returns. For now, let’s make sure you’re taken care of."

As Wanda reclined on the cradle bench, you leaned in, determined to distract her from the pain. “So, tell me, are you enjoying being an Avenger? Well, minus this moment, of course,” you added with a playful grin.

She glanced up at you, a smile tugging at her lips. “It’s been a mixed bag,” she admitted. “But honestly, it’s gotten easier over the past year. Being part of this team, being here—it means a lot.”

“Has it been a year already? It feels like time zooms by,” you mused, shaking your head in disbelief.

“It does,” she replied, her expression turning thoughtful. “Still, some things linger… they never truly fade away.”

As you promised, the Cradle worked its magic, and within half an hour, the sharp pain plaguing Wanda completely faded away. Her rib knit back together as if it had never been injured in the first place. She had to remember this thing was down here more often, tucked away as it was in the corner of the lab.

“Feeling better?” you inquired, your voice laced with genuine concern.

“Completely, thank you,” Wanda replied, her smile relieved. 

You waved her off with a grin, “Anytime, Maximoff.”

As she slipped her coat back on, a curiosity caught her eye, drawing her attention to Peter's glimmering invitation to the New Year’s Eve celebration carelessly left on your desk. With a flick of her wrist and a flourish of her red magic, the card gracefully soared through the air and landed in her hand.

“Are we going to be graced by the honor of your presence on New Year’s Eve?” Wanda teased, a playful smirk dancing on her lips.

You rolled your eyes at her playful banter. “Yes,” you confirmed, your tone light but resigned. “Only because Peter is annoyingly persistent.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun,” Wanda urged as she stepped closer. “I’m not one for big, noisy parties either.”

You couldn’t help but smirk in response. “It’s a far cry from a typical Tony Stark party.”

“Consider it a refreshing change of pace,” she replied, giving your shoulder a friendly pat as she made her way past you, her vibrant energy trailing in her wake.

“See you later, Y/N,” she called over her shoulder, her voice echoing with a playful lilt as she left the lab.

*^~^*

On New Year’s Eve, you quickly stopped at the charming little store on the corner. Your eyes were drawn to a stunning purple orchid. Next to it, a bottle of bubbly champagne caught your attention, the golden label glimmering under the soft store lights. 

It felt peculiar to buy a gift for someone who seemed to have everything, yet your mother's words echoed in your mind: Never show up to a party without a host gift. Besides, you knew Pepper would appreciate the thoughtfulness behind your gesture.

As you stepped into the bustling common room of the Avengers Compound, the savory aroma of sizzling burgers and hot dogs wafted through the air. Steve was at the helm of the indoor grill, flipping patties and bratwursts. In one corner, Thor animatedly spun tales of wild Asgardian New Year's Eve celebrations, his booming laughter echoing around the room. Nearby, Natasha and Clint were locked in a tense game of pool, their playful banter peppered with competitive jabs.

“Y/N!” Pepper called out, her eyes lighting up as she spotted you across the room, with Tony following closely behind. “What a stunning orchid! Thank you so much,” she exclaimed, graciously taking the plant from your hands.

“Even better, what about this gorgeous bottle of champagne?” Tony chimed in with a playful grin. “Let’s pop it!”

As Vision extended his hand to take your coat and scarf, Peter dashed over, his excitement radiating as he presented a vibrant, multicolored party hat. “See? I told you it would be just the team!” he exclaimed.

Looking down at the hat, you chuckled and asked, “Do I have to wear this?”

“Yes,” Sam declared confidently, while Rhodey firmly asserted, “No,” at the exact moment.

The warm, inviting aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies wrapped around you like a cozy blanket as you entered the kitchen. There, in the heart of it all, was Wanda, standing under the soft kitchen lights as she expertly arranged a tray of cookies.

“Hey, Maximoff. Happy New Year’s Eve!” you called out.

“Thank you, Y/N. Would you like to try one?” She held out a cookie, the chocolate chips glistening from the oven's heat. “It’s my special recipe, just baked.”

You didn’t need to be asked twice. Snatching one from the tray, you took a hearty bite, the soft, chewy texture melting in your mouth. “Wanda, this is delicious!”

“I know,” she said with a playful smirk.

After indulging in a lavish New Year’s Eve dinner featuring perfectly grilled steak, vibrant roasted vegetables, and creamy garlic mashed potatoes, everyone gathered outside on the Compound dock to watch fireworks.

The night sky over upstate New York twinkled like a jewel-encrusted canvas, each star shining brightly against the deep indigo backdrop. Wrapped snugly in the fluffiest blanket, you nestled closer to Wanda, feeling a warm cocoon of comfort between the chilly air and the soft fabric. Tony pulled up the live stream of Times Square, the bustling energy of the crowd pulsating through the screen. The iconic ball began its descent as you started the countdown.

“3, 2, 1, HAPPY NEW YEAR!” everyone shouted. 

In the distance, the night sky erupted with a brilliant fireworks display, each explosion painting the heavens with vibrant red, blue, and gold hues. The dazzling lights flickered and shimmered, casting a mesmerizing reflection on the tranquil surface of the lake below, where the water mirrored the kaleidoscopic bursts in a breathtaking dance of color. The crackling sounds echoed through the air as you and the team took in the spectacle. 

“Isn’t it beautiful, Maximoff?” you murmured, gently nudging Wanda with your elbow. But she didn’t respond.

Her gaze was fixed on the horizon, her eyes wide with a distant fear. You could see her breath growing shallow as panic began to creep in.

“Wanda, are you alright?” you asked, concern lacing your voice.

The rest of the team quickly noticed the tension, some exchanging worried glances, unsure how to intervene.

Before you could say another word, Wanda sprang to her feet, urgency radiating from her. “I have to go! It’s not safe here; the bombs are coming!”

“Red, listen to me,” Tony said cautiously, taking a few steps toward her. “You’re alright.”

“No! It’s your fault!” Wanda shouted at Tony, her voice trembling as she retreated, close to stumbling into the lake’s edge. “Where’s Pietro? I have to protect him!”

“Wanda,” Natasha called out gently, her hands up in a placating gesture. “You’re not in Sokovia anymore. You’re at the Avengers Compound.”

“Don’t touch me!” Wanda screamed, her hands igniting with a crimson glow, pulsating with the raw emotion that threatened to overflow.

“Wanda,” you said gently, stepping before your friend, blocking out the storm in her mind. “You’re having a flashback, but you’re safe now.”

As tears streamed down her cheeks, your heart ached for the redhead. You took a slow, steady step closer. “Let’s take some deep breaths together. Just follow my lead.”

With each inhale and exhale, you felt her breathing begin to sync with yours. “You’re doing amazing,” you encouraged, extending your hand toward her. After a moment of hesitation, Wanda took your hand, gripping it tightly as she breathed deeply.

“Can you tell me what you see around you?” you coaxed, keeping your voice calm and steady.

Wanda blinked away her tears and glanced around, her voice barely a whisper. “The lake, the dock… the compound… the trees… you.” 

“Perfect,” you reassured her, a small smile breaking through the tension.

"How about we head inside for a bit?" you suggested softly, reassuringly smiling.

"Okay," she replied, her eyes brightening at the idea.

With that, you wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder as you headed for the compound. 

“Take your time,” Sam urged, a reassuring smile on his face as the rest of the team nodded in agreement, their eyes filled with understanding.

You led Wanda into the room, gently guiding her to the couch. A hush enveloped the space as you sat beside her—an unspoken agreement to give her the time she needed.

After a heavy silence, she finally broke the stillness. “This has happened before, you know,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Loud noises, bright flashes. I’m ten years old again, curled under the table with Pietro, waiting for Stark’s missile to kill us. Just like it did to my parents.”

You listened with focused attention, every word resonating in the stillness. “Wanda, I’m truly sorry for what you’ve endured. I can't even fathom your pain. But please know this—no matter what your mind is whispering, you’re safe here.”

A tremor of regret laced her voice. “I ruined New Year’s Eve. I feel so broken inside.”

You leaned in closer, determined to comfort her. “Wanda, you haven’t ruined anything, and you’re not broken. What you’re feeling is your mind’s way of shielding you from past hurts,” you said gently. “Have you considered speaking with someone? Sam runs a fantastic group for veterans dealing with PTSD. I know he would welcome you warmly.”

“No group therapy,” Wanda declared with a determined look.

“Understood,” you replied thoughtfully. “But I’m sure Sam would be open to meeting with you one-on-one, or he could help you find someone else. And if you need to talk, I’m just down the hall.”

“Really?” Wanda’s gaze softened as she searched your face for sincerity. You nodded reassuringly. “Thank you, Y/N. Are you sure I wouldn't be a bother?”

“I’m practically all alone in the lab these days, so your company would be a breath of fresh air,” you replied, giving her a friendly smile.

Wanda tilted her head with curiosity. “You miss Bruce?”

“Very much,” you sighed, the weight of your words hanging in the air. “After finishing medical school, I had the privilege of studying under Dr. Banner. I’ve been a part of this band of misfits from the moment Natasha found him in that remote hut in India. My life has felt a bit empty without him around.”

Wanda’s expression softened, and she gently touched your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” you said quietly, appreciating her empathy. “And just so you know, I mean it when I say you’re always welcome to come and talk to me about anything.”

The redhead wrapped her arms around you in an unexpected embrace, catching you off guard. You instinctively settled your chin on her shoulder, returning the hug with warmth and gratitude.

As moments passed in this intimate bubble, the rest of the team filtered back inside, a rush of cold air swirling around them. You could sense their concern, their eyes darting toward Wanda, eager to check her well-being.

From that day forward, your lab door stood open for Wanda Maximoff—a welcoming space where she could let her guard down and start to heal. You felt a reassuring certainty that everything would be alright as long as she embraced her new family. What you hadn’t yet come to realize, however, was that the Avengers were your family, too—woven into the fabric of your life in ways you had yet to fully understand.

[sturnlsstuff]

FAMILIAR STRANGER | last chapter

what's gonna happen when you find out about your enemy's biggest secret?

ghostface!chris x enemy!reader

chapter seven

— warnings: smut with plot, dom!chris, sub!reader, making out, unprotected p in v, riding, creampie, mentions of murder, cursing, pet names, - english isn't my first language!!

~~~

you weren't a person who could get easily scared. always being able to watch horror movies with your friends completely unbothered, making them all amused at how calmly you sat through the entire thing. you weren't afraid of the dark, ghosts and other things like that. there was nothing that could make you jump out of fear. the only person who sometimes scared you was your ex, but he's gone now so technically you should be living a peaceful life.

but the moment you opened the door and he stormed inside, your heart was beating faster than ever before. it was that guy from the party who was flirting with you and were friends with jake. and now you were alone with him in your apartment for almost ten minutes, not being able to get rid of him. to put some distance between the two of you, you found yourself on one side of the kitchen island, ready to defend yourself if necessary, and he was on the other.

"i wonder..." he speaks up again. he hasn't said anything important yet, except that he won't leave until he finds out the truth. you didn't know what he was talking about. "-- how was it possible that you were able to face jake? he was always stronger than you and he definitely wouldn't let some whore like you kill him. so how did you do it?"

"what?" your breath hitches in your throat at the mention of jake and him being dead. "what are you talking about?"

"don't play fucking dumb with me," he walks around your kitchen like he owns the place. "you had so many reasons to kill him."

"yes i had," you admit. "but i didn't kill him. and honestly? i regret that it wasn't me." he stops, giving you a quick glance and clicking his tongue against his teeth, "bold."

"true."

"you're really brave, huh?" he raises his eyebrow, "or stupid."

"you're stupid coming here and throwing suspicions left and right without any good basis."

"oh, i have a lot," he leans on his elbows on the kitchen island, looking directly into your eyes. "jake accused you of cheating and made everyone know what a whore you are, then recorded the video he was going to post but didn't manage to. it probably pissed you off really bad, didn't it? his phone also disappeared, the cops didn't find it. who else knew about it? only you..." he remains silent for a moment letting his words sink in. "-- and sturniolo."

something shifts in the air, you feel your ears ring at the mention of that name. you could bear the accusations against yourself, but against him? it was too close to the truth. at that moment you realized that this might end up bad.

"ahh, did i get it right?" he notices your expression, a grin appears on his face that didn't reach his eyes. "wait, oh shit," he chuckles, shaking his head. "maybe you cheated on jake with chris and your new little boyfriend didn't like how it could ruin his reputation? you know he likes to bang a different girl every weekend. so was it him that killed him? and you two threw suspicion on that ghostface killer? spill the tea, c'mon. unless..." a frown appears between his eyebrows, something in his gaze changes. "unless, it's him. he's the ghostface? wait, holy fuck-"

"you don't know shit–" you cut him off, the wave of nausea washes over you. "it's not true–"

"oh, i'm pretty fucking sure it is," he retors. "that would make more sense, you wouldn't be able to fight jake on your own. so what, you're dating a psychopath? i mean, you must be pretty fucking insane yourself..."

"the only psychopath i dated was jake, so shut the fuck up," you say annoyed, adrenaline rushing through your veins. you didn't like him talking about chris like that.

"so it's true, huh? chris is the ghostface? and you know about it? what's the reason? i thought you hate him..." he tilts his head to the side, thinking. everyone knew that you and chris dislike eachother, so he was pretty fucking confused. "maybe you let him fuck you? must be good if you keep silent about him killing people—"

"shut the fuck up," you snap at him again, feeling the blood drain from your face as his words really hit like a kick to the gut. you tried not to think about why you really don't want to tell anyone about what you found out about chris. however, now this situation has triggered emotions in you that you has been pushing aside until now.

he walks around the kitchen island towards you immediately causing you to step back putting some distance between you two. he could sensed your nervousness which made him feel like he was better than you, determined to take revenge, thinking he had it all figured out.

"i'm gonna ruin you two. you won't have a life in this town once everyone finds out about what you and your boyfriend—"

"he's not my boyfriend—"

"great, so you're just admitting to being a whore," he has you backing out against the wall. "i will get proof and once i do, you two are done."

even though you felt it in your bones that it would be the best to stay quiet this time, your personality won and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, "if you make it."

you thought that your words would somehow discourage him, that maybe you two would be able to come to an agreement, but he just smiled as if he had just won the lottery. like he was waiting for you to say something like that. then he pulled his phone out of his pocket and waved it in your face, "i forgot to tell you, it's recording. so i in fact made it, you basically admitted to everything." he takes a few steps back, looking at your shocked expression with satisfaction. "he will be the one who won't make it. i'll go to the cops before sturniolo comes at me, then he'll get what he deserves. along with you."

he slowly backs out of your kitchen, leaving you with pounding heart, wanting to scream to stop him somehow, not believing that this was happening, but your body was glued to the floor.

he adds, "in jail you won't get the same cell so he won't be able to fuck you anymore. must suck, hm?" and with a big grin on his face, he leaves your apartment, the tension in the air making your head spin.

it took you about five minutes to even understand what had happened and how dangerous it was for chris. you didn't think at all about the consequences for you, you didn't think about anything other than to make sure he won't get caught. you feel the urge to protect him but don't know how. this guy has already left and there's not much you could do.

on shaky like jelly legs you ran to your room, finding your phone and staring to call chris. he didn't answer. you left him twenty messages, called him fifteen times, and he didn't answer.

you felt as if the walls in your room suddenly began to close in, squeezing you between them. you couldn't catch your breath, your heart was pounding as you keep pacing around the room, calling chris over and over again, but all you could hear was his voicemail. you even called matt, but he didn't answer either, which made you even more nervous. your palms were sweating as you texted chris again, trying not to panic, knowing that he definitely wouldn't get caught that easily, but the anxiety was making your intrusive thoughts overpower the logic.

you were sending messages like in a trance, trying to explain to chris that you didn't want to do what you did, your messages so chaotic that even if he read them, it would be difficult to understand anything. however, the silence continued, the minutes lengthened, giving the impression of hours, your stomach twisting in knots. it felt like forever. you wanted to go to the triplets' house to see what was happening, but at the same time the uncertainty that you would somehow make everything worse was making you hold back for almost an hour. though after overthinking every options you had, you found yourself pulling on your shoes and opening the front door ready to storm out of your apartment, but instead bumping into someone's body.

the person was quick to push you back inside, locking the door behind you two. your wide eyes look up, the ghostface mask right in front of you, causing a wave of heat and relief to wash over you.

"chris—"

he cuts you off with his mask flipping upwards and pressing his lips to yours, making your breath hitch in your throat. but before you can do anything, chris pulls away and whispers against your lips, his breath mingling with yours, "just shut up. don' say anythin', yeah? just..." he sighs and kisses you again, but you put your hands on his chest to push him away gently. "i called you so many times, we need to—"

"everything's fine just stop talkin'..." he leans in again, but you turn your head slightly causing his lips to brush against your cheek. he let's out a quiet groan in disapproval, though it doesn't discourage him and instead he leans down to trail kisses down your neck. "did you see my messages? this guy from that party a few weeks ago, he was here and just... i didn't mean to say anything and i didn't really told him much, but i think i accidentally... oh- shit, uh, i think.... i— c-chris wait—"

but chris didn't care. his senses were filled with your scent, his heart was pounding in his chest. he already had you pressed against the wall, sucking and biting on your skin, marking you. his gloved hands roaming all over your body, grabbing your ass and lifting you off the floor, your legs and arms automatically wrapping around him to keep from falling. "s'all good, ma, i promise..." he mutters against your skin, hands moving under your shirt.

"but— what happened, did he... did you—"

"i was faster than him."

"but how—"

"i said is fine," chris lifts his head up meeting with your confusion. "you trust me or what? 'cause you gotta. at least in this case." he waited in tense silence until you nodded, his eyes sparkling. "good. now can ya stop interrupting and lemme do what i wanna do?"

"god, you're annoying..."

there was no way you could stay focused when he immediately started working you up, not only with kisses but also with how he was dressed up. the fact that whenever he was around you as a ghostface was turning you on more than it should've, was a bit embarassing, but you couldn't control your emotions. that's why you dropped the topic for now, letting him do whatever he wanted.

you don't even know at what point you're lying flat on the bed, your and chris's clothes tangled somewhere on the floor. he was teasing you, his lips kissing down your chest, his tip brushing against your core through the material of your red lace panties. a wet stain visible through the fabric, his dick throbbing at the sight.

"always sooo eager f'me...." he mutters, smirking against your skin and looking up at you. "ya sure you hate me?"

"i'll hate you more if you keep playing with me," you respond slightly breathless from the make out session from a moment ago and the desire overpowering your body.

"aww, is that so?" he lifts his head up to your level, tilting it to the side and balancing himself on his hands on each side of your head. "and what'cha want, hm? my mouth? fingers? my dick?"

you give him a look, annoyed that he's messing with you knowing full well what you want, but at the same time it gets you even more aroused. you would never admit it and it was very out of character for you but when he had you at his mercy, it was only making you more turned on.

"just fuck me—" after he raises his eyebrows amused, clearly waiting for something more, you add, "please."

"thereeee ya go, princess." he slides your panties down your legs, settling between them and giving himself a few strokes. he slowly pushes inside, taking his time on purpose to torture you just a little more since he loved hearing you beg for it. "chris, please, more..." you whine, chewing on your plump bottom lip, getting a smirk in response.

"y'know..." he whispers into your ear. "-- you're the only one i ever want to fuck like this."

"like— like this...? what— oh! uh, what does that... mean?" you stutter when he pulls almost all the way back and then moves his hips forward again, going deeper.

"i mean..." his thrusts picking up speed and force as he settles into a steady rhythm, already making your vision to go blurry. "like, i wanna fuck you so rough, you'd forget how to walk—" he pounds into you almost to prove a point, your bodies slapping together loudly. "but also, sometimes— fuckkk, sometimes... i wanna take it slow and all nice and shit— but i can't fuckin'... decide. not when you look and sound like this—" his words followed by a groan when he feels you clenching around him. he looks at you, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. "is this makin' you fuckin' cum already?"

"what? n-no— mmmm, fuck!" embarrassment was all you could feel, when the knot in your stomach was quickly growing, making your legs tremble because of how hard you tried to hold back. chris let's out a low chuckle and wraps his lips around your hardening nipple, his tongue swirling around it what sends vibrations straight to your throbbing cunt.

he barely started and you already felt the pleasure overwhelming you, his words affecting you more than you would like to admit. you don't know if he understood how intimate that sounded and if it meant the same to him as it did to you, but it was enough to turn you into a moaning mess.

"c'mon, don't hold back, is fine... actually hot as fuck how fast i can make ya come— mhmm, thaaaat's right..." he pulls away from your breast with a pop, his breath catches as he feels your muscles tightening around him. he licks his lips watching as your expression turns into a full, clear pleasure. you're pathetically fast to let euphoria consume you, your tight heat sucking him in. "fuckkk, milkin' me so well—"

"chris—" you whimper as he fucks you through your orgasm, not even going to slow down, loving the effect he has on you and how you let him have such control over your body.

"shh— m'not done yet and.... we won't be for a while—" he captures your lips into a kind of demanding, but somehow gentle kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth as he continues to fill you over and over again. "fuck, you always take me so deep..." he mutters against your lips.

for you, it felt like being on another planet. not being able to understand how it works that chris made you feel things you couldn't normally feel, not only physically but also... emotionally. you were embarrassed, but too caught up in how good it felt to worry about it yet.

"see, i can't control myself around you 'n this shit is— pissin'— me off—" a choaked moan leaves his lips when he punctuates his words with deep thrusts, hitting your g-spot perfectly.

"oh my— feels so good, chris, please—"

"didn't fuck you for almost two weeks and it felt like a fuckin' nightmare—" your long manicured nails digging into his back, marking him just as he did with the hickeys on your skin before. it only spurred him on, his cock throbs deep inside you. "holy fuck, i love this pussy..." he pulls back slightly, grabbing your ankles and placing them on his shoulders, folding you nearly in half. the new angle lets him pierce even deeper, stealing a muffled scream from you.

despite the fact that you were practically in heaven right now, you were still yourself and couldn't help, but mutter proudly, "i know."

he smirks, "that attitude... fuck— y'know, i missed your smart mouth too... gonna use it to tell me how well m'fuckin' you right now?" when you're unable to respond because of the constant moans escaping your mouth, he reaches with one hand for the ghostface mask that was lying next to you, and puts it on with a shake of his head. "maybe this gonna make you fuckin' scream more—"

"oh— chris...fu—ckk..." your eyes widen as you see him, not understanding how it works and why does it have such an effect for you only with him, but your pussy immediately start to tighten around his cock again.

"shit, ya really love this, hm? that's so— hot—" with your legs on his shoulders, chris is able to drill into you even deeper, his balls slapping loudly against your ass with each thrust. "but i'll stop if you... fuck— if you don't tell me how good it feels—"

"so good!" your eyes roll back as you keep talking with a shaky voice, "no one can do it better..."

"no shit," his pace quickens knowing you're about to reach another peak, the bed creaking beneath the two of you. "-- no one can and no one fuckin' will."

"chris, m'so close—"

"oh, this is really workin' on ya, huh?" he grins under the mask, groaning at the way you looked right now. he wants to see you like this every day.

your thighs quiver on his shoulders as you try to accommodate his relentless thrusts. he notices your closed eyes, his grip on your hips tightening, "eyes on me— yeaaah, look at me while i make you fall apart on my dick— no one else's.... fuckkkkk—" his own orgasm building up rapidly as he pounds into you, your eyes open again, locked onto his ghostface mask just as the waves are crashing brutally over your body, getting you creaming around him. "fuck, look at that... how fuckin' g-good— shiiit— how good y'look..." a low moan escapes him as you're coming apart beneath him, sending chris spiraling over the edge. "fuck, gonna fill this pussy up so full..."

"mhhph, soo... full–" you repeat after him, squirming around on the mattress, trying your hardest to keep your eyes open. he buries himself balls-deep one final time, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he floods your spasming pussy with his hot seed.

sated, chris collapses forward, propping himself on his hands and keeping most of his weight off you. both of you panting, your legs falling down from his shoulders onto the mattress. he knows how obsessed you are with the ghostface mask but his obsession with feeling your lips on his is bigger, so he takes it off and leans down to kiss you. it wasn't heated and hungry like previous make-out sessions, for you it felt almost... sweet. can't help but wonder if chris felt it too.

he's first to break the kiss, his messy hair slightly falling into his eyes. after pulling out, he lays down next to you, you both staying quiet for a moment, his thoughts clearly occupied with something while you tried to come back to your senses, after not only the intensity of your orgasms, but the realization that he didn't kiss you after sex before.

after clearing his throat, he's first to speak up, "i thought you snitched on me for a moment." it catches you off guard, but he continues, "i got a text from that idiot saying that he knows everything and that you were the one to tell him. i believed at first," he admits. "but then he said he knows it was me and you who killed jake, that's how i knew he's bluffin'. and i remembered what y'told me when you... y'know, had that fever a few days ago—"

he gives you a quick glance, having your full attention so he keeps going, "you probably don't remember, but you said that you wouldn't say anything 'bout me being the ghostface 'cause you can be the only one—"

"--to ruin your life." his eyes snap to you with surprise at the interruption. "if someone else do this, where's my satisfaction in that?" you repeat your words, fully remembering saying this because you meant it.

"yeah—" staring at each other for too long, he finally breaks it and speaks again. "yeah, uh, so i remembered your words and i was like there's no way you'd just do that. i was gonna talk to you first, but i found him leaving your apartment and that fuckin' pissed me off so i came after him and— y'know. he spilled everything, what he knew, what he told ya, that he was recordin' your conversation... already took care of this too," he says catching on as you're about to ask about this. "so you good, no need to worry 'bout shit."

you nod, relieved that chris knew that you kept your mouth shut, and only unintentionally said something that led this guy to the fact that chris is the ghostface killer. "m'glad you didn't say shit 'cause it'd make me—" he's about to say angry, pissed of, but he knows better than that. he would actually get his heart stabbed if you decided to betray him. "-- upset."

"upset?" your eyebrow raises as you try to process his words. he immediately rolls his eyes, trying to play it off, "yeah, no big deal, just sayin'."

"pretty big deal to me," you respond. knowing chris and how closed off he was half of his life, how you never saw him sad, hearing him saying he'd be upset if you decided to snitch on him meant more than it should've.

"a'ight, shut up..." he mutters, shifting on his side so he could see your face better. "what m'tryin' to say is, everything's fine and this guy won't bother you again. actually no one fuckin' will..." he smirks, "besides me, of course. 'cause if someone else do this, where's my satisfaction in that?"

trying so hard to bite back a smile, but you can't help it when he just simply repeats your words. now you roll your eyes, "what, gonna be my bodyguard now?"

"more like a guardian angel," he matches your sarcastic tone, getting a stare from you. "angel? you? are you even hearing yourself?"

"oh yeah, pretty fuckin' clear too."

you hum, but the smile stays on your face. remembering about something, you sit up and without even realizing it, you put on his shirt, which reached halfway down your thigh. but chris notices it, and not only does he almost immediately become hard again at seeing you in something that was his, but he also feels a warmth spreading across his chest, as if desire was mixed with something else he couldn't quite name.

you are looking for something in the desk and then come back to the bed, siting down and giving him jake's phone that chris left you on that unforgettable day for you. his expression questioning you so you explain, "i don't want anything that's his. don't want that pathetic apology or anything else, just need to be free from him. take it back and break or something, i don't really care."

he raises his eyebrows, but nods without putting a fight and grabs the phone, putting it aside. the fact that he was still naked distracts you, but he doesn't seem to care at all, so you reach for the mask, running your fingers over its features to distract yourself. there's so many things swirling in your head that you wanted to ask him about out of curiosity, but you knew you had to be careful with him. chris can switch really fast, starting to ignore you or even leave. that's why you think about what you can ask and what you can't so as not to scare him away. "why did you decide to start doing it? you know, killing people isn't exactly... i don't know—"

"men," he corrected you, but there's no usual bite in his tone. "killin' men. couldn't stand the fact how annoyin' they are 'bout everything, thinking they're the one in control, doing with women what they please."

"isn't this what you're doing though?" you blurt out, quickly looking at him, immediately regretting how it sounded. "i mean, like, you fuck girls all the time and don't care about anything."

"yeah, never said i ain't a hypocrite," he agrees smirking. "but i told ya already, i always keep things straight from the beginning. the girls i'm sleepin' with know it's only a hookup." you bite your tongue not to ask why he didn't tell you the same thing at the beginning, but you remember how he reacted when you asked him about it the other day. chris notices your expression, "c'mon, say it. since when you hold back? where's that badass spirit?" he playfully nudges your arm.

you roll your eyes, looking back at the mask, "you didn't tell me we're only fucking. i mean, i know, but what if i didn't? and you act sooo respectful to women out of sudden—"

"okay now, i ain't exactly a perfect gentleman and i know that, i'm not tryna look like one. but i also have my rules, y'know..." his tongue clicks against his teeth as he thinks. "i didn't tell you, 'cause i wasn't expecting us to just fuck then 'n i didn't really could focus on thinkin', when i had you on my desk like this—" his smirk widen after the glare you give him, he notices the blush creeping up your cheeks, adding it to his lists of how many times he made you do it already.

"okay, what about after?"

"i don't know, is not a big deal, like what do y'want me to say? i thought it's clear we only fuck."

"it is," a frown appears between your eyebrows. "actually not really. why did you help me when i was sick? did you even come to my place to hookup again?"

this question makes irritation slowly start to take over chris's body, the territory you entered was dangerous and the shift in the air was clear. felt like you were on thin ice, though you just had to know.

he's quiet for a moment, seeming to have ignored your question, but his brain was racing. ever since he had that conversation with matt, it was all he could think about for the past few days. he didn't care about anyone except his brothers, but you are making him feel complicated emotions.

just when you're about to tell him to forget about the question, thinking he won't answer, he speaks up. "i told you, i thought you're ignoring me and i don't like when people do that shit." his tone too casual, chris clearly failing at trying to play this cool. "i saw you feelin' that bad and... like, i know you think i'm the biggest asshole ever and probably it's true, but leaving you with that big ass fever would be just insane even f'me."

he couldn't admit that he cared a little about the state he found you in that day. he couldn't let you figure him out like matt did.

"okay, but you didn't have to let me be all over you."

you tried to forget how it felt, even though it all seemed like a fever dream, you knew it was real. you were practically glued to him and felt a little confused when you thought about it, knowing how nice it was, even though neither of you were the type to cuddle.

"what'd you wan' me to do?" he raises his eyebrows, but his cheeks turn a light shade of pink, which makes your eyes widen. this man doesn't blush like ever. "push you off your own couch? nah, got some manners, y'know."

"oh really?"

"yeah."

"so you didn't enjoy it even a liiittle bit?"

"you'd want me to?" he's fully convinced you will disagree.

"and if i say yes? then what?"

he clicks his tongue against his teeth, his blue eyes slightly darkening with... lust, perhaps? and something more. "then we have a problem." he grabs your wrist, pulling you on top so that you were straddling him, his hands resting on your thighs, which causes your stomach to flip.

"and why's that?"

"'cause maybe i want you to want me to enjoy it."

"what a good play on words."

"yeah, m'good at that."

"what else you good at?"

he narrows his eyes, gripping your hips and almost urging you to rub against his half-hard dick, stealing a quiet whimper from you. "i think you already know."

"maybe i need a reminder–"

"what a greedy girl," he smirks, pulling you into a kiss, his tongue sliding against yours. you already feel yourself getting turned on again, now moving your hips on your own. "and it wasn't even twenty minutes..." he mutters against your lips proud of the effect he has on you.

"shut up..." you keep grinding down against him until he gets fully hard again, a groan leaving his lips. he asks out of sudden, "you wanna keep doing that? hookin' up?"

"we shouldn't," you answer, positioning yourself above him, teasing you both with running his tip along your sticky folds.

"yeah, but m'askin' if you wanna, not if we should—" he grabs your wrist to stop you from taking off the shirt. "so?"

you know it's not a good idea, but you nod against your own logic. "yeah, i want to."

"good. now keep the shirt on, and— put this on too.." he points to the ghostface mask you still had in your hand, remembering how the last time he told you to put it on, he almost went crazy. you don't think twice and do what he said, at the same moment sinking down onto his dick, your gummy walls immediately wrapping around him. chris was obsessed with the way you looked in his shirt and mask, on top of him. it almost makes him cum right then and there. "shiit, you're so sexy—"

you respond with a moan, starting to move your hips slowly, "you sure you hate me?" a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as you repeat his question from earlier. he grips your hips tightly, savoring the feeling of being inside your heat again. "didn't decide yet," he retorts sarcastically, as you quickened your pace, leaning back a little to put your hands on his thighs for some balance.

he watches how you ride him, his brain racing with thoughts but he decides to say a little more, the way you're on top of him makes him relax and less embarrassed to talk about such things. "i really couldn't stand the thought of you ignorin' me— fuck, that's why, i, uh— came to your place to check if we good—"

"i wasn't ignoring you..."

"i know," he nods, thrusting up to meet your movements, causing you to see stars. "but i'd care if you did—" your heart swells at his admission and it only makes you want him to feel so good, that he won't ever need anyone else to satisfy him. "fuck, y'look so pretty like this— even hotter in this fuckin' mask, holy shittt—"

"you need to trust me that i won't tell— mmhpp, oh my— f-fuckk, that i... won't tell anyone about your secret..."

"mhm, i know this now," he nods, fucking up into you harder, the pressure building up until he thinks he might lose his damn mind. "fuck, you're squeezin' me so tight—" he groans, his fingers digging into your ass and hips as he tries to hold on. "oh my god chris—" you whine and moan, legs starting to hurt from the hard and fast pace you're keeping, but you don't care at all.

"y'know, i think i decided 'bout the hate thing..." his hips bucking upward, taking over the control when you lean forward, propping yourself on your hands on either side of his head. he can't believe how hot you look in that ghostface mask. "might tolerate you a little more from now."

"y-yeah?" you start clenching around him, getting a hiss from him as he tries to find relief from the torturous tightness.

"fuck, y'hurt so good—"

you smile under the mask, eyes rolling back as you feel your orgasm building up. "see i think that i tolerate you n-now as well— oh!"

"thaaat's it, gorgeous, holy fuck," he purrs, your entire body shake as you come apart on top of him, your inner walls clamping down on his dick in a vice-like grip. it's too much, and he let's out a feral groan as he buries himself inside you and explodes, his release so intense it leaves his vision go blurry.

after riding out both of your highs, you slowly get off him, taking off the mask as well. his eyes are still closed, almost like he didn't want to see your reaction to what he's about to do. feeling you want to pull away, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side so that your head rests on his shoulder. shock washes over you, not expecting him to do something like this, though you're fast to tell yourself that maybe it's just post orgasm bliss. but when your eyes meet, there's a new warmth in his gaze, a tenderness that contrasts with the way he always looked at you before.

"not good at cuddlin' 'n shit, but i guess y'gonna teach me now, huh?" he tried to maintain his sarcastic tone, but couldn't help and genuinely smile.

relaxing in his arms, his grin is getting to you making you smile like a fool as well. "we have a problem, because i'm not that good at this either."

"good. then we gonna learn together."

neither of you slept that night, too busy with each other. you couldn't stop that feeling in your chest, those butterflies. and it was so weird, so out of character for the two of you.

it felt as if you were some familiar strangers.

a/n: oh my god 😭😭😭 my babies 😭 thank you guys sm for all the love for this series and for me as well, i appreciate it soooo much !! i had a blast writing this story 🤍 i'll still be taking requests about ghostface!chris if anyone has some just lmk, i'd love to write some oneshots about him!!

taglist: @certifiedstarrr @chrislovespepsi @le4hsblog @sturnsxbitvh @sweetlikesug4rvenom @xaristhings @mattsfavbitchhh @lvrsturniolo @r0s3luvr @slut4brunettes @madisonsturnioloss @chrispillowprincess @sturnioloslutttt4 @ashlishes @mattsbitchh @hi-people-who-are-alive @stellward123 @inssanely @matts-girlfriend @imnotalive420 @emely9274 @shadowthesim @yunkilm @sophiaxsblog @namelesssav @demyackerman @fratbrochrisgf @lvrsturniolo @chrisweetheart @chrisfavoritewhore @sturnslutz @ncm9696 @certified-sturniolo @mattsobvimyfav @swagalicious260 @giannalovessturniolo @sophand4n4 @brazyturtleneck @jocelyncsblog @sophand4n4 @giannalovessturniolo @alesturniolos @ilovenmcs

[gold-onthe-inside]

new year's resolution

who? spencer reid (s8) x blake!reader summary: the end of the year brings your life in perspective, the trajectory of your life inverse to the champagne you drink. the morning after, spencer brings you around to the idea that when one door closes, another opens. word count: 4k (i got carried away) content warnings: drinking, broken engagement, implied relationship with maeve (alternate ending where she doesn't die), r's ex-fiance cheating on her, kissing but no sex, r's mom implied to have passed away a/n: wrote this in like a day and a half to get it ready for the first of jan. set before wrong person... and smells like infidelity, but can be read as a standalone. only context needed is that reader is blake's goddaughter and was set up with spencer. god knows when i'll get around to writing that fic. enjoy and have a happy new year xx

You had been good the last couple months, trying to rebuild your life in D.C., but with the year coming to an end, you can't help the pang of disappointment. This wasn't where you were supposed to be, a year into your 30s. You were supposed to be engaged, your phone pinging with scheduled appointments with florists and hair and makeup artists and bridal stores. Instead, you had been sipping champagne at your godmother's colleague's New Year's Eve party, trying to avoid a certain tall brunet who had the ability to read you all too well.

You've lost track of how many drinks you've had, as well as your godmother, all you know is that someone holds your hair back as you puke and rubs your back in a way that painfully reminds you of your mom and brings pinpricks of tears on your eyes. The last thing you remember is nodding when he asks if he can take you home.

And so, you start the new year in a bed that's not your own, wearing clothes that are not your size at all, sprawled in a queen sized bed, alone. Well done, really, you thought, rubbing your face and rolling over to check the time with a yawn. You can hear the water from the shower running, and you hope you can just grab your clothes and make a run for home before he steps out - but Spencer's nothing if not efficient with his water usage.

He stepped out, in a gray t-shirt and plaid sweatpants, the ends of his hair dampening the top of his shirt, and stood in the doorway as you fumbled with your boots, still wearing one of his shirts so you wouldn't have to wear the shimmery black top you had been wearing last night. "You're awake," he said, putting his towel away, not moving from the door.

Your hands stilled and your eyes shut as you cringed at being caught. You're so bad at this, you thought to yourself. Spencer pushed himself off the doorway, and walked further into the bedroom. "Where are you going?"

"Home," you say, pulling up the zipper on your boot and standing up, steadily, and he moved instinctively to brace you so you wouldn't fall, hands on your arms, his touch warm and leaving you with a different kind of buzz from last night, and you pulled away. No attachments, you reminded yourself in your head. "Look, I-I'm sorry," you started, "Whatever happened last night--"

"What happened last night was that you were too drunk to go home alone, I brought you here, let you change and sleep, and I took the couch," Spencer said, keeping his voice neutral and watching your expression change.

"Oh." You're not entirely sure why you're disappointed at that news. "Uh, okay, then- then I'll just-"  You went to move past him, aiming for the door, but he grabbed your arm before you could get very far.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." He said, his hand gently guiding you to sit back on the bed. "You're in no condition to walk home, your head must be spinning."

"I can't stay here," you murmured, your head starting to hurt at the excessive movements.

Spencer's hands were on your shoulders now, keeping you sitting down on the edge of the bed. "You're not going anywhere until you've at least drank some water and eaten something. Your blood sugar and your blood alcohol level are both probably pretty low right now."

You wanted to protest, you wanted to get out of here, starting to feel like a kidnapped baby deer, unable to walk, dependent on Spencer.

Spencer gave your shoulders a little squeeze, silently commanding you to stay put. "I'll go get you some water and pain killers. Stay here, alright?"

"Not like I have much of a choice in that," you murmured under your breath.

The corner of Spencer's mouth lifted in a hint of a smile. He walked out of the room, and a few minutes later, returned with an unopened bottle of water, two aspirin, and a package of saltines. "Here." He said, passing you the pills and then opening the bottle of water for you before grabbing the crackers and pushing both of them in your hands. "Take the pills, and eat some of those, you'll feel better."

You followed his orders, unable to help wondering if this was what life with Spencer would look like - museum and coffee dates, nagging you to drink more water, making sure you take your medication on time, doctor's appointments and grocery shopping together - and suddenly you're crying, holding the stupid crackers in your hand, fat tears welling up as your chest tightens, thinking about the life you should have had.

Spencer's head tilted, his eyes widening as you started to cry. His arms reached out to you, his hands tentative. He wasn't exactly sure what to do. "Hey...hey, hey, hey," he cooed, pulling you into his arms. "Why are you crying?" He pulled you into his lap, his hand rubbing your back. His touch was gentle, and he said nothing, just let you cry into his chest. This wasn't how the New Year was supposed to go, but you miss your mom, and your ex-fiance, even after everything, and you feel like such a complete mess.

Spencer's fingers gently carded through your hair, as his free hand continued to rub your back. He whispered soothing sounds into your ear, and rocked you back and forth gently. He didn't mind that your tears were starting to soak his t-shirt, he just held you tighter and let you sob. It was awful and embarrassing and you have to get out of here.

Spencer could sense the change in you. Your breathing became more shallow, your muscles tensed up under his hands. He pulled away to look at you but kept one arm around you. "What's going on?" He asked, his voice soft, and his eyes searching your face. "Why are you trying to leave so badly?"

"I can't be here," you managed, extracting yourself from his arms. "You're nice and I'm a mess and I just..."

"Hey, hey," he said, his hand darting out to grab yours as you tried to stand. He tugged your hand, hard enough to cause you to stumble and fall back on the bed right next to him. He moved so he was sitting facing you. "You're allowed to be a mess," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "Everybody is allowed to be a mess sometimes."

"You shouldn't have to deal with this," you murmured.

"Who said I have to?" He asked, his eyes meeting yours, his hand still gripping yours. "Who said I don't want to deal with it?"

"Are you insane?" you ask, the question slipping out of your mouth before you could think. "Why on earth would you want to deal with my crap?"

Spencer chuckled, his free hand coming up to brush some hair out of your face. His eyes were sparkling, but the look on his face was serious. "I think the real question is why wouldn't I?" He said, his thumb rubbing against the back of your hand.

"Because we met like a month ago on a date neither of us wanted to be on," you said.

"Yeah, but... we had a good time." He said, a crooked smile on his face. "And besides, you're a smart, attractive woman. I think you're worth dealing with a little crap every now and then."

"Trust me, nothing about this is little," you said with a groan, the tears making your headache worse.

Spencer's eyes studied your face, his hand came up to gently thumb away a tear that was slowly rolling down your face. "How about this, we deal with the crap one step at a time. Step one: let yourself be helped," he said. "Stay here, sleep off the rest of your hangover, and let me take care of you a little bit. Okay?"

"I can't ask you to do that," you said weakly.

"Why not?" He said, his hand still on your face. "You need help. I'm offering to help. Why do you have such a hard time letting yourself accept help when it's offered?"

"Because... You might expect something to come out of it," you said. Or I might.

Spencer's brows furrowed together as he heard what you said. "Is that... is that why you're so hell bent on leaving? You think I'm gonna, what - expect something in return if I help you or let you vent to me?"

You swallowed. "I told you when we first went out that... I only did it to get Alex off my back, and I wasn't ready to jump into something."

He nodded slowly, his thumb coming up to brush another tear from your cheek. "I know," he said slowly. "And I agreed, I wasn't looking for anything serious. But... are you worried that I'm going to start demanding something serious?"

"Not demanding, that makes you sound awful," you murmured, because he was anything other than awful.

He nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. "So you're worried that I'm expecting a relationship," he said. "Or that I'm not going to be able to keep myself from wanting a relationship. Is that it?"

You nodded slowly, looking at him, gauging his reaction. Spencer's smile was bigger now, his fingers tilting your head up so you had to make eye contact with him. The look in his eyes was gentle, but there was something else there, too. Something wanting. "And if I told you that... I do want a relationship? What would you say to that?"

"That I'm not ready for it," you said softly. "Even if I wanted to, I just... can't."

"What if I said I was willing to wait then?" he said, his hand brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. "What if I told you that I would wait as long as you need to be ready for it?"

"It's unfair to you," you whispered.

His hand was on your face again, thumb tracing soft patterns on your cheek. "Yeah," he admitted, quietly. "It kind of is. But I still want to do it. I want to wait for you. I want to take care of you. If you'll let me."

"Spencer..." you said softly, just to say his name more than anything else.

His eyes darkened for a moment, hearing you say his name making something warm spread through his chest. His other hand moved to brush a loose strand of hair from your eyes. "Just..." he swallowed, his voice suddenly hoarse. "Please say you'll let me take care of you."

"I can't do that to you, please," you said, tears welling up again.

His hand gripped your chin, and his eyes were earnest, desperate even. "Why not?" He asked, sounding more frustrated than he looked. "Why won't you let me take care of you? Is it because of your ex?"

You swallowed, nodding thickly.

A muscle in his jaw ticked and he inhaled deeply through his nose. "I'm not him," he said, his voice low and intense, the look in his eyes almost fierce with determination. "I would never do to you what he did to you. I would never lie or cheat or just... just leave you like he did."

"I know," you said softly.

His thumb moved over your bottom lip, a touch so soft it almost felt like a whisper. "Then why is it so hard for you to believe that I'll wait as long as it takes for you to be ready?"

"Trust me, I believe it," you murmured. "That's the problem."

"What, you think I can't handle waiting for you?" he said. His hand still holding your chin, he tugged you a little closer so there was barely any space between your bodies.

You shook your head. "I think I'm going to give in before I'm ready," you murmured, desperately wanting to kiss him.

His breath fanned over your face, leaving you feeling almost lightheaded. "Would that be such a bad thing?" he asked, his voice low and quiet.

"I don't want this to be a mistake," you whisper, ghosting his lips.

His hands found your hips, pulling you even closer, your bodies now flush against each other. A strangled sound escaped from his throat as your breath hit his lips, his eyes still closed. "It won't be," he promised.

You knew in that moment that it had to be you, that he would never initiate anything until you did, that he really would wait, and you didn't want to wait anymore. Your lips settled on his, closing the miniscule gap between the two of you, his lips as soft as you'd imagined.

He inhaled sharply, but leaned forward to press his lips firmly against yours. One of his hands moved to bury in your hair, the other gripped your hip, holding you tightly against his chest. His tongue licked at the crease between your lips, as if asking for permission, for entry.

"Morning breath," you murmured in protest, parting your lips anyway.

He chuckled lowly against your lips, his tongue gently sweeping into your mouth as he pressed you back on the bed. "Like I care."

It had been so long since you had been wanted like this, so wholly, so unequivocally, his hand splayed along your side, under the shirt he had let you borrow. A shiver went down your spine as his hand moved under the shirt you were wearing. He made a soft, guttural sound as his hand met bare skin, his lips moving to your jaw. "Can't believe you were trying to leave me," he mumbled, his words almost lost against your skin.

"You make it impossible," you murmured, hand sliding along his neck.

He chuckled, his lips moving over your jaw, pausing periodically to press kisses into your skin. The hand that was under your shirt moved up higher, running along the side of your chest, and he hummed into your skin. "I'm serious," he said, his hands and lips still roaming over your neck. "If you ever think about trying to leave again, just... remember this. Remember me."

"I couldn't forget you if I tried," you murmured, nudging him back up to kiss him. He complied instantly, his tongue sliding along your lower lip as he captured your mouth again. He leaned further onto you, his body pressing you down into the mattress, his hands continuing their journey over your skin.

His hands slid further up your sides, his touch feather-light and yet leaving a burning trail in its wake. He groaned softly against your mouth, the sound sending a shiver tumbling down your spine. If there had been a line, Spencer had erased it completely with each trace of his touch. As scary as it felt, you'd let him do whatever he wanted to you.

He was desperate for you, the need and want for you making itself blatantly obvious, his body pressed taut to yours, his kiss deep and intense. His hands found your hips, gripping them and pulling you against him. He pulled away from your lips so he could gasp for air, resting his forehead against yours.

You swallowed, trying to catch your breath. "How are you so good at this and still single?" you can't help but ask.

His breath huffed hot against your face as he laughed, a small, crooked smile gracing his features. "I could ask you the same thing," he said. One of his hands moved to brush your hair from your face, and you watched as his gaze roamed over your features, like he was trying to memorize every single detail.

You bit your lower lip, looking at him, your affection unhidden. "Seriously, Spence," you said. "You never told me what happened with your ex."

His hand stilled for a moment, and he looked away from you for a second, breaking the eye contact. The air changed slightly, the atmosphere tensing a little. He was silent for a few moments, and you could see him sorting out his thoughts before he spoke.

"It..." he exhaled slowly before looking back at you again. "It ended badly," he said, quietly. "She um... She was being stalked," he said slowly as you sat up, listening. "And that was sort of how we met. And we... we started seeing each other after but... I found out she had been engaged to someone else all along."

You couldn't help the sharp intake of breath you took. Even having been through a bad relationship yourself, that seemed shockingly cruel. You laid your hand gently on Spencer's shoulder, silently encouraging him to keep going. He inhaled deeply, his eyes meeting yours, looking at you like he was trying to decipher if he could keep going. Your eyes were wide and earnest as you regarded him, your hand still on his shoulder, and he swallowed hard.

"I really liked her," he said, finally, still speaking quietly. "Maybe even loved her. She... she was my first everything."

"That's awful," you murmured.

He nodded, swallowing thickly as he continued. "Yeah," he said. "I found out that she was engaged and everything just... came tumbling down after that. I had already fallen hard for her, and it just hurt so much. I..." he trailed off, his eyes dropping, not meeting your gaze. "I'm not sure what hurt more, the fact that she was engaged, or the fact that she didn't even care about me like I did her."

"Christ," you breathed out loud, wishing you knew what to say to comfort him.

He swallowed again, looking down at his hands. "It's fine," he said after a moment. "I'm over it now. It took me a while, but I'm good now." He still wasn't looking at you, and you could see him clenching his jaw, like he was trying to force himself not to show any emotions.

You took his hands. "Well, for what it's worth, my ex-fiance cheated on me at our engagement party, so... that is definitely over."

He looked up, his eyes widening at your words. He'd known your fiance had cheated, but not like this. His hands tightened around your own instantly, his thumbs brushing softly over the back of your hands. "He... what?" he asked, shocked.

"Yeah," you said softly, tracing the ridge of his hand, fixed on it to ground yourself. "Four years flushed down the drain just like that."

His expression turned to one of sympathy, his eyes suddenly so soft and gentle. He gently pulled your hands into his lap, turning them so he could interlace his fingers through your own. "I can't even imagine how that must have felt," he said quietly. "Four years... that's a long time."

"I know. An entire presidential term," you said dryly.

His lips quirked into a half-smile, a small huff of laughter escaping him as he looked down at your hands, still gripped tightly in his own. He was silent for a moment, before looking back up at you. "What did you do? After he did that, I mean," he asked, quietly.

You let out a breath. "I um... I just left. Alex said I could stay with her, so I moved to DC."

He nodded slowly, letting out a breath of his own. He squeezed your hands in his own, his brow furrowing slightly. "Does he..." his voice trailed off for a moment, like he was unsure whether or not to continue the question. "Does he try to contact you? Or anything like that?"

You shook your head. "Not since Alex said she'd find a way to bury him six feet deep if he did."

Spencer's mouth twitched into a small half-smile at the image that conjures in his head. "Good," he said firmly. "As she should." He was quiet for a minute, his fingers tracing over your knuckles as he stared down at your hands.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, the pounding in your head fading away as you curled into him. He felt a small wave of relief wash over him as you leaned on his shoulder, his arm lifting to rest around you as he pulled you a little closer. He pressed his nose to the top of your head, inhaling deeply.

You raised his hand to your lips, kissing his knuckles, lingering. He swallowed hard, his other hand moving to gently rest on your bare knee. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment as you pressed your lips to his knuckles, the soft contact sending sparks across his skin. He was silent for several moments, his breath coming in soft huffs that you could feel against your hair.

"So what do we do now?" you asked softly.

He was quiet, contemplative, his chin moving to rest on your head. He pulled you against him so you were tucked into his side, his hand tracing slow patterns over your knee.

"You're not leaving, right?" he asked, suddenly. His voice was low but there was a slight edge to it, as if he worried that you still weren't going to stick around.

"I think you've made it clear that you don't want me to," you said.

He hummed in conformation, a small, crooked smile appearing on his face. "I don't want you to," he echoed back to you.

His hand moved from your knee to your hip, squeezing gently before he continued. "I need you to say that you're staying. Out loud."

"I'm staying," you murmured.

He exhaled as your words met his ears. The tension that was still in his body slowly leached out as he listened to your voice, the hand on your hip tightening as he heard confirmation that you were staying with him.

"Good," he said quietly, his breath coming out in a soft huff. "That's very good."

"But I have a condition," you added.

His expression was one of concern as he looked down at you for a moment, one eyebrow raised in slight surprise.

"What condition?" he asked.

"Breakfast."

He huffed out a small laugh at that one, his shoulders relaxing once again. "Breakfast?"

He was smiling slightly now, looking down at you with a look of amusement in his eyes.

"What? It's almost 9:30, I need to eat at some point."

"No, no, I'm not disputing it." he told you, his hand moving from your hip to brush the hair from your face again. "Breakfast is good. I'm just surprised that that's your only condition."

"Believe it or not, I'm not that demanding," you said.

"A shock, but one I've now learned," he teased. He was still smiling, his hand still brushing your hair away from your face. "Anything more specific that you'd like for breakfast?" he asked, the amused tint to his voice still present.

"Depends. What's in your repertoire?"

He was silent for a moment as he considered this. He looked thoughtful, and you could almost see him sifting through memories of various breakfasts he had made.

"I can do eggs," he said. "Fried, scrambled, or omelet. And bacon. And toast. And pancakes. And waffles."

"Waffles," you said immediately.

He chuckled slightly at the eagerness in your voice, his smile growing. "Waffles," he repeated. "Okay. You got it." His hands left you so he could stand, stretching his long limbs as he did so. "You should probably go shower while I make breakfast," he said, as he turned to look you sprawled on the bed again.

You nodded, rifling through your hair. He took the opportunity to look at you, just taking the time to appreciate the fact that you were actually here in front of him, in his apartment, in his clothes. His eyes roved over your form, and one corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile.

"You should probably stop staring," you told him as you sat up.

He blinked as he shook himself from his thoughts, a small pink tinge appearing on his cheeks.

"Right. Yeah, um..." he said, looking away for a moment. He cleared his throat as he turned and started out of the room. "I'll, um... just go make breakfast then," he mumbled.

You watched him go, a small smile of your own on your face, starting to feel a lot more resolved than you had felt in the last few months. New year, new start, you think to yourself, stealing one of his fluffy towels for yourself.

[mumms-the-word]

Deep Past the Heart

Characters: Emmrich Volkarin x Rook (You) Summary: (Spoilers ahead!) You have accompanied Emmrich to his final test before lichdom. You stand in a cold Necropolis vault as he walks away from you toward possible eternity, knowing he will die the moment he crosses the threshold. The only thing you can do now is wait. Wait and hope that if he returns to you, when he returns, he will still be the man you have fallen so desperately in love with. Nothing is certain but death. Love...that is a different question entirely. A/N: I think this is my first official Veilguard fic? And it's angst haha classic. Anyways, I have mixed feelings about Emmrich's Lich route but the cutscene where he becomes a lich has stuck with me as one of the most beautifully choreographed moments in the whole game, so I couldn't resist writing the scene from a more focused, anxious Rook's perspective. Enjoy! Read it on AO3 here!

I am come to be judged by the dead.

They are the last living words on his lips. The last words of a man who will be dead soon, one way or another. Nine syllables formed on an eloquent tongue, breathed forth with warm air from healthy lungs. In mere moments, those lungs, that tongue, those lips will grow still, and never move again.

It isn’t his time to die. But it’s the time he has chosen, and now that the words are out of his mouth, you know there is no turning back.

His words echo faintly in the vaulted chamber you stand in, soft reverberations you will never get back. You want to reach out and catch them, just one word, maybe two, and hold them fluttering and whisper-thin against your chest until you have absorbed them. The last vestiges of his voice, perfectly preserved in your heart. Just in case you never hear that voice again.

Or if you do, it will be altered beyond recognition.

It’s strange. You’ve spent the last several weeks doing all that you can to save lives—freeing slaves, fighting ghosts, slaying dragons, eradicating darkspawn, stopping enemies before they can hurt anyone else. And yet here you stand hundreds of feet below the surface in a spacious, isolated crypt, bidding farewell to your lover as he faces the end of his life. 

You make no moves to stop him, despite your every instinct screaming that you can, you could, you should . But you don’t. Because this is what he wants.

Emmrich Volkarin, your beloved, is steps away from death, standing at the threshold of a chamber that will steal his life from him and present him with one final test. If he succeeds, he will become a lich, a powerful undead mage that will stand outside of time, a being both paradoxically within and beyond your reach and understanding. His life’s work, completed with his death. But if he fails…

It is death, either way. You both know it. The best you can hope for now is not that he will survive…but that he will transcend . If he does, then he achieves undeath. Lichdom. Forever.

A vast leap , he had once said. Flesh cast aside for bone. Returned, immortal, for all time. 

You wonder if you’ve made a mistake. Not for encouraging him to take this path, but perhaps for coming with him. 

His kiss is still on your lips, the warmth of it fast fading in the chill of this Necropolis vault. You wish, suddenly, that you had placed your fingertips at the base of his throat or against his chest when you kissed, cherishing the final beats of his too-soft heart, the fluttering of his pulse as it thrums beneath his skin. Or that you had inhaled deeply of his carefully cultivated scent, expensive cologne, soap, and pomade, scents he may soon abandon after death when his new form no longer requires them.

You glance at the Lich Lords above, their cold veilfire eyes glowing in the sockets of their bleach-white skulls. Cold, barren, still.

Dead.

That is what he will become…but only if he passes the final test.

Too late you wish you had paid more attention to the elements that made up your lover’s living, mortal self. Already you feel the finer details slipping from your grasp. The exact shades of gold and green in his hazel eyes. Where the last stubborn dark strands of his hair melt into the gray and white. The tones of his quiet laughter when something amuses him. The press of his lips on your knuckles when he kisses your hand.

There will be no more of any of that, either way. Already you miss those things. Ache for them.

Why is it so much harder for you to let go of him, than for him to let go of life?

Your time together has been cruelly short. You arrived too late, he walked toward death too early, and the world never settled long enough for the two of you to find any real time together. You want to kiss him again, but you know better than to move. Because if a single thing goes awry…

The doors swing open, spilling out a brilliant white light so bright it’s painful to stare into, but Emmrich doesn’t falter. Aside from a single flex of his hands, you see no evidence of hesitation or fear.

And yet you still wonder. 

How fast does his heart beat in his chest, as if defying him to stop it? Is every nerve alight within him, desperate to soak in each last sensation, the chill on his skin, the prickle of gooseflesh at the back of his neck, the brush of fabric, the creak of leather, the jingle of chains? Are there tremors in his fingers that you cannot see? Is he terrified, or at peace with this decision?

You hope he is at peace. Even as your hands clench at your sides and your ears start to ring with the stress of watching him step forward into eternity, knowing he will die, he will inevitably die, he will certainly die , you hope he, at least, has no more of the terror that has plagued him since childhood.

It’s the only way you’ll see him again.

You have to let him go. You curl your toes inside your boots as if to anchor your feet directly down into the stone beneath you. You hold your breath to keep from using your voice. You cannot stop him. You cannot intervene.

But dammit, it’s hard .

Every step he takes is another step away from you. Another step closer to death. You have prepared for this. Sat in his study, curled up by the fireplace, watching him review scrolls about the rituals, watching him practice his glamor. You’ve seen the way his eyes grew distant at the daunting trial before him, taking him to a place where you couldn’t reach him…and the way his eyes drifted around his study, looking for a figure you both know will never return to brighten the Lighthouse again. You prepared your goodbye …and your welcome back… and your final goodbyes if it all went wrong. You thought you had steeled yourself to the fact that he might not return at all.

But now the moment is here. 

Every step is like a death knell, the chime of a clock striking midnight. The sound of his boot heels on the worn paving stones rings in your head like the peeling of chantry bells, ten, eleven…twelve. 

Silence.

He stops and turns to face you. The light of the chamber beyond is too bright, too harsh, a wash of milky white fog and light that silhouettes him until he is a singular shape in black. You search for his eyes, desperate to read his thoughts, or perhaps to memorize that particular shade of hazel you took too much for granted, but his every feature melts into shadow.

You look anyway, mastering your expression for him just in case he is watching you too. You will not look anxious. You will not look like you have even a shred of doubt. He will come back. He will come back. You hang onto the thought like a lifeline, and you watch, unwilling to look away for a single instant.

This is your last view of him alive. One way or another, he has to die. You’re prepared to walk his undeath with him, but you want to soak in this last living sight. Just in case.

Come back to me as yourself, Emmrich. Please.

Myrna and Vorgoth join him in the illuminated chamber and the doors begin to swing closed. You stare. You stare and you study and you will your feet to stay planted to the smooth stone floor and you look for a single glimpse of his eyes—

And you see that they are closed.

Your breath catches. You feel your heart start to crack, his name bubbling up from your chest into your throat, ready to be spoken, whispered, shouted, but you cannot let it escape. You swallow your voice as the doors shut with an echoing clang, a single note of devastating finality. 

Then…the silence of the grave.

—————

You stand as still as stone, imagining yourself as steady and cold as the carved marble and granite figures that line the vault. But your traitorous heart beats wildly in your chest, reminding you with every heartbeat that you are the last living thing in that room. You are the wrong thing here in this vault of silence, stone, and stillness. The audacious lover who dared to invade this sanctum of undeath and sully it with your mere presence.

You dare not invade any further. Emmrich is beyond your reach now. All you can do is wait.

You can feel the eyes of the Lich Lords upon you, veilfire glowing green and blue in their hollow eye sockets. Challenger of the gods , they called you. Volkarin’s beloved . You wonder if you are the first lover to stand at a lich candidate’s side to see them off for the final sifting of the soul. 

You wonder if you are the only lover who plans to stick around after lichdom has been achieved. Until death takes you, that is. You, but not him.

You know they are not there to judge you, and yet their faces remain fixed forward toward you, not the chamber beyond. You begin to feel as though you are as much a part of this final test as whatever it happening in the chamber beyond. Do the Lich Lords see you, truly, as they gaze out over the vault? Or do they see Emmrich’s soul, his thoughts, his memories instead?

Do they find you there among them? Is it better or worse if they do?

You know you’ll get no answers from the Lich Lords so you don’t ask. Which leaves you once again waiting. Listening. Hoping. 

Time crawls forward, impossible to track. Down here, deep beneath the earth, every light is artificial and cold, every chamber eternally lit by magical flame. It’s only the flickering of the torches and braziers that tell you that time hasn’t stopped altogether. 

And still you wait. It’s all you can do.

You breathe out, gently clouding the air. When did it get so cold? Or had it always been this cold in the Necropolis, and you never noticed it before? You rub your arms subconsciously, seeking warmth, but your hands do little to help.

What kept the chill at bay before? Was it Emmrich’s presence at your side, his hand eventually slipping into yours, that kept you warm among these patina green and slate gray halls? Or had he cast subtle spells over you, a bubble of warmth to carry you through the Necropolis, his mind on your comfort over his duty as a Mourn Watcher? Perhaps the chill had always been there, but you were too busy basking in the kindness of his hazel eyes and the soothing cadence of his voice to notice.

What happens now that those eyes, that voice, may be gone forever? 

You turn away from the Lich Lords and pace a slow circuit around the stone table. Over your head, the colossal sculpture of three crowned skulls looms like an omen, a second set of judges over the living and the dead. No matter where you turn, the hollow eyes of skulls peer down over you, reminding you of the inevitable. Now that Emmrich is in the chamber beyond, the only thing coming out of that room is a dead man.

How much of Emmrich will be left?

You strain your ears to catch any sound from the chamber beyond. The windows behind the Lich Lords appear open, letting in some of the white light, and yet you hear nothing. Even the crackle of the veilfire around you is muted and low. 

How much time has passed? Mere moments, or has it been an hour already? More than an hour?

You close your eyes briefly, your thoughts a silent prayer, the same as you prayed before. Come back to me as yourself, Emmrich. Please.

It’s the same thing you told him just before he walked away. One last plea, pulled from the depths of your heart, uttered before you could think twice about the words. And in return, he had smiled, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners the way they always do—always did.  

I will, my darling. I promise.

A promise. One you hope—you know he intends to keep. Yet you know that even if he does come back, he will come back different. Everything will be different. His appearance, his senses, his feelings. He warned you of that just days ago.

Lichdom is a transformation of body and soul. A change in how I sense and feel. And I will still feel, but—

But he will feel differently. You know that. He does too. At this point, change is unavoidable, but how he will change…that is less certain. What will he lose, even as he gains eternity and power?

You recall his soft musing words the day you picked flowers together in the memorial gardens, when you asked if he would still be able to enjoy the flowers if he became a lich. He had answered simply, an academic’s thoughtful reply, but you caught the hesitant sadness in his voice at the end all the same.

I can’t say if the flowers would still hold their bloom for me. 

But what about you? For him to lose his sense of smell is one thing, but to lose a measure of his heart…

You can still picture the flower he once picked for you, the thin stem in your hand, the white petals luminescent in the light of the gardens. The scent has long faded from memory, but the magic of it is burned forever in your mind from when he transformed the soft petals into glittering motes of light. You, in the bloom of your life, basked in the glow of his magic, melting beneath him as he pressed you gently into the stone of the memorial and kissed you for the first time. That was the moment you realized you loved him, alive or undead.

So is it selfish to long for, even mourn what you have already lost of him? For you have lost something . The moment he stepped into that chamber, you lost something. You can feel it, hollow in your gut, even though you can’t name it. If he survives this last test, you will gain something back, but even so…is it selfish that you already miss him as he was in life?

Is it too early to mourn, knowing he was a dead man the moment he uttered those words at the chamber doors?

I am come to be judged by the dead.

You know he is more than his appearance, more than the skin and muscle and sinew that makes up his living body, more than that common, fleshy muscle in his chest that pumps blood through his veins but to which everyone attributes the deepest of mortal feeling and desire. Even when that heart grows still, he will surely still love you, you remind yourself. He had all but promised before he left your side. 

Hadn’t he?

If anything should perchance go wrong… My dearest heart. You are the most magnificent thing to ever happen to me.

You stop. You realize now.

This is why he didn’t look back.

You are a temptation. His last tether to this mortal world. If he had looked back, he might have wavered. Decades of his life’s work, lost at a single glance.

If he had looked back, you would have almost certainly lost him for good. 

You pause at the start of your circuit again, turning to face the chamber doors, your heart racing. Does he think of you now? In his mind’s eye, do you exist as the path back home, a marker for his soul to return to his new lich body, or has he cast you aside, unwilling to let you become his final weakness? Have you ruined it all simply by being there?

You were the one to reach out when he first stepped away. The one who held him by the arm, desperate for another few seconds with him, a final kiss, a last embrace. I love you , you whispered as his lips left yours, a confession you should have said days ago. 

I love you too, my darling.

What if that final kiss, that simple confession, has doomed him? You think of Johanna Hezenkoss, the failed lich, her body slowly shriveling on her skeletal frame, eyes burning with veilfire inside a withered face. Wrong. Half-undead. Stagnant, yet decaying.

Is that the fate you sealed for Emmrich with your kiss?

Suddenly you would give anything, a measure of your strength, your power, your own lifeblood, to ensure that he passes through the Lich Lords’ final sifting of the soul to successfully enter lichdom. You want nothing more than to see him again, no matter what vessel his soul is housed in. Was it not ultimately his soul that you fell in love with? Time is a thief that would rob you both of vitality, strength, and beauty no matter how you attempt to slow it down, but the soul is eternal. Or so everyone says.

All you want now is his soul with you again, rather than passing on to the Fade, or wherever it is souls go when they die. 

Please, Emmrich , you beg silently. Come back.

Perhaps the Lich Lords or the spirits of the Fade will hear your silent prayers, drawn in by your deepest desire, since the silent gods are no longer listening and may not even exist. If the spirits sense your hope, perhaps they can intervene on your behalf, driven by the strength of your wish to lead Emmrich’s soul back again if he needs the help. 

But no, you must have faith in him. That is what he needs from you now. You clench your fists at your sides, determined to mold your anxiety and desperation into faith instead. You can do this, Emmrich. Death won’t keep us apart. You won’t let it. 

A light clamor draws your attention back to the chamber—the sound of the latch unbolting. The doors are about to open. The wait is over. 

The judges’ verdict is set. The scales have been weighed, the soul measured, and judgment passed.

Emmrich is dead. 

—————

Your blood pounds in your ears, a steady roar that drowns out everything else as the heavy doors groan open. You force yourself to watch, willing your eyes to adjust faster to the white light that spills forth. You have to see. You have to know. Death or undeath? A lifeless corpse or an eternal lich?

Come back to me, my love. Come back.

Vorgoth emerges first, a ceremonial knife in his gloved and bangled hands. Wet, red blood drips, fresh and lurid, from the black and gold blade. Emmrich’s blood, dripping down onto the Necropolis floor, each drop glittering ruby red in the light before it splashes dark and black on the stone. Vorgoth sheathes the blade, tucking it inside the depths of his cloak, his task complete.

Then Myrna appears, promenading forth with an urn cradled in her hands, a canopic jar with a lid carved in the shape of a skull. A thin trickle of blood trails down from the seam between jar and lid. You dare not wonder what lays inside, what part of your beloved Emmrich they carved away to preserve inside that funerary urn. The mere sight of it makes your stomach twist.

Did it hurt? What they had done to him? Were his final living moments spent in pain as cold metal carved through his flesh? The thought leaves you ill, your knees weak. But no, the Mourn Watch are not inhumane. Myrna and Vorgoth respect Emmrich. He calls them friends. Surely his death had been as painless as they could make it. You have to believe it, or else the world around you will tilt out of focus and leave you crumpled on the floor, and you cannot let Emmrich see you like that. 

At last Myrna steps aside, leaving your view into the chamber unhindered. To your relief, there is no lifeless corpse crumpled on the ground. Instead, a figure stands where Emmrich stood. With a shift, it begins to walk forward.

At first it’s no more than a silhouette to match the Lich Lords above. A dark, shadowed figure with a crown of spikes and eyes glowing with veilfire. A lich at long last. But is it–is he your Emmrich?

As he draws nearer, out of the white light, more details emerge. Glimmers of gold, the rustling whisper of grave linen, the thick drape of black crape fabric. The doors close behind him and the silhouette melts away to reveal him in all his undead glory, standing regal in black and gold.

For one terrifying moment, you don’t recognize him. His skull could be anyone’s skull. There is nothing left of the hazel gold or green in his gaze. The heart you yearned to capture, the one he once said beats for you and no other, now no longer beats in his chest at all. It is missing, along with every other organ, his gold-reinforced ribcage left open and hollow. He is a walking skeleton now, draped in rich armor and finery, brimming with new power. 

You can’t look away. He has to be in there somewhere. You take an unsteady step forward as he draws slowly nearer to you, searching the polished bone surface of his skull beneath his golden helm for something you can recognize as Emmrich Volkarin. Your beloved.

“Emmrich?” you whisper. Your heart is a drumbeat in your chest, tempo allegro , relentlessly pounding in your ears until you’re almost dizzy from the rush. Please be in there. Please.

He stops and you can sense his gaze, harder to track now that it’s all veilfire, moving away from you to the room around you. His jaw unhinges and though he no longer has a tongue, his voice emerges from somewhere within him, like a spirit speaking from the beyond.

“I see so much more clearly now,” he says. Your breath hitches as you recognize the tones and timbre of his voice. It has an otherworldly echo now, but it’s his . “The deeper eddies of the Fade. The pulse of the Necropolis.”

You can sense the new power he has gained. Magic shifts around him as though he is draped in more than metal and fabric. As if he stands with one foot in the physical world and the other in the Fade. Even his voice sounds like it begins in another plane and is carried forth over a vast distance.

You can’t help but feel awed. You stand before an immortal being now. Yet, unlike when you stood before Solas, Elgar’nan, or Ghilan’nain, there is no fear or wariness in your heart. This is not some cold, unfeeling god. This is Emmrich Volkarin.

You feel his gaze settle on you as he continues, his voice full of wonder. “I have been through blood and darkness, and I have emerged into light.”

You breathe for the first time in several seconds, your lungs shuddering at the sudden cold air. Relief floods into you, even as a smaller part of you aches to think how painful this last test was for him—what trials of blood, what depths of darkness had he endured to earn this gift of immortality? But those trials are in the past now. What matters is not that he experienced them, but that he endured and emerged victorious.

He has returned to you.

You wet your dry lips, the question on your tongue tasting metallic from fear, but you have to ask. You have to know. “Emmrich, now that you’re…do you still feel…” 

You can’t put the whole question into words. He is here, but he is changed. How much? How deeply?

“Oh,” he says, and his voice is like a lovestruck sigh from the depths of his soul, breath simulated by tone alone. “My love.”

This time, his words wrap around you, sinking into your skin and settling deep within you. It’s the feeling of returning home, of a world made right again. It’s the thrilling sensation of a loving whisper on your bare skin, a promise of devotion and a song of praise, the tenor of his soft voice perfected by the subtle, echoing embellishments of his new magic. You nearly weep for the love you can sense conveyed in so simple a phrase.

It’s really him. And he is really yours. 

It’s all he has to say to convince you.

“Come,” he says. “Walk the gardens with me.”

He offers you his hand, now wrapped tightly with grave linen down to the tips of his fingers. You recognize the rings he wears as his usual jewelry, and the sight of something familiar calms your still-settling heart even further. Without hesitation, you take his hand and let him lead you out of the vault.

You can feel the shape and rigidity of bone beneath the linen, but his touch is gentle as he folds his hand around yours, matching your pace as you venture out into the Necropolis proper. Each step you take with your hand in his quiets your lingering doubts. His measured strides are the same as they were in life, the pressure of his touch no different from when he had muscles and tendons to control them. Even his presence at your side beats back the chill of the Necropolis just the way it had when you journeyed with him earlier. 

Everything is as it was in life, simply made more by the aura of magic that follows him. The moment the two of you reach the gardens, your steps crunching the gravel of the cemetery paths, you feel him relax at your side. You wonder what he sees now, now that his eyes have been opened, his spirit awakened to the subtle movements and patterns of the Fade. Where you see veilfire torches and the carefully tended blooms of the cemetery flowers, the cool air broken here and there by the playful twirl of a glowing wisp, what does he see?

You think of that moment in the Lighthouse weeks ago, when he took your hand and placed it on a skull, instructing you to breathe, to focus while he spoke a solemn incantation, the weight of his hand covering yours. When you opened your eyes, you could see the currents of the Fade in motion—glimmers of light fluttering through the air, ribbons of color weaving in and out of sight, and blue and green wisps dancing playfully high overhead, or lingering serenely around the two of you. Is that what he sees now? Brighter, richer ribbons of light, glittering notes of magic, twirling wisps, even spirits walking the grounds? Does he see beyond the Veil, two worlds overlapping, mixing together in a sympathy of color and light, or simply what bits and scraps are strong enough to push through, eager to brush against the physical world? You wish you could see. You wish you could share in the vision with him.

“It’s…beautiful,” he murmurs. You look up, studying his new profile. It will take some getting used to, but it doesn’t frighten or disturb you. When he turns his face toward you, you can feel the warmth of his gaze again, even though there is nothing left of the hazel eyes you once fell in love with. “To think, I can share this first glimpse of wonder with you, my darling. It makes this moment all the sweeter.”

If he were still capable of tears, you know he’d be weepy right now. He always did get philosophical around flowers. And it’s you knowing that, sensing it in his voice, that dispels the last of your doubts. You squeeze the bones of his hand and whisper, “I knew you’d come back to me.”

His next words are confirmation and promise, reassurance and affirmation, his affection as clear and warm as it was in life, even despite the new echo. It is confident, certain, and tender, and as before, it settles somewhere deep past the heart, where nothing can ever take it away from you again.

“Always, my love.”

[dreamdragonkadia]

I got my New Year's Kiss p.jackson x reader

It was bittersweet knowing the trip was nearing its end. A few more days after New Year's, and you'd be back on the opposite coast, far from the bustling energy of New York. Back to the cute, semi-decent-sized apartment near the beach, where mornings smelled of saltwater, and evenings felt like a cozy sigh. But for now, you were here, the magic of the holidays still in the air.

The night had dragged you out of the comfort of Percy’s mom’s house and into a lively New Year’s party. Fairy lights draped across the ceilings, and the faint hum of a live jazz band drifting around the room. The warmth of the fireplace a striking difference with the icy chill of the windows. It was the kind of party that felt...timeless—where you could almost imagine the gods themselves sneaking in for a drink or two. And honestly, with your life, that wasn’t entirely out of the question.

It was the last hour of the year. Somewhere in the house, Sally and Paul had vanished, likely putting Estelle to bed until it was time to leave. Perks of having friends own this place. The last you'd seen, the child was half-asleep, leaning against her dad’s, two seconds away from passing out. You smiled at the memory, leaning against the wall and taking in the surroundings of drunk couples, the dancing, the absolute view of it all.

A familiar warmth settled at your back. Percy had appeared at your side, as effortless as ever, his presence calming in a way nothing else could be. His hand brushed against yours as he handed you a glass of champagne, the bubbles catching the light in tiny, dazzling bursts.

“Guess who I just saw?” Percy’s grin was the kind that sparked curiosity. Mischievous, playful, and just a little bit conspiratorial.

You raised an eyebrow, the universal sign for spill.

“Hermes,” he said, barely able to contain his amusement.

“Hermes? Here?” you asked, trying to picture the god of messengers blending into this crowd. Yeah, that tracked.

“Yup. He’s hanging out by the snack table, pretending the pigs-in-a-blanket are ambrosia.” Percy chuckled, clearly entertained by the image. “He winked at me when I caught him sneaking seconds.”

You snorted. “Sounds about right. Did he give you one of his one liners or just a thumbs-up?”

“Neither,” Percy said, his expression softening. “He said something about how it’s good to see me happy. And then he said, ‘Don’t mess it up.’” Percy’s ears turned the faintest shade of pink as he looked down at you. “Not sure what he meant by that.”

Your heart gave an almost traitorous flutter, “I think that’s a pretty straightforward message, Perce.”

Percy’s grin returned. “Yeah, but it’s Hermes. He’s never straightforward.”

The two of you fell into an easy quiet as you leaned your head against his shoulder, watching as the party buzzed around you. Someone had turned the music up, and the countdown moved closer. The clock read 11:58, the last few minutes of the year ticking away like the heartbeat of the room.

Percy glanced down at you, his eyes warm and thoughtful. “So, do you have a New Year’s resolution?” he asked, leaning in just enough to hear you over the music.

You pretended to think for a moment, swirling the champagne in your glass. “Hmm. Maybe try to stay out of trouble for once? Or at least, less trouble.”

He smirked. “Good luck with that. Trouble seems to follow us around.”

“True,” you admitted with a grin. “What about you?”

“Mine’s easy.” Percy turned slightly, his hand brushing yours again, lingering this time. “Keep making you happy.”

The world seemed to pause. Not in the dramatic, time-stopping, Poseidon-intervention way, but in the soft, heart-squeezing way that only Percy could manage. You opened your mouth to respond, but the countdown began, the crowd around you shouting in unison.

“Ten… nine… eight…”

Percy tilted his head toward you, a small smile playing at his lips. “So, do I get a New Year’s kiss?”

“Seven… six…”

You tried to muster a witty reply, but his hopeful expression made your heart do that fluttering thing again. Instead, you just leaned up, closing the gap.

“Five… four…”

His warm lips met yours softly, and the noise of the party seemed to melt away.

“Three… two…”

When you finally pulled away, Percy’s grin was pure sunshine. “Best resolution ever,” he murmured, his forehead resting gently against yours, his sea-green eyes searching yours with a quiet kind of happiness that made your chest feel full.

“One! Happy New Year!” the crowd roared, their cheers and laughter echoing around you.

But all you could focus on was Percy. His hand remained at your back, his thumb tracing soft, absent-minded circles that sent a warmth spreading through you. He tilted his head slightly, his hair falling across his forehead in a way that made you want to reach up and brush it aside.

Before you could stop yourself, you pulled him in for another kiss. Your arms slipped around his shoulders, holding him close as the party seemed to fade into the background once again. Percy didn’t hesitate, his hands finding their place at your waist, pulling you in as if keeping himself in the moment.

When you finally broke apart, “I couldn’t imagine spending it with anyone but you,” you admitted softly, the words slipping out before you could think

Percy’s expression softened even more, if that was possible. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering just long enough to make your cheeks warm. “Good,” he said, his voice carrying a teasing edge. “Because you’re kind of stuck with me, you know.”

As if to emphasize the point, you felt the faintest, playful tug on the ring on your left hand. Your eyes flicked down, catching the way his thumb brushed over the band—simple, yet carrying a promise you’d made together.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “Oh, is that how it works? You think this gives you some kind of claim?”

Percy grinned, that signature lopsided smile of his that could disarm gods and mortals alike. “Pretty sure it does,” he quipped, “If not, I might have to ask for it back, and I’m not exactly good at letting things go.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning into him as your fingers traced lazy patterns on the back of his neck. “Guess I’m stuck with you, then.”

“Forever,” he said, his voice quieter now, carrying that unshakable certainty he always had when it came to you.

“Forever doesn’t sound so bad,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his once more.

[mattslilies]

✩ criminologist!reader - spends new year's eve with matt ✩

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warnings: none! just a fluffy new year's eve fic :) yes... i know it's past new year's eve, but i still thought this was a cute idea for a fic <3

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"matt!" you called for your boyfriend, knowing that the ball was going to drop in just under ten minutes, and he was nowhere to be found in the house.

the party that had been thrown was amazing, and you and everyone in attendance had thoroughly enjoyed it. it wasn't a massive thing, just you, matt, his brothers, and both of your close friends, but it was enough to have the house feel full and alight.

the countertop was covered in various snacks, from chips and fruit to a charcuterie board someone had brought, and the end of it was covered with desserts.

the excitement of the holiday was flowing through your entire body as you continued to search the home for your boyfriend, hearing everyone chatter loudly downstairs in front of the television.

neither of you were big party people, but this night was different. you knew everyone who was invited, and it was at your own home, so you both felt comfortable.

"there you are! you're going to miss midnight!"

finally locating matt in the bathroom, you dragged him back downstairs, your arm wrapping around his waist.

nobody had been drinking, but knowing your boyfriend and his close-knit group, they didn't need alcohol to be boisterous.

joining the group that was gathered in the living room, snacks and sodas in hand, you both stood next to each other, watching the countdown begin on the screen.

a few of your friends were holding confetti poppers, a small tradition that you had been doing for years on this holiday together, and even though it was an absolute disaster to clean up afterwards, you never minded for the moments of fun it brought you when they were popped.

as the countdown entered the last ten seconds, that was when everyone began counting along with it, massive grins on their faces.

"ten... nine... eight... seven... six... five..." you continued counting, turning to look at matt, smiling as the last few seconds finished off.

"happy new year!!"

as popping sounds of fireworks in the neighborhood and the confetti poppers in your own living room went off, matt pulled you into a kiss, hugging your body close to his own.

pulling back when he heard one of your shared friends whistling, he smiled at you and at the confetti littered all over the floor.

"what a great way to start off the new year."

you smiled back, unable to agree more.

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[kaiserin-erzsebet]

So, here are my long thoughts on The Last Voyage of the Demeter because I'm jetlagged and trying to keep myself awake.

I'm going to organize it from my biggest issues to my smallest nitpicks. Because I am aware that some of the things that bother me are nitpicks. Also this movie is old enough that I don't think spoilers are out of line.

Anyway, here are my thoughts:

I don't think I can fairly judge the movie as an adaptation of Dracula. This would be a short review if that was my standard, because it is a bad adaptation. There's a laundry list of reasons why, and I'll get back to one of them because I think it is indicative of how this movie fumbled the story. It takes a very loose approach to the book, and that wouldn't be entirely fair to fixate on. But I will point out where I think the book executed a theme or tone element more effectively.

I fully went into the movie ready to judge it on its own merits as a self-contained horror story. That's why I was surprised that I disliked it so much, because it doesn't hold up as a piece of horror media. I think the core issue is that the screenplay fundamentally was thinking of itself as a movie about people fighting a monster.

In that respect, it does away with something that makes the Captain's log such an effective part of the original book: The mystery.

The original section is an exercise in dramatic irony. You, as the reader, have already seen the thing making the crew vanish, because you read Jonathan's diary and know what is in the boxes (even if you were reading it for the first time and didn't have the cultural osmosis of knowing who Dracula). You know why they are in danger. The captain doesn't. He spends most of the log trying to figure out what is going on and if it is misfortune or something really on board with them. He only sees Dracula at the very end of the log, when there is little he can do except tie himself to the wheel.

The book answers the question of "why don't they make port or throw the boxes overboard?" with saying that the captain doesn't know for sure if it is actually something malicious related to the cargo. The Romanian first mate has to slowly come to the realization that he does know, because he's resisting believing in superstition. Only when the knife passes through Dracula without harming him does he panic because it's undeniable that he's facing a folklore monster.

That build up is entirely absent from The Last Voyage of the Demeter. Anna just tells them within the first half hour of the movie (she's also a very inconsistent character, but I'll get back to that), and within days the crew has literally seen Dracula multiple times. People aren't mysteriously vanishing; they've been killed pretty clearly and there are survivors with bite marks. The deck is littered with body parts at points. It makes the voiceovers about "some doom" being on the ship seem comical, because the captain has seen with his own eyes what is going on.

The only reason given for why they can't make port to deal with the issue is that they're too far away, I guess? Which is also not the case for a ship sailing that route. This isn't an open sea voyage.

While the pacing of a movie and the pacing of a show are different, The Terror did this so much better. You don't get to see the Tuunbaq clearly until quite late in the series. People just vanish or get mauled by...something. That sense of mystery is just gone in The Last Voyage. And it is disappointing because that was a huge opportunity to nail the tone.

If I had to come up with the key elements of what the Demeter section is, it would be: A Horror Story about a ship with a tragic ending.

They didn't nail the horror, but what about the other two?

There's also a puzzling lack of understanding of the dynamics on a ship throughout the movie. One glaring example is that the First Mate and Clemens make the decision to sink the ship without even asking the captain first. I know this is the merchant navy and not the navy, but that is still a galling lack of discipline. The captain is in charge and his duty is to the whole ship and the crew.

The original captain's log makes use of this. Dracula more or less kills his way up the chain of command because he's a sadist. He's forcing the commanding officers to feel more desperation as they fail in their duty to protect their crew.

The Last Voyage makes the captain a very minor character, which at least to me reveals a misunderstanding of how hierarchy works in a ship. While I don't think including new characters is necessarily bad, Clemens and Anna make most of the important decisions, and neither of them particularly have standing with the crew. It undercuts the idea of responsibility and letting people come to harm under your care (which carries through later to Lucy and Mina).

I'll return to other ways the ship setting feels incorrect later, because those are closer to nitpicks.

So, third element: is it a tragedy? Does everyone on board die by the end?

The opening scene may make you think so. But no, actually they don't. Clemens escapes and ends the movie vowing to hunt down Dracula. For one, this is where it is a bad Dracula adaptation because that simply cannot happen and maintain the plot of Dracula. Unless he was rather dense when he read about the Bloofer Lady in the paper and decided that wasn't related. But additionally, the tone of the ending radically changes. It isn't a tragedy where the last act of a brave man is to stay at the wheel, because he isn't the lone survivor left to be battered to death by either the storm or Dracula anymore. In fact most of the crew is still there for the multiple people vs Dracula fight.

This is where the tone really failed for me: the story has a winner, a hero, someone who can make it out alive. And it's the new character. That just did not sit well with me when the original is such a poignant tragedy.

The First Mate, who is the character most primed to come to a realization, hardly has an arc in The Last Voyage.

The insistence that they can fight and maybe even win also makes both Clemens and Anna incredibly inconsistent characters. She especially suffers from this, because she should in theory have the knowledge of how to repel a vampire (the villagers certainly have some idea in the book), but then she says things like "do you think I have the faintest idea how to kill him?" and in the next breath is urging the crew to kill him before he reaches London. She also says Dracula is going to London because "there is no one left in my home country to feed on" but her backstory is that she's on the ship as a deal so Drac can have a snack. So, clearly, he can get people to feed on if he wants.

Clemens is the "too smart and rational" character. But he also never thinks maybe they should expose the boxes to sunlight even after seeing people combust in sunlight after turning. It's all terribly inconsistent.

The decision to not write the story as a tragedy ends up cascading, and that's the root of the issue. They can't win and kill the monster without completely changing the story of the novel, so they are only competent to a point. It makes it a worse horror movie, even disregarding it as an adaptation.

Now for the nitpicks, including quite a few about boats that probably only I noticed:

The aesthetics are all over the place in terms of period. Clemens spends a large part of the movie (which is set in the 1890s) running around in a lace up pirate shirt. No one on this ship owns a period appropriate boat cloak. None of their shirts have remotely the right collars, giving the sense that nautical fashion was sort of vaguely consulted over the long 18th to 19th century-ish.

Please look at this and tell me that it is even remotely late 19th century:

Here's Olek from 1899 for comparison (note the correct high collar and undershirt):

The dialogue suffers from this too. More than one person uses the word "heathen" which just feels wildly out of place in something that is supposed to have rationality and superstition as the key touchpoints (at least if it wants to be like Dracula). It sounds weird coming from a time period 20 years before World War 1. Sailors especially were more likely to be vaguely Christian but mostly superstitious, not zealots using terms like "heathen."

Additional aesthetic nitpick: The ship looks way too old for the period. That is an early to mid 19th century ship sailing in the 1890s without any retrofitting. There's a throwaway line about the captain not wanting a fancy new steamship, but that doesn't account for how antique the captain's quarters are or the lack of metal on the hull. Again, the nautical aesthetics are all skewing too early. If this ship was still a Russian ship like the original, an older sailing vessel might have said something about the lag in Russian shipbuilding, it works less with an English merchant ship.

There's some functional issues about understanding sailing: The ship is way too spacious inside. Really tall men are standing up straight and walking around the hold with no trouble. That may seem like a small point, but imagine what actually exploiting the claustrophobic feeling below decks could have done for the ambiance.

The ship is definitely undercrewed given the number of masts they are showing. That many men would really struggle to reef all of the sails in a timely manner (which would matter in a storm). The writers put a crew of a small fishing vessel on a ship that is much larger and requires more hands. And it is puzzling because more people would mean: more kills and disappearances as well as giving a progression of being unable to raise and lower the sails and also keep someone at the wheel. Which, I will note, the original log does.

My first red flag about this movie was having seemingly no Slavic characters on a ship that was Russian in the original. But now that I've seen it, I'm even more annoyed that the one Russian character exists to: call a woman a slur, call a black man a slur (a rather British one imo), and then immediately be murdered on screen. Can't have nuance in how we portray Slavic people in Western media, huh?

I also get the sense that the screenwriter didn't know the difference between Romanian and Romani, because the first mate is vaguely hinted to be Romani (the kid mentions "Wojchek taught me some words in Romani") and has a Western Slavic first name, not a Romanian one. When in the book he is explicitly Romanian.

Rapid fire ways the movie gets the book wrong on a nitpicky level: Dracula doesn't get more human looking as he nears London, a vampire who prides himself on being aristocratic isn't going to drink from pigs or rats, the vampires in the book can go in sunlight but are weaker, religious artifacts are way more powerful deterrents in the book, and Clemens is way too casual about transfusions. It makes Van Helsing doing it seem less like an act of desperation. Anna gets Mina's ability to sense Dracula without putting in the effort to reverse engineer the connection.

Someone please tell me that Nosferatu is better. This was honestly very frustrating.

[l-amplights]

MY HUGE TPOT 15 THEORIES AND OBSERVATIONS AND JUST RENERAL RANTS AND AUTISM POST. SPOILERS AHEAD

i NEED TO TALK ABOUT EAN AND VERPT(? NO SUBTITLES YET) RIGHT NOW

I NEED PEOPLE TO REALISE THEY CALLED THEMSELVES A LETTER. NOT A VARIABLE. A LETTER. ALSO CALLS VERPT A LETTER.... also awesome 1 legged algebralien and no limbed. we love to see variations :> excited for eventuall floater algebralien

PLEASE CORRECT ME IF IM WRONG BUT ASSUMING THIS IS WHERE THE ALGEBRALIENS COME FROM I THINK THIS IS THE FIRST TIME WEVE SEEN THIS???

HUGE WIN FOR NUMBER AUTISM

SOMETHING I JUST REALISED WHILE GOING FRAME BY FRAME FOR LAST IMAGE, MARKER. IS PURPLE HERE BUT THEN

YOU CAN SEE THE EFFECTS TAKING PLACE!!!!!

THATS AWESOME!!!!

these little shits are remind me of goo man from TPOT 11 (out of the blue)

looking back at goo man im not sure why

IM SO HAPPY THE VR HEADSET HOST FINALLY GOT USED

according to the awesome wiki

"The character was shown during the production of BFB. They may have been the original host of BFB, given the tweet description, but was replaced by Four and X.

Sometime after the VR Headset post was posted in jacknjellify's Twitter, Satomi clarified VR Headset was never meant to be a host or any sort of character, and was drawn simply because Michael thought they would be cool to draw."

HIIII PROFILEY... AWESOME TO SEE THEM BACK. REALLY COOL PARALELL HERE METHINKS BC THEYRE VOICED BY THE SAME GUY AS TWO :>

jumping around a bit. this was shown earlier and not expanded on untill the end. this. this drives me insane

thats ones equivilent of the fourest, it has a link to the equation playground I WAS RIGHT

very interesting its also plant based.

I CANNOT FIND . WHEN I WAS BLABBERING ABOUT THIS SO IT MUSTVE BEEN IN A VC. BUT I CALLED THIS. also barf bag literally my face when i saw this lollll

okkkk back to like the usual time

HI EVIL LEAFY HIIII IM SOOOO HAPPY SHE APPEARED. THIS DOESNT MEAN SHE ISNT LIKE DEAD AFTER IDFB BUT IM GLAD WE GOT TO SEE HER IN TPOT .. AND AS A HOST NO LESS!!

ID ALSO LIKE TO POINT OUT not sure if this is just startled or pin here being AFRAID for a second of EL

ABSOLUTELY HEARTBROKEN RF AND BB GOT OUT SAME TIME. HORRIBLE also neat they used the ending of the bfb intro here

X host.... imagine. life could be a dream

ok let me go over all the style stuff we see here also in order

(starting at the start of cake at stake (or cake at skate))

for the entire first half its just the usual TPOT style so i wont make a huge deal of that

Ean's part is also in TPOT

Pan Flute here's part is in the style of BFDIA specifically the newer episodes, figures, thats what hes from

EL's part is also in BFDIA style (with some very old assets behind), however id like to go over something else here

RIGHT BEFORE SHE APPEARS PIN GOES THROUGH SOME OF HER BFDIA ARC CHANGES. NEAT

also the music in the background here is "The Fiber" (thats what its called in the bfb ost release at least) WHICH IS ALSO THE SONG THAT PLAYS ENTIRELY THROUGHOUT BFDIA 5B!!!! AWESOME!!!!

GONNA BE HONEST NO IDEA WHAT STYLE THIS IS SUPPOSE TO BE... THE ANIMATION IS SUPER WEIRD AND DIFFERENT. it actually reminds me of how sacri animates her shows!!

hold on i need to make a new post i cant upload any more images

[magnagaruzenmon]

Stay Alive

The first part of heavy metal, and woo this is a doozy to start on…fuck you dino. Also happy new years. I hope you've been having fun with Daigo's holiday specials, because this is the last one for now

I just wanna thank @coldfanbou and @lustspren for writing cool stuff. No smut yet needed to world build hope that’s okay.

“Ah, come on, Daigo, it’ll be fun! Picture this: a three-day music festival entirely dedicated to girl groups. Some of your favorites—Dreamcatcher, Twice, Eunbi, and so many more! How could you say no to that?”

Jonas’s enthusiasm was infectious, but I wasn’t in the mood. I leaned back in my chair, rubbing the bridge of my nose. The chaos from recent riots at music festivals played on a loop in my mind—overcrowding, fights breaking out, people getting hurt. I’d seen it up close before, and I wasn’t eager to put myself in the middle of it again.

“I don’t know…” I hesitated, glancing at the stack of bills on my counter that never seemed to shrink. “It’s just—with all the violence lately, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Jonas let out an exaggerated sigh on the other end of the line. “Daigo, you’re killing me here. Look, I need someone I can trust for this gig. You’ve got experience, you’re good under pressure, and—let’s be real—you’re the biggest fangirl I know when it comes to these groups.”

I chuckled despite myself. “Fangirl? That’s rich coming from the guy who cried when LOONA disbanded.”

“That was different, and you know it!” Jonas shot back, feigning indignation. “Tell you what, though. You help me out this one time, and I’ll sweeten the deal: I’ll get you backstage access for your top three groups. You can say hi, do the whole meet-and-greet thing, and—” he paused for dramatic effect, “I’ll pay you double time.”

“Double time and a meet-and-greet?” I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “You must be desperate.”

“Desperate doesn’t even cover it,” Jonas admitted. “But I know you, Daigo. You’ll do it. You just need a little incentive.”

I leaned forward, considering his offer. The idea of meeting Dreamcatcher, Twice, and Eunbi backstage was tempting. Hell, it was more than tempting—it was a dream come true. But I wasn’t about to let him off easy.

“Okay,” I said, dragging the word out. “I’ll do it. But on one condition: you pay me in advance for the regular eight-hour shifts. When overtime inevitably hits—and we both know it will—you can pay me after.”

I expected him to balk, to try to negotiate or talk me down. Instead, Jonas practically shouted into the phone. “Fine! Deal!”

I sighed, shaking my head. “You’re way too excited about this. I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?”

“Only if you don’t bring something for your bias to sign!” Jonas teased, and before I could respond, he added, “I’ll send you the details. And, Daigo? Thanks, man. I owe you big time.”

As I hung up, I stared at my phone, torn between dread and anticipation. The job might be chaos, sure, but the thought of meeting my idols backstage was enough to nudge me into action. Maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t be so bad.

The first two days of the festival passed in a blur. I worked with Lightsum alongside a guy named Dinozen, a chill dude with a sharp sense of humor, and covered the super-secret IZ*ONE reunion stage with someone named Dexter, a no-nonsense guy who seemed to have everything under control. Unsurprisingly, the girls were all the sweetest. Chowon, Sakura, and Eunbi even signed my photocards, which was an experience I’d never forget.

Hyewon, though, surprised me. She noticed my Night of the Living Dead phone case while I was setting up security near the backstage area.

“Oh my God, is that Romero’s Night of the Living Dead?” she asked, her eyes lighting up as she leaned in closer to get a better look.

���Yeah,” I said, holding up the phone so she could see it better. “You’re a fan?”

“Are you kidding? I love zombie movies. Do you like Train to Busan?”

“Of course! A classic,” I replied, and we spent a few minutes geeking out about the genre before she got whisked away for rehearsals.

The last day of the festival was intense, to say the least. The lineup was packed: IVE, LE SSERAFIM, QWER, GFRIEND (yes, Eunha and Lil Uzi Vert were there), KISS OF LIFE, Dreamcatcher, and finally, Twice.

For the first two stages, Sakura, Chaewon, Yujin, and Wonyoung spotted me lingering around during the early morning soundchecks.

“Did you even sleep last night?” Wonyoung called out, grinning mischievously as she approached with the others in tow.

“Barely,” I admitted, stifling a yawn.

“You’re here earlier than us! Are you secretly a sasaeng?” Sakura teased, elbowing me lightly as the others burst into laughter.

“Yeah, what’s your bias list?” Chaewon added with mock suspicion, crossing her arms and squinting at me.

“Okay, first of all,” I said, holding up a finger, “I’m not a sasaeng. Second, I’m here working. You know, security?”

“Uh-huh. That’s what they all say,” Yujin quipped.

“Don’t worry, oppa, we’ll keep your secret,” Wonyoung said, winking.

“Oppa?!” I exclaimed, rolling my eyes at their antics. “You’re all impossible.”

Truth be told, I didn’t mind. Their teasing broke the ice, and by the end of their set, they were thanking me profusely for keeping everything running smoothly.

Later, I found myself working security for GFRIEND. Eunha caught me lingering backstage and decided to strike up a conversation.

“You’re awfully quiet for a security guy,” she said, tilting her head. “Do we intimidate you?”

“Not at all,” I said with a smirk. “I’m just professional. But since we’re chatting—big fan, by the way.”

Eunha grinned, leaning in slightly. “Oh? Do you have a favorite song?”

“‘Time for the Moon Night.’ No contest.”

“Good choice,” she said, clearly pleased. “You’ve got good taste. But…” She paused, her expression turning playful. “What’s your bias list for Twice?”

“You’re not getting that out of me,” I said, laughing.

“Oh, come on!” she said, punching my arm lightly before getting called away for rehearsal.

QWER was an entirely different vibe. From the moment they showed up, they were absolute chaos gremlins. Magenta spotted my Ultraman keychain dangling from my belt and let out a gasp loud enough to make heads turn.

“Is that Ultraman?!” she exclaimed, running over.

“Yeah. You a fan?”

“Am I a fan?!” she said, practically bouncing on her heels. “Ultraman Tiga is my favorite! What about you?”

We ended up on a massive tangent about tokusatsu, until Hina chimed in about Final Fantasy when I mentioned I love girls who can fight like Tifa from FFVII. “Tifa’s the best, hands down,” she said, crossing her arms as if daring anyone to argue.

“Agreed,” I said, nodding. “What’s your go-to build for her?”

“Oh, don’t get her started,” Chodan cut in, laughing. “But seriously, what’s your take on League of Legends?” After hearing me say someone was inting in the previous conversation.

That led to another rabbit hole of nerd talk, with Chodan grilling me about champs and strategies while Magenta playfully teased her for his “tryhard vibes.”

After their performance, Magenta pulled me aside. “Hey, if you want a job after this, come to Korea,” she said, a surprising seriousness in her tone. “I’m sure we can find a spot for you.”

I rolled my eyes, thinking it was just more teasing. “Yeah, sure. I’ll get right on that.”

“No, really,” she said, locking eyes with me. “Think about it. You’d fit in.”

Her sincerity caught me off guard, but before I could respond, she was already running off to join the others.

Sure! Here’s an expanded version of the scene with more dialogue and detail:

Dreamcatcher’s set was a whirlwind. They came in, stole the show with their energy and charisma, and left just as quickly. It was clear they were pros, used to the hectic schedule of being on tour. I barely had a chance to speak with them, but as I was walking backstage, Yoohyeon caught sight of my shirt peeking out from under my security uniform.

“Wait—is that a Kaiju No. 8 shirt?” she asked, pointing excitedly.

I froze, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. Big fan of the series.”

“Same here!” Yoohyeon said, her eyes lighting up. “Dami got me into it. Isn’t Kafka’s transformation just the coolest?”

Dami, standing nearby, smirked. “Yoohyeon keeps trying to get everyone in the group to read it.”

“It’s worth it!” Siyeon chimed in, adjusting her jacket. “But, seriously, where’d you get that shirt? I’ve been looking for merch everywhere.”

I laughed nervously. “Online. Limited drop, though, so it might be hard to find now.”

“Lucky,” Dami said, shaking her head. “Anyway, we’d better go. Tour schedule’s tight.”

They waved as they hurried out, leaving me feeling both starstruck and a little bummed that I didn’t have more time to talk to them.

As Dreamcatcher’s bus pulled away, Twice was arriving. Their energy was palpable even before they stepped out, fans screaming from behind the barricades as they made their way inside. I was checking the perimeter when I heard a familiar voice.

“You were at our LA concert a few years ago.”

I turned to see Dahyun, smiling warmly as she approached. For a second, I was stunned.

“Uh, yeah,” I stammered. “How did you remember that?”

Dahyun tilted her head, still smiling. “We don’t have many fans that look like…you, so I always try to remember their faces. Plus, you brought that light-up ring instead of our Candybong.”

I laughed, embarrassed but also flattered. “Yeah, the Candybong was sold out, so I improvised.”

“Well, it worked! We all thought it was cool.”

Before I could say anything else, the ground beneath us seemed to shift. setting everyone on edge.

“What was that?” someone whispered behind me.

And then the screams began.

From the crowd near the main stage, people started to thrash and convulse, their movements jerky and unnatural. Others began growling, their voices guttural and animalistic. The sight was surreal—like something out of a horror movie.

“Everyone, move!” I yelled, springing into action.

I turned to Dahyun and the rest of Twice. “Get to the evacuation buses. Now!”

They didn’t argue, following my lead as I herded them and the remaining girl groups backstage toward the buses. The screams and chaos grew louder as the infected began attacking others in the crowd, tearing into them with horrifying ferocity.

“Keep moving!” I shouted, adrenaline surging as I kept the idols together, forming a protective barrier between them and the chaos.

One by one, the groups boarded the buses. I stayed behind to make sure everyone was accounted for, scanning the area for any stragglers.

“Daigo, get on!” someone shouted from inside the last bus.

As I turned to board, a hand grabbed me, yanking me backward with incredible strength. The bus door shut just as I lost my footing.

The man who had grabbed me was no longer human. His eyes were bloodshot, black veins bulging across his face and neck like spiderwebs. He growled, the sound primal and terrifying, before lunging at me.

I struggled against him, barely managing to shove him off, but not before his teeth sank into my arm. Pain shot through me as I kicked him away, slamming a nearby door into his face before scrambling to my car.

Blood was dripping from my arm as I started the engine, my hands shaking. My phone buzzed with an emergency alert:

“EMERGENCY ALERT: FERAL RAGE VIRUS OUTBREAK IN LOS ANGELES. AVOID INFECTED INDIVIDUALS. IF BITTEN, SELF-ISOLATE IMMEDIATELY.”

A wave of dread washed over me as the words sank in. A zombie apocalypse—and I’d been bitten.

By the time I got home, I was running on autopilot. I found a note from my family on the kitchen counter:

“We evacuated. Stay safe. We love you.”

I smiled faintly, relieved that they had made it out, even as the reality of my situation settled in. I sat down on the couch, clutching my arm as I waited—waited for the inevitable.

But as the hours passed, nothing happened. No fever, no loss of control, no primal urge to attack. Just silence.

Something was wrong—or maybe something was right. Whatever it was, I wasn’t turning. At least, not yet. 28 weeks later

California had been decimated by the undead in a matter of days. The infection spread faster than anyone could have predicted, turning the Golden State into a graveyard of abandoned cities and roaming hordes of the infected. Military barricades crumbled, evacuation plans failed, and those who were lucky got out while they could. Planes were packed with desperate refugees, cars clogged the highways leading east, and boats left the coastlines overcrowded with those willing to risk open waters.

For me, leaving wasn’t an option.

I didn’t have the luxury of escape, not because I couldn’t find a way out, but because of the bite on my arm. By the time the infection reached its peak, there were no confirmed cases of immunity. A bite was a death sentence—or worse, an eternity as one of the infected. The thought of being trapped in that kind of existence kept me grounded, unwilling to risk spreading the infection to anyone else.

But something strange happened.

I didn’t turn.

Days turned into weeks, and then months. The black veins that had crawled up my arm after the attack faded away within hours, leaving only a faint scar where the infected’s teeth had punctured my skin. I waited for the fever to come, for the primal urges, for the hallucinations people had described before losing themselves. None of it happened.

In fact, the only time I got remotely sick was from a bad batch of shrimp I’d scavenged off an abandoned food truck near the Santa Monica pier.

At first, I thought maybe I was just a late bloomer, that the virus would eventually catch up to me and take over. I avoided people, avoided crowded safe zones, not wanting to risk spreading whatever was inside me. I spent most of my time moving quietly through the ruins of Los Angeles, scavenging supplies and avoiding the Zs as best I could.

The thing was, the Zs avoided me too.

It wasn’t immediate, but over time, I started noticing that they didn’t react to me the way they did to others. If I stayed still, they would stumble past as if I weren’t even there. If I walked into a horde, they would part like a school of fish around a predator.

It was unsettling at first, terrifying even, but I couldn’t deny the advantage it gave me. I became a ghost in the city, slipping through once-busy streets and long-abandoned suburbs. I didn’t need to hide anymore.

Whatever was inside me, whatever had stopped the virus from taking hold, had made me different.

And in a world where survival was everything, being different wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

At first, surviving felt like an achievement. I kept moving, kept scavenging, and avoided any unnecessary risks. But as the weeks bled into months, that sense of urgency faded, replaced by something else: boredom.

The excitement of sneaking through an abandoned city, the thrill of dodging Zs, even the satisfaction of finding a can of beans in the back of an overturned truck—it all started to feel routine. The days blurred together.

Wake up. Scavenge. Avoid Zs. Sleep.

For a while, I wandered aimlessly. I retraced old memories, revisiting places I’d once loved. The Santa Monica Pier, now eerily quiet except for the creak of its abandoned rides. Griffith Park, where the Hollywood sign still stood, a crumbling symbol of a bygone world. But eventually, even nostalgia wasn’t enough to fill the emptiness.

So I headed south.

San Diego seemed as good a place as any to settle. The Zs were thinner here, the population having fled or been wiped out in the first waves of the outbreak. The weather was mild, the ocean breeze cutting through the silence, and the naval base offered plenty of resources for the taking if I could get past the wreckage.

I found an old house in a quiet suburb, tucked away behind overgrown trees and hedges. It was small but sturdy, with thick walls and a decent vantage point from the second floor. The backyard had a rusted swing set, a reminder of the family that had once lived here.

Over time, I turned it into my safe haven.

The front door was reinforced with scrap metal I’d scavenged from a nearby junkyard. Windows were boarded up, and the second-floor balcony became my lookout point. I rigged up a crude rainwater collection system with a tarp and some old gutters and managed to get a small solar panel working, enough to power a single lightbulb and charge my radio.

I spent my days scavenging for supplies, fortifying the house, and exploring the surrounding neighborhoods. Grocery stores, gas stations, and even old military supply depots had been picked clean, but every once in a while, I’d find something useful—tools, canned food, medicine.

It was a life, I suppose.

But it was also mind-numbingly dull.

I tried to keep myself busy. I’d read old books I found in abandoned houses, patch holes in my clothes, and even attempted to learn how to cook properly with the limited ingredients I had. But there were only so many ways to make canned beans and rice interesting, and only so many times I could read Dune before the words started to blur together.

The worst part was the silence.

I used to think I hated noise—traffic jams, crowded malls, loud neighbors. But now, I would have given anything to hear another human voice, even just in passing. The only sounds were the distant groans of Zs, the wind rattling through broken windows, and the occasional creak of the house settling under its own weight.

Sometimes, I’d sit on the roof at night, staring at the stars and wondering if there was anyone else out there. Were there other people like me, survivors trying to rebuild? Or was I really the last one left, wandering through the ruins of the world?

Whatever the answer, one thing was clear: this life wasn’t sustainable.

I needed a purpose. Something to do, somewhere to go. Anything to break the monotony.

But until then, I kept moving through the same routine, day after day, wondering how long I could keep going before the boredom consumed me entirely.

Life alone in San Diego wasn’t just about surviving anymore—it was about mastering survival. The boredom had driven me to find ways to fill my days, and in doing so, I’d turned what was once a simple safe house into a fortress of modern conveniences.

The first breakthrough came with the solar panels. I’d stumbled across a half-abandoned solar farm about a mile from my safe house. It had been overrun with Zs, but they didn’t notice me as I worked my way through the facility, scavenging what I could. I started small, hauling back a single panel and an inverter to test if I could rig it up to charge my car battery. When that worked, I went back for more.

It took weeks of trial and error, piecing together wiring and jerry-rigging connections, but eventually, I had enough solar power to light my house, charge a working phone, and even run a small TV. The TV only played old DVDs I found in people’s basements or streaming content saved offline, but it was better than staring at the walls in silence.

Next, I tackled the water situation. Collecting rainwater was easy enough, but I wanted something more. I scavenged pipes, valves, and even an old water heater from a hardware store and figured out how to reroute collected water through the system. After several failed attempts—and one near-disaster involving a busted valve and a flooded basement—I managed to create a working setup. Hot water was a luxury I never thought I’d have again, but on cold nights, a hot shower made all the difference.

Siphoning gas was easier than I expected, though it came with risks. I learned to be fast and cautious, always checking my surroundings before sticking the hose into an abandoned car or truck. Over time, I built up a stockpile of fuel, which I stored in metal barrels I kept in the garage. The gas wasn’t just for the occasional use of my car but also for running a small generator when the solar panels didn’t get enough sunlight.

The freezers were my crowning achievement. I found a pair of them in a strip mall appliance store that had been untouched—probably because most people didn’t think about long-term food storage during the chaos of an apocalypse. Getting them back to my safe house was a nightmare involving a borrowed pickup truck, a makeshift ramp, and more muscle than I thought I had. But once I hooked them up to the solar grid, they became indispensable.

One freezer was stocked with frozen food I’d scavenged from long-abandoned grocery stores, still surprisingly edible thanks to the cold temperatures in the freezers I’d found them in. The other I filled with supplies I processed myself—vacuum-sealed meats, vegetables, and even some wild game I managed to hunt with a crossbow I’d picked up along the way.

Over time, I built up reserves that would have made a doomsday prepper jealous: shelves lined with canned goods, jars of pickled vegetables, packets of instant coffee, and more tools and spare parts than I’d probably ever need.

I even managed to get my hands on a working smartphone, though the lack of cell service meant it was little more than a glorified camera and notepad. Still, I found ways to make it useful, storing downloaded survival guides, maps of San Diego, and even the occasional audiobook.

It wasn’t the life I’d imagined for myself, but it was a life nonetheless.

Yet as I sat in my makeshift living room one evening, surrounded by the quiet hum of the solar-powered TV and the faint glow of LED lights, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the silence pressing down on me. I had everything I needed to survive and more, but I still felt the gnawing emptiness of isolation.

I’d conquered boredom with ingenuity, but what I couldn’t conquer was the longing for human connection. For someone to talk to, to laugh with, to share all these little victories with.

The sound of glass crunching underfoot woke me, followed by the unmistakable creak of the front door being pushed open. I sighed, sitting up and grabbing the mattock I kept leaned against my nightstand. Another break-in. It had been months since any zombies had even stumbled across my safe house, and I’d started to think I was truly alone out here.

Guess not.

Descending the stairs quietly, I prepared for the worst. My muscles tensed as I reached the ground floor, but when I rounded the corner into the living room, I froze at the sight of the intruders. They were surprisingly not undead.

A group of about ten people stood huddled together, illuminated by the dim glow of my solar-powered lights. Among them were familiar faces that stopped me dead in my tracks: Loona alum Hyeju, Twice’s Jeongyeon and Dahyun, Yunjin from Le Sserafim, Chodan from QWER, and Yena from IZ*ONE.

Their wide-eyed stares mirrored my own surprise, though for different reasons.

“You know,” I said, breaking the silence and hefting the mattock onto my shoulder, “you could have just knocked.”

The group flinched slightly, but Dahyun and Chodan were the first to recover.

“Daigo?” they said in unison, their voices filled with disbelief.

I nodded, leaning the mattock against the wall. “The one and only. Now,” I said, gesturing toward the group, “how can I help you survivors out?”

Dahyun stepped forward, her face a mix of relief and confusion. “We didn’t think… I mean, we heard rumors that someone was living out here, but we didn’t expect it to be you.”

“Well, here I am,” I said, crossing my arms. “Looking exactly like I did last time you saw me, minus the security guard uniform.”

Chodan laughed, though it was more from nerves than humor. “Leave it to Daigo to survive the apocalypse and somehow look like he’s thriving.”

“I’ve had some practice,” I replied, motioning toward the group. “Now, you all look like you’ve been through hell. Sit down, and let’s figure out what you need.”

Hyeju finally spoke up, her voice quiet but firm. “We’re out of options. Supplies are running low, and we’ve been moving nonstop for weeks. We need food, shelter—anything you can spare.”

Yunjin, standing close to Hyeju, added, “We didn’t mean to break in. We thought this place was abandoned.”

I raised an eyebrow, glancing at the reinforced door now hanging slightly ajar. “Does this look abandoned to you? The lights didn’t give it away?”

Yena chimed in, her tone apologetic. “In our defense, we’ve seen plenty of powered-up places that were overrun. We didn’t want to take any chances.”

“Fair enough,” I said, letting out a breath. “Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous today. Follow me.”

I led the group into the dining room, which I’d converted into a makeshift supply depot. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with canned goods, first aid supplies, and neatly folded clothes. Two freezers hummed quietly in the corner, a rare sound in the apocalypse.

“Holy crap,” Jeongyeon whispered, her eyes scanning the room. “You’ve got more here than most of the settlements we’ve passed through.”

“Like I said,” I replied, opening one of the freezers to reveal vacuum-sealed packages of meat and frozen vegetables, “I’ve had practice. Take what you need, but don’t get greedy. This isn’t a charity.”

The group quickly got to work organizing supplies, redistributing their belongings, and planning what they needed most. Meanwhile, Dahyun lingered near me, her expression unreadable.

“You really made it out here on your own,” she said softly, her voice tinged with disbelief and something close to admiration. “I thought… I thought you might’ve been gone, like everyone else.”

“Would’ve been,” I replied with a small, wry smile, “but I got bit. Bright side? Didn’t turn.”

Her brows furrowed slightly as she digested that information. “You’re immune?”

“Guess so. Though it wasn’t a walk in the park,” I admitted. “But what about you? Didn’t expect to see you out here.”

Dahyun shrugged, her gaze dropping to the floor. “We’ve been running since day one. Some of us made it; others didn’t. It’s been… rough.”

I nodded, understanding more than I wanted to. “I can imagine. Well, you’re safe here for now. Take a breather. You’ve earned it.”

The tension in her shoulders eased slightly, and she gave me a small, grateful smile before joining the others.

For the first time in months, my house felt alive. Voices filled the air as the group settled in, sharing stories and laughter over the first real meal they’d had in days. They were hesitant at first, like the silence of survival had been ingrained into their instincts. But as the night went on, the weight on their shoulders seemed to lift, even if only temporarily.

After everyone had eaten and showered, Chodan approached me, her sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on me.

“You know,” she began, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, “you’re living like a king here. You could easily take your talents to a settlement and help a lot of people.”

I sighed, setting my water bottle down and rolling up my sleeve to show her the faint remnants of my bite mark.

“I’m infected. Can’t really risk being around people. I could turn at any moment.”

Chodan raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a smirk. “Really?” she said, before lifting her shirt just enough to reveal a faint scar near her side.

My brain short-circuited for a moment. It had been months since I’d seen anyone this close, let alone someone this… distracting. I quickly looked away, feeling the heat rise in my face.

“Relax, caveman,” she teased, lowering her shirt. “Just showing you my bite mark. I got bit three weeks ago. The gestation period is supposed to be 48 hours max, and yet… here I am. Still human. So, either we’re both lucky, or we’re both immune. Oh, and by the way,” she added with a mischievous grin, “Dahyun got bit too. Day before yesterday.”

“Wait, what?” I blinked, looking over at Dahyun, who was now watching us with a sheepish expression.

“It’s true,” Dahyun admitted, stepping closer. “I was afraid to say anything at first, but… then I collapsed. As you can see i got better.”

I nodded slowly, piecing it together. “Well, I got bit 28 weeks ago—so I guess I’m either immune or just incredibly unlucky.”

Chodan’s eyebrows shot up. “Twenty-eight weeks? That’s… day zero.”

I nodded again. “Yeah. It happened during the initial outbreak.”

Her expression shifted, a mix of curiosity and intrigue. “Did you hear anything on the first day? There were reports of a high-pitched whine right before people started turning.”

I frowned, thinking back. “Nope. Didn’t hear a thing.”

Chodan’s eyes widened. “Oh. Then you’re truly immune.”

I squinted at her, confused. “What do you mean?”

She leaned closer, lowering her voice as if delivering a secret. “The virus can’t infect you at all. If you didn’t hear the sound, it means your body isn’t affected by the signal it sends. You can’t turn, period.”

“But,” I interjected, “when I got bit, my veins turned black.”

“Did you have any other symptoms? Fever? Rage? Loss of consciousness?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Nope. Nothing.”

“That’s what I thought,” Chodan said, standing upright again. “You’re not a regular immune, though. You’re not a Slayer either.”

“Wait—Slayer?” I asked, now thoroughly confused.

Hyeju, who had been quietly observing, chimed in. “Slayers are people who’ve had the virus evolve them instead of killing or turning them. We’re stronger, faster… better, basically.”

I glanced around at the group, now realizing the mix of reactions on their faces. “Wait—you’re all Slayers?”

Chodan grinned. “Me, Hyeju, and Dahyun, yeah.”

“Oh, thanks for explaining it so thoroughly, Hyeju,” I said, shooting her a grateful look.

Hyeju smiled sweetly. “You’re welcome, Daigo. Oh, and thanks for the food.”

“You’re very welcome,” I replied, shaking my head. Of course, my safe house had gone from a sanctuary to a den of superpowered survivors in less than a day.

After the group had cleaned themselves up and prepared to leave, I directed them to the vehicles scattered throughout the neighborhood.

“They should still be working,” I explained, gesturing to the trucks and sedans.

The group looked at me in surprise. “Wait, you’ve been keeping all these in working condition?” Dahyun asked, her eyebrows raised.

I shook my head. “Not exactly. I haven’t repaired them or anything major, but I’ve kept the batteries charged, fluids topped up, and tires inflated. Basic upkeep,” I said with a shrug.

A few of them smiled as they hopped into the trucks. The group packed quickly, clearly practiced in loading supplies efficiently, though their movements carried the exhaustion of constant survival.

As the last of the supplies were loaded, Chodan and Dahyun approached me. They exchanged a glance before Dahyun stepped forward, her voice almost pleading.

“Please come with us,” she said.

Chodan chimed in, her tone more assertive. “We kind of need someone like you.”

I raised an eyebrow, leaning casually on my mattock. “You need a socially awkward hothead?”

Chodan laughed, but Dahyun shook her head, her expression serious. “No. A leader.”

I blinked, caught off guard by her sincerity. My gut reaction was to brush it off, but something in her tone gave me pause. I mulled it over for a moment before sighing. “Sure. Why not?”

The group let out a collective breath of relief, and I found myself helping them secure the last of their supplies before climbing into my car and following their convoy.

When we arrived at their settlement near the military base, my optimism took a nosedive. The place was barely holding together. Makeshift walls surrounded a cluster of tents and scavenged buildings. People wandered the grounds with hollow eyes, looking malnourished and weary.

“Jeez,” I muttered under my breath. “This is what you’re working with?”

As we parked, Eunha stood with a young man near the entrance. They were holding hands, their expressions tinged with equal parts hope and surprise as they saw the trucks pull in.

Yunjin jumped out of one of the vehicles, her voice ringing with triumph. “We got food! And water!”

The settlement erupted into cheers, a wave of relief sweeping over the ragged residents.

I, however, was less than impressed. “Wait, wait, wait,” I called out, holding up a hand. “You have access to water, energy, and military-grade weapons, and yet you look like you’re on the brink of starvation?”

The young man was the first to respond, his voice heavy with frustration. “The base proper is overrun. If you’re so eager to fix it, be my guest.”

I turned to the group, stunned. “So you’re telling me you haven’t even secured the base?”

The residents nodded sheepishly. I groaned, rubbing my temples. Without a word, I popped the trunk of my car and began pulling out weapons: a pair of customized gauntlets and boots I’d tinkered with during my long months alone.

“What are you doing?” one of the settlers asked nervously.

I sighed, strapping on the gear. “Making sure you all don’t die,” I muttered.

Before I could head toward the base, Chodan and Dahyun stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

“You can’t go in there,” Chodan said firmly. “There are rippers and changers inside.”

I froze, the names sparking a connection in my mind. Rippers—zombies with bladed arms capable of slicing through steel—and changers—fast, intelligent zombies that evolved in real time. Apex predators in a world of monsters.

“Are there whippers and spitters?” I asked, scanning the group for confirmation.

Everyone looked at me blankly. “What?” Chodan asked.

“Big zombies that spew acid, napalm, or spikes,” I clarified. “Or ones with long tongues that whip around like grappling hooks?”

Chodan and Dahyun exchanged a glance before shaking their heads. “No. None of that,” Dahyun said.

I gave them a thumbs-up. “Great. Then I’m going in, pummeling anything that moves and isn’t human, and we’ll secure the base so we can all stop living in this mess.”

I started toward the base, but Chodan stepped closer—so close I could feel her breath on my chest. My heart stuttered for a moment, and I cursed my brain for its caveman reaction.

“Daigo,” she said, her voice low and urgent. “You can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “For how I fight? Not really. Besides, as long as I follow the first rule of zombie apocalypses, I’ll be fine.”

The group stared at me, confused. “What’s that?” Dahyun finally asked.

I grinned. “Be smart, not scared.”

Without another word, I climbed the fence.

Before I could take another step, Chodan effortlessly vaulted over the fence after me in a single, graceful bound. I looked at her and realized she could easily fend off whatever was in there.

Chodan smirked, falling into step beside me. “You’re going to need me in there,” she said.

I glanced at her, then back at the base. “Guess we’ll see.”

We walked in with weapons raised, every sense heightened as we approached the entrance to the base. The stench of rot and decay hit us like a wall, the ground littered with body parts and unidentifiable chunks of flesh. The once-pristine military structure was now a grotesque tableau of death. Every step squelched against blood-soaked concrete, a grim reminder of what waited for us inside.

The first zombie to spot us let out a guttural screech, its twisted body lurching forward at an unnatural speed. Its milky-white eyes locked onto me as it sprinted, claws outstretched. I snapped my fingers, and flames erupted from my gauntlets and boots, wrapping around them like living entities.

With a single step forward, I swung my fist. The punch connected with the zombie's head, obliterating it in an instant. The headless body collapsed to the floor in a heap, twitching violently before going still.

I glanced over at Chodan, who raised an eyebrow in surprise, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Not bad,” she said, her tone impressed but still teasing.

I shrugged, brushing off her compliment. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Over the next few minutes, more zombies emerged from the shadows, drawn by the noise and the scent of fresh prey. Five of them charged at me in quick succession. I moved through them with a fiery ferocity, each punch igniting their decaying flesh. With every strike, I could feel the heat coursing through my body, the fire making short work of the infected.

Just as I finished off the last one, I turned to see Chodan spring into action. She unsheathed a short katana—I think it’s called a wakizashi or something like that—and moved with a lethal grace that was mesmerizing. Each slice of her blade was precise, every motion deliberate.

She ducked and spun, her strikes fluid and elegant as she danced through the undead. Her blade flashed in the dim light, leaving trails of crimson in the air. Within moments, the horde around her lay in pieces. It wasn’t just impressive—it was downright sexy. (What can I say? I like women who can fight, and after six months of isolation, watching Chodan in action was… distracting, to say the least.)

Together, we made our way deeper into the base, clearing out every corridor, room, and hallway we came across. Along the way, we gathered access cards and files, carefully choosing the ones that weren’t completely soaked in blood or viscera. Mapping out the base was crucial if we wanted to make it a safe haven.

Two grueling hours later, we emerged from the base, our task for the day complete.

The camp was waiting for us when we returned. Their faces lit up in shock and awe at the sight of us alive and—well, mostly intact. Thanks to the fiery nature of my weapons, I was relatively clean, save for a few smudges of soot. Chodan, on the other hand, looked like she’d walked straight out of Kill Bill. Her clothes were drenched in blood, and her katana was dripping crimson.

The group stared for a moment before breaking into cheers. Their joy was infectious, and I found myself smiling despite the exhaustion.

Over the next two weeks, the slayers and I worked tirelessly to clear the rest of the base. The deeper sections were overrun, and each encounter with the infected felt like a battle against time and attrition. We couldn’t risk leaving a single zombie behind, knowing even one could cause a mini-outbreak once the camp moved in.

During this time, we also worked to fully map out the base, identifying areas that could be repurposed for agriculture, water purification, and living quarters. One of the larger open-air courtyards became the designated zone for growing vegetables and fruits, a necessary counterbalance to the endless supply of fish we’d soon be consuming.

By the end of the second week, we had restored power to the base and set up a desalination system to provide fresh water. The once-derelict military base was beginning to transform into a functional, self-sufficient community. By the end of the month, we had fortified the perimeter, secured resources, and established a sustainable living environment that could endure the apocalypse indefinitely.

Yet, despite our progress, I couldn’t shake the restless feeling gnawing at the back of my mind.

Sensing this, Yunjin and Hyeju decided to lift everyone’s spirits by organizing a celebration. The party was small but lively, with music, laughter, and a rare sense of warmth filling the air. People danced and shared stories, the weight of survival temporarily forgotten.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt connected—to them, to this place, and maybe even to something greater than myself.

The celebration was in full swing by the time I made my way to the center of the courtyard. Lanterns we’d scavenged from the base cast a warm glow over the party, and the air buzzed with a mix of laughter, music, and the clinking of makeshift cups. For the first time in months, the weight of the apocalypse seemed to lift, even if only temporarily.

I leaned against a crate of supplies, enjoying the scene as I nursed a glass of something Yunjin had proudly labeled “party punch.” (It tasted like motor oil with a hint of lemon, but hey, it was the thought that counted.)

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Dahyun making her way toward me. Her smile was soft, and there was something unspoken in her eyes. “Hey,” she said, holding up her cup as she leaned against the crate beside me.

“Hey,” I replied, offering a small smile.

“I was just thinking,” she began, “none of this would’ve been possible without you. Clearing the base, organizing everything—you’ve done more in a few weeks than we’ve managed in months.”

I shrugged, trying to downplay it. “It’s not like I did it alone. You all worked just as hard.”

She shook her head, her expression earnest. “Don’t sell yourself short, Daigo. You brought people together. That’s not something everyone can do.”

Before I could respond, Chodan appeared on my other side, seemingly out of nowhere. She slid in smoothly, her confident smirk firmly in place. “Are we talking about how great Daigo is? Because I’ve got a list.”

I blinked, caught off guard by her sudden arrival. Dahyun stiffened beside me, her relaxed posture shifting as her grip tightened on her cup.

“Didn’t realize I had a fan club,” I joked, trying to ease the tension.

Chodan ignored me, her gaze focused on Dahyun. “You’re right, though,” she said, her tone just a little too pointed. “Daigo’s been a real asset. Honestly, I don’t know how we managed without him.”

“Guess you’ll have to start getting used to it,” Dahyun replied, her smile polite but strained. “It’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

Chodan tilted her head, her smirk widening. “Oh, I don’t know. He might decide to come on a few missions with me. You know, something more exciting than farming and base maintenance.”

“Farming is exciting when it’s keeping people alive,” Dahyun shot back, her voice calm but firm. “Not everyone needs to play the hero to make a difference.”

I glanced between the two of them, sensing the subtle sparks flying. “Uh, you guys okay?” I asked, trying to break the tension.

“Perfectly fine,” Dahyun said quickly, taking a sip of her drink.

“Just fine,” Chodan echoed, crossing her arms as she leaned closer to me. “Speaking of heroes, Daigo, you’ve got to tell me how you learned to fight like that. I’ve never seen anyone take on a group of zombies the way you did.”

Dahyun raised an eyebrow. “It’s not all about fighting. He’s got other skills too, like keeping the base running and making sure we don’t starve. That’s just as important.”

“Of course,” Chodan replied smoothly, her tone dripping with faux agreement. “But let’s be real—there’s no base to run if you can’t keep it safe.” She turned to me, her expression playful but loaded. “Right, Daigo?”

I felt like a deer caught in headlights. “Uh… I mean, both are important?”

Dahyun rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in her expression now. “Nice save,” she said, bumping her shoulder lightly against mine.

Chodan laughed, the tension easing slightly. “Guess that’s why he’s the leader, huh?”

The three of us stood there for a moment, the awkwardness lingering but not entirely unpleasant. As the party carried on around us, I couldn’t help but feel a little flattered, even if the attention was overwhelming.

Yunjin’s voice cut through the noise, calling everyone to the center for a toast. I used the opportunity to excuse myself, slipping away from the growing crowd and finding a quieter corner to breathe.

As I leaned against the wall, I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. The apocalypse sure had a funny way of complicating things.

The camp had grown exponentially since we first cleared the base. Word spread fast, and survivors from across the region trickled in, desperate for safety and stability. Among the newcomers were two slayers: Hyewon, a quiet yet sharp-eyed scout from a decimated group, and Tsuki, a high-energy fighter with a knack for unconventional tactics.

Their arrival was a turning point.

I was inspecting the desalination system one morning when Hyewon approached me, her movements were measured but purposeful. She didn’t say much at first—just hovered nearby, watching as I adjusted a valve. Finally, she spoke.

“You really run this place?” she asked, her tone neutral but her eyes cautious.

“I guess so,” I replied with a shrug. “Not much of a title, but I try to keep things running smoothly.”

She nodded, her expression softening slightly. “You treat slayers… differently.”

“Differently how?”

“Like people,” she said simply. “My last group didn’t.”

Before I could respond, Tsuki bounded up, her energy a stark contrast to Hyewon’s reserved demeanor.

“This place is amazing!” she exclaimed, practically bouncing on her heels. “Food, water, even showers! And no one’s looking at us like we’re monsters.” She paused, giving me a wide grin. “You’re the boss, right?”

“I wouldn’t call myself that,” I said, standing up and wiping my hands on a rag. “But I try to keep everyone alive.”

“Well, count me in!” Tsuki declared, sticking out her hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Hyewon, still standing a few feet away, added quietly, “Me neither.”

At first, their attachment was subtle. Hyewon would shadow me during supply runs, her sharp eyes scanning for threats. Tsuki, on the other hand, was more overt, always offering to help with repairs or sparring with other slayers under my supervision.

But as more survivors arrived, the camp’s dynamics began to shift. With new faces came new opinions—and new power struggles.

One evening, after a long day of clearing more space in the base for new arrivals, a meeting was called in the main hall. It was supposed to be a discussion about resource management, but it quickly spiraled into a debate over leadership.

“Daigo’s done a great job, but we need more structure,” a man named Mark, one of the newer arrivals, said. “We can’t just rely on one person’s decisions.”

“I agree,” chimed in Lisa, a former teacher who’d quickly become a voice for the non-slayer survivors. “We should have a council or something. It’s too risky to have all the power in one person’s hands.”

“I don’t think he’s been abusing it,” Dahyun countered, her voice calm but firm.

Mark shot her a look. “That’s not the point. The camp’s grown too big for one person to handle.”

Before I could speak, Tsuki jumped to her feet.

“Are you kidding me?” she said, her voice rising. “Daigo’s the reason this place isn’t a pile of ash. If it weren’t for him, half of you wouldn’t even be here!”

Hyewon, still seated, added quietly but pointedly, “He treats slayers like equals. That’s more than I can say for most of you.”

The room grew tense, the divide between slayers and non-slayers suddenly glaring.

“I’m not saying we don’t appreciate him,” Mark said, his tone defensive. “But this camp belongs to all of us, not just the slayers.”

“And yet you’re here because of us,” Chodan interjected, standing next to Dahyun. “You think you’d survive a day out there without us?”

The argument grew louder, voices overlapping as the group fractured into factions. Some sided with Mark and Lisa, calling for more democratic leadership. Others, particularly the slayers, stood by me, pointing out the unique challenges we faced in keeping everyone alive.

I raised my hand, and slowly the room quieted.

“Enough,” I said, my voice firm but not angry. “This isn’t about me, or anyone else. It’s about survival. We can figure out the leadership structure later. Right now, we focus on what matters: keeping this camp safe and functional.”

The room was silent for a moment, then Lisa spoke up. “Fair enough. But this conversation isn’t over.”

She and Mark left the hall, and slowly, others followed, leaving only the slayers and a few loyal survivors. Tsuki crossed her arms, glaring at the door.

“They don’t get it,” she muttered.

“They’re scared,” I said, leaning against the table. “Can’t blame them for that.”

Hyewon stood, her gaze steady. “You’re too nice, Daigo. But that’s why we trust you.”

Chodan nodded, and even Dahyun offered a rare smile.

As the others filed out, I sat alone in the hall for a while, the weight of the growing camp pressing down on me. Leadership wasn’t something I’d ever asked for, but it seemed I didn’t have much of a choice.

Later that night I found myself struggling to sleep. My quarters were as simple as it got: a small bed with a lumpy mattress, a desk buried under maps and scavenged files, and a single lamp casting just enough light to keep the darkness at bay. After the day I’d had, all I wanted was to pass out. But sleep wasn’t coming easily. Too many faces were swimming in my head—worried faces, hopeful faces, faces looking to me for answers.

I was lying there, staring at the ceiling, when a soft knock came at the door.

“It’s open,” I called, too tired to sit up.

The door creaked open, and I glanced over to see Chodan stepping inside. She looked calm, but I knew her well enough by now to notice the subtle tension in her posture.

“Hey,” she said, closing the door behind her. “Figured you’d still be awake.”

“Barely,” I muttered, letting my head fall back onto the pillow. “What’s up?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she walked over to the bed and knelt down beside me. Before I could ask what she was doing, I felt her hands on my shoulders.

“What are you—”

“You’re tense,” she interrupted, already working at the knots in my muscles. “Let me help.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come. Her hands were strong, and as much as I wanted to protest, I couldn’t deny it felt good. So I just sighed and let her work, the tension slowly melting away.

“You’ve got your hands full,” she said after a while, her tone light. “Especially with your little ducklings.”

“My what now?” I asked, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye.

“Hyewon and Tsuki,” she said with a smirk. “They’ve imprinted on you like a couple of baby ducks.”

I groaned, rolling my eyes. “They’re not ducklings. They’re just… adjusting.”

“Adjusting to following you around like lost puppies?” she teased. “You can’t take two steps without one of them popping up to ask if you need anything.”

“They’re slayers,” I said defensively. “They’ve been through hell. Of course they’re going to stick close to someone who treats them with basic respect.”

Chodan’s smirk softened into something more thoughtful. “And that’s exactly why they follow you, you know. Most people don’t look at us the way you do.”

“The way I do?”

“Like we’re just people,” she said quietly. “Not monsters. Not weapons. Just… people.”

I was silent for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. “Because you are just people,” I said finally. “You didn’t ask for this any more than the rest of us asked for zombies. You’re just trying to survive like everyone else.”

Chodan’s hands stilled on my shoulders, and when I looked over, her expression was softer than I’d ever seen it.

“That’s not how everyone sees it,” she said. “Since more survivors started showing up, Dahyun and I… we’ve felt it. The whispers, the stares. It’s like we don’t belong here anymore. Like we’re dangerous.”

I sat up, brushing her hands aside so I could look her in the eye. “You belong here,” I said firmly. “Both of you. I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

She studied me for a long moment, then smiled—a small, genuine smile that made her look younger, almost vulnerable. “You’re a strange guy, Daigo,” she said. “But I think that’s why people follow you. Even when they don’t agree with you, they trust you.”

I chuckled, leaning back against the wall. “Strange, huh? I’ll take it.”

Chodan tilted her head, her smile turning sly again. “You know, you’ve done more than any of us. You’re not a slayer, but you’ve taken down more zombies than all of us combined. And you’re immune on top of that. It’s like you’re something else entirely.”

“Just a guy with a lot of stubbornness and a decent punch,” I said with a shrug.

She shook her head. “No, you’re more than that. You’ve earned a title.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A title?”

She nodded, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Yeah. From now on, you’re ‘The Vanquisher.’”

I laughed, shaking my head. “The Vanquisher? That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” she said with a grin. “But it fits. You’re the guy who doesn’t back down, no matter what’s in front of you. And you’ve given all of us hope. You deserve it.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. Finally, I managed, “Thanks, Chodan. That… means a lot.”

She stood, stretching and giving me one last playful look. “Get some rest, Vanquisher. Tomorrow’s another busy day.”

As she left the room, I lay back down, the weight on my chest feeling a little lighter. For the first time in weeks, I drifted off to sleep with a small smile on my face.

The door to my quarters closed softly behind Chodan, but her teasing smirk lingered in my mind as I lay back down. Her parting remark about my “little ducklings” had been a low blow. She wasn’t wrong, though. Tsuki and Hyewon had latched onto me like lost kids, which wasn’t a problem—until you factored in Chodan and Dahyun, who had both been… friendlier lately.

I didn’t know what to make of it. They were strong, capable women, and maybe I was imagining things, but their lingering glances and playful jabs felt like more than camaraderie. It was something I’d need to ask them about. Tomorrow, I decided.

Only tomorrow didn’t start the way I planned.

The yelling pulled me from a restless sleep. I threw on my boots and stepped out into the chilly morning air to find Gil, Eunha’s boyfriend, squaring off with one of Martin’s goons.

“You left her to die!” Gil snarled, shoving the guy hard enough that he stumbled.

Martin’s man pushed back, and before things escalated further, I stepped between them. “What’s going on here?”

Gil’s chest was heaving, his hands clenched into fists. “Eunha’s out there, Daigo. Alone. She got bit because of them!”

Martin sauntered up, wearing his usual smug expression. “It’s simple,” he said, shrugging like this wasn’t life and death. “She wasn’t cut out for supply runs. Not my problem.”

For a second, I was too stunned to respond. I glanced back at Gil, who looked ready to explode, and said the only thing I could. “Let’s go get her.”

The commotion had drawn a crowd. Lisa’s group, always eager for drama, arrived first. Mark wasn’t far behind, his posse trailing like shadows.

“What’s going on?” Lisa asked, her tone sharp.

“This crazy bastard is going to help that lovesick idiot find his zombie girlfriend,” Martin sneered.

I ignored him, turning instead to Chodan and Dahyun, who had pushed their way through the growing throng. I handed them the site keycards without a word. If something happened to me, they’d keep the camp together.

Before I could leave, Tsuki and Hyewon appeared, weapons already strapped on.

“We’re coming with you,” Tsuki said, her tone resolute.

I sighed but didn’t argue. It wasn’t worth the fight. The four of us set out, Gil fuming silently at my side while Hyewon and Tsuki kept pace behind us.

Once we were out of earshot of the camp, my frustration boiled over.

“Those idiots are going to get everyone killed,” I growled, my voice low but seething.

Gil, Tsuki, and Hyewon stopped in their tracks, stunned.

“They’re so caught up in their fear and egos that they’re making stupid choices,” I continued, pacing now. “And when they screw up, people die. Or worse, they turn into slayers.”

Gil looked at me, shocked. “I… I didn’t realize…”

I stopped and pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to keep my temper in check. “It’s not your fault, Gil. You’re good. They’re the ones twisting everything. These supply runs? They’re not about survival. They’re about power. Credibility. They’re trying to build themselves up while tearing the rest of us down.”

The others didn’t reply, their silence heavy. We reached the edge of the horde soon after. Eunha was there, fighting for her life, her movements erratic but fierce.

I whistled, drawing the zombies’ attention away from her. “Let’s get her out of this mess.”

When we returned to the camp, Eunha was barely conscious. Her slayer transformation was starting, and it wasn’t going to be pleasant. I sent Gil to the infirmary with her while I headed back toward the center of camp.

That’s when I saw them—a new group of survivors, all slayers. And among them, three familiar faces: Momo Hirai, Sana Minatozaki, and Mina Myoui.

Dahyun’s cry of joy echoed through the air as she ran to embrace her friends. The reunion was heartwarming, but it didn’t last long. Lisa, Mark, and Martin arrived like clockwork, their expressions darkening the moment they spotted the new arrivals.

“Who are they?” Lisa demanded, her voice like a whip crack.

Sana stepped forward, her radiant smile disarming. “We’re survivors, just like you. And we’re slayers. We can help.”

The word “slayers” hit like a bomb. I watched as Lisa’s face twisted in disgust, while Mark and Martin exchanged uneasy glances.

“No,” Lisa said, her voice dripping with venom. “We have enough slayers already.”

Something inside me snapped.

I stepped forward, my presence enough to silence the crowd. “I am sick and tired of your bullshit,” I said, my voice low and measured, every word cutting like a blade.

The tension in the air was palpable as I continued, “We’re all just trying to survive, and you three are doing the absolute most while somehow doing the least. You put people in danger, then leave them for dead. Why? For what? Por qué? 무어?”

Lisa, to her credit, didn’t back down. “You protect these freaks because two of them are your paramours,” she spat.

The camp went deathly quiet. My vision blurred at the edges as my anger surged. For a brief moment, I felt something—something primal, something dark—stir within me.

I stepped closer to Lisa, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Do you know what the Black Rage is?”

She hesitated, but her defiance didn’t waver. “No.”

I leaned in, my gaze locked on hers. “It’s from Warhammer 40k. There’s a militia cursed with it because their leader, Sanguinius, sacrificed himself to save the galaxy. It’s a state of murderous blind rage that festers in the soul, brought out under massive stress. Your words, Lisa, are pushing me there.”

She paled but didn’t respond.

I straightened, addressing the entire camp now. “If you don’t want slayers here, you can leave. But while I’m leading this settlement, you will treat them with respect and dignity. Am I clear?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Finally, Lisa turned and stormed off, Mark and Martin trailing behind her.

As I looked back at the camp, my eyes met Sana’s. She smiled softly, a look of gratitude and understanding that made the tension in my chest ease just a little.

Scene: “The Breaking Point” (Revised Ending)

The silence was unbearable as Lisa stormed off, Mark and Martin following behind like shadows. I exhaled deeply, trying to steady my racing heart. The crowd began to disperse, though I could feel their eyes on me—some wide with awe, others wary, as if they’d seen something they couldn’t quite explain.

My knuckles ached. I looked down and realized my fists were clenched so tightly they’d gone white. Slowly, I loosened them, flexing my fingers as I willed the anger to fade.

That’s when I heard it—a whisper, faint but undeniable.

“Daigo?”

I turned to see Tsuki and Hyewon standing nearby, both looking more shaken than I’d ever seen them. Tsuki’s usual bubbly demeanor was gone, replaced by an unease that didn’t suit her. Hyewon seemed like she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice rougher than I intended.

The two exchanged glances before Tsuki stepped forward hesitantly. “Your eyes…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

“What about them?” I asked, frowning.

“They… changed,” she said. “For a second, they weren’t… normal.”

Hyewon nodded, adding softly, “And we heard something.”

“What do you mean, something?” I asked, feeling a knot form in my stomach.

“It was like… a crack,” Tsuki said, her hands gesturing as if she could grasp the sound. “Not outside. Inside you. Like something broke open.”

I stared at them, my mind racing. A part of me wanted to brush it off, to say they were imagining things. But the way they looked at me—half in awe, half in fear—told me they weren’t exaggerating.

“I don’t know what you think you saw or heard,” I said finally, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me. “But I’m fine.”

Tsuki frowned, stepping closer. “Are you? Because I don’t think anyone else could have stood up to Lisa like that. Or said what you did.”

Hyewon nodded again, her voice gaining strength. “You didn’t just talk to them, Daigo. You commanded them. It was… different.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I’m just tired of their crap, that’s all.”

“But it’s more than that,” Tsuki pressed. “You don’t act like the rest of us. You don’t feel like the rest of us. Even the slayers here—none of us have done what you’ve done. It’s like…” She hesitated, searching for the right words.

“Like what?” I asked, my patience wearing thin.

“Like you’re something else,” she said, meeting my eyes with a mixture of curiosity and reverence.

Hyewon nodded one last time, her expression solemn. “Something more.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. I didn’t know how to respond, so I didn’t. Instead, I turned and walked away, their voices echoing in my mind.

Scene: “Something More” (Expanded)

Something more.

The words lingered in my head like an echo, an itch I couldn’t scratch. As I made my way back to my quarters, exhaustion hit me like a freight train. My legs gave out beneath me, and the world went dark.

When I came to, the sterile smell of the infirmary greeted me. My body ached in ways I couldn’t describe. The faint hum of machinery filled the air, and the soft glow of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

A familiar voice pulled me back to reality. “Well, you did turn,” the nurse said, her smile a mix of wariness and curiosity.

I frowned, propping myself up on the thin cot. “I’m immune,” I replied, my voice gravelly.

The nurse raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into an almost playful smirk. “Didn’t say normal,” she retorted.

She moved to the counter and grabbed a set of charts and X-rays, holding them up for me to see. “Take a look at this.”

The first X-ray showed something alien—a massive growth in my chest, a twisted knot of tissue that seemed to intertwine with every major organ. My stomach churned just looking at it.

“What the hell is that?” I asked, the unease creeping into my voice.

“That,” the nurse said, flipping to the next image, “was in your chest.”

I blinked. The second X-ray was… different. The growth was gone. In its place was something just as bizarre: a second heart, perfectly formed and sitting comfortably next to the first.

I stared at the images, my mind struggling to process what I was seeing. “How?” was all I managed to say.

The nurse set the charts down and folded her arms. “When you were exposed to the necrophage virus, your body didn’t react like a normal immune person’s. Instead of fighting it off or succumbing to it, your body… evolved. It built that growth to house the virus, to contain it. And then, over time, your body started to metabolize the virus, integrating it into your cells.”

I rubbed my temples, trying to keep up. “So, what? I was a carrier?”

The nurse shook her head. “Not quite. The virus never spread from you like it would from a typical carrier. Instead, it stayed inside that structure. But yesterday, something changed. That growth cracked open. Your body finished… whatever it was doing.”

I felt a cold sweat forming. “What does that mean? Am I a slayer now?”

The nurse tilted her head, studying me like I was some rare specimen. “Honestly? I don’t know what you are,” she admitted. “But here’s what I do know: your body has fully integrated the virus into its DNA. You’ve got new cells—ones I’m calling D-cells, because, well…” She grinned. “Your name’s Daigo. Thought it was fitting.”

I rolled my eyes, but her grin didn’t falter.

“These D-cells are doing things I’ve never seen before,” she continued. “They’re healing you, regulating you, enhancing you. And that second heart? It’s not just an extra organ. It’s part of the whole system now, like your body’s leveling up in ways I can’t fully understand yet. I’ll need to do more tests, but…” She hesitated.

“But what?” I pressed.

She leaned in slightly, her tone turning serious. “Daigo, you’re not human anymore. Not entirely, anyway.”

The words hit me harder than I expected. I sat there, letting them sink in.

After a moment, I swung my legs off the cot and stood up, testing my balance. My body felt… different. Stronger. Lighter, even.

The nurse watched me carefully. “Also,” she added with a sly smile, “don’t tell anyone about this. I’m the only one who knows, and honestly? I like you in charge. My boyfriend is a slayer and you make us feel welcome. Don’t want anyone getting ideas.”

I chuckled despite myself. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Just don’t go growing a third heart or sprouting wings, okay?” she teased, already jotting down notes on her clipboard.

I walked out of the infirmary, her words replaying in my mind. Not human anymore.

And yet, as unsettling as that was, a part of me couldn’t help but wonder what that meant for the future.

I barely made it ten steps from the infirmary when I heard hurried footsteps behind me. I turned just as Dahyun came barreling toward me, her eyes wide and shimmering with emotion. Before I could say a word, her arms were around me, clutching me like I was about to disappear.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

“For what?” I asked, startled.

She pulled back just enough to look at me, her hands still gripping my jacket. “For Momo, Sana, and Mina. For bringing them in, for standing up for them. For keeping them safe.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the intensity of her gratitude. “Dahyun, they’re survivors. Of course I’m going to protect them.”

She shook her head fiercely. “No, it’s more than that. You didn’t just let them in; you defended them. You treated them like people. You don’t know how rare that is for slayers—how rare that is for us.” Her voice wavered on the last word, and I realized she was trembling.

I placed my hands on her shoulders, steadying her. “Hey, it’s okay. They’re here now. You don’t have to worry about them anymore.”

Her grip on my jacket tightened. “You don’t understand. Do you know what it felt like to see them again? To see their faces after thinking I’d never—” She stopped, her voice catching in her throat.

I waited, giving her the space to collect herself.

“They were my family,” she continued softly. “Before all of this, before the outbreak… we were together. We were everything to each other. And then I lost them. I thought I’d never see them again.”

Her tears spilled over, but she didn’t seem to care. “And now they’re here, alive, because of you.”

I didn’t know what to say. Words felt inadequate, so I did the only thing I could think of: I pulled her into a hug. She buried her face in my chest, her sobs muffled against me.

“You’re safe now,” I said quietly. “All of you.”

For a moment, we just stood there, the weight of everything unspoken between us.

When Dahyun finally pulled back, her expression had shifted. The tears were still there, but her gaze was steady, determined.

“You’re more than just a leader, Daigo,” she said. “You’re… you’re a protector. For all of us.”

I scratched the back of my neck, feeling a little uncomfortable with the intensity of her praise. “I’m just doing what needs to be done.”

She smiled, a mixture of sadness and warmth. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

Before I could respond, she leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek. It wasn’t romantic—it was more like a gesture of gratitude, of trust.

“Thank you,” she said again, her voice steady now. “For everything.”

Scene: “Two Heartbeats”

As Dahyun hugged me, her head pressed against my chest, I noticed her shift slightly. Her body stiffened, and she pulled back just enough to stare at me, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Wait…” she whispered, her hands pressing gently against my chest. “Daigo…”

I froze. “What is it?”

Her gaze darted to my chest, then back to my face. “I… I felt two heartbeats.”

I tried to play it off, forcing a dry chuckle. “You must be imagining things. Probably the adrenaline—”

“Don’t lie to me,” she interrupted, her tone firm, her eyes narrowing. “Daigo, I know what I felt.”

For a moment, I debated what to say. The nurse’s words about keeping it secret echoed in my mind. I let out a slow breath, keeping my voice calm but firm.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” I said, lowering my voice. “Not a soul. Promise me.”

Dahyun’s eyes widened, but she nodded. “I promise. But… Daigo, what’s going on? What’s happening to you?”

I hesitated, knowing I owed her some explanation. “It’s… complicated. I’ll explain later, okay? Just trust me for now.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she nodded slowly. “Okay. But I’m not letting this go.”

“Fair enough,” I said, offering her a faint smile to ease the tension. “Just… keep it between us.”

She nodded again, reluctantly letting the subject drop, but the concern in her eyes didn’t fade as she walked away.

Scene: “Confrontation”

Later that evening, I was back in my quarters, sprawled on my bed, trying to process everything. My body felt heavier than usual, like my own heartbeat—their rhythm—was a constant reminder that I was no longer the same.

A knock on my door snapped me out of my thoughts. Before I could answer, the door creaked open, and Dahyun and Chodan stepped inside.

I sat up, my instincts telling me this wasn’t a casual visit. “What’s up?”

Chodan folded her arms, her gaze sharp. “Don’t ‘what’s up’ us, Daigo. Dahyun told me.”

I shot Dahyun a look, but she raised her hands defensively. “I didn’t tell her everything! Just… enough. We’re worried about you.”

Chodan stepped closer, her voice softer now. “She said you’ve got two heartbeats. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

I sighed, knowing there was no avoiding this. “Close the door,” I said.

Dahyun obeyed, and both of them sat down on the edge of the bed, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity.

“I went to the infirmary earlier,” I began. “After I collapsed. The nurse ran some tests… and apparently, I’m not human anymore.”

Both of their eyes widened.

“Not human?” Dahyun echoed.

Chodan leaned forward. “Explain.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the weight of their stares. “The virus… the necrophage or whatever it’s called. It didn’t infect me like it does everyone else. My body ignored it, adapted to it instead. It built this… structure in my chest to house the virus, and eventually, it merged with me on a cellular level.”

Dahyun looked horrified. “So… you’re infected?”

“No,” I said quickly. “Not like that. I’m immune, but the virus evolved inside me. It’s part of me now. My body has these new cells—D-cells, the nurse called them. They heal me, regulate me, even enhance me a little. But when that structure in my chest broke open, it triggered something… different. That’s when the second heart formed.”

Chodan whistled low, sitting back. “Damn. That’s… a lot.”

“You think?” I said dryly.

Dahyun looked at me, her voice trembling. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“The nurse told me to keep it secret,” I admitted. “If people find out, it could cause chaos. They already look to me as a leader. If they knew I wasn’t… normal, it could go either way. They’d either worship me like some kind of savior or fear me like a monster. Neither is good for the camp.”

Chodan nodded slowly, processing. “Okay, I get it. But Daigo, you can’t keep this to yourself. If something happens—”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” I cut her off, my tone firmer than I intended. “I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. And for now, the fewer people who know, the better.”

Dahyun hesitated, then reached out to place a hand on mine. “We won’t tell anyone. But you have to promise us something.”

“What?” I asked.

Chodan leaned in, her tone serious. “If anything changes—if you start feeling worse, or different—you come to us. No hiding, no tough-guy act. Deal?”

I looked between them, seeing the genuine concern in their eyes. I nodded. “Deal.”

Dahyun exhaled in relief, and Chodan gave me a faint smirk. “Good. Now get some rest, Vanquisher. You’ve got a camp full of idiots to deal with tomorrow.”

I chuckled despite myself. “Thanks for the reminder.”

As the door clicked shut behind them, I hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Hey… can you two stay the night with me?”

Dahyun and Chodan both turned to me, their eyes widening in surprise. They exchanged a quick glance, silent communication passing between them, before Dahyun gave a small smile and nodded.

“Of course,” she said softly.

“Sure thing, big guy,” Chodan added, her tone teasing but warm.

I felt a small wave of relief as they started settling in. At first, there was some debate about the sleeping arrangement.

“You’re in the middle,” Chodan declared, pointing at me.

Dahyun laughed, shaking her head. “No way. If he’s in the middle, he’ll be too stiff to sleep. I’ll take the middle.”

Chodan raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Positive,” Dahyun replied, giving her a playful shove.

In the end, Dahyun ended up sandwiched between us. Somehow, it felt… right. Too right.

As we all lay there, I couldn’t help but notice the way their warmth seeped into me, calming a part of my mind that was always on high alert. Their presence, their quiet breathing, the shared comfort—it was disgusting how good it felt.

I slept better that night than I had in years.

The morning light filtered through the cracked blinds, and I woke to find Dahyun already sitting up, her hair slightly mussed as she stretched. Chodan was still sprawled out, half-asleep, but her eyes opened when she noticed me stir.

“Morning,” Dahyun said with a smile, her voice soft and pleasant.

Chodan grinned lazily, propping herself up on an elbow. “You look like you actually slept for once.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, I did.”

As I sat up, I glanced between them, both looking so at ease, so… perfect in this moment. My chest tightened with something I couldn’t quite name, and before I could stop myself, the words came out.

“Okay, it’s official. I love both of you.”

The room froze. Dahyun’s cheeks turned a deep red, her lips parting in surprise. Chodan, for once, looked genuinely caught off guard, her usual confidence replaced with wide eyes and a blush creeping up her neck.

“W-What?” Dahyun stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Chodan let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of her head. “Well, uh… that’s one hell of a way to start the morning.”

I ran a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling more exposed than I ever had in my life. But I pressed on, because if I didn’t say it now, I might never.

“Listen, I don’t want to hurt either of you,” I said, my voice quieter now. “But I also don’t want to be alone anymore. I… I don’t think I can handle choosing between you. I care about both of you too much.”

They both stared at me for a long moment, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I couldn’t read the room.

Dahyun finally broke the silence, her voice trembling but sincere. “We… we don’t want to hurt you either, Daigo.”

Chodan nodded, her usual bravado replaced with something softer. “Yeah. We get it.”

The tension eased slightly, and I gave them a small, grateful smile. “Thank you. For understanding.”

I stood up, stretching and preparing myself for another day in the chaos outside. “Let’s just take things one step at a time, okay?”

As I headed for the door, I glanced back at them one last time. Dahyun was fiddling with the hem of her shirt, her blush still lingering, while Chodan gave me a look that was equal parts amused and thoughtful.

I stepped outside, the weight of the camp’s problems settling back onto my shoulders. But for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel completely alone.

The morning air was crisp, the faint hum of the camp stirring to life all around me. But the moment I stepped into the central yard, I could feel the tension in the air like a cord stretched too tight. Mark, Lisa, and Martin were waiting for me near the supply tent, their expressions carefully neutral. Too carefully neutral.

“Daigo,” Lisa greeted, her voice dripping with faux warmth. “We wanted to have a word with you about some… concerns.”

I stopped a few feet from them, crossing my arms. “Concerns about what?”

Martin stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back like some kind of self-appointed general. “Leadership. We’ve been talking, and we’re worried you might be… overburdened.”

The words were polite, but the tone was anything but.

“Overburdened,” I repeated, my eyes narrowing.

Mark, who had been quiet until now, leaned against a nearby crate, feigning nonchalance. “It’s not personal, Daigo. It’s just… you’re young. This camp needs someone with experience, someone who knows how to make the hard calls.”

I felt a flicker of something at the edge of my vision—something imperceptible to anyone else but clear as day to me. My mind was racing, processing their every movement, every twitch, every glance they cast at each other. Their words didn’t align with their bodies.

Lisa’s arms were crossed tightly, her fingers gripping her elbows like she was holding herself together. Her gaze darted between Mark and Martin when she spoke, looking for approval she didn’t fully trust she’d get.

Martin’s jaw was clenched, his shoulders slightly hunched, as if he were bracing for something. He avoided making eye contact with Mark altogether, his focus squarely on me.

Mark’s relaxed posture was an act, his fingers tapping a subtle rhythm on the crate’s edge. The tapping stopped every time Lisa spoke, only to resume when Martin chimed in.

They weren’t united. Not really.

They weren’t a team; they were a loose coalition of distrust, bound together by their mutual disdain for Slayers—and for me.

“You think I’m ill-suited for leadership,” I said, cutting through whatever diplomatic phrasing they were about to throw at me.

Lisa hesitated, her lips parting as if to argue, but Martin stepped in quickly. “We just think the camp might benefit from a more… collective approach.”

“Right,” I said slowly. “A collective approach where the three of you call the shots.”

Mark smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We’re not saying that. We just think you’ve got a lot on your plate. You’ve been making some questionable calls, like bringing in more Slayers. It’s upsetting people.”

I tilted my head, my mind still cataloging every twitch and glance. Lisa didn’t agree with Mark’s phrasing; her lips pressed into a thin line when he spoke. Martin didn’t either—his fingers flexed briefly, like he wanted to grab Mark by the collar and shut him up.

They weren’t here for the camp. They were here for themselves.

“You know what I think?” I said, my voice calm, almost conversational.

Lisa raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“I think the three of you don’t trust each other any more than you trust me,” I said bluntly. “And the only thing keeping you from tearing each other apart is your shared desire for power.”

Their reactions were immediate, though none of them spoke. Lisa’s arms uncrossed, her hands balling into fists. Martin’s shoulders squared, and his mouth opened as if to argue, but I cut him off.

“You think because I’m younger than you, you can manipulate me. Make me doubt myself. Convince me that I’m not capable of leading this camp. But let me tell you something.”

I took a step closer, my voice low but firm.

“I’ve seen what fear and desperation do to people. I’ve seen what happens when you let ambition cloud your judgment. This camp doesn’t need more politicians. It needs people who are willing to get their hands dirty. People who put survival over ego.”

Lisa took a step back, her confidence faltering. Mark’s smirk disappeared entirely, replaced by a tight-lipped glare. Martin, for all his posturing, looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.

“I don’t trust you,” I said plainly. “Not because you disagree with me, but because I see through you. And if you think you can divide this camp, undermine me, or turn people against each other, let me make one thing clear: I won’t let that happen.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Are we done here?” I asked, my tone making it clear the conversation was over.

Lisa opened her mouth, then closed it, glaring at me like she wanted to say something but thought better of it. Mark and Martin exchanged a glance, their earlier bravado now replaced with unease.

“Yeah,” Martin finally muttered, his voice lacking the confidence it had earlier. “We’re done.”

They turned and walked away, their uneasy silence speaking louder than any argument could have.

Lust’s voice slid into my thoughts before I even saw her.

“Brooding doesn’t suit you, Daigo.”

I turned and found her leaning against a pole, arms crossed, watching me like I was some puzzle she’d already figured out. Lust always had this effortless confidence about her, like she knew exactly where she stood and where everyone else didn’t.

“Lust,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “What do you want?”

She tilted her head, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Saw you dealing with the Three Stooges over there. Figured I’d save you before your brain melted from their bullshit.”

I huffed out a faint laugh despite myself. “Thanks, but I’m good. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

She pushed off the pole and took a slow step forward, her smirk fading into something more serious. “Alright, then. Let’s cut to the chase. We need to talk about the Slayers’ place in this camp.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected, but I kept my face blank. “Go on.”

She gestured around us with a sweep of her arm. “This camp is crumbling, Daigo. You can feel it, can’t you? The survivors are scared of us. Some of them outright hate us. And those three idiots you just dealt with? They’re not going to stop until they take control. They see us as a threat—something they can’t predict, something they can’t control.”

“They’re wrong,” I said firmly.

“Of course they are,” she shot back with a shrug. “But what does that matter? What matters is perception. And right now, we’re the monsters under their beds, the things keeping them up at night.”

I folded my arms, trying to keep my frustration in check. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” she said, stepping closer, “is that maybe it’s time for us to move on.”

Her words threw me off balance. “You’re suggesting the Slayers leave the camp?”

“Not all of us,” she clarified. “But yeah, most of us. Think about it, Daigo. We’re stronger, faster, harder to kill. We don’t need the same resources they do. Half of them are terrified every time we walk past. We could be more useful out there—clearing zones, securing supplies, doing what we do best—without dragging this camp deeper into its own mess.”

I clenched my jaw, my thoughts racing. She wasn’t wrong. The tension between the Slayers and the regular survivors had been growing for weeks. Still, leaving? That felt like giving up.

“And what about the people here?” I asked. “The ones who rely on us? The ones who see us as hope?”

Her expression softened, and for a moment, she dropped the smirk she always wore like armor. “You think I don’t care about them? I do. But you can’t save everyone, Daigo. And if we stay here too long, we’re just going to make things worse—for them and for us.”

Her words hit harder than I wanted to admit. I looked away, staring at the horizon as doubts churned in my mind. “And where would we go?”

“That’s the thing about Slayers, isn’t it?” she said, her voice quieter now. “We don’t belong anywhere. We carve out a place for ourselves, or we die trying.”

I let her words sink in, the weight of them pressing down on my shoulders. She wasn’t wrong, but leaving wasn’t a decision I could make lightly.

“You’re not wrong,” I admitted, finally breaking the silence. “But I can’t make this decision on a whim.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” she said, her tone softer now. “You’re the leader. It’s your call. But think about it—for all our sakes.”

She turned to leave but paused and glanced back over her shoulder, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’ve got a good heart, Daigo. Even if you’ve got two of them now.”

A few days later, I woke up to chaos. Shouting, pounding on my door—it felt like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. Still half-asleep, I fumbled for my gauntlets and boots, instinct kicking in. Before I could even ask what was happening, the door slammed open, and a tide of bodies surged into my quarters.

They were on me before I could process anything. Arms grabbed at me, forcing my weapons from my hands. I swung once, twice, but there were too many. Too many voices, too many hands pulling me down. My head was spinning, and the shouts all blurred together until they were just noise.

“Traitor.” “Unfit.” “You’ve failed us.”

I heard bits and pieces, but none of it made sense. The more I struggled, the tighter they held me, their grip like iron as they dragged me out into the open. The morning sun was too bright, and the cold bit into my skin as if punishing me for something I didn’t even understand.

I tried to speak, but no one was listening. I stumbled as they pushed me forward, my boots scraping against the ground. The gauntlets weighed heavy on my wrists, my only connection to the strength I once thought I had.

They forced me past the camp’s main gates. My camp. The place I’d fought to protect. The people I’d bled for. And now, I was being tossed out like I was nothing.

The crowd gathered, a sea of faces filled with contempt, distrust, and apathy. No one spoke for me. No one stood in my defense.

Mark stood at the front, smug as ever, his voice carrying over the noise like a judge pronouncing a sentence. “You were a fool to think you could lead this place. You were never cut out for it. Now, get out.”

I clenched my fists, the leather of my gauntlets creaking under the strain. “You think this will end well for you?” My voice sounded weak even to me, the weight of it all pressing down.

Mark just smirked. “It’s not about you anymore.”

With that, he shoved me hard, sending me stumbling into the dirt. Behind me, the gates slammed shut, the echo like a final punctuation to the betrayal.

For a moment, I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My chest felt hollow, like someone had reached in and pulled out whatever kept me standing all this time. My gauntlets and boots—the only things they’d left me—felt like relics of a life I no longer belonged to.

I got to my feet eventually, numb and directionless, and started walking. Each step away from the camp felt heavier than the last. The cold air stung my face, but I didn’t bother wiping the tears that streaked my cheeks. They froze against my skin like scars.

By the time I reached my old safe house, I felt like a ghost, moving on autopilot. My motorcycle sat there, still as I’d left it, a reminder of a time when I thought I was building something good. I climbed on, gripping the handlebars, and kicked it to life.

I drove for hours, the road stretching endlessly ahead of me. California disappeared in the rearview mirror, replaced by the barren landscapes of Arizona. At a checkpoint, a guard asked for my name and my race.

“Daigo,” I said, my voice dry. “And I’m a Vanquisher.”

The guard laughed. “Well, you’re definitely not a zombie. Too funny for that.”

I forced a chuckle, but it felt hollow.

Eventually, I found myself in Colorado. The air was quiet there, too quiet. There were no zombies, no people, no purpose. Just me and my thoughts. I settled into a rhythm: work, eat, sleep. Repeat.

But the loneliness clawed at me. Nights were the worst. I’d lie awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking of Dahyun, Chodan, my ducklings. The camp. Even the ones who betrayed me. I missed them all, and the ache never went away.

Twenty-eight days passed like that. I told myself I was healing, but really, I was just surviving. Then I heard the news: a new group of slayers was moving into the area. I didn’t think much of it until I saw their vehicles rolling in.

The sight of familiar license plates made my chest tighten. I sat on my porch, sipping fruit punch, watching them unload. It was all too familiar. Too close to home.

Then I heard their voices. Two voices I’d know anywhere.

“Do you hear that?” “Yeah, it sounds like someone on this block has two hearts.”

I froze, my drink forgotten, and stood. When I saw them—Chodan and Dahyun—my heart felt like it might break all over again. They turned, and when they saw me, Chodan’s eyes welled up with tears as she rushed forward to hug me.

“Hey, big guy,” Dahyun said, her voice soft but steady.

I tried to smile, but it faltered when I saw the two men behind them. Slayers, obviously, their postures protective as they approached. My heart sank as Chodan and Dahyun introduced them—boyfriends.

I nodded, polite and distant, the ache in my chest threatening to swallow me whole. “Daigo,” I said, offering a handshake. “Just an old friend.”

They smiled, the moment slipping through my fingers like sand, and left me standing there.

As I walked back into my empty house, I felt the weight of my exile all over again. Even now, even here, I was still on the outside looking in.

[dozysloth]

thoughts on the salesman / contains spoilers:

the salesmean/recruiter ended up being a lot more intriguing than i excepted from his first appearances last season. that’s not to say i didn’t expect him to be a terrible person but initially i brushed him off as a sketchy businessman recruiting poor people into a death trap. i guess i didn’t think he’d be so unstable. it made him into a far more dynamic character.

bread & lottery seems to stump people because he’s not recruiting anyone. maybe he’s running a messed up social experiment on the homeless population as a side hobby like something you’d find on youtube.

will you choose the bread or choose a small chance at winning a lottery that has the potential to turn your life around? you’re used to hunger so a piece of bread doesn’t make a difference. and if you lose? you gain nothing. you’re hungry again.

he is trying to prove a point and in some twisted way he is trying to justify everything he has done and is doing. toying with people, murder, and recruiting them into a death game. he avoids looking in the mirror, denies that he is in the same position as those he deems “trash” or lesser than him. the reality is that the salesman is also hindered by classism. no matter what he does, his efforts will never be enough or recognized.

we ask why? what does he gain from this if it has nothing to do with the games? what is the purpose of stomping on and destroying the unpicked bread? why would he be upset if he’s proved his point correct? that they’re foolish and all fall into the same trap again and again and again. that he’s different than them. instead he just absolutely looses it. (buying the bread and lottery tickets in the first place just to test this is interesting, too. almost as if there’s a sliver of someone in there that doesn’t believe these people deserve to die. if he truly believed it he wouldn’t have to test it).

the final scene between he and gihun is very striking. the lighting and how it emphasizes the actors asymmetrical eyes is delicious. the innocent eye of a smiling businessman offering you a chance at a fortune highlighted in white and the cutthroat and sinister recruiter that has been hidden throughout the episode with a red glow. he looks arrogant, terrified and estatic all at the same time depending on which side you look at or both. it feels intentional, too.

what gihun says rings true. he is just their dog, an underling, and no matter what he does he will never be enough in the eyes of his superiors. he stops denying it when he honours the game. he plays fair and pulls the trigger under his chin.

some other things i want to note:

- the callouses on the salesman’s hands could be brushed off by the fact that the actor actually has them. but the shot is so deliberate that it feels pointed. here’s a handsome businessman wearing polished shoes and a nice suit. why would he have callouses if he truly is part of the elite? what kind of physical labour could he possibly be doing?

- the way he stands over the first homeless man and doesn’t block the sun out of his eyes. so he has to look up and squint to actually see the salesman standing over him with a smile.

- how quickly he moves to put the gun at the roof of his mouth in contrast with gihuns hesitant and cautious movements. is he just confident that he’s in control? trying to get a rise out of gihun? is he eager to die or does he just get off on the thrill of chances? it would explain his obsession with lottery and russian roulette. (i was literally speechless this entire scene.)

- it is revealed that he was one of the pink soldiers responsible in dealing with dead bodies. he also murdered his own father. he states that his actions were fuelled by the desire for his efforts to be acklowdged and recognized, and to (presumably) move up the ladder. i find it very interesting that in the final scene between the salesman and gihun he is sitting in a pink chair. and he dies in that pink chair.

i cant say much for the rest of the show as i do not plan on watching it but gong yoo really knocked it out of the park with his performance in a way i haven’t seen before in his other projects. (he was already an amazing actor).

[thedropsofblood]

I love reading a platonic yandere family with a reader who's completely different from them

Idk if this was a request or not but here we are

You'd say your family was fairly normal? Well, as normal as a mafia family can be. You had wonderful parents and two loving caring older siblings. Wonderful, right? Yeah, no, you wish it was.

Your brother was hugging you and whining about how you shouldn't get too close to your friends, meanwhile you ignored him and paid attention to your homework. Your sister looked at the scene with a frown before dragging your brother away, stealing his position and refusing to let go of you instead. They were like cats and dogs around you, constantly bickering and only shutting up once you've actually gotten mad at them.

Meanwhile your father sat on the couch a little away from you, reading his newspaper and smoking a freshly wrapped cigar. Your mother sat between your father and you, occasionally helping you out with your homework but mainly distracted by her phone. Despite all their flaws, in your opinion, they were the best family you could've asked for. You thought to yourself as you closed your textbook, leaning in to rest your head against your mother's shoulder.

You really needed a nap, especially after a rough day at school.

What you didn't know was how they acted when you're not around.

"I knew something was wrong with my poor, poor baby..." Your mother muttered after moving your jacket up to reveal your bruised arm. Your sister frowned, leaning over to look at the mark before saying with a rather harsh tone. "Are they getting bullied? Dad, did you say brother would keep an eye on them at school What about the principal? Didn't you buy that old hag out already?!"

"Your brother was preoccupied today. He needed to catch up on his missions, don't blame him for something out of his control." Your father sets down his newspaper, his attention moving over to the bruise on your arm and taking a deep breath of the cigar. "I'll deal with the hag later. Seems like she's forgotten the only reason why she's still alive."

"The death of her entire bloodline wouldn't make up for our sunshine's bruise now wouldn't it, father?" Your brother barked back, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. He was already in a bad mood today because of his missions, this was oil on top of the already burning flame. Your mother silently nodded, her gloved hand grazing over your bruise as if she just got robbed of her most precious jewellery. No, this was even worse than her entire net worth being taken away and burnt at the stake, they injured her entire livelihood, the only ray of sunshine in their corrupted blood stained world, they deserved much worse than just death.

Her hand subconsciously tightens around your arm, causing your sister to grip onto her wrist and pull her hand away before she accidentally wakes you up, gaining a sigh of relief and gratitude from your mother.

Your father meanwhile was rubbing his temples from a supposed headache. He spoke up roughly, eyes narrowing at you as he brushed his hair out of his face. "What if we just homeschool them then? If you're all so persistent about keeping them safe?"

"Do you remember the last time we tried that? They sneaked out and almost got assassinated by your old rival, dad." Your sister frowned, tightening her hug around your torso and nuzzling her head into your chest, all to the dismay of your other family members.

Your brother seemingly had an idea that made his eyes sparkle. He said enthusiastically, hands on his hip as if he just made a major discovery. "What if we just buy out an entire school and make them move into it? It wouldn't be that expensive, just a few millions, and our sunshine will be completely safe."

Despite your brother often having horrible ideas, this, somehow, seemed surprisingly reasonable. Your mother crossed her legs as she thought about it, before giving a nod towards your father, who puffed out the smoke and muttering. "I'll assign it then, honey. Please, treat our sunshine bruises for me, I'll notify you when it's done." Your father held your mother's hand and placed a kiss on it before grabbing his phone, walking out to make a phone call.

Your mother smiled before standing up and setting you to lay down on the sofa, making your sister let go of you, albeit hesitantly. She puts a thin blanket over your sleeping body and a pillow underneath your head, before placing a kiss on your forehead.

"Come on, mom. We have a hag to take care of." Your brother said, sending your mother a glare, which she returned right back to him, causing him to look away to pack up his firearms, preparing for his upcoming with his sister. Your mother sighed, following behind them, her gaze lingering on your sleeping body for a moment before quickly setting off.

No matter how little they get along with each other, they can at least try to get along for the sake of your happiness.

A/N: This was so rough but I live laugh love through it 💔

[unsoundedcomic]

You've probably tackled this question before ages ago, but do you have a 'next project' for when Unsounded is finished? Like, another webcomic or something? And how was your Christmas? ^.^

Unsounded will have a sequel, so I've already been working on designs for that in my scant free time :) It will be fairly different from the first comic - more grounded in the real world, fewer cosmic antics - so I tend to think of it as something entirely separate.

My Christmas wasn't much to speak of! I sent goodies off to my friends, received a few goodies in return. There was the usual family drama and visits but my family is pretty scuzzy, so the talk goes like: Here is a new aunt you didn't know you had because we found another woman your gross grandfather secretly frigged, and hey, good news, your second cousin's court date got pushed back so he'll be here with his newest baby and another girl he found to take care of it, and hey, let's all fight about who's going to take your great uncle in when he's outta prison next year, and also son, here, have this old gun I don't want anymore, even though your uncle blew his brains out in his front yard last January, I see no correlation, merry christmas. New Year's Eve my phone woke me up at 3:30 am 'cause my mom needed me to pick her up. Dad was the kind of drunk where he starts beating on her and she (wisely) didn't trust him to drive her home. So I drove her, and he followed behind us because I couldn't get him out of the car. Then I had to play nice with him, as I always do, to get him to bed.

There's a reason all the families in Unsounded are kinda busted :3

[peachhcs]

alright blarie and sammy meeting? and sammy is like oh she’s adorable 🥺

i feel like those novels where the author writes their books in the same universes and then their characters from different books end up meeting and everyone is like omg it’s all connected

any au i do is almost always gonna connect and be in the same “universe” hence the samy + will universe i’ve started LOL

au masterlist

“just don’t freak her out, okay?” mack said as he led will and samy to where blaire was waiting. the brunette pinched her eyebrows together. “freak her out? why would i do that? we literally know each other,” the girl laughed, her arm clinging to will’s as they walked.

“i don’t know, she’s really nervous to meet you though,” mack shrugged and something inside samy was flattered that mack’s girlfriend was nervous to meet her because she’s never thought she was someone that people got nervous around.

after mentioning to blaire that samy was coming back to san jose, the figure skater sort of begged mack to meet her. she’s heard so much about the soccer player from both mack and will and from the little she remembered when they met so many years ago, she wanted to properly meet the girl that her boyfriend considered a sister.

“sometimes you get a little too excited..” will half teased, only being allowed to say that because he was her boyfriend.

“hey! i just love meeting new people,” the girl rolled her eyes.

the three rounded the corner and caught sight of blaire leaning up against the wall waiting for them. she heard their footsteps and their voices, immediately straightening herself up when she met their gaze.

“hey, pretty girl,” mack greeted her first with a loving hug and peck on the cheek. she giggled at his affection and will and samy watched like proud parents.

“hi, great game tonight,” blaire cheered and then her gaze slid to the couple standing a few feet away.

“wow, you must be samy. it’s good to..re-meet you?” blaire laughed at her choice of words, sticking her hand out to the girl in front of her.

samy was a hugger though. she detached her arm from will’s to bring the dirty blonde into a gentle squeeze. “it’s good to see you again, blaire. i didn’t even know you went here.”

“yeah, it was such a coincidence. i can’t believe you’re like some star soccer player now,” blaire was surprised by the hug, but she quickly squeezed samy back. when they pulled away the two girls exchanged friendly smiles.

“yeah, i definitely did a 180. i really love it though. i’m so glad you’re still figure skating though, that’s awesome. mack says you’re really good,” the older girl glanced over at the younger brunette who flushed.

“he’s just saying that,” blaire blushed, shaking her head. she always got warm and bubbly whenever mack praised her talent.

“i promise i’m not. you’re the best i know,” mack praised her again and samy smiled seeing blaire so blushy around the boy. she remembered how blushy she was around will when they first got together and how blushy she still got.

“so how about we grab dinner together? i’d love to get to know you more since we last saw each other when we were like twelve,” samy chuckled and everyone quickly agreed.

samy got herself into will’s car while mack rode with blaire. the brunette was grinning from ear to ear, “i already love her.”

“it’s weird seeing him so happy, right?” will chuckled as they pulled out of the lot after blaire who led the way to the restaurant.

“yeah, but he’s happy. i’ve never seen mack that happy before. i mean he’s always happy, but that was really happy,” samy emphasized making her boyfriend laugh.

“i think mack’s glad you like her. he’s been waiting for you to meet her all week,” the blonde hummed which further proved how much the younger brunette looked up to the the couple and wanted their approval. the thought made both of them smile.

dinner went really well. samy and blaire talked the entire time about life and their boyfriends and their sports while will and mack just sat back and listened. it was pretty safe to say blaire and mack were getting an invite to the lake house next summer.

when they finished and walked back onto the sidewalk samy pulled the younger rookie aside for a moment.

“i really like her. she’s adorable,” the girl said quietly while blaire chatted with will about something. mack quickly smiled.

“you do?”

“i can see how much she likes you and you like her,” the brunette pinched his cheek and the boy flushed.

“i’m glad you like her. i’m glad will likes her too,” they eyed the other two laughing about something.

“i hope i see her everytime i come back,” samy squeezed his arm before joining into blaire and will’s conversation.

[beautifultypewriter]

I’m not gonna lie… things are not good over here, but also… I have so many feelings about this and it’s the only thing that is keeping me going. Boromir was born to be a girl dad and while the poll I did was for a different story where he doesn’t get to be a dad, I had to write a universe where he actually got to raise his daughter. Also I’m going to use my oc, but only her name, there’s no description and I’m going to write in 3rd person. I have so many thoughts about this. Keep your eyes peeled for some new Gondor Girl content. And quick timeline Boromir and Limmeth get married about 2 years before he leaves for Rivendell and their baby is born a month before he leaves. Also warning: brief mention of labor/childbirth, but nothing detailed or graphic. It's over 2k words, so it's under the read more. @streets-in-paradise Lu, sorry to bother you, but I need you to see this.

Boromir as a dad:

Boromir is ecstatic when Limmeth tells him that she’s with child. Like he is so beyond happy… for about 2 minutes and then the worry starts to settle in his chest, he keeps smiling though as she’s smiling up at him because the last thing he wants to do is worry his sweet wife.

But he can’t help it. There is a WAR going on and Mordor is RIGHT THERE and he already has so much on his shoulders, worrying about his people, his city, his father and brother, Limmeth herself, and now this? Man is stressed.

And although he tries to hide it, Limmeth sees right through him. She puts her hands on his cheeks and gently kisses his lips, “This is a good thing. Everything will be fine.”

He repeats those words to himself nearly everyday for the duration of the pregnancy. It helps keep him grounded and it helps the happiness shine through. He’s able to focus more on the pregnancy and the fact that soon there will be a little baby, that hopefully looks just like Limmeth, in the world. And a little baby that looks like his sweet, perfect Limmeth will certainly bring light to the darkness that they often find themselves in during these times. 

Then the day arrives. Boromir is with Faramir and few other men, making plans and going over resources when a maid scurries into the room and whispers in the captain’s ear.

Boromir doesn’t think twice before rushing from the room, with zero explanation to anyone else by the way, and making his way to where his wife has started her labor. He beats the healer to the room, and he rushes in, quickly grabbing Limmeth’s hand and placing a kiss to her forehead. 

Hours and hours later, Limmeth is propped up by some pillows with their baby girl in her arms as Boromir sits next to her on the bed, his own arms wrapped around her. He’s blinking back tears as he stares down at his little girl. 

Unfortunately the peace is interrupted as Denethor enters the room, Faramir trailing behind him. The steward is smiling as he approaches the couple, but that smile quickly drops as Boromir introduces him to his granddaughter. 

Denethor glares at Limmeth, blaming her for this in his twisted mind, before he storms out. Limmeth is on the verge of tears and Boromir is seething. 

Fortunately, Faramir is still there, and he steps up and gushes about how beautiful the baby is and how lucky they are that she looks more like Limmeth than she does Boromir, which makes his brother roll his eyes and his sister by law laugh. 

Then he asks what his niece is to be called and Boromir and Limmeth look at each other for a moment. Because they never really discussed names and now they have to navigate hazy thoughts of what their daughter will be called for her entire life. They both get what they believe to be a brilliant idea at the same time. 

An argument breaks out over whose mother they should name her after. Limmeth wants to name her after Boromir’s mother and Boromir wants to name her after Limmeth’s mother. Both of them refuse to back down. Faramir is rubbing his temples as the little baby snoozes through the argument. Finally, he steps up and suggests that they choose a new name, one not related to either of them. 

The idea is considered for a moment before they ultimately agree and then they start to brainstorm. It’s hours before they land on Amathael (Glimmering Shield. Glimmering for Limmeth and Shield for Boromir). 

When Boromir holds his daughter for the first time, he cries. He tries so hard not to, but not even Gondor’s mightiest warrior can hold back tears as he looks down at what he is positive is the most beautiful baby to ever be born. Limmeth watches him with a smile on her face, tears brimming in her own eyes as Boromir gently traces a finger over Amathael’s cheek.

Unbeknownst to them they only get a month together before Boromir is traveling to Rivendell and Limmeth is left to wonder if she will ever see her husband again and whether or not Amathael will have a father. 

At some point between these two events, Denethor goes on a verbal rampage about how Boromir’s wife is useless as she did not provide Boromir with an heir and that they would have to have another child as quickly as possible to ensure that their bloodline continues, and Boromir loses it. He is able to remain pretty calm which is surprising as he sets his father straight. “You will not speak of my wife and daughter in such a manner. If I hear it again…” his jaw tightens and his fist clenches and he turns and walks away. 

He goes to his and Limmeth’s room to see her cradling Amathael and quietly singing the same Dol Amroth lullaby that his own mother sang to him and Faramir. All the tension leaves his body as he stands in the doorway and watches his whole world. 

Boromir dreads having to tell Limmeth that he’s going to Rivendell. He knows that it’s unfair to her and Amathael, but he really has no other choice in this. He tells himself that this could be the key to finally defeating Sauron and creating a better world for his daughter to grow up in, a thought he repeats to Limmeth as she cries in his arms later.

He makes Faramir promise to look after and protect Limmeth and Amathael while he’s gone and of course his brother agrees. He was going to take care of them without having made the promise. Boromir hates having to leave his girls at all, but he especially hates having to leave them with his father when the man still has not gotten over the fact that Amathael is not a son.

Amathael is only a month old when Boromir leaves for Rivendell. She’s still so tiny as he cradles her to his chest in the early morning light. He’s humming quietly, soaking in these last moments with his little girl. He doesn’t know if this will be the last time he sees her. Limmeth wakes and quietly makes her way over to the pair, resting her head against Boromir’s arm.

It’s nearly nine months later when Limmeth is reunited with her husband. Battle worn and full of grief, Boromir stumbles into the Tower of Ecthelion. He has already been given the news of his brother and father and all he wants is to see his wife and daughter.

His wish is answered when he steps into the throne room, followed closely by Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf, and Éomer, to see Limmeth standing in the middle of the room, Amathael in her arms. Boromir doesn’t think twice before rushing forward and wrapping Limmeth in his arms.

Amathael fusses a little bit, not used to having Boromir around (something that breaks his heart a little bit, but he’ll never admit) and he is struck by how big she’s gotten. Limmeth has tears in her eyes as she hands the baby over to Boromir before tucking herself into his side, staying close to keep things peaceful.

Boromir holds Amathael close, his eyes closing as he gently rests his forehead against his baby girl. She soon stops fussing as she stares at Boromir with big eyes that mirror his own.

Because while Amathael is Limmeth’s twin in every other sense, her eyes are her father’s. Something that Limmeth absolutely adores.

So Boromir gets a very short amount of time with his family before he’s marching away again and although she tries to hold onto hope, Limmeth feels almost sure that he’s marching away from her for good.

BUT because I have made everything beautiful and wonderful, Limmeth’s fears are never realized and Boromir rushes into her arms once again. Amathael fusses less and even reaches towards Boromir’s face as the three of them are pressed close together. His heart soars and he takes her from her mother’s arms.

Aragorn is crowned King and Boromir is made steward. There is a lot of work to be done in the aftermath of Saron’s defeat, but Boromir always makes time for his family. He’s already lost so much time with them, and he doesn’t want to miss another second of Amathael growing up.

Family walks through the markets of the lower city. Boromir carries Amathael, smiling and tickling her as her laughter rings out. Limmeth smiles as she watches the two most important people in her life.

Boromir 100% throws Amathael up into the air and catches her and she shrieks with laughter. As she gets bigger, it gets harder, but all she needs to do is pout for a second and he’s lifting her and tossing her as high as he can.

He would do anything for her, like seriously, she has him wrapped around her finger. It delights Limmeth to no end. And Boromir is completely oblivious to it too. Like he does not even realize that he is being unintentionally played by this little baby.

Once Amathael starts walking, she is following Boromir everywhere he goes. Her absolute favorite place to follow him to is the small meeting room where Aragorn holds council. She stands in the doorway and watches her Da and her two uncles settle themselves at the table, nodding to the few other men who come in. Aragorn notices the little girl in the doorway first and he smiles as he waves her over. She runs in and Aragorn scoops her up and sets her in his lap. She laughs as Boromir looks over with a fake look of hurt on his face. Amathael doesn’t last long before she’s scrambling off of Aragorn’s lap and running over to Boromir.

She’s grinning as she climbs into his lap and pressing her face against his chest. Boromir wraps his arms around her and chuckles quietly. Faramir and Aragorn are laughing along with him. Amathael stays in Boromir’s lap as the meeting begins. She falls asleep rather quickly and Boromir cradles her as he half pays attention. Limmeth comes to retrieve Amathael and her husband reluctantly lets the little girl go. Limmeth presses a kiss to his temple before she carries Amathael out of the room.

Boromir starts to bring Amathael to the training yard with him and she very quickly becomes interested in learning about fighting. She loves watching Boromir, Faramir, and Éowyn train together and she wants to be part of it.

Limmeth will come watch them all and Amathael is constantly stopping to call out to her mother, telling her to “watch me!” and to “look at this!” Limmeth is only too happy to watch everything and cheer as Boromir lets Amathael disarm him.

Limmeth teaches Amathael how to ride horses and the three of them go on family rides together. Before Amathael was old enough to ride, she would sit with Boromir on his horse and continually challenge Limmeth to races. Limmeth would laugh as Boromir would groan and then she would take off, forcing her husband to kick his own horse into gear to catch up to her. Amathael would laugh loudly as they rode and a grin would stretch over Boromir’s face.

Amathael loves to run around with her cousins and Aragorn and Arwen’s children. Boromir loves to see her having fun with and playing with the other children. It reminds him of his own childhood and he’s glad that Amathael has friends to play with.

Boromir loves to dance with her at any kind of feast or celebration that they have. When she was really little, they did the whole standing on his feet while they dance thing and it was the most precious thing in the world.

Boromir loves and hates watching his little girl grow up. He’s so proud of her and the person she is becoming, but he wishes she could stay his little girl forever. Limmeth needs to constantly comfort this man about this. One thing that never changes about Amathael though is how much she loves her parents.

I see her future playing out in one of two ways… she becomes the first female Captain of Gondor or she marries Eldarion, Arwen and Aragorn’s son, and becomes the next Queen of Gondor. Or maybe both?